Chapter Text

0- Prologue

The Garden with Fourteen Flowers 

You open your eyes, slowly, the sun blinds you instantly and you raise your hand to cover your face. A rich floral scent floods your nose as you draw a shaky breath, and once you are used to the bright light you notice you are in a garden.

Not any garden; it has a cream white gazebo —where you are, sitting in a comfortable garden chair— surrounded by bushes of poppies, mezereon, starworts, dills, candytufts, maidenhair, violets, nasturtium, hyacinths, marigolds, irises, aconites, deadly nightshades and anemones. Each one growing around topiaries of dancing and contorting figures that seemed to be just about to be swallowed by the flowers.

Surrounding the rows and rows of flowers —that entangled around each other, mixing and growing without any sort of real order besides the apparent fact that only one plant surrounds each one of the topiaries— was a peach orchard, and behind it, a huge manor that loomed on the horizon.

You have no recollections of getting there, in fact you don’t quite remember anything besides your own name and the fact that you were indeed born some day in the past. The linen clothes that cover you —white as everything in the gazebo— are soft and fresh, and feel comfortable in the summer sun.

“You are awake,” a soft husky voice said, startling you. You turn around and see a man with long straight black hair, peppered with silver strands, that was braided elegantly and had a crown of violets woven. He has a burnt caramel skin and deep green eyes which hue you ain’t able to pinpoint. He is wearing a deep green waistcoat with black lapels, a cream shirt with folded sleeves, black slacks and black riding boots with deep green cords. He is wearing a deep green choker with silver embroidery that vaguely resembles an eye.

The man isn’t looking at you, but tending to some of the flowers, untangling them from the rail of the gazebo. You notice that he has several round scars peppering his neck and a burnt scar on his right hand that vaguely resembles a hand. The man smiles pleased when finish his tasks and then he looks at you.

You feel like a deer in headlights. As if all the attention of the world has suddenly shifted towards you. You feel fear melting your insides and you wriggle your hands self-consciously.

“Please, join me for tea,” the man says, gesturing at the table in the centre of the gazebo. You can swear it was empty —it didn’t have a tablecloth even— but now was holding a wide variety of desserts and cakes and several teapots. Two plates, two sets of instruments, and two teacups.

The man sat on one side of the table and gestured at the other, “please, sit. Do you like stories?”

A suivre~

Chapter Text

1- White-Dried Rose Shortcake with Violet Tea

“Please, serve yourself, dear,” the man says, smirking, “for the first story, I recommend trying the white-dried rose shortcake and accompanying it with sweet violet tea,” the man’s smile seemed almost hungry, and his eyes gleamed as he added; “it would enhance the story, I assure you.”

That was it. Wasn’t it?

It was the End, his End at the very least.

He wasn’t quite sure who he was anymore, or if he was someone at all. He just knew he was hurt; everything burned and he had been stabbed.

He could remember a stabbing…

More or less.

He remembered a wheezing voice, pitiful begging for their life:

“P-Please…” The voice had said in between coughs, “I don’t want to die.”

“Neither did they.” Another voice had replied.

“No, no… No.” The first voice begged, ragged and broken.

“But no one escapes at the end,” yes, that was right, no one escaped the End; he was proof of it.

He remembered that after that was said the stabbing happened. But no, it was wrong.

He remembered the effort and the strength needed, but not the pain.

Wait, there was pain, but faint when the first voice had talked for the last time before ending.

“Good… luck.”

It had hurt, but it wasn’t what ended him. Then what was it? Why did it feel important? How and why he had ended? Did Ending always take so long?

As he fell —or was he just floating? — he remembered another stabbing, it was full of hurting and tears, and he couldn’t remember everything:

“I’m not going to kill you!” Had claimed a broken voice.

“...Send them away. Maybe we both die,” replied another voice, hurt, tired, scared, “...and we end up somewhere else.”

“Together?” The first voice sounded hopeful somehow.

“One way or another. Together.” It was a way to see it, he thought. Everything would End, so everything would be together at the End, right?

“I don’t think I can…” The first voice had sobbed, taking a too long time to continue, “Are you sure about this?”

“No,” the second voice replied with such a plain certainty.

“I love you...” had said the first voice.

But it had to be a lie because then the pain had blossomed, so big, so white. It had hurt not only his body but his mind and heart.

That! That was it! It had hurt his mind and that was why he wasn’t able to understand where, when, who or how he was. If only he could heal.

Maybe he could if he could will his mind back together.

Pain flared again, blinding, replacing his erratic thoughts with the white burn of agony, and the silence was filled with screams; ear-splitting screams that seemed to not end. Why?

WHY WHY WHY WHY?

He wanted it to End, he wanted himself to End. Why was there still pain? Why? Why didn't the pain end?

“I need an anchor.”

It was a stray thought, but he understood it. Sort of.

He tried to think about the voices he had heard in his memories; they all were male, at least three people. One of them was him. The others were…

What were they? Who were they?

And more importantly, which one should he follow? The one he ended or the one that ended him?

He preferred the ‘Good luck’ as a farewell rather than the ‘I love you’ before killing him.

And so his choice was made.

He focused on the first voice, manly, smooth, rich, a bit lost, and so full of curiosity and wonder.

As he thought about the voice more and more details came to him, as his mind started to knit together, and with the voice came a smug smile of perfect white teeth barely covered by dust pink lips. Soft lips that formed more words:

“It was wonderful while it lasted. I’ve seen more than I could have lived in a thousand lifetimes, and every moment was so…” The voice sounded so passionate about whatever its owner had seen, it made him feel warm inside. He liked such a passion it seemed.

The next phrase came with the rather pale contexture of the owner of the voice, who this time intoned dreamily:

“I was having the most wonderful dream…”

The next specs of recollection came as a conversation with the image of a man in well-tailored suits, no features but the smug smile that he had remembered before:

“Tell me, why are you here?” asked the man, and he could feel the pull to answer.

“I… I don’t know,” it was his own voice who answered.

“Were you drawn here?” The voice —no, the man— had a rather pleased tone.

“Yes. I was,” he agreed, it was the truth and he liked the truth.

“Against your will?”

“No.”

“Then why did you heed the call?” He could feel there was so much behind that question but wasn’t sure how to answer it. Thankfully the answer left his mouth on its own:

“Because… this is the place I know I should be.”

“Good,” the man liked the answer.

The last memory came with a pair of grey eyes that could see through him. A pair of grey eyes that knew him thoroughly and completely:

“You are prepared. You are ready. You are marked. The power of the Ceaseless Watcher flows through you, and the time of our victory is here,” the voice sounded so pleased with him, so proud, so eager, “don’t worry, John. You’ll get used to it here, in the world that we have made.”

John

That was his name.

Right.

That certainty hit him like a train, or maybe he had been truly hit by a train.

No, it was a bump, you didn’t get run over.

But it had hurt and it had sent him sprawling into the road. It was a cobblestone road, surrounded by rather dull grey houses, and in front of him, a horse was whining.

That was when he realised he could see. It was weird to see again, but it was welcomed as his eyes took on the street eagerly, drinking all the details he could —there was a woman on the second story of the building across the street that was looking down with a horrified expression that promised a good meal— before the figure of a man entered in his field of view, obscuring most of the scared expressions of the public that was slowly coming together.

“Are you alright?” Asked the man, whose voice sounded strained with fake politeness, as he looked at him with a frown. John’s eyes fixated on the grey eyes that were examining him.

Those were the eyes he was looking for.

As if he had wished for it, the name of the owner of those eyes popped into his mind.

“Jonah Magnus.”

“Excuse me?” The man asked, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly but revealing no more surprise, “do I know you?”

“I’m John,” he said, and the man’s right eyebrow just raised further, “you... we…” John wasn’t sure how to explain himself, and wasn’t sure why Jonah didn’t recognise him, “you said that t-the Ceaseless Watcher…”

“What did you say?” John observed with delight how those grey eyes lit with curiosity.

“The Ceaseless Watcher?” He offered, trying to stand, “you said its power flowed through me.”

“Did I?” the man, Jonah, asked with a lopsided smirk, as he offered a hand to help him up.

“Yes, you did,” John nodded happily, marvelling at the warmth of the hand of Jonah against his calloused and marred skin, even through the gloves.

“Why don’t you come with me?” asked Jonah, gesturing to the stagecoach —now the street was full of curious people who watched the scene unfold. John liked the gazes, the eyes on him— before adding, “I know a great physician that could look you over, John.”

John smiled at the thrill of recognition when Jonah said his name, as he entered the stagecoach, “you are really kind, Mr Magnus.”

“Please, call me Jonah,” said the man, entering behind him and indicating the coachman to resume their travel, “and tell me, sorry I didn’t catch your last name.”

“I…” John frowned, trying to remember, but his scrambled mind hadn’t healed thoroughly it seemed. He remembered his title thought, and it felt more like himself than ‘John’, “you could call me Archivist if you prefer.”

“Are you an Archivist, then, John?” Jonah asked, looking at him eagerly, drinking every piece of information John told him, “I haven’t heard of any Archive or library on Ratcliffe.”

“Ratcliffe?” John asked, confused. He was sure his Archive was not in such a place, even if he didn’t remember where it was supposed to be.

“Isn’t that why you look as if you just got out of a fire?” Jonah asked, tilting his head a little, rich curly brown hair bounced with the movement, and John looked at it delighted when a voice in the back of his mind supplied that it was the same hair as his father and his grandmother who had to sell hers to pay for her child’s tuition.

“I was in a fire,” John nodded, feeling a little tired —to be fair he was feeling tired before, but he had been so excited of finding his anchor that he hadn’t mind— and sleepy. The back of his mind supplied why he was feeling so exhausted:

“I was stabbed too, and I’m losing too much blood.”

Those were his last words before he fainted in Jonah’s arms.

A suivre...

Chapter Text

2 - Cream puffs with custard, decorated with Mezereon blossoms and Violet Lemonade

“By all means, dear, don’t fret for John,” the man says, handing you a plate, “please, take some cream puffs with custard, decorated with mezereon blossoms from this very garden,” the man also gestures to a pitcher by your side, “there is some violet lemonade too if it pleases you.”

“He is waking up,” a mildly concerned voice said. It was from a young man that had studied medicine for the last ten years of his life.

“Oh, dear, thank you, Jonathan,” said Jonah, with deep gratitude.

“It was a pleasure,” replied the younger man, in a soft infatuated voice that sat wrong on John’s gut.

John opened his eyes and stared at the man, who looked taken aback before looking at Jonah nervously.

“What a scare did you give me, Mr John,” said Jonah, making John divert his gaze towards him, “you almost died.”

“A stab wound can’t kill me,” John said, with a certainty that almost surprised him. But he was sure of it as soon as the words left his mouth. Was it part of the supposed ‘powers’ that came from the ‘Ceaseless Watcher’?

“Well it was a really bad looking wound,” replied the young man, “and it had some uhm concerning matter around.”

“Concerning matter, Jonathan?” Asked Jonah, looking up at the doctor. John didn’t like how the young man’s eyes lit when Jonah talked to him.

“I found some… Cobwebs around it,” the doctor —Jonathan— said, his eyebrows frowned.

“Cobwebs?” Jonah seemed more curious than concerned about it, “well, John, why would that be?”

“Because we followed some direction from the Spider,” John replied, shrugging a little.

“The Spider?” Jonah asked, leaning towards John, who smirked at the attention.

“The Spider, The Web, The Mother of Puppets,” John answered, feeling how the words basically tumbled out of his mouth.

“Jonah!” Called Jonathan, panic spiking in his voice. John snapped his gaze at him; his fear smelled so good. John then realised that he was hungry and that the trembling man in front of him was a delicious meal served on a silver plate, “can I talk to you in private, please?”

Jonah got up and started walking towards the door where Jonathan seemed to be about to jump out of his skin when John grabbed his hand.

“Please, come back,” John pleaded, in a voice too broken for his liking. Jonah looked at him surprised and... Pleased? Before nodding.

“I’ll be back, John, just give me a second,” Jonah assured, grabbing both of John’s hands and depositing a soft kiss on them before leaving. John stayed surprised for a couple of minutes before blushing deep red.

“Stupid Jonah,” John mumbled, crossing his arms and averting looks from the door. His heart was pounding in his chest and it felt strange and somewhat warm. John decided to focus on the room to keep his mind from wandering towards Jonah, who was with that man.

The room was well-lit and mostly clean; several bloodied towels and gauzes were thrown over a table nearby, near a small jar with leeches and several bottles with ointments and essential oils. John doubted how useful any of that could be, as he sat down and touched where the wound was supposed to be. He could feel the soft wool that held the bandage together around his chest. It itched.

John started to undo it, carefully, but he noticed that the wound was already closed and just yanked the horrible cloth from his body after a while. John looked at the scar dumbfounded and frowned confused. It had scarred as if…

As if it had been made by an Avatar, his brain supplied, and John shivered at the thought. It was for the best, then that he had chosen Jonah instead of the second voice of his memories.

“What are you doing!?” cried Jonathan, entering the room. Followed by Jonah, “you shouldn’t be moving after receiving such a… Wound?”

Jonathan looked at the scar confused, before looking at John in awe and terror, and turning to look at Jonah, who seemed interested in the scar too. John liked the attention and he basked on it with a smile.

“Your ‘Ceaseless Watcher’ seems to have given you quite the abilities, John,” Jonah almost purred in delight.

“I’m too valuable for it to lose me like that,” John replied, convinced, “I’m The Archivist, after all.”

Jonathan emitted a distressed sound, as he gripped Jonah’s coat tightly.

“And what did you archive for it, John?” Jonah asked, shaking Jonathan’s hand to approach John.

“Fears,” John said, reaching for Jonah, “or recollections of fears and people’s traumas.”

“So you have expertise on that?” Jonah inquired, sitting by John’s side for Jonathan’s dismay.

“Yes, I know a lot about the fears,” John nodded, leaning towards Jonah. It felt good to be near him, to be the centre of his attention, “and I know when people had had encounters with any of them.”

“Would you like to come with me to my house?”

“Jonah!” Jonathan jumped, panicking.

“Yes,” John promptly agreed.

“I could use his expertise, Jonathan,” Jonah explained, though his gaze never left John, “he could be really helpful in our study of the Fears.”

“What would Smirke say of this?” Jonathan asked, outraged, “to be… Fraternizing with one of them! It’s not enough with the recollections I get you?”

John could feel the jealousy practically dripping from Jonathan’s words. John wondered what kind of relationship Jonathan and Jonah had.

“Your recollections are more than helpful, Jonathan dear,” Jonah said, looking at Jonathan with what John knew immediately was a fake fond smile, “but you must agree that we could use some help.”

“But not from it!” Jonathan spit, “for all that we know it is a monster!”

“Enough, Jonathan,” Jonah snapped, standing up, “John is a gentleman and a human, as you, doctor, have just seen.”

Jonah took John's hand and helped him up before putting his coat over the dark-skinned man, “Come on, John, let’s get you home.”

“But, Jonah!” Jonathan’s next words got silenced by the door closing behind Jonah and John. Jonah stirred John towards the carriage and helped him climb on gracefully. John felt a strange warmth on his chest at the way Jonah had jumped on his defence.

“It is okay to leave like that?” asked John, feeling a little guilty about it, mostly because Jonathan had helped him better, “your friend seemed upset.”

Jonah seemed surprised by John’s words, “he just mistreated you.”

“But he tried to heal me before,” John replied, “and he was quite kind until he discovered that I could be a potential danger to you. He is just worried about you.”

“What a… thoughtful insight,” Jonah commented, “you are right. I must send Jonathan a letter excusing my behaviour.”

“Why not ask for forgiveness in person?” John asked, tilting his head a little. Jonah looked at him dead in the eye, before beaming.

“He probably would be too mad at me,” Jonah said, “Jonathan is quite sensitive, and I might have hurt him with my attitude.”

“I hope you could fix things with him,” John said, and he realised he truly meant it, “it would be so sad to lose a friendship like the one you and Dr Fanshawe had just for a misunderstanding.”

“I don’t think it was…” Jonah started, before frowning and staring at John with renewed interest, “how did you know his last name was ‘Fanshawe’?”

John opened his mouth to reply and frowned, “it just… Popped into my mind.”

“Is it a power of yours?” Jonah seemed to have renewed interest in John, “what other power do you have?”

John simply nodded. His words died in his mouth as soon as he saw a spider walking over Jonah’s shoulder. Something in his gut told him to not fully trust him… Yet.

“I think that’s it,” John mumbled, averting his gaze and staring at the road that led to a camp house that was way too big for his only occupant who had inherited it after his parents and several brothers had died in mysterious conditions. They all had been found with strange objects that had certainly led to their deaths.

The objects had passed through Jonah’s hands first, but he wasn’t aware of their properties until after the death of his siblings and progenitors. Not that he seemed to care.

It made John shiver.

Had he made a mistake?

A Suivre...

Chapter Text

3- Starwort Salad Finger Sandwich with Burdock Tea 

“That Jonah is surely something, huh?” the man comments, taking a teapot and serving some, “here, burdock tea to go with the starwort salad sandwiches,” you receive the plate and the teacup and the man tilts his head, his green eyes fixed in you, “are you enjoying the story?”

John found himself practically in love with the huge library in Jonah’s house. It was filled with books from all over the world in a wide variety of themes, even though most of them had to deal with the esoteric in one way or another.

It also had a fireplace and the most comfortable loveseat John had ever seen, which was the place where Jonah found him when he came back with some clothes to lend him. John could see Jonah entering the library, even if his eyes were too busy scanning the words on a book that told the tale of a rather unlucky fellow. Jonah stayed a few metres away from him, admiring the small ball he offered, too bony to seem comfortable.

“I thought you would be exploring the house,” Jonah finally said, walking towards John, who took a scrap of paper from the table and put it on the book —not that he could forget which page he was in, but more out of routine—, before putting the book away.

“I’ve already done it,” John replied, his eyes burying on Jonah’s cautiously polite expression. John didn’t like that mask, but he wasn’t about to bring it to his host, “your library is delightful.”

“What a curious choice of words,” Jonah commented, the phantom of a smile tugging his lips, “but I should have suspected you would like this place, Archivist.”

John’s breath hitched. There was something about being called Archivist, something dark and deep that he couldn’t decipher yet, but that was right at his reach, as a puzzle with missing pieces.

“I brought you some clothes and drew you a bath upstairs,” said Jonah after a long silence. John nodded and stood up.

“Thank you,” said John, taking the clothes from Jonah’s hand, and trembling a little when he got away from the warmth of the fireplace.

“John?”

“Yes, Jonah?”

“Are you sensitive to cold?”

“It’s more like I find it difficult to get warm,” John shrugged, huddling on his oversized clothes, before smiling at Jonah and assuring him; “don’t worry, I won’t catch a cold.”

John could feel the puzzled gaze of Jonah as he walked away. He found the bathroom easily enough, as his brain provided him with the plane of the house.

John shed his clothes as carefully as he could. Yes, they were bloodied, torn and burnt, but something in his heart told him they were important; he folded them as neatly as he could before enter the warm bath.

A moan of pleasure escaped his lips, as the certainty of never having been in a hot bath like that popped into his mind. The certainty that he had spent an indeterminate amount of time without washing himself also popped into his mind as he started to lather and clean himself.

An hour and a half later, with his hair washed and untangled and in fresh and comfy clothes that seemed too big for him, John entered the kitchen, where Jonah was busy whipping up dinner.

John stayed at the door, looking at how Jonah cooked; he seemed completely focused on the task ahead, cutting the vegetables meticulously. Jonah’s brows frowned as he focused, and he subconsciously chewed his lower lip as he chopped. The vegetables were fresh and had arrived that same morning at the market where Jonah himself had chosen them. The meat that was marinating was shipped two days prior by one of the many friends of Jonah that were romantically interested in him.

After John was satisfied with the amount of data and facts that popped into his mind, he knocked on the door softly, “Jonah?”

Jonah stopped midway through adding the vegetables to the pan, looking up to his guest. His eyes roamed John, drinking all the details he could as a pleased smile curved his lips, “John! I hope you enjoyed your bath.”

“It was nice,” John nodded, walking towards the counter so they wouldn't have any need to be loud to be heard, “what are you preparing?”

“Goulash,” Jonah replied, “It’s a recipe from a good friend of mine. I’m sorry I don’t have the ingredients needed to cook you something from your country.”

“I was born here,” John promptly replied, as his mind supplied the information, “my whole family, from six generations.”

“I’m sorry,” Jonah said, looking chastised, “I assumed since you look so…”

“My ancestors were from India,” John offered, waving it away, “it’s okay, it’s a sound assumption.”

Jonah nodded, focusing back on the food, as his mind worked to find another conversation subject. John smiled at the stolen glances that Jonah gave him.

“Those clothes you wore before…” Jonah finally started, “...are some kind of tradition?”

“No, they were comfy,” John replied, before gripping the cuffs of the shirt that rested at his fingertips, “these ones are comfortable too, thank you for allowing me to borrow them.”

“It’s okay,” Jonah assured, his eyes fixating on John again, something akin to hunger dancing on the silver orbs, “do you have any place to stay or did it burn with your Archives too?”

“The Archives were my home,” John said, hurt, “but now they are gone and I have nothing left…”

“Well,” Jonah started, his voice having a controlled embarrassed tone, “you may stay here as long as you need. In fact, I could hire you as my Archivist so you could help me with my occult projects.”

John’s eyes lit at the possibility of being an Archivist again, “I would love to! I know I have no credentials here, but I assure you that I’m hardworking and I will take good care of your documents and books.”

Jonah laughed, “we'll see, then. I have a good hunch about you, John.”

            -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jonah’s hunch was right, he thought as days after he entered the library to see John very invested in cataloguing at least a dozen of the letters with esoteric accountings that his friends had been sending him. He had already rearranged part of the library to make it work as a study dedicated to the occult and esoteric and had taken one of the shelves to store the statements —as John liked to call them— in the fourteen categories he had devised.

He also had made small cards to reference the statements by number and location so they’ll be easier to locate if needed.

Jonah was impressed with the seemingly younger man —after a couple days he had decided that the silver-white strands on the black mane of the man were due to his overachieving and workaholic self— and every time that he read the extra details that he noted in that scrawly and spidery calligraphy of his he only got more and more interested in him.

“Do you need something, Jonah?” John asked, his eyes still racing through the letter in his desk, as his hand flew through a sheet of paper, scribbling on it.

“I wanted to see how are you doing,” Jonah replied, with a small smile, “and to ask you if you’ll join me for lunch?”

“Sure, just give me a sec,” John replied with a sharp nod. He finished writing something and put the notes together with the letter before standing and smiling at Jonah, “shall we?”

Jonah gestured at the door, while John approached. The eye bags on John’s face had become smaller, and he really seemed to be doing better now.

“How was work?” Jonah asked as they walked to the dining room. John had graciously taken his arm and now they were walking together.

“It was nice,” John replied, with a small smirk on his lips, “those were certainly some delectable statements in between the rubbish, so I can’t actually complain.”

“Rubbish?” Jonah asked, gesturing to the chair by the head of the table. John sat down and looked at the covered plate, his green eyes gleaming so little that it could have been Jonah’s imagination.

“It seems like a couple of your gallant friends have invented some stories so they could have your attention, Jonah,” John informed, his hands loosely intertwined in front of him as he patiently waited for Jonah to sit down.

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Jonah said, shaking his head as he sat down, “their efforts are surely wasted, and I’m outraged for their lies.”

“I certainly don’t understand the need to lie to impress other people,” John added, a smile curving his lips when Jonah uncovered their lunch; two slices of buttered bread, beef salted with asparagus, mashed potatoes, and a cold pudding.

“Well, some people feel like they have to look like more in order to impress,” Jonah offered and John shrugged.

“If you do your work properly and then do a little extra you could impress people more soundly,” John stated, taking his utensils and starting to eat. It had an apparent lack of refinement that felt refreshing for Jonah.

“So you’d rather impress people through actions, John?” Jonah asked, taking a bite from his meal. John’s eyes had wandered through almost everything in the dining room before fixating on Jonah. He could feel as if those green eyes were looking through his very core and it was in equal parts intimidating and exciting.

“Yes,” John simply replied, before looking at the plate in front of him again, “for example, your cooking abilities impress me; you are really talented.”

“I like cooking,” Jonah replied, “you have to measure all ingredients precisely and be in total control for it to be perfect.”

“You sure like control and perfection,” John commented, casting a gaze towards Jonah while eating.

“I do,” Jonah nodded, feeling like it suddenly became an interrogatory, “but I like watching things unfold way more. Making pastries is particularly good for that aspect.”

It seemed to please John, who nodded and eat a little more, “you are a really good cook. I may stay here with you forever just to have a personal chef.”

“You are welcomed to stay as long as you please,” Jonah replied, pleased, “I am very delighted with your work as an Archivist, John; you surely are a valuable asset for this little pet project of mine.”

John beamed at the praise, his chest puffing in pride. It was endearing, “I’ve been doing my best to organize things, Jonah. Thank you for the… Opportunity.”

Jonah was sure John was about to say something else, but let it slide. John seemed to have a severe case of amnesia, which didn’t hinder his capacity of knowing things. Jonah had sent a letter to his teacher, Smirke, to inform him about his recent discovery. He hoped his teacher found John as interesting and useful as himself.

“So, this pet project of yours…” John started, his eyes locked with Jonah’s. Jonah had noticed that John avoided making personal questions. In fact, the only questions he seemed to do were pleasantries.

“I’m trying to get a hold of a commensurable amount of information regarding the esoteric and occult, to investigate and comprehend them to the best of our abilities,” Jonah replied, a small smirk curving his mouth when John’s eyes lit up.

“You are going to need a bigger library,” commented John, almost musing, “there is so much yet to know…”

“And a proper Archive,” Jonah retorted, reaching towards John, but letting his hand a few centimetres away, “so you, my Archivist, can have a place where to properly store and classify the accountings people bring to us.”

“To us…” John repeated, with a soft smile, “I would like that. But I don’t want to impose…”

“Oh, dear,” Jonah waved it away, “you can’t possibly impose.”

“But I’m living in your house, eating your food and wearing your clothes,” John pointed, and Jonah felt a not-quite-familiar-yet-not-quite-strange wave of possessiveness and pride at hearing that. John was his discovery, his guest, his Archivist.

“And you are helping me with this project of mine,” Jonah retorted, smiling smugly, “you can say you are paying me with your work, and quite an excellent work you do.”

“That’s not…” John mumbled, blushing. Jonah had noticed that John loved to be praised, but always got embarrassed whenever he praised him. It was endearing.

“For now, what if you accompany me to meet some of the people that are going to help by funding this project?” Jonah asked, earning John’s curious gaze again.

“Me? Why?” John cocked his head a little, his messy peppered mane swaying and framing his face beautifully.

“Because I think is more probable that they fund us if they meet you and see what a wonderful work you’ve been doing,” Jonah pointed, delighted by John’s self-conscious reaction, “but don’t worry, we still have some days to get ready for the little get together. Later this afternoon will come a friend of mine to take your measurements and prepare some clothes of your own.”

“But how I’m going to pay for that?” John asked, worry making the creases on his face deeper. He had definitely aged prematurely out of overworking and worry.

“Don’t worry about that.”

“I really don’t want to impose.”

“You are not imposing, but if you want we could get you a work so you can pay me back.”

John seemed to consider that seriously. His green eyes shimmering as if looking for some work ideas, “I could…”

“Or you could keep helping me and consider it the payment for rent, clothes and food.”

John frowned and, after pondering a while, nodded, “I’ll do my best to help you out, then.”

The rest of the lunch and dessert were quiet, as they both ate in comfortable silence, lined the by stolen gazes between them.

“I’m going to review another Statement before tea if that’s okay,” finally said John, standing slowly. Jonah nodded and saw him leave, a sort of hunger haunting those mesmerising green eyes.

Jonah hadn’t overlooked the way John talked about the recollections and stories of trauma from his friends, and judging by the way he always seemed satisfied after a long day working, Jonah could only assume that John somehow got sustain from that.

How? He wasn’t sure.

The only person that could possibly hold such answers had yet to reply to the last missive Jonah had sent.

Jonah was lost in his musings, walking down the halls of his manor when he heard a knock on the door. It was an hour too early for Mr Bennett to had arrived.

Jonah walked towards the door and, putting on his best polite smile, opened it. He was beyond baffled when he saw Robert Smirke, his teacher and mentor, standing there with a serious and rather disappointed expression.

“Jonah,” Smirke greeted, as Jonah let him in; Smirke scanned the vestibule with wary eyes, “I received your letter.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Jonah replied, hiding his anxiousness about his mentor’s behaviour, “do you have…?”

“I also had a small chat with Dr Fanshawe about your new guest,” Smirke condescendingly looked at Jonah, “I know you seem fascinated by that man, but all that I’ve heard about him just makes me think that he may be one of the creatures of the Powers.”

“He is amnesic,” Jonah protested, and Smirke sighed patting his shoulder.

“Or he is faking it to get close to you and to us,” Smirke explained, as one would do to a child, “you know that what we are doing is important, Jonah; trying to comprehend the Powers and see for a way to outsmart them.”

“I know,” Jonah replied, feeling suddenly really small, “but I don’t think John is working with them.”

“Jonah…”

“No, no, really,” Jonah insisted, “he does seem to know several things about the Powers, and do have some… Uncanny abilities. But he is also sharing his knowledge and helping with the recollections…”

“What!?” Smirke’s condescending gaze turned into an alarming glare, “you left him around the recollections?”

“He is looking at some now…” mumbled Jonah, and Smirke looked at him as if he had gone crazy, before hurrying towards the library.

Jonah ran behind him.

They got to the door of the library just in time to hear John say; “Statement ends.”

There was a certain satisfaction to his voice and a strange underlying sound that disappeared when John stopped talking.

“Professor Smirke!” Jonah called when Smirke pushed open the door of the library. John looked back at them startled; he was in the centre of the room with a letter in his hand.

“Robert Smirke,” John said, his eyes examining Smirke before looking at Jonah questioningly.

“I don’t believe we have met before,” Smirke said, harshly.

“Yours is a well-known name,” John replied, nonchalantly.

“Professor Smirke,” Jonah said, shivering at the tension in the air, “this is John.”

“John?” Smirke asked, measuring John with his gaze.

“Jonathan Sims,” John replied, confidently, “I’m the Archivist.”

“The archivist of where?” Smirke asked then.

John’s gaze grew darker, “it doesn’t matter,” he finally said, a tint of sadness on his voice, “the Archive was destroyed, burnt to the ground.”

“What are you doing here, Mr Sims?” Smirke had assumed a protective stance, putting himself between John —Jonathan, it seemed— and Jonah.

“I’m helping Mr Magnus with his studies of the esoteric and occult,” John replied, and while his eyes seemed fixated on Smirke, Jonah could feel that he was being observed. He also felt like John was bigger than he seemed; it was like his presence filled the room thoroughly.

“Why?”

“Because I want to pay back for his generosity.”

That answer didn’t seem to convince Smirke, “how do you know so much about the Powers?”

“The Powers?” John asked, his eyes glinting a little, “you mean the Fears? I… I just Know.”

“You ‘just know’?” Smirke huffed, incredulous.

“I’m guessing I used to work with that information before the attack to the Archive,” John supplied, “I’m having troubles remembering the details of my life, as I’m sure Mr Magnus informed you.”

“He may have said something like that.”

“But you don’t trust that.”

“Not at all.”

“What do you think I am exactly?” John asked, his eyes gleaming a little.

“You may be a puppet from the I-don’t-know-you,” Smirke said, and John grimaced in utter disgust.

“I assure you, I’d rather be dead than be one of the Stranger’s dolls,” John spat, “and it’s not for lack of their efforts.”

“Or a spy from I-know-you,” added Smirke, and Jonah could notice a small tremor shaking him.

“I am not a spy,” John replied, vehemently, “I’m an Archivist.”

“You didn’t deny your connection to I-Know-You,” Smirke pointed.

“The Ceaseless Watcher sees through the eyes of everyone that has beheld the Fears,” John explained, and Jonah could swear his eyes were shimmering, “the Ceaseless Watcher touches everyone that seeks forbidden knowledge.”

The affirmation was delivered so plain that anyone would think he was talking about the weather. The mere implication had Jonah shivering. Was he a servant of the Ceaseless Watcher too? No. That wasn’t right. Not that he hadn’t started a ritual for it, but the word ‘servant’ didn’t sit well to him.

“If you want to run from it you have to forfeit your endeavours and stop your quest for comprehending the Powers,” John offered, tilting his head slightly, “but you won’t, Mr Smirke; you are too deep into this to turn back now, am I right?”

“I am so close to understanding it,” Smirke said, earnestly, “I can’t turn back now! I need to know! I need to save everyone!”

John shrugged and looked at Jonah, who felt like he froze on his spot as soon as John’s eyes fell on him, “what about you, Jonah?”

“I want to know more,” Jonah found himself saying without even wanting it, “I want to keep going to understand it all, to watch it unfold and study it all.”

John looked at him and a small smile curved his lips; it was almost fond and made Jonah’s heart skip a beat. John’s attention felt as if the entire world was looking at him, and while sometimes it was frightening —when John was inquiring for something, for example— now it felt comfortable, almost enjoyable as if the whole world approved him.

It was exhilarating.

John’s smirk turned into a full smile, and Jonah knew that John knew what he was thinking.

“I could help you, if you allow me,” John then said, “as I said I used to work with information that pertains to your research on the ‘Powers’ back at the Archive before it was burnt.”

Smirke didn’t seem agreeable to that, but he didn’t seem to find a reason to stand against it. And then there was a knock on the door; Jonah had never been more grateful to Mr Bennett.

“It seems like Mr Bennett has arrived,” Jonah announced, “Mr Sims and I are going to get some clothes tailored for the soiree at Mr Fairchild.”

“You are not bringing it to our reunion,” Smirke chastised.

“You want to keep our colleagues from seeing first hand a servant of the Ceaseless Watcher that has kindly offered to aid us in our research?” Jonah said with fake outrage.

“If you are worried about me,” John offered, “I might say I mean no harm towards you or your friends. As I say, I’m merely helping Mr Magnus to pay for his generosity and kindness.”

The door sounded again and Jonah sent a last look to John —who looked back reassuringly— before excusing himself to get the door. He got back —with a very surprised and breathless Bennett behind— as quick as he could.

John was sitting behind the desk, arranging some letters in distinctive stacks. Smirke was glaring daggers at him.

“Mr Smirke!” Bennett greeted, surprised, “I wasn’t aware you were here, I…”

“Hello, Mr Bennett,” Smirke interrupted, before looking at Jonah, “don’t worry, I was leaving.”

“Take care, Mr Smirke,” commented John, without looking up. Jonah felt a shiver of apprehension went down his spine, as Smirke huffed outraged, but the man simply left.

“What just happened?” asked Bennett, looking confused between Jonah and John.

“Mr Smirke is not comfortable with me staying with Mr Magnus,” John replied, putting away the Statements and looking at Bennett, “you are Mr Bennett, yes? Mr Magnus told me that you’ll be coming to tailor some clothes for us.”

Bennett promptly nodded, shaking John’s hand with his usual enthusiasm, “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance…”

“Jonathan Sims,” replied John, a small smirk on his lips as he stared at their joined hands, “you may call me Jon.”

Bennett blushed, “I- I couldn’t, Mr Sims,” he blurted, “a person of your stature, being called so informally by someone like me…”

“Of my stature?” Jon asked, cocking his head and frowning in confusion, looking vaguely to Bennett’s crown who was at least seven centimetres taller than him.

“Mr Bennett assumes that you are from a very important family,” Jonah explained, and Jon looked between the two before shaking his head promptly.

“I don’t. I mean, my Grandmother was a well-known woman in her high-class bridge group, but wasn’t especially important…” Jon trailed off, his eyes out of focus.

“Jon,” Jonah called, putting his hand on Jon’s shoulder. Jon looked at him, and Jonah felt as if hundreds of eyes were staring at him. It was improbable, giving that it was just the three of them there.

“I’m sorry,” Jon blurted, averting looks, and just like that Jonah felt the tension left.

“It’s okay,” Jonah replied, and Jon looked at him with a small smile.

“So… Mr Sims,” Bennett adventured, “which kind of clothes do you favour?”

“Please, call me Jon, Mr Bennett,” Jon insisted, “or Archivist, if you must. And I…” Jon looked at the clothes Jonah lend him, “I like this kind of clothes.”

Bennett smirked and nodded, “okay, Mr… Archivist, which colour?”

Jon looked at Jonah, nervously before answering, “I… Brown? Grey? Black?”

“Deep green and royal blue,” offered Jonah, “I think some velvet green waistcoats with silver embroidery, deep green silk cravat, black and dark grey slacks, and some coats too. Don’t you think, Mr Bennett?”

“Yes, Mr Magnus,” Mr Bennett replied, extracting some swatches of fabric from his bag, “I think that maybe a marble waistcoat or cravat would suit him nicely.”

“You are right, it would complement his cinnamon complexion perfectly,” Jonah nodded, taking some marble and cream swatches and putting them against Jon’s cheek. Jonah smirked internally at Jon’s soft blush.

“Or some cream shirts or white lapped-tailcoats,” Mr Bennett commented, producing a metric tape and starting to measure Jon. Jon simply allowed the two men to measure and compare and arrange the indications for the clothes.

“Excuse me,” Jon called softly, attracting both men attention, “if I may… Can it be as simple as possible? I am… out of practice with elegant clothing.”

“Nonsense,” Jonah replied, “you’ll get used to them in no time, Jon, besides, you can’t go to a soiree of that stature and partake in the ball with simple clothes.”

Jon’s eyes open in surprise and something like panic, “I- I don’t dance. You didn’t say anything about a dance. I don’t know how to dance.”

“Nonsense,” Jonah stifled a snort —that wouldn’t be proper—, “a gentleman such as yourself must know how to dance.”

“I really don’t,” Jon insisted, standing. He was shorter than Jonah but somehow it felt as if he filled the whole room. Bennett shrunk in his place, his mouth shut as he noted something on Jon’s measures.

“Then I’ll teach you,” Jonah stated, Jon, tilted his head a little, as if pondering about it.

“Mr Magnus is an excellent dancer and an even better teacher,” pointed Bennett, taking Jon’s hand and measuring it, for the gloves, probably.

“I’m not good with rhythm,” Jon mumbled, “I have two left feet, and I’m not good at socializing either.”

“Then what were you planning to do at the reunion?” Jonah inquired, and Jon looked at him like a deer that has been spotted by the hunters.

“I was under the assumption that you’ll direct the talking so I just had to stay by your side and answer some questions?” Jon offered, and this time Bennett couldn’t stifle the snort. So undignified.

On the other hand, Jonah liked the idea of directing Jon around, showing him as his. Yes, because Jon was his discovery, his guest, his Archivist. Although the idea of the shorter man as eye candy didn’t sit well with him.

Jon raised an eyebrow and smiled at Jonah, almost as if he had listened to his musings. And Jonah felt a small burst of panic at the thought of having said those things out loud, but Bennett had made no move to acknowledge what he said. So it was just Jon who heard him?

Jon chuckled, his eyes fixated in Jonah —Jonah could swear to god that Jon had nodded, but it was so little that was almost imperceptible.

“Something funny, Mr Archivist?” asked Bennett, and Jon shook his head.

“Not particularly,” Jon replied, without taking his eyes from Jonah, “just a straight thought that popped in my mind.”

“I may say, if you allow me,” Bennett commented, “that your English sounds quite exotic, but you have a perfect London accent.”

“I must,” Jon replied, “I might have born in Bournemouth, but I have spent most of my life here.”

“Oh,” Bennett blushed deep red, “I just assumed, I mean you seem...”

“My family came generations ago,” Jon replied, waving it away, “don’t worry about it, Mr Bennett, really.”

“I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay, really.”

“But…”

“Don’t worry,” Jon insisted, a strange echo or buzzing sound accompanying his words, his green eyes gleaming. Bennett nodded, his eyes fixated on Jon.

“I wasn’t aware that in Bournemouth people talked with such plainness,” commented Jonah, and Jon looked at him, frowning.

“No, they don’t,” Jon mused.

“I thought you didn’t remember your name, either,” Jonah added, “or anything about yourself.”

“I didn’t,” Jon replied massaging his temple, “I just… Those facts just popped into my mind.”

Bennett frowned, casting a slight glance toward Jonah, who simply smirked at the curiosity of the humblest member of their association.

“Jon has many talents,” Jonah started, “one of them is having facts ‘popping’ into his mind.”

“That’s interesting,” Bennett commented, looking at Jon curiously, “what kind of facts?”

“Random facts,” Jon shrugged, before pointing at some swatches of fabric, “for example, that fabric was manufactured by a young lady that is currently disguised as her brother who died seven years ago. She has been the breadwinner for her family since then, taking care of her five siblings.”

Bennett paled, looking at the fabric and then at Jon, “You know Charlie?”

“I haven’t seen her in my life,” Jon replied, “but she sold you that fabric ten days ago; she was crying because she hadn’t been able to sell anything in the last three days and her younger brother was sick. The kid got better if you wonder.”

Bennett took a couple of steps back, blinking, “really? Jaime is alright?”

“I think so?” Jon chewed his lip, “it kinds of hurt to try to Know it?”

“How does that work?” Bennett asked, sitting by Jon, “Do you know everything about them or just details? You can know what they think or just what they say?”

“I…” Jon looked at Jonah, evidently overwhelmed by the enthusiasm of Bennett, “it just pops into my mind… It’s as if I’ve always known; as if the information has always been there but it just come to the front on some occasions.”

“Some occasions?” Bennett asked, tilting his head.

“Well, I think I’m still healing,” Jon offered, “so my story, my life is not clear…” Jon shrugged, “but some details of things around me just come to me; I have to put a little more effort to get more information and it hurts.”

“Oh my,” Bennett covered his mouth, guiltily, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s okay,” Jon waved it away, “it was just a small sting.”

Jonah watched how they kept talking; Bennett asking random facts about the materials and Jon answering happily. Jonah had discovered that Jon loved to share facts and opinions, and —judging by his hesitance at first— most of the people he had encountered before had silenced him.

Jonah had discovered that Jon had an awful lot of ticks and nervous movements; from the small tapping with his right every time he started telling a story, the fidgeting with his right sleeve; to the chewing on his lower lip, the guilt gaze to his feet or the absent-minded scratching of his nape. They were sort of endearing, but also talked about a nervous and often punished —or at least called out— person who craved attention and validation.

Jonah could use that.

Especially since Jon seemed to bask in his attention as a cat would in the sun after a long rainy night.

“Mr Magnus is a very important person to me,” Jon answered Bennett. Jonah didn’t catch the question but did catch the dark gaze that Jon sent him. Indecipherable. Jonah didn’t like that.

“Why?” Asked Bennett, tilting his head a little.

“He made me what I am,” Jon said, with such a conviction, passion and eagerness that made Jonah tremble.

“Really?” Jonah couldn’t help but ask, a small coil of fear forming in his chest. What did he do?

“I am what I am thanks to you, Jonah,” Jon stated, a hungry smirk curving his lips, “you made me so the world would be ours.”

A Suivre...

Chapter Text

4- Flowering Reed Porridge with Indian Jasmine Tea

“If I might add, Jonah did make Jon,” the man confides, taking a cup of tea and handing it to you, “but we will get to it when we get to it,” the man shrugs, gesturing at a couple of plates of a sweet-scented porridge, “let’s get to the party, shall we? Where Jon meets Jonah’s friends.” The man takes a spoonful of the porridge and sighs with pleasure, “ah, this flowering reed porridge does suit this particularly vast part of the story,” the man almost purrs, “and it goes perfectly with the Indian jasmine tea.”

Jon wasn’t feeling well; the gargantuan manor in front of him gave him vertigo, and the prospect of having to use any of the proper etiquettes that Jonah insisted on teaching him on the last week was even a little frightening. He didn’t remember much of his life —his name was Jonathan Sims, he had lived with his grandmother until she died, and he was the Archivist and the Archive, whatever that meant—, but he was sure he wasn’t keen to parties and social gatherings.

“You are nervous,” Jonah stated, patting Jon’s hand. Jon released the death grip over Jonah’s arm, looking at him apologetically, “it’s okay, they are just people, like you and me.”

Jon let out a hysterical chuckle, “that’s sort of true.”

Jonah raised an eyebrow, curiosity brewing in those silvery and enchanting eyes. Jon liked Jonah’s eyes a lot, they remind him of his Archive, to his home, even if he couldn’t actually remember it.

“I’m going to be by your side all night, okay?” Jonah said, and Jon nodded, as they climbed up the marble steps that led to the door. Jon felt insignificant in the middle of all the rich statues and topiaries that decorated the way.

The Vast, this was a domain of the Vast. He was sure.

“I’m not leaving, Jon, seriously,” Jonah said when Jon gripped him firmly. Jon wasn’t about to lose Jonah to the endless skies, and he didn’t care what image he was projecting right now, so close to the man that he could feel his warmth through the absurdly opulent clothes they were wearing.

“Jonah Magnus!” greeted a man as soon as they entered the main hall. It was baroque, to say the less. Jon wasn’t sure how it echoed so much, but he was sure it had to be because of the Vast.

“Simon Fairchild,” Jonah greeted, with his fake polite smile. Jon hated that smile —Jon discovered that he hated lies just by seeing Jonah’s fake politeness—, but he understood why Jonah did it. Simon Fairchild was their host, and they had to be nice to him.

“This must be your guest,” Simon said, looking at Jon and stretching his hand, “such a lovely young man.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Jon said, a bit strained, as they shook their hands. Jon had the faint feeling of knowing Simon, “I’m Jonathan Sims, The Archivist.”

“Ah, yes,” Simon nodded, putting his hand on Jon’s shoulder, “Jonah commented to me that he hired you to help him with the Institute.”

A faint pang of recognition echoed in Jon’s chest. The Institute, The Magnus Institute was important to him.

“Jon is a very important and useful asset,” Jonah replied, “and a charming companion to make the house less empty.”

Jonah was aware of Simon’s allegiances it seemed. Good.

Jon felt a shiver of cold, and his heart skipped a beat in faint recognition of something, something important that he couldn’t place. His eyes looked around, frenetically, looking for the origin of such a feeling as Jonah and Simon exchanged some pleasantries.

They walked into the ballroom and Jon could feel at least five pairs of eyes on him. He recognized Mr Smirke, Dr Fanshawe and Mr Bennett. That last beamed and walked towards them with a glad expression.

“Mr Magnus, Archivist!” Bennett greeted, happily, “I’m glad you came.”

“It’s nice to see you too,” Jon replied, with a smile, “at least, I’m not the only one that it’s not from a distinguished family.”

“You may not be, Archivist, but you are certainly someone eminent,” Bennett insisted, walking by Jon’s side. Jonah had a small smug smirk, as they walk towards the other guests.

“Barnabas,” Jonathan called, walking towards them with darkened eyes, “do you know Mr John?”

“My, yes,” Bennett beamed, “I did the ensemble he is wearing; marble and green surely suit him, don’t you think, Dr?”

“Yes,” Jonathan looked at Jon dead in the eye, crossing his arms, “it seems to suit him.”

“Jonathan, please,” Jonah said, caressing Jon’s hand, “Jon has been nothing but nice to everyone around him.”

“I’m really sorry,” Jon added, “for our last meet, Dr Fanshawe. I didn’t mean to scare you nor create a misunderstanding between you.”

Jonathan’s frown deepened, “still you came here, in colours matching his, hugging his arm and wearing his cloak.”

“It seems like our Jonah has made a decision,” a man commented, walking towards them. Jon could swear his silhouette was fuzzy, and that some sort of cold or fog came from him.

“Mr Lukas,” Jon whispered, and the man inclined his head slightly.

“I see that Jonah has talked about me,” the man said, “you must be Mr Sims.”

“Just Jon, or Archivist, if you must, Mr Lukas” Jon mumbled, trying to understand why he felt familiar.

“If that’s the case, please call me Mordechai,” the man said, with a smile that should have been warm but instead gave the impression of being overstepped. The supposedly intimate gesture of offering his name made Jon feel out of place. The Lonely.

That was it. Jon felt the familiarity of another Avatar, this one full-fledged and evidently trying to coil his claws —or fog, given the Entity— around poor unsuspected Barnabas Bennett. Jon cursed his inability for connecting the dots.

“I thought I told you not to bring it here,” Smirke said, finally coming closer. Jon raised an eyebrow at the hostility. Really? He was surrounded by people that were losing themselves to the Powers, and he was worried about the only one in the room who Knew the full reach of them? Jon couldn’t stifle the smirk at the knowledge of the reach of all the Powers. He Knew more than anyone else in the room, he could push them so their respective Powers would claim them.

“Excuse me,” Bennett’s voice interrupted whatever Jonah was saying to defend Jon, “if I may comment; Jon has been nothing but kind and agreeable to share his knowledge and gifts. Why are you so afraid of him? Did he do something?”

Jon felt guilt coil in his stomach. Bennett and Jonah were defending him, but here he was, proving —even if only in his head— that Mr Smirke and Dr Fanshawe were right and he was a monster just waiting for the right time to strike.

“He is a servant of one of the Dread Powers!” Jonathan pointed.

“Jon is a great assistant and important asset of the Institute,” Jonah insisted.

“And what exactly does he do?” Mordechai questioned.

“I am the Archivist,” Jon finally spoke, “my role is not of hurt nor maim, but to recollect and classify.”

“So you accept you are a servant of I-Know-You,” Jonathan huffed, and Jon nodded.

“I am,” Jon accepted, “I am the Archivist, and the Ceaseless Watcher see through my eyes as it sees through the eyes of everyone that beholds the Powers and fear being Watched.”

“And what it means for you to be the Archivist?” Jonathan asked, curiosity making him approach despite the fear of Jon. Delightful.

“I am an Avatar of the Eye,” Jon replied, “I Know about the Powers and about the marks they left; I seek recounts and retellings from the beholders.”

“What do you do with such retellings?” Jonathan asked, softly. He was enthralled and was presenting him with such a delicious meal.

“I archive them,” Jon replied in the same tone, feeling bigger for his own body, watching Jonathan fall into his voice from multiple points of view, “I categorize and classify them.”

“How?” Jonathan asked, so eager, so close.

“Enough,” Smirke intervened, placing a hand in Jonathan’s shoulder and putting some distance between Jon and him —they have been too close for it to be proper—, “I’m not having one of you being seduced by one of those.”

“I think that already happened,” Simon commented, gesturing at Jonah. Jon looked at the man at his side and his breath hitched at the intensity of that grey gaze.

“I don’t understand what are you talking about,” Jonah replied, his eyes fixated in Jon’s, “I’m merely maintaining him close so he won’t get lost. Your place is quite vast; don’t you think Simon?”

Jonah’s gaze drifted to Simon, and Jon did the same. Simon shrunk at the attention and Jon felt a small sliver of satisfaction.

“Jonah,” Smirke said, sternly, “can we talk? Alone?”

“Jon could get lost” Started Jonah.

“Don’t worry,” Jon replied, sensing the hostility from Smirke and Fanshawe’s gazes, “if you direct me to a balcony I’ll be there taking a smoke.”

Jonah did his best to hide his surprise, but Jon could almost smell his curiosity, “sure… It’s over there.”

Jon squeezed Jonah’s hand and walked towards the balcony, ignoring the others. He sorted several other guests that had been waiting on the side-lines and made his way to the balcony.

The first mouthful of smoke was a blessing.

Jon wasn’t aware he missed the tobacco so much —he had just discovered that his nervous trembling was nothing more than the abstinence syndrome— and he frowned at the facts of lung cancer that started popping in his brain. He was well aware that the tobacco would kill him if he was still human enough to die from something like that.

He missed cigarettes, but he had only got a pipe. It seemed like cigarettes weren’t that common anymore.

“That’s a nasty habit,” a harsh voice said. It was followed by the smell of the sea and the cold of the fog. Mordechai Lukas, soon-to-be the most powerful Avatar of the Lonely.

“I try to not do it often,” Jon replied, with a small cough, lowering the pipe.

“What does Jonah think about it?” Mordechai asked, in that disinterested tone that characterized the followers of the Lonely. It wasn’t an amicable try to a conversation, it was an intent to keep Jon away from the party and all the others.

“He didn’t know until now,” Jon shrugged, “but he won’t care as long as I don’t smoke in the common areas of our manor.”

“Your manor?” Mordechai asked, and Jon blushed slightly, averting looks and gripping his pipe.

“Do you need something?” Jon asked, snappier than he intended.

“I was just curious about the man that put Professor Smirke and Jonah on opposite sides,” Mordechai commented, “I was under the impression that the only reason why Fanshawe and Bennett hadn’t had any opportunity with Jonah was that he was too smitten with Smirke to think about anyone else.”

“I did nothing,” Jon replied, frowning, “they keep calling me a monster as if they don’t know with who they are hanging.”

“I think they know,” Mordechai snorted, “deep down. But to accept it would mean that they fail so they overlook it.”

“Fail?” Jon asked, casting a glance towards him.

“They want to contain the Powers and save humanity from them.”

“Daring,” Jon admitted, “but futile.”

“Let them be,” Mordechai replied, “it’s their reason to live.”

“It will explode on their faces,” Jon hummed and Mordechai cackled.

“Not even trying to be polite, huh?” Mordechai patted Jon’s shoulder, “should I stop funding your Jonah’s project?”

“I never say that!” Jon promptly replied, “the research and the archive need it!”

“You said it is futile.”

“To try to stop them! Study them, now that’s important!”

“Why?” Mordechai tilted his head, “it’s not like you could fully understand them.”

“No,” Jon frowned, “but that’s exactly why they must be studied; if we get to know them enough, even if we don’t understand them, we could learn to recognize and avoid them.”

“They will always exist,” Mordechai pointed.

“And they will always be fed,” Jon replied, feeling how some of his scars opened, “for us to need to behold them to know them.”

Mordechai took a step back and smirked, “well, I should trust you, Avatar of the I-Know-You about that, huh?”

Jon shrugged, as the eyes closed, “it’s up to you, Mr Lukas.”

Mordechai nodded and left without further comment. Jon looked around, to confirm he hadn’t been left in the lonely before smoking again from the pipe.

Jon enjoyed the way the velvet curtains muffled sounds from the party, the distance being refreshing. Jon was sure he was more than a little bit touched by the Lonely, given his preference to being isolated while working. The familiar feeling that the Lukases gave him only being a confirmation of his suspicion.

“So now you smoke?” Jonah’s voice took him from his musings.

“I had quit it,” Jon said, wistfully, “but it helps with this.”

Jonah raised an eyebrow at the vague gesture that Jon did, “you surely don’t like parties, huh?”

“I don’t, but I couldn’t say ‘no’ to you,” Jon replied, side-glancing at Jonah. A small smirk curved Jonah’s lips and Jon felt warmth spread on his chest at the proud puff of the other man.

“Well, if that’s the case,” Jonah offered Jon his hand, and Jon’s eyebrows furrowed at the recognition of the gesture, “will you concede me this dance?”

“I would rather not,” Jon said, looking at Jonah pleading, “but you won’t take it, do you?”

Jonah simply smiled and Jon sighed in defeat, taking Jonah’s hand and walking with him to the centre of the dancefloor. Jon allowed Jonah to guide him through the dances he had taught him, avoiding pointedly changing partners unless it was Mr Bennett. Jon wasn’t confident in his skill to dance, but the two men were aware of that and guide him patiently.

Especially Jonah, who seemed proud every time Jon was twirled in his arms.

Jon felt the gazes, stares and glares of the crowd over them, feeling uncomfortable and slightly pleased by it. It seemed like many of the other partygoers were not only jealous of Jon but curious about the mysterious stranger that had stolen Jonah’s attention. It made him hungry.

Jon was well-aware that the hunger had nothing to do with the fact that he hadn’t eaten anything before parting to the gathering, and everything to do with the fact that he hadn’t read any new statements in the last week thanks to the dance and etiquette lessons.

Having so many beholders in the room didn’t help. He just wanted to go to the nearest one and ask, and then to another, and to another.

He wanted to hear their trauma, to Know their experiences and feed from it. Did that make him into a monster? Was it truly monstrous to cede to his instincts? The faint memory of a distorted laugh made him shake his head and focus on another thing. That thing being Jonah’s warm chest against his cheek.

They were now swaying gently at the soft rhythm of a slow song, and Jon’s hands were resting comfortably on Jonah’s shoulders, while the taller man embraced him. It was comfortable, and Jon had the vague reminiscence of having experimented it before. A Deja Senti.

“Thank you for coming, Jon,” Jonah whispered, “you’ve made this the most exciting reunion in ages.”

“Then these reunions must be horribly boring,” Jon replied, and Jonah laughed against Jon’s nape. Jon shivered.

“Sometimes they are interesting,” Jonah offered, and Jon huffed.

“When they are not being hypocrite, I guess,” Jon mumbled.

“Jon, if I had known I’ve never brought you here,” Jonah said, looking at Jon. Jon shook his head.

“Don’t sweat it,” Jon shrugged, while Jonah caressed his long hair softly in a somewhat awkward and a bit endearing way. Jon liked when Jonah made non-calculated gestures.

“Hey lovebirds,” Mordechai interrupted, “it’s time to go eat and no each other.”

Jon turned to snap at him when Smirke’s voice raised over all the others; “please, my esteemed friends and colleagues, please proceed to the dining room.”

“Come on, Jon,” Jonah offered Jon his arm and Jon took it, huffing at Jonah’s smug smile.

“He called us ‘lovebirds’,” Jon pointed.

“We must correct him,” Jonah replied, “after all we are just friends, right?”

“Oh, we are friends?” Jon questioned, and Jonah made a bluntly fake outraged gesture.

“Oh, and here I was; thinking that you liked me enough to consider me a friend,” Jonah said, hurt, “after all that dance, I just thought…”

“Fine,” Jon replied, as they walked around the table looking for their names on the plates, “I’ll let you be my friend just because Barnabas is my friend too.”

Jonah huffed taking his place by Smirke. Jon walked past him and sat by Jonathan and Barnabas’ side.

“Gentlemen,” Jon greeted.

“Archivist,” greeted Bennett, smiling. Jon could feel Jonah’s eyes in him and could help but smirk.

“Barnabas, please,” Jon said, and several of the guests turned toward them, “call me Jon; we are friends after all.”

Barnabas blushed slightly and nodded, “I-if you insist, Mr… Jon.”

“Thank you, Barnabas,” Jon beamed, and Barnabas nodded, with his cheeks dusted pink. It gave him a small pang of nostalgia.

“So, Jonah,” a blue-eyed man called, showing his long blonde hair behind his ears, “you decided to invite a servant of the Powers.”

“You have a problem with that, Aleksha?” Jonah asked, harshly.

“I’m just stating facts,” said Aleksha, “confirming the rumours.”

“And what rumours did you heard?”

“That you’ve become acquainted with a peculiar man that may or not be dangerous,” Aleksha looked at Jon, tilting his head slightly.

“I could be,” Jon replied, “but everyone could be dangerous with a proper weapon I guess.”

Aleksha snorted, “well, at the very least he can fight his own fights.”

“And doesn’t like that people talk about him as if he wasn’t there,” Jon added, taking a cup of tea.

Aleksha hummed, nodding, “I see why you don’t seem to like him, Mr Smirke; he is too feisty.”

“A survivor,” commented the woman by his side, “may I ask how do you get those scars, Mr Sims?”

“I fought some servants of the Powers,” Jon said, before turning back to Barnabas, “but, tell me, Barnabas, how is business going?”

Barnabas jumped on his skin, and Jon couldn’t help but incline a little towards him. So full of fear. Jon balled his fist and tried a small smile, averting looks. He did feed from fear, but he wasn’t about to jump over every scared person in London. Right?

“It’s a bit complicated,” Barnabas mumbled, looking down, “slow-moving business, that’s it.”

“Oh my,” Jon frowned, “that’s no good; you are really amazing in your craft.”

“You think so?”

Jon nodded, “yes; I never liked tailored clothes because they often are starchy and posh, but this all feels soft and comfortable.”

Barnabas beamed in such a way that made Jon’s heart ache. The other conversation had moved on around them, and Jon had stolen some glances with Jonah, who simply smiled every time they locked eyes. It helped Jon calm himself.

“You know,” Barnabas commented, “you are quite skinny, you should eat more.”

Jon looked at the plate in front of him, completely untouched. He didn’t felt hungry, or at least not that kind of hungry.

“Does the food is not of your liking, Mr Sims?”

“Archivist,” Jon corrected, before huffing, “it’s not that I don’t like it… I just got caught up on the conversation.”

Jon looked at the plate and carefully took a spoonful of it. Delicious.

“Curry?” Jon asked, a bit confused.

“Jonah insisted that we served it, for you,” Simon pointed, with some irritation.

“I’m sorry,” Jon promptly replied, “I didn’t mean to impose or intrude, seriously.”

Simon looked at Jon and burst to laugh, “oh, my! You can’t seriously think that he is dangerous, Mr Smirke! I mean, look at him!”

Jon looked around, feeling his face warm at the stares of all the partygoers; Jonah covered his mouth with his hand, and several other people stifled laughs and grins.

“He is so endearing,” Jonah finally said, “don’t you think?”

“I am not, nor have I ever been, ‘adorable’,” Jon huffed, enticing some laughs from other of the commensals.

“Whatever you say, Jon,” Jonah replied, calming, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Jon glared at Jonah and his smug smile, before huffing and looking down to the food, to resume eating. Barnabas snorted softly and Jon glared at him too.

“I’m sorry,” Barnabas whispered, “it’s just that you two seem quite close.”

“We became friends a few minutes before,” Jon replied in a low voice, eating a couple of spoonfuls more.

“Oh my,” Barnabas snorted, “I thought you were special friends.”

“The only special friend of Jonah is me,” Jonathan hissed. Jon looked at him and tilted his head.

“So you talked it out?” Jon asked, “I’m glad. Having friends is important.”

Jon felt a heartache, the faint memory of friends betrayed by his distrust. Jonathan huffed and Barnabas nodded in agreement.

“Jonah said you have amnesia, Mr Archivist,” commented the blonde woman by Aleksha side, “Were you in an accident?”

“The arson and the stabbing were on purpose,” Jon replied, “but yes, I don’t remember much of my life.”

“But you do know about the Dread Powers,” the woman questioned.

“I used to work with statements about them,” Jon nodded.

“How do you remember that but not your life?” Aleksha asked, his blue eyes gleamed.

“Jon has a knack for facts,” Jonah interrupted, “but I didn’t bring him for interrogation, Aleksha, Othala.”

“Forgive me, Jonah,” the woman, Othala, said, “but you have to accept that your guest is not only exotic but interesting.”

“Please, be respectful, Othala,” Jonah admonished, “Jon, please, forgive her. She works with corpses and tends to talk only about them.”

“What do you do then, Ma’am?” Jon asked, curious.

“I work with my husband at the funeral home of the family,” she promptly replied, “but I also make some deals for information and secrets of the High society.”

“Othala!” Aleksha admonished.

“I’m so sorry,” she mumbled.

“How did you do that?” Smirke asked, staring at Jon curious.

“The Archivist recollects information,” Jon replied. A soft hum echoed at the table. Jonah looked at Jon with a pleased smirk and a half-lidded gaze that promised a long talk when they got back at home.

“Always vague, huh?” Jonathan asked.

“Sometimes is better not knowing nor beholding,” Jon replied, staring at Jonathan, who averted looks swiftly.

“Do you blink?” Mordechai asked, “or better yet, how often?”

Jon blinked in confusion. He hadn’t blinked? Barnabas snorted and Jonathan huffed.

“You see?” Jonah said, “he is charming.”

Jon glared at Jonah, before saying with all seriousness, “I’m withdrawing my friendship.”

“Oh please don’t,” Jonah pleaded, with an amused grin, “I was just planning how to celebrate it.”

“You must convince me it’s worthy of keeping it,” Jon replied, putting his hand on Barnabas' shoulder, “I’m making Barnabas my best friend.”

“I’d rather not compete against Mr Magnus,” Barnabas promptly said, looking at Jon pleadingly.

“You won’t compete,” Jon stated, “you are my best friend and Jonah is on probation as a friend.”

“I’m hurt,” Jonah sighed, dramatically. Before resuming his dinner. Jon rolled his eyes and resumed eating again.

“You are a brave man, Jon,” Barnabas whispered, his heart beating fast. Jon shook his head.

“No, just a bit reckless,” he assured.

The rest of the evening went on without a hitch, mostly. There was another short moment when Jon took his leave and went to smoke, and Jonah had a sour look afterwards but made no comments about it. After that, the ride back home went in a comfortable silence and stolen glances.

“So?” Jonah said when they got to his manor.

“So?” Jon echoed, taking off his coat.

“Are we friends again?” Jonah asked, taking Jon’s coat.

“I guess,” Jon replied, huffing at Jonah’s self-satisfied smile, “but I can withdraw it whenever you act like an arsehole.”

Jonah nodded solemnly, still beaming, as they walked to their bedrooms. Jon opened his door and looked at Jonah over his shoulder, “I don’t like your friends.”

“Most of them are merely acquaintances,” Jonah replied, opening his bedroom door, “I will make sure you don’t have to deal with them if it’s much trouble.”

“Thanks,” Jon nodded.

“After convincing Mordechai Lukas and the Merkstave of funding us?” Jonah said, “I would put you on a throne, my dear.”

“I’m not your dear!” Jon hissed, but Jonah had already closed his door. Jon sighed exasperated and went to lay in his bed. Some nightmares would make him feel better.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Jon was revising another heap of paper that Katherine —a lovely woman that jumped a little too much and worked for Jonah— had gotten him for that day when he noticed an unopened letter.

It was from Barnabas Bennett.

*-*-*-*-*-*

“Jonah!” Jonah jumped on his skin at the angry reception from Jon. He had just come back home from the Institute, and Jon had practically jumped on him, shoving him a letter.

“Good afternoon, Jon,” Jonah said, taking the letter.

“‘Good afternoon’? Really?” Jon asked borderline hysteric, “Jonah! You should check your correspondence! This is from April 9^th!”

“And?” Jonah asked, looking at the sender.

“Today is 13^th!” Jon exclaimed, “Barnabas has been in the Lonely for at least a week if not more!”

“And?” Jonah asked again, scanning the letter with his habitual nonchalance.

“And?” Jon asked in turn, “And!?”

Jonah then looked at Jon and noticed how Jon’s eyes were literally shining, making his face a sickly green and making the deep frown even deeper. Jon was not cross; he was irate.

“You are going to go to Mordechai Lukas and ask him to release Barnabas,” Jon said, his voice echoing as if it was hollow. Jonah took a step back, feeling suddenly pinned down by a thousand of judging eyes —even if Jon only had two—, and gulped loudly.

“I don’t know if he would agree, Jon,” Jonah mumbled. He might be on good terms with Mordechai, but he wasn’t sure of the amount of the debt and a part of him wanted to watch how it all unfolded. Jon’s eyes didn’t seem to leave him any option, though.

“If someone could convince him is you,” Jon hissed and Jonah nodded, gesturing at the door. Jon stormed out and climbed on the carriage. Jonah tailed behind him, his heart beating faster than ever before.

Was that the real power of Jon? Was it only a glimpse? What could he do with those glowing eyes?

Jonah could only look at the caramel-skinned man in terror and awe, wondering about his powers and the reasons behind the glow of his eyes. Jon was looking at some point on the horizon, and Jonah had the small hunch that he was looking for Barnabas.

“This is not the Lukas residence,” Jon hissed when the coachman stopped.

“With due respect, Jon,” Jonah started, trembling at the fire in Jon’s eyes, “I don’t think he would be eager to help if you are glaring at him and demand it.”

“Jonah?” A quite confused Jonathan Fanshawe walked towards the carriage, which Saint should I thank for your visit?”

“Mordechai Lukas is not a Saint,” Jon hissed, still glaring at Jonah, “and I’m not letting him strand Barnabas.”

“I’ll get Barnabas back, Jon,” Jonah replied, “but if you come with me you are going to kill Mordechai.”

“Kill him would be merciful,” Jon gritted his teeth. He wasn’t about letting another friend of his in the Lukas’ foggy claws.

“Jonathan!” Jonah called, looking at the doctor, “please, could you keep Jon out of trouble while I go to retrieve Mr Bennett?”

Jon glared at Jonah, looking for any lie. But there wasn’t any; he was going to go get Barnabas back as soon as he was sure that Jon wasn’t an immediate danger to anyone. Fine.

“You have five hours, Jonah,” Jon hissed, climbing down from the carriage and walking to Jonathan, “if you are not back with Barnabas after that, I’ll go myself after Lukas… And you.”

“Noted,” Jonah nodded, “Jonathan, please forgive me, I promise you I’ll compensate you.”

Jonathan shook his head, “worry not, my dear friend.”

And without further ado, Jonah commanded the coachman to take him to the Lukas’ manor. Jon watch them go, following them with his many eyes.

“Care to tell me what just happen, Mr Jon?” Jonathan asked, with apparent irritation.

“I was looking through the usual paperwork when I found an unopened letter from Barnabas,” Jon replied, still looking at the carriage that had disappeared behind some buildings just a few minutes prior, “in that Barnabas asked Jonah for help, for he had been trapped in the Lonely. The missive was dated ‘April 9^th’.”

“What do you mean the Lonely?” Jonathan asked, surprised and curious. Jon looked at him when he felt the pull. Ah, another Archivist it seemed.

“It’s a layer of this dimension,” Jon replied, smirking at the tingling and liberating sensation, “it’s a plane where you are, as its name indicates, alone. Usually, only the person that puts someone or something in the Lonely can get it or them out.”

“Usually?”

“You may be able to See through it,” Jon pointed, archiving that information for a later consideration as it felt empiric, “and if you are touched or an Avatar of the Lonely, you could be able to leave…”

Jonathan frowned, pondering at that, before gesturing at the house, “let’s wait for Jonah inside. Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please,” Jon nodded, “do you have faith in Jonah?”

“Jonah always gets what he wants,” Jonathan replied, guiding Jon into the house. It was modest but showcased how well-positioned was Jonathan; delicate wallpapers, expensive-looking accents here and there, mahogany work all over the place, and so many books. Jon wanted to read them all, “if Jonah wants to bring Barnabas back, then Barnabas will be brought back.”

“He hesitated,” Jon hummed, with a little concern, as they entered the kitchen. Jonathan put a kettle in the fire and looked at Jon inquiringly. Jon sighed, “Jonah didn’t seem to think that Lukas would accept.”

“Lukas is a complicated man,” Jonathan conceded, “but Jonah knows his way around him; that’s how he got Lukas to funding his Institute.”

A weighted silence wrapped around them, as Jon looked at Jonah again. It was tiring after a while, but he needed to know if Jonah was true to his word.

“What could possibly do a man like Barnabas to cross Lukas?” Jon asked suddenly when Jonah arrived at Lukas’ manor.

“I’m not sure,” Jonathan replied, with a small frown, “he seemed nervous during the party, and he had some financial problems. I would be surprised if Barns ended up owing some money to that loaner.”

Jon nodded wistfully, ad Jonathan bit his lip.

“Mr Jon?”

“Yes, Dr Fanshawe?”

“How… Why people are compelled to answer our questions?”

Jon looked at the man and smiled softly, “do you want to take a guess?”

Jonathan’s frown deepened, “that Avatar thing you keep mentioning… It has to do with that and with the I-Know-You, right?”

Oh, there would be an interesting evening.

A Suivre...

Chapter Text

CW-TW

Emotional Distress, Gaslighting [Not quite], self gaslighting(?), Emotional Denial, The Spiral content, Discovering Sexuality.

5- Love-in-a-mist Biscuits and Mint Herbal Tea

“You know, dear,” the man comments, with a gleam in his eyes, “I used to hate lies and the concealing of truth, but after all I’ve lived I learn to accept their existence as a rabbit accepts the fox’s existence; we are enemies and they could swallow me, but only if I let them get close enough.”

The man hums wistfully before smirking, “the next part is a bit confusing, but that’s the Distortion for you, huh?” the man chuckles at his inside joke and gestures to the table, “this part goes well with Love-in-a-mist biscuits and mint herbal tea. Those are a recipe from my grandmother, mind you, she always preferred Love-in-a-mist than Nutmeg.”

“Jon,” the trembling voice called, making Jon and Jonathan jump on their places by the fireplace and scramble towards the door. Barnabas shrieked in surprise and choked a sob when Jon hugged him closely. Jonah was hovering back, a small crease in his temple as he watched how Jonathan and Jon fuzzed about Barnabas, and how the poor man started crying.

Jonah wasn’t sure why Jon was so interested in the plain-looking man. Could it be that Jon romantically liked him? No. That couldn’t be; their conversations were too plain and their gazes were amicable on one side and somewhat distant on the other.

But Jonah had noticed the sad smile in Jon’s lips at times as if Barnabas reminded him of something or someone. Jonah wouldn’t have that. Jon was his; his discovery, his guest, his Archivist, his… His what?

Jonah wasn’t a stranger to jealousy and envy; he had always envied his older brother for being the heir of the family —even if he was kind to Jonah and always got out of his way to help Jonah have what he wanted—, he had always been jealous of his older sister for being charming without even trying, always having so many men after her —he still remembered how she had been lured to the woods by a strange woman with too many teeth and blood-red nails—, he had always envied Smirke for his intellect and his creativity, and, well the list could go on and on.

The envy and jealousy he felt around and about Jon was on another level.

He had lulled himself into the safety of thinking that he was the only one for the man, given that Jon barely interacted with anyone else. But the affectionate hugs and the amicable chat they were having in front of him told him otherwise; Jon and Barnabas seemed to have bonded nicely and according to Jon they were ‘best friends’. While Jonathan wasn’t wary anymore around Jon and was showcasing all his usual charms.

Oh, Jonah was quite sure that Jonathan found the Indian alluring and wanted to get into his good graces and, possibly, into his pants.

He was sure because Jonathan had given him the exact same look for the last fifteen years.

Jonathan was now making Barnabas get undressed to examine him, always the medic. Jon seemed shy about that and turned towards Jonah, gifting him a bright smile. Jonah felt his heart jump on his chest; now, now, he couldn’t let himself be swayed by an employee, that was uncouth of him. Thinking of it, the whole situation may be seen on the wrong glasses and result in improper rumours going on about his particularly endearing and charming guest.

“Thank you, Jonah,” Jon said, walking towards him and taking his hands in his, effectively interrupting Jonah’s train of thoughts, “I know that Lukas is a… Complicated and whimsical man.”

“It was nothing,” Jonah replied, smirking proudly. He liked when Jon gave him compliments, even off-handed and/or not intended ones, “are you feeling less murderous now?”

Jon blushed deep red; it suited him a lot, “I’m so mortified, Jonah…”

“Don’t be,” Jonah said, patting Jon’s shoulder —Jonah liked how Jon reacted to his touch; always eager, always comfortable—, “it was your best friend. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help you get him back?”

Jon’s pleased smile was a blessing.

“Jonathan said you are a flirt,” Jon suddenly commented, still smiling, his gaze travelling to Jonathan and Barnabas who were bickering. Thankfully the latter was already dressed again and Jon didn’t see him. That would be improper, just that. Not that Jonah was jealous of Jon gazing at other men’s anatomy. No.

“He is defaming me,” Jonah assured, vehemently. Jon spared him a knowing glance. Jonah felt that Jon’s knowing gaze had too much Knowing to it.

“I don’t like lies,” Jon stated, tilting his head as he examined the interactions between the other two.

“I haven’t lie to you,” Jonah said, leaning towards Jon. He hadn’t, technically. But he wanted to know how Jon knew if someone was lying and how much he can push it. It was stimulating.

“I know,” Jon nodded, “so tell me… Do you treat everyone like that?”

Jonah looked at Jon surprised —Jon didn’t glance at him, though—; was he jealous? Jonah liked the idea of Jon being possessive about him.

“I don’t,” Jonah adventured, “and I usually don’t go out of my way helping others.”

“So I’m special?” Jonah wasn’t sure if he imagined the sliver of hope in Jon’s voice.

“That’s a way to put it, Jon.”

“Barnabas has you in high regards.” Jon changed the subject. Jonah could see the disappointment on the small pout he had tried to hide with a slight shake of his head.

“Does he?” Jonah was curious about where Jon was trying to get with that.

“But you would have left him to die…”

“As I said, I usually don’t go out of my way to help others.”

“And why did you do it, then?” Jon finally looked at him, his green eyes boring into Jonah’s soul.

“Because you asked for it,” Jonah replied, in a barely audible whisper. Jonah was sure he felt the words rolling out of his mouth without his consent. Jon’s powers were so curious.

“Because you were scared of me?” Jon asked, cocking his head a little. A shadow of hunger passed through his eyes and Jonah shivered.

“Because it was important for you,” Jonah replied and Jon seemed in equal parts surprised and pleased by the answer.

“Thank you, Jonah,” Jon almost purred, “you are so thoughtful.”

Jonah smiled proudly and Jon snorted. Jon seemed like he wanted to say something, but a voice interrupted their moment. The moment, nor their moment… Or maybe they were having a moment. With Jon was difficult to know.

“I’m so glad you came for me,” Barnabas said, —he had dressed again— approaching them, “at first I thought you wouldn’t find the letter.”

“It got mixed up with some Statements,” Jonah explained, not caring to say that he had put it there in the first place, “and Katherine ended handing it to Jon.”

“You are so lucky that little Jon doesn’t respect privacy,” Jonathan joked and Jon let out a dignified huff.

“In any case,” Barnabas said, a teary smile directed to Jonah, “thank you so much; I have no words to describe my gratitude.”

“Don’t worry,” Jonah sighed, remembering the talk with Mordechai, “you’ll have plenty of time to get them around.”

“What do you mean?” Jon asked, his green eyes scouting Jonah’s face. Jon had a quite honest face, and that only made Jonah want to understand how he can be so mysterious at the same time.

“Mordechai was kind enough to let Mr Bennett go,” Jonah replied, taking note of the grimace in Barnabas’ face, the raised eyebrow on Jonathan’s, and the frowning in Jon’s, “with one condition.”

“I have to work for the Institute,” Barnabas added, a bit confused.

“Oh,” Jon’s face lit, “I could use an assistant. An Archivist must have assistants, right Jonathan?”

Jonathan frowned, “two archivists and one assistant? I don’t know, it sounds like we are going to end up fighting over him.”

“Nonsense,” Jon waved it away as if the idea of fighting over an assistant was ludicrous, “Barnabas could help us with the library; we do need some fact-checking.”

“Also,” Jonathan measured Barnabas with a gaze, nodded approvingly, “he is in good shape and has good connections in several social circles, so he could do some leg work for us.”

“Whatever as long as I don’t end up in that place again,” Barnabas said, tiredly. Jon put his hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Not on my Watch,” Jon said, and Jonah heard something hollow or echoing to it. The three white men shivered as if a cold current had entered the room.

After that, they exchanged a few pleasantries and Jonah scooped out Jon. They climbed on the carriage and Jonah felt better once he had Jon for himself again.

“When are we going to the Institute?” Jon asked, looking through the window as if he could see the Institute from there.

“What do you mean?” Jonah replied, his smile straining.

“Well, I’m your Archivist,” Jon started, and Jonah felt joy at the affirmation, “and I thought that the Archivist could work well from other places, but Jonathan was talking about how he as ‘archivist’ did his job back at the Institute.”

“Jonathan has no place to do ‘archivist’ work on his house,” Jonah ventured; he wasn’t sure about that, but he wasn’t about letting anyone else get close to Jon. It had been obvious in the meeting that the others seemed to deem Jon as a crazy man, and Jonah as someone foolish that would do whatever to garner their attention. Jonah wasn’t about to let Jon nearby those snobs again.

“He surely has,” Jon replied harshly, his eyes glinting as if the moonlight had been caught in them, “Jonah, really. Why haven’t you taken me to your Institute?”

“Because I don’t want anyone else to look at you while you work,” Jonah replied right away, the words escaping his mouth on their own accord, “I want to keep you to myself, that you rely only on me and stay there by my side forever.”

Jon looked at him surprised. Jonah hadn’t seen him so surprised before and was really proud that he was the cause.

He was even prouder that the beet red dust that covered Jon’s face was also his fault.

Jon blurted something unintelligible and looked away, flustered. Trying to hide his face with his hair. Jonah loved seeing such reactions.

He was a bit concerned about what it would mean for their relationship, though. His words had been almost a confession, and Jon may not like that or may feel uncomfortable about all that.

The latter seemed to be the most probable, given how Jon had curled in his seat and was looking intently at the window. It was as if he was trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. Jonah didn’t like that at all.

Jon was a person to be looked at, to be admired. And it was that what made Jonah so against sharing Jon.

“I… I won’t leave you, you know?” Jon finally said, when they arrived at the house after Jonah had opened the door, “I really like having your eyes on me.”

Jonah turned to reply, but Jon quickly made his way to his bedroom, as if running from his confession.

Well, then it was settled.

The next day Jonah received Jon with hot black tea and some biscuits. Jonah had discovered that while Jon didn’t exactly need to eat, he did enjoy tea and sweets.

“I’ve been a bad host, Jon,” Jonah started, handing the tray to the man, who was still on his sleeping gown. It was a bit too large and clung cutely to Jon’s small frame.

“What?” Jon asked, looking up from his tea and blinking owlishly. He had curled both hands around it and was basking on its warmth. Endearing.

“Always so eloquent,” Jonah smirked, “but yes, I’ve been a bad host, Jon,” Jonah insisted, with an exaggerated sigh, “I have trapped you here instead of giving you the choice to stay. So I came here to ask you if you want to come with me to the Institute today.”

“Yes! I would love to!” Jon’s eyes lit with excitement as he put down the cup of tea and practically ran to grab some clothes. Jonah chuckled, setting the tray down on the cluttered nightstand. It seemed that Jon had been working until late.

“If I may,” Jonah said, walking towards Jon, that was rummaging through his clothes, “I would like to help you to choose your clothes for today.”

Jon looked at him intently and Jonah was sure that the man was looking for something. He wasn’t sure what, though.

“Can you choose it and leave the clothes by the bathroom?” Jon finally asked, taking a couple of steps back from the closet and starting to undo the loose braid he did to sleep, “I want to wash my hair.”

“It will be my pleasure,” Jonah practically purred, basking on Jon’s grateful smile, “I’ll leave the clothes there and will wait for you in the dining room, okay?”

“Sure,” Jon nodded, walking to the bathroom, “be right back.”

Of course that Jonah chose a matching outfit for Jon. He wanted to establish his claim over the black-haired man, especially after last night confession.

And Jonah was exultant when Jon didn’t oppose.

He became elated when Jon took his arm on his own accord as they came down from the carriage in front of the Institute: Jon had shaken his arm in excitement, gasping at the Institute. He seemed joyful and Jonah loved the look of that smile on Jon’s face.

Jonah loved the different expressions he had been collecting from Jon; all of them were so honest, so naïve, so pure…

Oh yes, Jonathan Sims was going to be his.

Or maybe not.

“Jonathan!” Jon left his arm as soon as they entered the institute and practically jumped on Jonathan Fanshawe’s awaiting arms. Jonathan seemed surprised but pleased about Jon’s presence and ignored Jonah in favour to offer Jon a tour around the Institute.

No.

Jonah wasn’t going to allow it.

Jon was his!

“Jonah!” Jon called, smiling fondly at him and stopping whatever Jonah was about to say, “we will have lunch together, right?”

“Of course,” Jonah replied, walking towards them with a triumphal smile on his lips.

“See?” Jon told Jonathan, “he will accompany us at noon. So we can go ahead and see the place.”

What?

No.

He wasn’t going to leave Jon alone with Jonathan Fanshawe.

That man would take advantage of Jon’s naivety and his craving for touch! Jonah was the only one supposed to do so!

“Jon…” Jonah called.

“You are not against that, right Jonah?” Jon then asked, nonchalantly. His green eyes bore into Jonah, dissecting him on the spot.

“No,” he lied.

Fuck.

Jon’s eyes went as cold as ice, as the Indian smiled widely. There was something unnatural on that smile; it was too big, too toothy, and too curved; it was almost distorted.

“See?” Jon said, “Jonah doesn’t care.”

That was a lie.

Jonah wanted to tell Jon it was a lie.

But somehow, the unsettlingly wide smile and the cold almost yellow gaze that Jon was gifting him had frozen him.

Jonathan seemed oblivious to all that, taking Jon’s hand and guiding him to grab him from the arm, “then let’s start with the library; you are going to love it.”

Jonah couldn’t do anything more than watch them go towards the huge doors of the library.

It was as if he had become a statue, or as if his feet had rooted in the spot.

After half an hour he finally moved, walking mechanically towards his office.

Katherine gave him a teacup. It was the same blend he had brewed for Jon that morning.

The cup that he gave Jon must be cold already; abandoned on his nightstand.

Jonah was pretty sure that Jonathan must have offered Jon some tea by now. They should be drinking tea while chatting the day away, looking at the library or walking by the study rooms. Maybe they were comparing notes about the Dread Powers.

Jonathan had a knack for getting stories about them and Jon loved stories.

Oh no.

Maybe Jon had noticed that Jonathan had better stories than Jonah!

A shiver went down Jonah’s spine. And he turned around to find no one there.

But he had felt an intense gaze over him.

As if Jon was looking at him.

Maybe he had finally gone crazy; that could explain his sudden yearning for the Indian. His sudden lust for him

It wasn’t that Jonah hadn’t enjoyed himself before. It was more that his fantasies were more about the sensations than being with another person; the fantasies were easy enough to recreate by himself. He had danced around the numerous attempts of other people to court him because he liked the attention but was not interested in anyone in particular.

Until Jon.

He had been enjoying the quiet yet overwhelming presence of the cinnamon-skinned man more than what he would like to accept. And the confession and Jon’s reply from yesterday just made him even more conscious about the young man.

Jonah was feeling strange and his head doctor was being his usual charming and lovely self with the person that made him feel strange. Jonah needed some help ASAP.

Mordechai and his wife were out of the question. They weren’t human enough to feel anymore. Or at least it seemed that way.

Robert was out of the question too. Because he was going to say that Jonah was an idiot and that Jon was trying to take advantage of him or something like that.

He wasn’t about to go asking Aleksha and Othala for help either; they were probably going to ask probing questions about Jon’s abilities or anatomy or…

Jonah choked on the tea he was drinking, having a coughing fit at the image of Jon’s half-naked body on Jonathan’s examination bed. Jonah could feel his heart beating faster and his cheeks get warm at the half-lidded gaze that the man gave him while Jonathan was tending to the stab wound.

It was completely uncouth and out of character for Jonah to have an erection in his office while thinking about his mysterious guest.

It was completely uncouth and out of character for Jonah to have an erection in his office.

It was completely uncouth and out of character for Jonah to have an erection. Period.

Jonah glared at his tented pants and let out a pitiful sigh. This wasn’t something he was used to.

He had always had a low libido and wasn’t that sure of why people made such a fuss about intercourse or relationships in general —he still could remember when Lady Janice DeCourt had invited him to a soiree that ended up being a giant orgy. And he had always disesteemed love as something that was useful to get people to do what he wanted; love was for the weak.

Jon made him feel weak.

This whole development was a surprise for Jonah, whose pragmatic self was starting to doubt if the ‘Ceaseless Watcher’s servant’ had charmed him in some way so he could use him.

It didn’t seem likely, given the Beholding’s tendency to watch and let things unfold.

It would be more a thing from the Web.

Could one person be aligned to more than one of the entities?

It sounded preposterous and bizarre if one would mind Mr Smirke’s thesis. But there was so much about Jon that seemed to be different from Smirke theory of the Dread Powers…

Jonah needed to know more about Jon.

He needed to understand the reach of his powers; the implication of him being ‘The Archivist’; the reason why he felt as if Jon was too big for his skin; the reason why those big green eyes seemed to look into his soul; the reason why his breath hitched every time those eyes stared at him just to be followed by a pleased smirk; the reason why he could spend hours just listening to Jon reading through the letters and recollections he had read million times before; the reason why he felt as if Jon was still looking at him; he needed to know if Jon was really looking at him through the walls, and if that was the case, how can he be assured that Jon won’t stop looking at him?

Wait. No.

Wait. What?

No.

Jonah shook his head and groaned, covering his face with his hands.

He shouldn’t be wanting to be the only one to be looked at by Jon. He shouldn’t be wanting to find out how many expressions he could get from his honest face. He shouldn’t want to keep Jon just for himself.

It was as if Jon’s question —and the subsequent answer from Jonah— had opened a door that couldn’t be closed and that now was flooding Jonah’s mind with all kinds of… uncouth thoughts regarding the young man.

It was as if the Beholding had put them on each other’s paths just to laugh at Jonah’s reactions.

Wait.

That could be it!

It could be that the Beholding was just testing Jonah, giving him a taste of its true power through Jon.

Of course! That was it!

Jonah wasn’t having any feelings for Jon, he was just enthralled by the power of their shared Master! Yeah, he just wanted more of the attention of the Beholding so it would grace him with powers of the like.

Yes.

It was so simple.

Jonah laughed softly when he felt the stare lift from himself, or maybe it was the weight of having a mild panic crisis because of the misunderstanding? It had to be a misunderstanding. His erection had disappeared also, so yes, just a misunderstanding and his body being a fool.

Jonah shook his head and turned his attention back to his paperwork. After all, Jon was just another servant of his master and was there just to show Jonah the marvels of being so close to the Beholding.

And so, Jonah pushed the issue to the back of his mind and started to look through the forms that populated his desk.

By the time Jon and Jonathan arrived at his office, Jonah was so enraptured by the bureaucratic glee of well-filled forms that he didn’t notice their arrival.

“Jonah, dear,” called Jonathan, tapping Jonah’s shoulder gently. He seemed amused.

Jon was hovering by the door, his face hidden by his silky bangs. No, Jonah, you don’t want to touch them; you just want to see the eyes of another servant of the Beholding.

Jon yanked his sleeve in what seemed a gesture of incommodity.

“Ready for lunch?” asked Jonathan, walking towards Jon and putting a hand on Jon’s arm. Jon looked up as if startled.

“Yes, just let me finish this form,” Jonah replied, amused by the sudden way Jon had looked at him. His green eyes stared at Jonah as if they were looking for him in the room. Jon’s perennial frown was accentuated today.

“Jon liked the library a lot,” Jonathan supplied, always the one for small talk, “I almost couldn’t get him away from it; it was adorable.”

“I’m not adorable,” Jon huffed, snapping his eyes towards Jonathan. Jonah shrugged the loss feeling.

“Well,” Jonathan shrugged, “at least some of your attitudes are; Barns agree with me on that one.”

“I can’t believe you two,” Jon hissed, “with friends like this, who needs enemies?”

“I don’t think anyone needs enemies, Jon,” Jonah pointed. He was quite disappointed when Jon simply bit his lip, with no cheeky remark nor any answer, just awkward silence.

“Do you have enemies, Jon?” Jonathan asked. Jon looked up and pondered it a little.

“No,” he simply replied, a concerned shadow passing over his eyes, “I used to, but they ceased to exist.”

“That sounds suspiciously like murder,” Jonathan joked.

“It was more like smiting,” Jon replied in that matter of factly way that often accompanied Jon’s facts about his past. Jonathan’s smile froze and cracked slowly.

“I’m scared of you,” Jonathan finally said, as Jonah finished the form and put it with the other filled ones. Jon looked at Jonathan and a small smirk curved his lips.

“I know,” Jon replied, cocking his head a little, “do you want to talk about it?”

“I’d rather not,” Jonathan shook his head, “at least, not yet… Maybe after lunch when you stop looking at me as if I were your lunch.”

“Are you hungry, Jon?” Jonah asked, surprised. Jon looked at him intently and then averted looks.

“Yes,” Jon simply said, looking at his hands. Jonah was surprised when the Indian didn’t elaborate on the statement.

Jonathan didn’t seem concerned nor aware of it, because he patted Jon’s arm, “come on, I know a place that will take that frown out of your face.”

The place didn’t take Jon’s frown away but rather made it be more out of bewilderment.

Jonah wanted to say he was surprised that Jonathan had chosen an establishment that was two steps away from being a brothel, but he wasn’t. The cabaret was decorated exquisitely; deep velvet curtains made it difficult to know where the doors were, soft silky veil drapes made the place look dreamlike, the centre stage had several androgynous people dressed in delicate —if scarce— satin blouses with shorts, contorting and dancing to a slow melody that Jonah couldn’t quite follow.

Jon seemed a bit confused while politely asking just for tea and nutmeg biscuits. He ate wistfully, letting Jonathan talk about the thrills of being a travelling doctor and the reason why he knew the owner of the place. Jonah looked at Jon, smiling softly, just to be ignored promptly.

There was a small crease in Jon’s brows as he looked around and around. He seemed concerned about something and to be fervently avoiding Jonah’s gaze.

That won’t do.

“…So, when he got to the backstage there was a strange-looking man, you know?” Jonathan kept talking, while Jon nodded in the right moments.

“Jonathan,” Jonah called, tired of being ignored, “I don’t think that Jon cares about yellow doors popping out of nowhere and…”

“Helen is here?” Jon jumped, looking frantically around. His brows furrowed as he shook his head, “no, not Helen… The Distortion.”

Jonathan frowned and nodded slightly, “I think so… I mean, I don’t know if it’s here here, but know that Minhae is afraid of dementia.”

Jon looked intently at Jonathan before scouting the place. He seemed to find what he was looking for and it seemed to be delicious if Jon’s eager gaze was something to go by.

“Jon,” Jonah called when Jon stood from his chair, “where are you going?”

Jon spared him a glance before hissing, “I hate lies.”

Jonathan frowned as Jon hurried towards whatever he had seen, “what did you do to him, Jonah?”

“I’m sorry?” Jonah snapped, “I didn’t do anything!”

“Well, you must have,” Jonathan replied, “he was all head over heels about seeing the library and then you two talked about seeing each other later and he got angry.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know! He got that glassy look in his eyes while I showed him the library,” Jonathan explained, “it was as if he wasn’t there truly and then he hissed and clutched his arm as if he had been hurt or something; an old scar throbbing, that what he said. And he got brooding and gloom for all the rest of the tour.”

“And what makes you think it was my fault?” Jonah replied, defensively.

“You are all he cares about,” Jonathan replied, “yesterday he talked about how you had found him, how kind you were, how much you cared about the Institute, and how he wanted to help you so much,” Jonathan grimaced, and Jonah was sure there was a hint of jealousy on his voice, “he even told me that he was what he was because of you…”

“He told me something like that too,” Jonah replied, gazing towards where Jon had disappeared a couple of minutes before.

“Then what did you do?” Jonathan asked.

“I don’t know,” Jonah replied, and somewhere deep inside of himself he could only think it was a lie.

“Well, fix it,” Jonathan demanded, “I want the fiery, sarcastic, and overly curious Jon back for the Lexingtons’ party later this week.”

“The Lexingtons’ party?” Jonah tilted his head confused. He knew who were the Lexingtons —they were a very well-accommodated family that had dismissed Jonah on several occasions for his ‘precarious social status’— and was well-aware that they had organized a high society party for all the most important figures in London. What did Jon have to do with them?

“Well, Jon told me about how he feared he had failed during the meeting on Simon’s manor, and how worried he was about you not having enough funds for you beloved Institute,” Jonathan explained, “so I commented him about Lexingtons’ party and how the younger daughter of them is quite interested in the spooky and esoteric and that maybe if we could show her that you do have some interesting things going on the Institute she would be open to donating some of the money from her trust fund to us.”

“And how are you planning to get Jon into that party?” Jonah asked. He couldn’t deny that Miss Lexingtons’ money would be welcomed in the Institute, they were short in personal and needed the money to get a hold onto some mysterious artefacts that Jonah had been eyeing for a while.

“That’s why we are here today,” Jonathan smirked, full of himself, “Mr Kim and his wife are close friends of the Lexingtons family, and Minhae is their adoration. If Jon could help him that would put him in good words with the Lexingtons and they would be more likely to accept me taking him there as my plus one.”

“He is not your plus one!” Jonah snapped.

“Well, if you hadn’t fought with your parents so they stripped you from the family title, maybe Jon could be your plus one.”

“I…”

“Jonathan-hyungnim!” The call shook them from their argument.

A young-looking and extremely pale Korean was approaching, followed by a seemly satisfied Jon. The man made a small bow and beamed at them.

“Jonathan-hyungnim, I’m so happy to see you!” the man said, as Jonathan bowed at him, “this fine gentleman just burst into my office and requested me to tell him about that.”

“Oh my, I’m so sorry,” Jonah started, but the man shook his head.

“Don’t worry, Archivist-seongha had just explained to me what it was and how to deal with it,” the man seemed in an ecstasy, while Jon had turned a pale shade of red.

“Really?” Jonathan looked at Jon who simply shrugged a little, “well, Jon is a very knowledgeable lad; he is the new Archivist of the Magnus Institute of the occult and esoteric.”

“Oh,” the man seemed impressed by that, looking at Jon and then at Jonathan. Jonah didn’t like being so thoroughly ignored, especially not if they were talking about his Institute and his Archivist.

“Ehem,” Jonah cleared his throat and Jonathan gasped.

“Oh, my,” Jonathan had the decency of seeming mortified, at least, “I’m sorry, Minhae, this is Jonah Magnus, Head and Founder of the Magnus Institute. He is also one of Professor Smirke’s disciples,” Jonathan introduced, “Jonah, this is Kim Minhae, the second son of Kim Sihun-ssi.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Magnus-nim,” the man bowed, smiling. There was something strange about the smile, though. A little too curvy.

“The pleasure is mine, Mr Kim” Jonah replied, slipping into his polite mask and shaking hands with the man.

“Let me tell you, Magnus-nim,” Minhae said, gesturing at Jon, “that Archivist-seongha is a very important being and you are extremely lucky to have him helping you.”

“I’m well aware,” Jonah replied, with a polite smile, “he is a very valuable employee.”

Minhae shook his head, “no, no, Magnus-nim, don’t make that mistake. Archivist-seongha is a mudang of the Jihye! They follow what the great deity tells them and are in no way tied to mere mortals like us.”

Jon shivered and looked up, frowning. Jonathan nodded solemnly looking up —probably as a joke— before patting Jon’s arm.

“Yes, Jon is a very special man,” Jonathan agreed, “that’s why I was thinking about taking him to the Lexington’s party this weekend; I was dying to introduce them together, but alas, you know how exclusive those parties are…”

Minhae looked at Jon and then at Jonathan, and finally at Jonah, “I can vouch for them,” he said, “I could talk to Marianne-noona so you three can come to the party.”

“That would be lovely, Minhae,” Jonathan replied, making a short bow. Jon did the same, still looking at the ceiling. Jonah bowed too, and Minhae bowed then.

And after a few more pleasantries —and too much bowing for Jonah’s liking— Minhae left.

“What did you do?” Jonathan asked, nudging at Jon who shook his head.

“I just…” Jon shrugged, “I followed the fear and asked him about it.”

“And he just told you?” Jonathan leaned towards Jon, “just like that?”

“Yes,” Jon nodded, “then he asked me a couple of questions about what he had seen and I was happy to oblige?”

“Well, you just got you and Jonah a way in one of the most portentous and luxurious summer parties in London,” Jonathan beamed and, when Jon’s face fell, he burst to laugh.

They then proceed to finish their lunch, with Jonathan insisting that Jon should eat something besides the cup of tea and Jon insisting that he was satisfied.

Jon was back at avoiding Jonah’s gaze.

And Jonathan was back at being angry with him.

Why?

As they walked back to the Institute, Jonah couldn’t help but feel uneasy about how Jon was acting. Maybe Jonathan was right and he said something wrong to the man.

“Jon…” He called when they entered the Institute, “can you come to my office?”

Jon looked at him sheepishly. It was a strange look for the man, but somehow it fit him and made Jonah feel powerful… And ashamed.

“I just want you to review the Statements that Katherine took to my office,” Jonah promptly clarified, “that way you can choose which ones you want to take home. I know you like reading them before going to sleep.”

Jon nodded, curtly, and waved Jonathan goodbye. Jon was fidgeting with the white gloves that covered his soft cinnamon hands and seemed absurdly nervous.

“Jon…” Jonah called when they entered the office. When Jon barely looked up he took a decision, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Jon asked, harshly. He seemed surprised by his own tone but raised his chin in defiance.

“I did something that upset you,” Jonah replied, “that much is evident. So I’m sorry I didn’t…”

“Don’t you dare keep on lying,” Jon interrupted, “I told you I hate lies.”

“I’m sorry, Jon,” Jonah blinked, confused, “I don’t understand what are you talking about?”

“You don’t?” Jon raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. He was riled up, “or you are lying to yourself about that too?”

“What do you mean?” Jonah asked, confused.

“What do I—?” Jon huffed, heated “you are incredible.”

Jonah opened his mouth and closed it again. There was a buzzing sound that had been getting louder the more Jon talked —Jonah wasn’t a fool, he knew that mean something bad— and now was sounding like hundreds of insects fluttering too nearby for Jonah’s liking.

“I’m sorry, Jon,” Jonah said, carefully, “but I don’t understand… C-can you explain it to me?”

Jon snorted humourlessly, before walking towards Jonah and smashing his hands over the desk, “you are lying, Jonah! I can’t even look at you without having a headache because of all the distortion around you!”

“Lying about what?” Jonah snapped, he wasn’t a liar; a cunning man? Yes. A polite gentleman? Yes. But a liar? No, Jonah didn’t lie.

But he had.

Jonah remembered Jon by Jonathan side, asking him if he didn’t care. And he had lied about it.

Jon had averted looks again, still angry. He was fuming and the buzzing sound got louder.

“I did care…” Jonah mumbled, hoping that would soothe the young man, “about you leaving with Jonathan… I didn’t want you to go with him.”

“Then why didn’t you say so?” Jon asked, crossing his arms almost as if he was hugging himself.

“Because I didn’t want to upset you,” Jonah replied, “but it seems like I ended up upsetting you even more…”

Jon made a noncommittal sound, “that’s not the only lie… You’re still distorted.”

Jonah frowned. He hadn’t talked with anyone else after that so he couldn’t have lied...

Maybe to yourself? Supplied his brain. To himself? About what exactly?

Jonah looked at Jon again, who was fidgeting again with his sleeves and was chewing his lip.

Jon’s lips were dark pink and were broken in several parts; Jon chewed them too much. Jonah didn’t like to see them so broken, it would be better to see them swollen after a heated kiss.

Wait. No.

Jonah had already passed through that. He wasn’t going to get turned on by Jon. That was uncouth and out of character…

But you like him. Jonah gulped, looking at Jon again. Did he like him? Really? That thing that coiled inside of him was infatuation?

Jon then looked at him and smiled softly, “you found the lie?”

Jonah’s heart did a summersault, as he nodded slightly.

“Good,” Jon seemed pleased, “now, don’t lie again, please.”

Jonah nodded and Jon reached for his hand.

“Then, shall we see about those statements?” Jon asked and Jonah agreed, wishing for their hands to be together longer.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Can you remind me why I said yes?” Jon asked, annoyed, as Barnabas did a few last-minute details to Jon’s suit, while Katherine braided his hair in an overcomplicated updo.

Jonah smirked, trying to not dwell much on how good Jon looked on those tailored clothes. Jonathan was sitting in the chair directly in front of Jon and was ogling him without shame. Jonah was envious of the naturalness of Jonathan’s flirting; he made it seem so easy.

“You want to help the Institute, Jon dear,” Jonathan replied, leaning to one side to admire Jon’s ass. Jon glared at him and looked at Jonah pleadingly.

“Jonathan, you are making Jon uncomfortable,” Jonah chastised, feeling warm at Jon’s thankful smile.

Barnabas looked at him and smiled knowingly while changing places with Katherine to finish tying up the green corset. Jon grimaced but let the man slid a firm fitted dark green long coat, and then fidgeted with the white gloves with silver lace that Jonathan gifted him.

He looked astonishing.

Jonah couldn’t help but feel proud of the fact that his and Jon’s suits were a perfect match; it was a bold and loud claim over the man, but it was the best shot he got.

“Well,” Jonathan stood up and circled Jon, admiring him, “you look ethereal, Jon.”

“Isn’t it too much?” Jon asked, self-consciously.

“It’s perfect,” adventured Jonah, taking one of Jon’s hands between his, “remember that you are the star of the night.”

“I don’t like the attention,” Jon promptly said, before frowning. Jonah cocked his head and Jon shrugged a little, “and I’m useless with people.”

“You’ll do fine, Jon,” Barnabas said, “if you do it half as good as you did in Smirke’s party, then this will sail smoothly.”

“You mean hiding behind Jonah’s charm?” Jon asked, mockingly, “oh, yes, I did it so well…”

“Let’s display your charms better, Jon,” Jonah offered, “you are bright and curious, we can use that.”

“I will bore everyone,” Jon looked down, “I always do.”

“You never bore me,” Jonah, Barnabas and Jonathan promptly agreed. Great, now Barnabas was his rival too.

Jon, on his side, beamed while chewing his lip, with a soft flush over his cheeks.

“I know!” Katherine exclaimed, hurrying for her purse. She rummaged into that before taking a couple of things and approaching Jon, “tell me, Mr Sims, are you partial about make-up? It could boost your confidence.”

Jonah turned at her to protest, but Jon simply shrugged.

“I used to use eyeliner and mascara when I was young,” Jon commented, his eyes shining a little, “it was a bit messy, on purpose, though.”

Katherine threw Jon a measured gaze and gestured him to sit on the bed. Jonah wanted to say he was really against that idea, but Jon started commenting to Katherine how he preferred not to have eyeliner on the bottom of his eye and they discussed a bit about how to make Jon’s cinnamon skin shine brighter.

When they finished, Jonah couldn’t complain; Jon looked beautifully with that black eyeliner and the soft red on his lips.

Jonah wanted to kiss him until that red faded away.

Jonah scoffed, as Jonathan offered one of his arms to Jon, who politely rejected him and looked at Jonah. Jonah smiled at Jon who took his arm and gulped, as they walked to the carriage that would take them to the party.

“Just so you know, I hate you for this,” Jon whispered at Jonah when they arrived at the lavish castle-like manor.

“I thought you hate lies?” teased then Jonah, making Jon huff and grip his arm harder.

“This is a bad idea,” Jon mumbled.

“Don’t worry, Jon,” Jonah replied, caressing one of Jon’s hands, “I’m here for you; I’m going to stay by your side all times and help you out, okay?”

Jon simply nodded as they entered the party.

A Suivre...

Chapter Text

6- Lemon Dill Popovers with Rhododendron jam

“Have you ever tried dill, dear?” asks the man, gesturing to a small plate of round bread, “those are lemon dill popovers, also a recipe from my grandmother.”

The man tilts his head a little, before taking a small glass jar filled with a red-ish jam, “it goes well with rhododendron jam… Just as love goes well with a little chase and a dash of lust.”

The first time Jon slept in Jonah’s room was after that party. It had been long and tedious, and Jon had been using a pure white shirt, a green gentleman’s corset with silver lace, white slacks, and a fitted, dark green long coat.

Jonah had told Jon he would help him out of it, and they walked into Jonah’s room to find some ointment to ease Jon’s supposedly bruising ribs. Jon had allowed Jonah to take the corset off and had hauled his shirt up so Jonah could softly rub the balm over his aching ribs.

Jonah had looked curiously at the round scars that seemed to pepper all Jon’s torso but made no comment on them. Jon wasn’t in the mood for talking after the big fiasco of Smirke and company showing to the party to humiliate and discredit him.

After that, the Indian had requested to use the bathroom, and Jonah had graciously pointed him towards his personal lavatory after handing him some nightclothes. Jon had taken them and hurried towards the bathroom. Meanwhile, Jonah got changed at a leisurely pace, puffing his hair and stretching a little.

“Jonah?” Jon said in a little voice, and Jonah turned to look at him; he was positively swimming on his nightclothes. It was, in fact, that Jonah’s nightshirt was being used by Jon as a nightgown. Jonah liked how it looked.

“Yes, Jon?” Jonah asked, a deep purr in his voice. Jon’s cheeks dusted pink as the man looked away.

“Would you help me untie my hair?” Jon asked, tilting his head a little. Katherine had exaggerated when she made the intricate braided bun with Jon’s hair, but Jonah was grateful for the opportunity to caress the silky strands.

“Of course,” Jonah said, gesturing at the bed, “come on, sit down. You must be tired.”

Jon made a non-committal sound as he sat cross-legged on the bed. Jonah rummaged through his dresser until he found a fine comb and then climbed on the bed behind Jon. He started to carefully extract the pins that held the hair in place, putting braid after braid aside. Then he untangled the braids one by one, carding and combing them afterwards, just to feel the smooth silky hair.

It took him more than an hour and when he finished; he noticed something endearing; Jon had fallen asleep.

Well, it was endearing for him.

Jon often slept with his eyes wide open and unfocused.

But Jonah knew he was fast asleep because of the relaxed lull of his head and the slow and steady breath. Jonah took him carefully and slid him under the covers, marvelling and worrying about how thin and featherweight his Archivist was.

He then turned the lights off and climbed on the bed by Jon’s side, who turned and huddled against him, looking for some warmth. Jonah was well aware of how cold Jon usually ran, but it was different feeling the cold hands through the gloves than having them gripping your nightshirt.

Jonah caressed Jon’s now free hair, and the smaller man nuzzled against him. Jonah then had the stray thought Jon was just like a cat and couldn’t help but snort at it as Morpheus cradled him, too.

The next morning, they had awoken in each other’s arms. Jon nuzzled Jonah’s neck before stretching and climbing down the bed in order to get some morning tea.

Neither of them commented about how intimate it was.

Neither of them made any further comments as they followed their well-established routine through the Institute; Jon had taken a portion of the cellar of the place to put the statements on and to read them, saying that he felt they belonged there as a foundation. Jonah worked all the way up, in the highest room of the place, where he could see everything from his window.

It felt right, even if they were apart.

Jonah could feel Jon’s eyes on him now and then; it was like a gentle caress, just to show him he was still there. Jonah loved it.

There were days when the gaze felt stronger; the day when Jon used the office nearby Jonah’s for attending some statement givers. It seemed like Minhae and Marianne had made sure that everyone with a minor interest in the occult knew about Jon’s abilities to get some rest to their troubled souls.

But nonetheless, every afternoon they would find each other at the doors of the library. Jonah would ask Jon about his day and Jon would start talking about the statement he worked on; how it was connected to another, or how the Fears tangled or anything.

Jonah loved listening to Jon’s musings. He seemed so passionate and so happy to have someone to listen to.

They would walk back home, with Jon huddled against Jonah, seeking some warmth, in a soft embrace and at a leisurely pace.

They would dine together between stories and comments about life in London.

They would go upstairs to Jonah’s room.

And Jon would fall asleep in Jonah’s arms.

Jonah would then feel butterflies in his stomach and the slightly unnerving and quite uncouth arousal and desire for the lovely sleeping man.

Jonah had decided to take this matter to the closest thing he had to a friend that won’t mock him for all this.

Barnabas Bennett.

To Barnabas' credit, he didn’t laugh and patiently waited for Jonah to explain all the issues and the frustration it produced.

“It’s love, Jonah,” Barnabas said, softly, “you are in love with him and that’s normal.”

“But I shouldn’t!” Jonah didn’t whine — he would never—, “he is practically a god!”

“Demigod,” Barnabas corrected, before shrugging, “according to what you told me, he is practically a demigod or a chosen one from That Thing.”

“Does it matter?” Jonah asked, “he is all-seeing, all-powerful, and I’m… I’m just me.”

“He seems to fancy you, though,” Barnabas noted, “he lives with you, follows you to wherever you say, he even sleeps with you — out of wedlock, my, Jonah, how uncouth—!”

“See!” Jonah covered his face with his hands, “this could ruin my reputation, completely!”

“So are you concerned about your reputation or about Jon?” Barnabas then asked.

“Both.”

“Both?”

“I’m more concerned about what Jon could think about me.”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“Have you heard what I told you?” Jonah snapped. “he got all flustered and uncomfortable when I told him I wanted him to look only at me! If I tell him I want to… t-that I love him, he could easily walk away!”

“Are you sure, though?” Barnabas asked, “Let me remind you he was the one to fall asleep in your room, and he is the one that keeps going there — scandalous if you ask me.”

“So, then what?” Jonah hissed, “I just go and ask him what?”

“Tell him you fancy him,” Barnabas offered, “you can try to request his permission to court him, too…”

“Court him?” Jonah looked at Barnabas, dumbfounded.

“Yes,” Barnabas nodded emphatically, “you can tell him you find him interesting and that you would like to court him; this way you could try to see if a relationship could work between the two of you, but he won’t have any reason to feel obliged to accept anything.”

Jonah nodded. 

It was a good idea; Jonah was nothing if not a gentleman, and sleeping with Jon while feeling so much arousal and wanting to do so many things with him out of wedlock was not very gentlemanly of himself.

No, he had to do things right. And so Jonah made up his mind to ask Jon as soon as they got back home.

That was why he found himself a bit taken aback when he discovered Jon had left early that day.

When he got home, though, he could only stare at Jon, who was finishing putting his clothes on the previously empty side of his closet.

“Oh, you arrived!” Jon smiled at him warmly, before sitting on the bed and patting the side invitingly.

“I want to talk to you, Jon,” Jonah mumbled, walking to sit by Jon’s side.

“Sure,” Jon smiled, “go ahead.”

“So…” Jonah shivered at the green stare, suddenly feeling absurdly small, “I wanted to ask, I mean, you seem quite comfortable around me and I find you a pleasant and interesting company…”

“I think you are interesting and pleasant to be around too,” Jon commented, his smile growing wider.

“T-thank you,” Jonah cleared his throat and looked at his hands. He had never felt that nervous before, “I… So I thought that maybe you would like to… I mean… I want to court you, maybe?”

Jon said nothing.

And the more minutes passed in silence, the more Jonah thought that had been a huge mistake. Jonah wanted to die, or to be swallowed by the ground, or whatever. He could feel Jon’s gaze on his side, but he couldn’t possibly look at him. He didn’t want to see rejection in those beautiful eyes.

“Jonah,” Jon finally called, his voice so soft that Jonah wasn’t sure he actually heard it, “can you look at me?”

Jonah nodded and looked up, an apology ready on his lips.

An apology that died in Jon’s soft and sweet lips.

It took Jonah a moment to process what had just happened.

Jon was kissing him!

And he was kissing back!

Jonah closed his eyes and surrendered to the warmth of the kiss, letting his arms reach for the other man and embrace him tightly.

With a soft caress on Jonah’s cheeks, Jon broke the kiss and smiled at him. They both looked at each other and kissed again without saying another word.

That, of course, was downright scandalous, so Jonah didn’t tell Barnabas about it the next day and just told him they indeed were courting.

They weren’t, though.

They slept together, ate together, and kissed before leaving the house or before going to sleep. But no courting.

Not that Jonah was aware of, at least. Maybe things were different for Jon and his family, maybe they had different customs.

Jonah didn’t want to ask; maybe Jon would take it the wrong way and they won’t kiss anymore. Jonah loved Jon’s kisses. They were soft, warm, and tender.

Sometimes they weren’t enough, though, but Jonah could live with that.

Jonah could, of course, if he could live forever with the Indian.

And he knew just the thing to make sure they’ll be together forever.

So he got ready to show Jon his biggest pride just after all other people had left the Institute, a couple of weeks after they kissed for the first time.

“Jonathan,” Jonah called, taking Jon’s hands between his.

“By all means, Jonah, don’t do that,” Jon requested, “I feel chastised.”

“Fine, Jon ,” Jonah smirked, “I have something very important I want to share with you.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Jon looked at him eagerly, ever curious.

“It’s a very important project I’ve been working on for decades,” Jonah said, beaming, before adding, “for our Master .”

Jon’s expression was unreadable, which was strange given how honest he was, and Jonah got nervous.

“It’s not the Institute,” Jon said, with some disappointment tinting his voice.

“It’s even better,” Jonah replied, taking Jon’s hand, “come on, let me show you.”

Jonah was sure that Jon would change that sour face as soon as he saw it. He will be as excited as he was about that project and then they will complete it together!

He had never been more wrong in his life.

First, Jon didn’t want to follow him to the tunnels; he seemed hesitant and reticent about entering. And after entering he seemed exhausted, as if the place had drained all his energy; his eyes now were of a dull green and he seemed rather ashy as they went further inside.

And he was blinking a lot. Well, not a lot. A normal average human amount. But that was strange for Jon.

Jonah offered him his arm and Jon held onto him as if he was a lifesaver, his hands even colder than before.

Jonah decided that there was something wrong with the tunnels then. But he wanted Jon to see the work of his life, so he kept pushing forward.

And for some reason, Jon started to look at the same time better and worse as they approached that place; his eyes lit green, shining almost as bright as the lantern they had. He stopped trembling, and he was slowly warming up. But his expression got more and more severe.

Until it got into view.

And Jon stared at it.

As Jon looked at the panopticon, dread slowly crawled into his expression. He started trembling again and his eyes flew through the room. He started breathing rapidly, shaking his head and looking at Jonah with so much hurt and disappointment that made Jonah’s heart shrink.

“It won’t give you what you want, Jonah,” Jon finally said, reaching for Jonah’s hand.

Jonah took a couple of steps back. What?

“You’ll die, as everyone else does,” Jon explained, sadness glazing his gaze, “you’ll bring it here and in doing so you’ll kill everyone, including yourself.”

“That’s not how it works,” Jonah hissed, outraged. “it would look at all of us, and gazing upon us it will turn me into its eternal pupil.”

“It won’t last,” Jon replied, with deep sorrow, “the completion of a ritual is the death of the world… That’s… That was what I was trying to fix.”

“To fix?” Jonah looked at Jon with fresh eyes; fear coiling in his gut. Jon was going to stop him? To which lengths he would go to do so? Had all the things — the long chats, the soft cuddles, the warm kisses — been a lie just to get closer to him in order to stop him? Was Smirke right? Had it all been a trap?

“I…” Jon wrinkled his nose, measuring Jonah with a conflicted gaze, “I come from a timeline where you complete the Watcher’s Crown.”

Jonah snorted, humourless. But Jon wasn’t joking, nor lying; The power that the Beholding bestowed upon Jonah was strong enough to tell when someone was lying, and Jon wasn’t.

“It’s our Master,” Jonah said, then, “you said that I told you that its power flows through you… Why wouldn’t you want for it to come to us?”

“Because it won’t be just that,” Jon sighed, crossing his arms and shrinking a little into himself, “it will stop people from being born. It would end up killing us all… Everyone dying in slow torture…”

“Did it torture you too?” Jonah asked, concern raising over his outrage. Did it hurt Jon? Wait. Did he — Jonah — hurt Jon?

“No… Yes?” Jon closed his eyes, shaking his head with a pained expression, “I… I didn’t want it to be, so I helped to fix it…”

“H-how?”

“I’m not sure… It hurts to try to see that far.”

Jon averted looks, and Jonah could tell he wanted to close his eyes, but somehow the green orbs kept staring around.

“What do you mean by timeline?” Jonah then asked, curious but scared of what Jon could tell, “are you from the future?”

“Yes… No?” Jon said, chewing his lip, “I mean, I come from the future, but not from this World...”

It was a strange concept; the existence of more than one World. Jonah decided to archive that information for later, though; there were more imperative things to discuss at the moment.

“And did you come back just to stop the ritual from happening?” Jonah didn’t want it to sound so hurt and betrayed. 

He didn’t like the hurt in Jon’s gaze, nor its pity.

“No,” Jon shook his head, “I came here looking for you.”

“And what? Are you going to kill me, then?”

Jon frowned, conflict painting his face, “no, Jonah, I won’t kill you.”

“Then?” Jonah demanded, even though he didn’t want to hear anything else.

“Let me show you, Jonah,” Jon then said, “if this can’t dissuade you then… I don’t know.”

Jonah shook his head and opened his mouth to protest when images flooded his mind.

The panopticon rising over the world, at the centre of a huge eye that dominated the sky looking down at Jon. He seemed shaggy, using those awful clothes that he was wearing the day they met. Jon was walking down London streets, staring back at the hundreds of eyes that followed him around, guiding him towards terrified people. And Jon was feeding from it; pleasure and guilty fight on his face as he stared.

Then he could see people dying, screaming in terror of Terminus, and Jon staring in delight while he narrated what he was seeing; there was concern in Jon’s voice and it didn’t sound quite like Jon’s but as if he was impersonating someone else.

Jonah could see it through Jon’s eyes and through whoever the other person was: People were dying but there were no more people being born. The World would End, completely, and there would not be anything else…

Not even Jonah, Jon and their Master.

No.

NO.

“I’m not going to let the world End if I can do something to prevent it,” Jon said, startling Jonah back. Jon was determined and looked at him with concern, “but I’m not going to let you die either…”

Jonah looked at Jon confused, as Jon caressed his cheeks, “I’m too smitten with you, Jonah.”

“Are you?” Jonah asked, “even If I destroyed the world?”

“Jonah,” Jon called softly, “are you going to End the world?”

Jon was smiling warmly, just waiting for Jonah’s answer.

“No…” Jonah shook his head, “but… If not with a ritual, then how…?”

Jonah was scared to finish the question, even with Jon’s hands holding him.

“We’ll figure it out,” Jon promised, “I’m not going to let you die, Jonah.”

“Why?” Jonah asked.

And Jon kissed him softly, “because I want to Know you.”

“I want to Know you too, Jon.”

Jonah was practically floating when they got back to the Institute, hand in hand with Jon, who was telling him some other things that he had remembered about his previous life.

The future sounded strange, but it seemed to fit Jon quite well.

Except for jeans.

Jonah didn’t like the idea of jeans or Jon in jeans. No matter how ‘comfortable’ Jon said they were.

Jonah did like the idea of his Institute being huge and having several people working on it to make it bigger. The idea of Jon being the Head Archivist of his Institute was marvellous; that Jon had entered the Institute looking for Jonah’s wisdom and knowledge to shine some light over the things that had happened to him.

Jonah was about to burst of bliss.

Jonah wanted to kiss Jon until the end of the world.

Jon? Jon seemed lighter and happier now, knowing that Jonah had forfeited all intention of completing the Watcher’s Crown. And was quite chatty, sharing some small cases that he had encountered during his time as a Researcher in the Institute. Jonah was thrilled by the joy with what Jon shared small titbits of information of how he started on His Institute. 

“I remember the day you came looking for me at the Library,” Jon said, “to ask me to be the new Head Archivist. I was ecstatic of the chance.”

“I chose well,” Jonah pointed, making Jon blush.

“I… I did my best to fix the Archive,” Jon mumbled, “I wanted to make you proud…”

“I’m sure you did so,” Jonah kissed Jon’s hand.

“Yes,” Jon sighed, looking at Jonah, “I did my best to please you for a while because I liked you.”

Jonah raised a questioning eyebrow, and Jon winked before adding, “but I like this you better.”

“Really?”

“Yes, you are the best Jonah,” Jon was sure about that, even if he didn’t remember more than a few unconnected facts and interactions. But he was sure that the Jonah that was now his boyfriend —what a wonderful concept; Jonah as his boyfriend— was so much better than the Jonah that had promised him the world. 

Yes, they were ambitious and cunning. But his Jonah wouldn’t just sit back and watch how people get hurt, nor would kill people for the sake of his ambition. Not anymore.

Jon didn’t care if it was just to be on his good side; it was enough that Jonah wanted to be better for him.

It gave him some melancholy, though; there was the faint memory of someone doing just that for him.

Maybe it was the way to his heart. Jon wasn’t so sure about it, but he was sure of his feelings for Jonah. And of Jonah’s feelings for him.

“Jon…” Jonah asked, letting go of Jon’s hand. He was looking at some of the few personal they had.

“Yes?” Jon stared at the woman on the counter by Barnabas, who were discussing the schedule for the next week; it seemed like Jon’s agenda will be packed.

“How… How do you court, in the future?” Jonah asked.

“I’m not sure,” Jon replied, tilting his head, “I remember living with Georgie for a while; we both were into the supernatural and esoteric. She liked ghost better, though,” Jon said wistfully, “our little one wasn’t happy at our break up.”

“She? Your little one?” Jonah tensed, “you… were married?”

That was scandalous.

“What? No!” Jon promptly said.

That was even more scandalous.

“You had a son out of wedlock?” Jonah never thought of Jon like that; he always thought that Jon was more modest and gentlemanly.

“A son?” Jon shook his head, “what? No! I mean, The Admiral was sure as a son to me, but he was a cat!”

“A cat!?” Jonah gasped, “you like cats?”

“You don’t?” Jon asked in time, wrinkling his nose at Jonah’s disgust.

“They are disastrous!”

“They are not! They are gracile and perfect,” Jon protested, “when Elegance wanted body and life it became a cat.”

“Now that’s ludicrous,” Jonah shook his head.

“Well, then we are done,” Jon stated, crossing his arms, “if you don’t like cats this can’t work.”

“You can’t be serious!” Jonah replied, not so sure.

“Maybe I am,” Jon huffed, before walking towards the big double doors of the Institute, “I’m going to go and find some stories to feed on. When I come back you better had reconsidered your opinion about cats.”

Jonah huffed as Jon left the place.

Barnabas had heard, of course, he heard. And Mary Jo too. But at least Mary Jo didn’t go straight to him to interrogate him.

“Mr Magnus!” Barnabas called, hurrying towards him with a concerned expression, “are you okay?”

“Of course I am,” Jonah replied vehemently, “Jon is being unreasonable.”

“Is he now?” Barnabas asked, “I mean, he just likes cats.”

“As long as he doesn’t bring one,” Jonah conceded. Yes, he could tolerate Jon’s liking those feral beasts, sure. But it didn’t mean he had to like them, right?

Right?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jon laughed once he was a couple of streets away from the Institute; Jonah’s face had been a poem when he told him about the cats.

Now that he thought about it, Jonah could use a pet. Preferably a cat, given how busy he was; a dog required too much time and attention. Jonah seemed like a dog person, though. 

Jon didn’t like dogs that much; a faint memory of a huge wolf-like person chasing him made him shiver.

No.

Dogs were out of the question.

Jon perked up when he felt the call of a quite delicious trauma, and he stalked down the street, striding with purpose in search of a meal.

The tunnels had tired him too much, the mere staying there had depleted him as it if had severed his connection with the Eye for a while. And the memories had been too much too; he had tried to Know more and better, and now he was tired and ravenous.

And the young-looking boy that was standing in the doorstep of a shop, looking at the sky nervously, smelled delicious.

“Good afternoon,” Jon greeted, approaching the young man, “you seem to need some help.”

“W-who are you?” the kid looked at him frightened, and Jon had to physically stop himself from opening the boy’s mind and extracting the trauma forcefully.

“I’m Jon,” Jon said softly, “I’m the Archivist of the Magnus Institute.”

“The Magnus Institute?”

“Yes, it’s an Institute dedicated to studying the supernatural and occult.”

“S-so you believe in… In ghost stories?” The kid asked, hope lit his eyes.

“Yes.”

“And what about monsters?”

“I do,” Jon smirked, sitting by his side, “I’ve Seen monsters.”

“Really?” the kid seemed scared of the prospect and also in awe at Jon’s claims.

“Really,” Jon took off one of his gloves and showed him his burnt hand, “I know plenty about them; I can help you with the problem you have.”

The kid took Jon’s hand and looked at it, “you could? Really?”

“Why don’t you tell me your story?” Jon asked, his voice echoing a little. 

The kid looked up and started telling Jon his story.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jonah really hoped that Jon hadn’t been serious about they being done for such a minimal discussion.

Maybe that was why he felt so grateful when Jon came back; Jon was grinning when he entered Jonah’s office, with a bundle of sheets in his arms.

Jonah smiled at Jon, walking towards him to take a peek at the bundle in Jon’s arms. As soon as Jonah saw a furred head perking up his smile faltered.

“No,” Jonah said, “No, no, no way, Jon. I refuse.”

“Just look at her, she is beautiful!” Jon cooed, showing him the small ball of matted and shaggy fur that looked at him with its yellow eyes before hissing. The thing was missing a fang, had several bald spots and scars that talked about a life of fights, and had a bitten ear.

“Jon, dear,” Jonah called, “I think you need some glasses because that thing is not even pretty.”

“She is not a thing,” Jon replied, hugging the furball and rubbing their faces together. Gross, “she is a beautiful little lady.”

“That’s not a lady, Jon,” Jonah huffed, “it’s a disaster.”

“Victoria is a lady,” Jon insisted, as the small animal purred against his cheek, “she just needs a small bath… Like I did.”

Jonah frowned, “just a bath… Then you’ll send her away.”

“Away?” Jon pouted, “I can’t leave her in the streets!”

“Then find it a home,” Jonah replied and Jon smiled.

“So she can stay?”

“Just until you find her a home,” Jonah said harshly.

He didn’t expect Jon to hug him and kiss him softly, “thank you, Jonah, you won’t regret it.”

Jonah started to regret it the moment the little thing jumped from Jon’s arms to his desk and started playing with his stationery.

Jon looked at the cat and laughed, taking a pen and playing with her.

Jonah gasped at the huge grin on Jon’s face; not tainted by a green glow, nor by melancholy or unfathomable sadness. There was pure joy in Jon’s eyes and Jonah wanted more; to see more of that expression on Jon’s face.

Maybe having that little monster around wasn’t so bad.

“Mroooow!” the thing called before jumping over Jonah and clawing at his suit.

No. The thing was horrible and the fastest it was out of Jonah’s life the better.

A suivre...

Chapter Text

7- Dog Rose Tea with Chocolate Macaroons with Violet filling 

“I hope you are not too prude, my dear,” the man interrupts, serving more tea and handing you a plate with macaroons. You have been feeling dizzy and a bit tired, but the story is too enthralling to interrupt.

 “The next part has a few sensual bits,” the man winks, taking one of the macaroons, “I guess it’s just proper to side this part with chocolate macaroons with violet filling and dog rose tea, don’t you think?”

Jonah groaned when the small fur ball climbed on his desk for the umpteenth time that day. The evil thing purred as she left paw prints all over his paperwork; it seemed like it had been playing in the trees of the courtyard.

Jonah made an attempt to grab it by the scrub, just to earn a couple of hisses and a small bite.

“Get away, monster,” Jonah hissed, trying to get it away from his desk.

“Victoria is not a monster,” Jon chastised, caressing the fluffy head of the cat, “she is a beautiful Lady, ain’t you, Lady Victoria?”

The cat mewled, purring and puffing her chest. She was using one of the green velvet ribbons that Jonah had buy for Jon’s hair —Jon had made his best to tie it in a bow and had failed ever so slightly— and now sported a small silver plaque with a green gemstone and the crest of the institute.

So much for not taking her in; after a couple months Jonah had stopped asking Jon how the search for a home for the little thing: Jon always made noncommittal sounds about it and did his best to avoid the subject.

Well, at the very least Jon kept her clean and somewhat decent.

“Can you please take Lady Victoria with you?” Jonah requested, trying hard to not snap at the cat that now was biting one of his quills at her contempt.

“The library is no place for a cat, Jonah,” Jon shook his head, “besides miss Herbert is allergic to sweet Lady Victoria.”

“My office is not a place for a cat either, Jon,” Jonah hummed, “I have very important documents I need to get signed and in place, and your ‘sweet Lady Victoria’ keeps walking all over the place.”

“She is just trying to help, Jonah,” Jon pouted, taking the thing in his arms and caressing her crooked ear, “right, Lady Victoria? You are trying to help daddy Jonah, yes? You are so kind and considerate, trying to make your father smile with your curly little whiskers. He works too much, doesn’t he? He needs help to not overwork himself.”

Jonah couldn’t help but smile at the way Jon talked to the cat, as if it were a young lady or something. Then Jon’s words caught up.

“Daddy Jonah?” Jonah asked, feeling his heart skip a beat. They hadn’t talk about their relationship in a while, even if they do sleep together and kissed every so often.

“Yes,” Jon beamed, “I’m ‘Dad Jon’ and you are ‘Daddy Jonah’, right Lady Victoria?”

The cat purred, climbing on Jon’s shoulders.

“So she is our daughter?” Jonah asked, doing his best to not smile. It sounded nice; to have a family with Jon.

“Yes,” Jon blushed a little, as he carded the cat’s hair.

“Fair enough,” Jonah sighed, “but please take our daughter with you, I really need to figure this out so we can live comfortably while doing what we like.”

Jon nodded, caressing the cat, “fine, but please don’t overexert yourself, Jonah.”

“That’s my line, Jon,” Jonah replied, walking towards the other man, “you are such a marvellous Archivist; helping so much for my Ivory tower of knowledge to grow and prosper.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Jon blushed, smirking and averting looks, “I’m more than happy to help you out, Jonah.”

Jonah caressed Jon’s cheek and glared at the fluffy thing that now was rubbing herself against his hand, “what if we take a break then, Jon?”

“A break?” Jon looked at Jonah confused, “I’m sorry I’m not following?”

“Yes, you and I, let’s go out for a while.”

Jon tilted his head to one side and the other, as if measuring it, “to where? Another party?”

“No,” Jonah shook his head, “no more parties for a while.”

Jon relaxed a little and Jonah sighed fondly. Jon was good at getting the right people’s attention, but he dreaded to talk with them or to go to the pompous parties. It was obvious that in his original home there hadn’t been any etiquette lessons nor training for high society, but his perks, quirks, and gifts made more than enough for it.

But Jonah didn’t want to use Jon as cheap entertainment to get money, no.

Nor he wanted the other lesser humans to know the true reach of his powers and the true meaning of his gifts.

But now that he thought about it, they had passed more than a few years together now; they were practically at the end of a proper courting period —have they been courting properly, of course, but Jonah was pass of the embarrassment that their uncouth behaviour could cause him— and they had spent more of those years nurturing the Institute and fulfilling Jonah’s dream of getting closer to their Master.

But they haven’t spent time together just for the sake of spending time together; they went to parties to get funds for the Institute, they went to the Institute to organize and understand more, they went to the house to rest, to the library to research.

Even their tea parties —scarce as Jon was more practical and rather have tea by his side when working and not indulging in the simplistic pleasure of sitting down to drink tea and talk— were mostly to talk about Jon’s new discoveries and memories, or Jonah’s plans for the future and questions to work in.

But they didn’t just bask on each other’s presence beyond those time when they worked together in silence, just enjoying the quiet company.

“Can I tempt you to a walk for the city?” offered Jonah, smiling at Jon.

“To where?”

“Just walk around, maybe go to a tea shop or to a park.”

“You mean…” Jon’s eyebrows furrowed, “like a date?”

“A date?” Jonah wondered, smirking at Jon’s blush, “you want to go on a date? What do you do on a date?”

“I… I’m not sure,” Jon frowned, “I… I never was good at dating; Georgie and I just went to school together and then moved on together? And… After that I’m not quite sure…”

“So you don’t know about dates?”

“I read about them,” Jon promptly answered, properly upset, “I just didn’t care much about that… Dating wasn’t a priority for me.”

“But maybe for the people around you?” Jonah offered, “you do have certain charm.”

Jon laughed humourlessly, “I really think that you have a serious mental problem, Jonah. I’m not boyfriend material.”

Jonah frowned at the concept, “what’s boyfriend material?”

“You know,” Jon shrugged, “the type of man that cares about you, that is strong and charismatic, that put you over everything, that is always there and make you feel happy and safe…”

Jonah’s frown deepened, as he sat again considering the information that a now nervous and fidgeting Jon had just disclosure for him.

“Is that what you want?” Jonah finally ask.

“What?” Jon looked up, surprised. For a being with endless knowledge, Jon was certainly easy to surprise. Jonah find that lovely.

“Do you want someone like that, in your life?” Jonah asked again, enjoying the quick succession of expressions in Jon’s face: surprise, disgust, wonder, anger, melancholy, surprise, fondness, confusion. So honest.

“I… I already have you,” Jon then said, tilting his head a little, with a chastised look that made Jonah felt inadequate. Jon thought that about him?

Jon balled his fists and averted looks, focusing on Victoria. Then Jon spoke again, “but… You would want something else?”

“Something else?” Jonah was lost now.

“You know… Someone better… More fit for you,” Jon mumbled, looking down. He was trying to look as small and unassuming as possible.

“Excuse me?” Jonah looked at Jon in utter disbelief, “someone more fit for me?”

Jon blushed deeply, “yes… a noble or someone of your stature, that can help you better…”

“Help me better?” Jonah asked, outraged, “what on Earth is that supposed to mean? You are literally an Avatar of the I-Know-You!”

“The Ceaseless Watcher’s Archivist, technically,” Jon mumbled.

“Exactly!” Jonah jumped, “you are practically a demigod! Chosen by our Master to Behold and to Know!”

Jon shrunk more, as if those words had just physically hurt him. His eyes glistened as if he had just remembered something unpleasant.

“Still…” Jon said softly, “I’m not that good… I barely remember my life, I traumatize people to keep living, I’m a Monster!”

“A Monster?” Jonah tilted his head, confused. He had heard those words directed at Jon too many times now and he couldn’t help but feel rage at them, “you are not a monster, Jon.”

“I am!” Jon snapped, his green eyes shining as bright as a couple of suns, “I AM A MONSTER OF THE BEHOLDING! I FEED ON PEOPLE’S TRAUMAS I FEED ON THE FEARS THAT WE COLLECT ON THE INSTITUTE! I ENDED THE WORLD!”

Jonah hadn’t seen Jon cry before.

Jonah felt guilty for revelling on Jon’s pained expression and broken sobs. Jonah wasn’t sure what Jon had just remembered, but it seemed to hurt him more than any other thing that they had gone through in the last two decades together.

“Jon… That’s…”

“I did the Watcher’s Crown…” Jon mumbled, hugging himself and clawing, “I… I was the one to bring the Ceaseless Watcher to our World… It was my fault.”

“But you said I…” Jonah wasn’t understanding anything, and it made him angry. But he needed to keep his anger in check, for Jon.

“It was your plan,” Jon said, looking straight at Jonah’s soul, “you prepared everything, you prepared me… But it was me who completed the ritual.”

“So we did it together?” Jonah almost beamed, but his smile faltered as soon as he could see betrayal in Jon’s eyes. Jon’s expression made it sound like a horrible thing, to complete a ritual together. Had he forced Jon? But… Why? Jon seemed so eager to help him there, so… what could have possibly happened?

“Sort of…” Jon looked down again, and suddenly Jonah saw how much he had suffered: his face was filled with worry lines and those round puckered scars now seemed starker against his velvety skin. The silver and white locks of hair that peppered his head talked about years of suffering and pain. The deep bags under the green eyes and the sunken beneath them talked of nights without rest and relentless working. His thin frame and thin and scarred hands talked of a life of work and missed meals.

How much had Jon suffered?

The eyes were the harder to look.

There was so much pain, confusion, betrayal and hurt. It was as if Jon had lived thousands of years filled with terrors and suffering.

Maybe that was the case.

And it was all his fault.

The realization hit Jonah like a bludgeoning ball; all those scars, worry lines, white hairs, eye bags and suffering were his fault.

He forced Jon into that.

And Jon had fallen in love with him.

That was fucked up.

Really fucked up.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Jonah mumbled, breaking the thin layer of silence that had frozen them in place.

Jon startled, looking at him in fear and confusion.

“I’m sorry, Jon,” Jonah repeated, “I… I destroyed your life… I destroyed you.”

Jon just stared, no green light, no expression, just a blank stare. Jonah suddenly felt like a small insect being nailed to a board for further examination. He didn’t like not knowing what was going on with Jon, and that blank stare just helped him remember that Jon was less a human and more a creature of the Powers. A creature of the Powers that he had created out of an awkward workaholic kid that probably just had been at the wrong place at the wrong moment.

“And I’m sorry,” Jonah continued, when he noticed that Jon wasn’t about saying anything… Or breathing or blinking or doing anything remotely human, “I… I don’t know how much was intentional, nor the magnitude and details of what I did to you, but… I’m sorry I hurt you, Jon… If… If there’s anything I could do to fix this or… to at least make it better…”

Jon took a couple of steps forward as Jonah trailed off. Jonah prepared himself for a fight; for hits or screams.

He wasn’t prepared for what Jon did.

Jon leaned forward and let his head rest on Jonah’s shoulder.

“You are already fixing it,” Jon whispered, hugging Jonah’s waist and hiding his face on Jonah’s neck. Jon felt cold, as always, but there was a sort of unnaturalness that he hadn’t noticed before, almost as the one that followed the Lukases around.

“Really?” He managed to ask, as Jon leaned more into his tall frame.

“Yes, and you always know how to cheer me up,” Jon sighed, as if he had just find his place in the world. Jonah liked that idea; that Jon’s place was by his side, on his arms.

“I better do,” Jonah smiled, embracing Jon and caressing his hair tenderly, “you deserve all the love and adoration of the world, Jon.”

“I don’t want it,” Jon replied, “I only want yours.”

Jonah’s heart somersaulted at that, and he didn’t even think before replying:

“You have it all.”

Jonah hadn’t cried in years, and wasn’t quite sure why he was crying, but it felt good. Probably because of Jon’s thin frame tightly tugged in his arms, or maybe because of the declaration they just shared. Jonah wasn’t sure why he had denied it so much; he was completely in love with the man in his arms.

Jonah wasn’t sure either how many minutes, hours or days they just passed like that; in the arms of the other, basking on their mutual presence. Until he finally mustered the courage to talk.

“Jon,” he tried, softly, and smiled when Jon looked up, “what do you think about a walk in the park?”

“A walk in the park?”

“Yes… As our first date,” Jonah proposed, enjoying how Jon started to process those words.

Jon blinked at him and nodded slowly, “a walk in the park sounds lovely.”

Jonah smiled at Jon, and felt his heart jump when Jon carefully cleaned the tears from his face.

“Jonah…” Jon called, softly.

“Yes, Jon?” Jonah, asked as Jon blinked slowly.

“I don’t blame you,” Jon spoke softly, but there was a seriousness on his eyes and tone that made Jonah shut his mouth and wait for him to continue, “it wasn’t you who tricked me into joining the Beholding; it wasn’t you who sent me blindly towards the danger with the hope that I could survive and muster what was needed for the ritual; it wasn’t you who scarred and marked me through others; it wasn’t you who left and made my friends die; it wasn’t you who ruined my life, Jonah.”

“I thought…” Jonah started and Jon shook his head.

“It was a Jonah Magnus who did all that,” Jon answered the unspoken question, “but it wasn’t you; as I cannot and will not ever forgive him for what he did to me, I cannot nor will blame you for what he did. You are you and he is he.”

It wasn’t the first time Jonah had initiate a kiss with Jon, but it was definitely one of his favourite times.

Especially for how Jon had just surrendered to him completely, as if the acceptance of the other Jonah and what they had talked about had just freed him from the weight of the world —for what Jonah knew, it could be.

Few minutes after they were walking down Regent’s Park, arm in arm as they commented Barnabas’ latest occurrence.

“So he was talking about Jonathan,” Jon added, snorting, “but Jonathan wasn’t aware at all and Katherine was about to burst out of laughter!”

“Jonathan is very good at finding interesting things,” Jonah replied.

“A good hufflepuff…” Jon nodded and Jonah raised an eyebrow at the strange comment.

“But he is surely bad at making connection between those things,” Jonah hummed and Jon shrugged.

“That’s one of the things about the Beholding; you can see it all, but the connections won’t appear easily because of all the information you are getting.”

“It sounds complicated,” Jonah frowned, “how are you going to understand things if you can’t make connections?”

“The Ceaseless Watchers care not for understanding,” Jon stated, “it cares for knowledge and witnessing.”

“That sounds dumb,” Jonah commented and Jon laughed.

“It does, right?” Jon agreed, “how are you supposed to know if you don’t understand? Then again I don’t understand half of the things that I know and it scares me so I guess that’s the point?”

“I thought that if you were a servant of the Dread Powers they won’t feed from you?” Jonah asked and Jon shrugged.

“They feed through us, as their servants,” Jon offered, “Our fear is more focused and can be used as a tool to canalize other people’s fears to feed from.”

“And that’s why Jonathan is so oblivious of himself?” Jonah asked and Jon gave a tentative nod.

“I think we all are,” Jon added, leaning so his head would rest on Jonah’s shoulder.

Jonah smiled at the act, caressing Jon’s hand over the gloves. The cold breeze of a London afternoon making Jon huddle against Jonah more than usual.

“Oh, look how lovely they look!” a girl not far away commented, “I wish, dearest, that we will be like that once we marry.”

Marry.

Jonah felt a lump form in his throat. They looked as a married couple?

They weren’t even courting properly and now people thought about them as a married couple!

How scandalous! They lived together, kissed and walked around without a chaperone!

That was horribly improper! What would his Mother thought about it? What would his friends and acquaintances? The investors of the Institute?

Such a behaviour could socially ruin him! What was he thinking!?

“You know?” Jon looked up and Jonah noticed that Jon had asked him a question.

“Yes?” Jonah mumbled and Jon hummed.

“I mean, it is lovely, isn’t it?” Jon insisted, and Jonah chose to nod, hoping that Jon would give him more clues to know what he had ignored while he was panicking about their scandalous relationship.

“A nice walk in the park together,” Jon added, “it sounds date like, right?”

“Yes,” Jonah agreed, trying to figure out what was making Jon so distressed about it. Jon was difficult to read and his mind was complicated to know because it was always swirling with so much information.

“Should we be doing something else, though?” Jon frowned, “what makes a date a ‘date’? I mean what differentiate this from any walk back home?”

Oh, so it was it? Jon wasn’t sure about this whole dating thing —it wasn’t proper. A date sounded like courting and it should include a chaperone to prevent them from doing uncouth things like kissing or sleeping together out of wedlock!

“A chaperone?” Jon asked and Jonah covered his mouth. Did he say all that out loud? Jon shook his head, chastised, “I’m sorry, you were thinking too loud… I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“It’s okay,” Jonah said, but none of them believed it. Jonah liked his privacy and Jon knew that perfectly well.

“So you think we are missing a chaperone?” Jon asked, tentatively.

“No… I don’t know, did your dates had chaperones?” Jonah asked in time and Jon frowned before shaking his head.

“No, I don’t think so…” Jon sighed, “then what are we missing?”

“Romance?” Jonah offered and Jon looked at him confused, “you know like… My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight, for the ends of being and ideal grace…”

“Sonnet 43, Elizabeth Barrett Browning,” Jon hummed, “so we should tell each other sonnets?”

“Or maybe just bask in each other’s company?” Jonah offered. Jon huddled a bit more into him and sighed.

“I wouldn’t mind to hear you tell me sonnets,” Jon commented, “I do like your voice a lot.”

“What about you, do you know any sonnets?” Jonah asked, with a small chuckle. Jon frowned and smirked.

“I close my eyes and I can see
The world that's waiting up for me
That I call my own
Through the dark, through the door
Through where no one's been before
But it feels like home”

Jonah smirked at the soft melody that followed Jon’s words, who blushed and averted looks before hissing, “I’m not saying more.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jon smiled when Jonah entered the library, a few days later.

Jonathan had been trying to make a comprehensive map of fears and had requested Jon’s and Barnabas help with it, and they had been at it for the last few weeks, arriving to the Library early and leaving late.

Jonah appeared at scheduled times to bring them food —and tea for Jon— and check on them.

Jon liked when Jonah entered; he was using his grey clothes designed to blend in the background, and he worked his way around them and the stacks of paper with dexterity, changing plates without disturbing their work.

If Jon wasn’t so aware of Jonah, he wouldn’t see him.

But he couldn’t help but look at Jonah every time they were in the same room —to be fair, he couldn’t help but keep an eye on Jonah at all times, just watching the Watcher; it was like a good snack— and follow him with his eyes.

Besides, Jon liked the hunger in Jonah’s gaze as he watched from the background as he left the food; Jonah checked on them, watching their progress and measuring it.

And he was pleased with it.

Jon liked the satisfied gaze of Jonah over him. He knew deep inside that he had like that for a long while, before…

Jon grimaced at the sudden memories of the Watcher’s Crown. It hurt him, that Jonah had used him like that; just a pawn on his chessboard, a linchpin to bring over the End of the World. He remembered the letter, the ‘Apologies for the deception’ the whole gloating tone that Jonah —Not his Jonah, the Other Jonah— had made him do while forcing him to become the Herald of the Watcher’s Crown.

Jon shook his head. His Jonah wasn’t like that; he was ambitious, yes, and he had that strange fascination with the Dread Powers and what they could do. But he had rescued Barnabas —Even if it had been Jon’s request— and had forsaken the search for the Beholding Ritual. Jonah was decided to get his eternal life, but he was going to wait for Jon to help him with that.

Because Jonah trusted Jon and believed every word he said.

It was strange, to have such undivided attention and admiration, but it made Jon feel warm and safe. He had the faint memory of having someone that cared for him and admired for him a lot before, but he could pinpoint it and every time he tried to See it hurt too much and left him really hungry.

Also, after trying to See more he used to find spiders all around so he stopped trying to do so.

He didn’t want anything to do with the Web, he hated it, but he wasn’t about to cross it just like that.

The Web was an enemy he didn’t want to make.

That the Web was alright with him being with Jonah was certainly worrying, but Jon wasn’t about starting to stop doing things just because the Web was alright with it.

It was tiresome.

Jon looked at Jonah, who had been hovering around them with a concerned expression, and Jon could only guess that his inner struggle showed in his ‘too honest face’ —Jonathan and Barnabas insisted on mocking him for that— and that had made Jonah stop in his tracks.

Jon smiled at Jonah and blinked slowly. It was a thing he did with Victoria; a cat’s kiss as Georgie used to call it. Jonah always replied in the same way and Jon couldn’t help but chuckle at the sudden idea that Jonah thought of it as some gesture of the Beholding.

His Jonah was definitely different from the man that sent him there; this Jonah still had hope, unbridled curiosity and respect for other people’s life —not much, but it was enough for Jon to work with—, and he actually still cared.

And he cared for Jon.

Jon felt was if he had people who cared about him, but remembering was difficult. He had learnt not much ago that if he had something to do with those people getting badly hurt or killed by the Fears he wouldn’t remember them as easily. It was a mechanism of defence of his own brain, Jon knew. But still… He wanted to know more about those three that were with him through his journey to Become. He knew he lost them on the way, to the same Entities that now kept him alive.

Was it bad? To be kept alive by the same things that killed the people he cared and that cared about him? To help them to thrive and feed from other people? Jon could only hope that if they knew what he had become and what he was doing they won’t hold grudge against him.

One thing was sure for him; he wasn’t going to lose Jonah to the Entities. He won’t let them take him from him; he was strong enough now to stand his own ground. He should be strong enough to protect him now, right?

Jon smiled when Jonah blinked slowly again, before leaving quietly. Jonah was his and Jon won’t let his to be taken from him anymore. Not his friends, not his Archive, not his Jonah.

Not this time.

“I’m so tired!” Barnabas whined, stretching over the statements they had been cataloguing lately, “I understand nothing about this!”

“What part do you not understand, Barns?” Jonathan asked, without looking up from the paper in front of him. He had a notebook opened by his right and was scribbling notes.

“How do you know from which of these Dread Powers these things are?” Barnabas asked, gesturing at the Statements, “they are so confusing! They mix and sometimes I’m sure it’s from one and then you told me that it’s from another!”

“One wise book once told me that dividing and cataloguing the Dread Powers was foolish,” Jon commented, smiling, “because they are not like fixated things on well-organized boxes. They are more similar to colours; they mix and combine and sometimes they are way too apart to do so.”

Barnabas frowned at that before nodding, “like… When you are dying some fabric that sometimes is blue and sometimes is red but sometimes you need to make purple but not all purples are just in the middle?”

“Exactly,” Jon handed him one statement, “for example, here is a statement of the Flesh that’s related with body horror and dysphoria, but it’s also related with the Stranger because of that dysphoria and how the people ended being uncanny and not quite real.”

Barnabas took the statement and started reading, nodding slowly at the concept and making some notes on a paper.

“Smirke would throw you out for saying such a thing,” Commented Jonathan, lowering the statement, “such a bold statement against all that this ivory tower of research means.”

“It’s not,” Jon replied, “science and research don’t have to be a line of ordered boxes one behind the other. Nature is chaos and entropy, therefore it’s study has to be as flexible as it is.”

Jonathan beamed, leaning towards Jon, “you are fascinating, Jon, I like you a lot.”

“Thanks,” Jon blushed, averting looks to focus on the Statements again, “I— I like you a lot too.”

Barnabas laughed and Jonathan sighed.

Jon liked the company at work; it didn’t leave him read the statements aloud to feed, but the additional help to order them and fix the library was more than welcomed. Besides, Barnabas and Jonathan made that place feel more like a home.

Jon had the vague recollection that he used to have a very flirtatious assistant and one that wasn’t quite as competent as they should. He had the vague recollection of liking them a lot.

“So, Jon,” Barnabas asked, out of nowhere, “are you sure it’s okay I only work here one day a week?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Jon replied, “Jonathan and I have the gist of how to organize things here, and even though I do enjoy your company a lot, I know you have your business and I wouldn’t like to take you from the work of your life.”

“You make it sound really important,” Barnabas mumbled, “but I’m just a tailor.”

“You are the best tailor in London, Barns, don’t sell yourself short,” Jonathan chastised, “Am I right, Jon?”

“The very best,” Jon nodded, “I wouldn’t have anyone else making clothes for me, and I’m sure that Jonah and Mr Lukas agree with me.”

“Not to mention that Mr Lukas loves to have you around to make the right connections for him,” added Jonathan, “even if he tried to banish you to the lonely.”

Barnabas shivered, “I’m glad that Jon and Mr Magnus were around to help me out; that place was horrible.”

“That place is a dreadful place,” Jon agreed, “I’m glad that Jonah made Lukas to reconsider and let you go.”

“And now you are the public face for the Lukas Family,” Jonathan commented, “that will get you a lot of recognition and will end up making you the most popular tailor in London.”

“And if the Institute keeps getting so much good publicity and respect, we could think about having you make the uniforms for our employees,” Jon added, “I’ve been talking with Jonah about having a public part for the college students, and to have some employees dedicated to that.”

“You want to leave rascals and hooligans enter here?” Jonathan asked.

“You went to a college too, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes, that’s why I’m asking, Jon. College students are dangerous for libraries and archives.”

“That’s why we need employees dedicated to help them and keep them checked,” Jon replied categorically, “the information we are recollecting is of vital importance for future generations to help them see the dangers and mysterious of this wide world.”

“You sound like Mr Magnus,” Barnabas chuckled, fondly, “you two definitely are close.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan looked at Jon and smirked, “you two seem quite close.”

“Well… We are… How did he call it? Courting?” Jon offered.

He should have known that it would end their work session and turn it into a gossip session.

+-+-+-++-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

“You seem awfully tired, Jon,” Jonah commented, offering his arm to Jon. Jon leaned towards him, basking in his warmth as they started walking towards the carriage.

“Your friends are terrible gossipers,” Jon hissed, with a pout.

“Well, yes,” Jonah agreed, “they know everything that’s happening with the crème de la crème.”

“I don’t mean silly things of froufrou people!”

“My, Jon, those people seem very fond of you and your abilities.”

Jon huffed as they climbed on the carriage, and he sat against Jonah. The weather had been becoming more and more cold and Jon seemed to have problems with maintaining a correct body temperature.

“I’m just a show for them,” Jon pouted, “besides, I’m not talking about the patrons now, I’m talking about your friends; Bennet and Fanshawe”

“I thought they were your friends?” Jonah tried to not laugh at Jon’s distress; he didn’t want to upset him even more.

“They are not anymore,” Jon hissed, hiding his face on Jonah’s chest, “they are like two old ladies gossiping.”

“My, Jon, what did you tell them?”

“That we were courting!” Jon pouted, “I… I don’t know why is such a big deal! I mean, what do they care about how far it is? Why it’s wrong to be courting for a couple years? How is any of that of their business?”

“Well, there had been more than just a couple of years,” Jonah pointed, just to clarify, “but it is still none of their business,” when Jon glared at him.

“And they kept saying how scandalous and uncouth it was,” Jon added, biting his lip, “and that this could tarnish your reputation…”

“Well, it is uncouth,” Jonah conceded, “but it just feels right, you know? To have you in my arms, in my bed, and in my life.”

Jon kissed him, “you are such a romantic.”

“You made me into one, Jon,” Jonah replied, “I can assure you that.”

Jon laughed and kissed him again, “but… you know? I don’t want you having problems because of a tarnished reputation…”

“It’s not as if my reputation was a good one from the beginning,” Jonah replied, “dear father, that may rest in peace, made sure that high society won’t welcome me with open arms.”

“Why?”

“He said that my interest on the occult was foolish and it would bring disgrace to the family.”

Jon frowned as he nuzzled against Jonah, “I hope he writhe in his coffin, because you are the only member of your family that will be remembered in the decades to come.”

Jonah snorted and caressed Jon’s hair, “my, my, are you rancorous much?”

“You have no idea,” Jon replied, his eyes gleaming acid green. Jonah shivered at the intensity of the gaze and the implications of that affirmation given how Jon had talked about his ‘enemies’.

“Well, then I’m glad you are smitten with me,” Jonah replied, kissing Jon’s forehead.

“You are too charming, Jonah,” Jon stated, smiling and resting his head on Jonah’s shoulder, “if you weren’t so enthralled by me and my powers I would fear that one of your many suitors would take you away from me.”

“Jon, darling,” Jonah sighed, “you don’t have to think about that. I adore you.”

“I know,” Jon chipped happily, “I Know.”

+-+-+-++-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Jonah started kissing Jon, caging him with his body, as his mouth ravaged the Indian's.   

When Jonah flushed his body against Jon, bucking his hip slightly, a small memory popped up in Jon's mind.

“J-Jonah,” Jon called, amidst the kiss, "I remembered something."

Jonah kept kissing him, though, "can't it wait?"

"No," Jon felt Jonah's hip buck again against himself and decided to pat Jonah’s chest. 

With an exaggerated but fond sigh, Jonah stopped the kiss and put a couple of centimetres between his face and Jon's, so they could see each other in the eyes while talking.

"So?"

"I'm asexual," Jon said firmly, his hands still caressing Jonah's side.

Jonah looked at him for a couple of minutes before furrowing his eyebrows.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Jonah said, propping up in his arms at both sides of Jon's head to look at him — dishevelled, panting and flushed red from their kiss. Jonah loved that image.

"It means that I don't feel sexual attraction," Jon explained, making Jonah's eyes snap back at his face, with some turmoil beneath them, "I do like you a lot, Jonah, and I like kissing you and cuddling with you... But I don't..."

"You don't want to have sex with me."

"With anyone for the matter..." Jon promptly explained, feeling bad for Jonah's sadness, "I could help you, though."

"Help me?"

"Yes, help you get off," Jon offered, placing a caste kiss on Jonah's lips, "just let me..."

Jon's hand left his place on Jonah's hip and travelled down his front until it got to the laces of the suit pants. He undid it while kissing softly a slightly confused Jonah. 

Jonah gasped when Jon's hand wrapped around him, caressing and teasing him. Jonah bucked his hip again and Jon chuckled.

"That's right," Jon whispered, against Jonah's lips, "just let go."

Jonah kissed Jon back, introducing his tongue into the warm and welcoming cavity, as he rolled his hips, pounding into Jon's warm grip.

And Jon replied, oh, how he replied. He kissed back almost hungrily, devouring Jonah as much as Jonah was devouring him, while his hands worked his cock so marvellously. 

Jonah must be in heaven.

"Did you like it?" Asked Jon, raising his hands to lick the strands of cum off. Jonah shivered at Jon's actions and so intense gaze while doing so. 

"Yes," Jonah said, still panting when Jon raised his other hand to lick it as well. Jonah couldn't help but stare at the burnt scar that surrounded Jon's otherwise soft hand.  

Jon's skin was peppered with scars and Jonah wanted to know why. It was another part of that mystery called Jonathan Sims.

"How did this happen?" Jonah asked, taking Jon's hand and kissing gently the scar tissue. The scar felt impossibly warm as if the wound had just been made.

"Jude," mumbled Jon, his green eyes glazed and brighter, as whenever he remembered or knew something.

"Jude?" Jonah asked, feeling anger pooling in his gut at the idea of someone hurting his Jon.

"She was an avatar of the Desolation," Jon said, a small crease forming between his brows, "she wanted to shake my hand."

Jonah wanted to kill that 'Jude'. "You said 'was'. Can someone stop being an avatar?"

"No," Jon shook his head, "but you can stop being."

"So she is dead."

"Yes."

"Good."

Jonah kissed the scar again and found another one, this time it seemed like made by long claws, "what about this?"

"Michael," Jon replied, "or the Spiral if you must."

"The Spiral?"

"The Distortion, 'es mentiras'," supplied Jon, "the fear of being lied to by your brain."

"Why did it hurt you?"

"Because I asked too much," Jon shrugged, and Jonah hummed. 

"What about these?" Jonah caressed Jon's cheek softly, touching each small dot, which were barely a couple centimetres wide.

"Prentiss," Jon said wistfully, "she was from the Corruption... And she attacked us with her worms..." Jon's expression turned into one of anger, "she tried to destroy my Archives."

"Was she the one that stabbed you?" Jonah asked, concerned.

"No, that was someone else," Jon replied, shaking his head, "don't worry, Jonah, Prentiss is dead and she died screaming."

Jon's tone remained neutral, if a bit cooing, and made Jonah wonder how and what his life had been before he had been hit by his carriage.

"What about this?" Jonah asked, tracing the thin pale line that slit Jon's throat. He hadn't seen it before, because the clothes he got Jon always had high necks. 

"Daisy," Jon said, nonchalantly as if he was seeing someone else's memories, "she was from the Hunt, and she thought I was evil."

"Jon, you try your best to help people around you," said Jonah, frowning, "you refuse to traumatise people to feed, and after you get the statements you try to help them. How can you possibly be evil?"

"Maybe I didn't control it well before," Jon said, wistfully, "or maybe I just became better after everything else happened."

"She was from the Hunt, right?" Jonah asked.

"Yes."

"And she tried to kill you. Wasn't she evil, then?"

"No..." Jon's gaze glazed even more, "she was just like me, trying to understand it, finding joy in surrender and shame on the afterwards..."

“Do you still feel shame?” Jonah asked, opening Jon’s clothes slowly to caress his soft cinnamon skin. He caressed every worm scar that peppered Jon’s chest. 

“No, I can’t change what I am,” Jon replied, smiling fondly while he followed Jonah’s movements, “but I can decide how to use what I have, how to feed it and all that.”

“See, you are a good person,” Jonah insisted, leaving several kisses down Jon’s cheek and neck. 

“You give me too much credit, Jonah,” Jon replied with a soft sigh, his eyes fixated on Jonah. 

Jonah smirked, averting looks to keep looking at Jon’s scars. Jonah could feel Jon’s gaze on him and couldn’t help but shiver at the attention. Not that he didn’t like it, though, the undivided attention of such a being was interesting.

Jonah resumed caressing Jon’s scars and he found a short slice on his shoulder. “What happened there?”

“Melanie,” Jon replied, “she stabbed me after I extracted a bullet that was turning her into a servant of the Slaughter.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because I did it without her permission?”

Jonah laughed and kissed Jon softly, “you are quite disastrous, huh?”

“You should know,” giggled Jon, hugging Jonah.

“Well, now you have me to help you out,” Jonah nuzzled Jon’s cheek, “I would teach you how to be a proper person.”

“Please do,” Jon chuckled, kissing Jonah and smiling, “stay with me, Jonah, until the End.”

“Of course I will,” Jonah seemed pleased by Jon’s request, before stretching towards the nightstand and producing a small box from it, “I mean, if you say yes.”

“Yes?” Jon asked, looking confused at Jonah, who had climbed down from the bed, rearranged his clothes in some semblance of order and kneeled before him. “Jonah?”

“Jonathan Sims,” Jonah said, his grin growing wider, “would you give me the honour of becoming my husband?”

Jon looked at the small golden ring with an eye carved on it. The pupil was a giant emerald surrounded by diamonds and it was perfect, just as everything that Jonah got him. Jon could feel his heart pounding hard, and was sure that if he could cry he would be crying messily all over the man in front of him.

“I— Yes, of course, I…” Jon mumbled, reaching for Jonah’s face to kiss him deeply, “yes, yes, yes, yes please, Jonah, yes!”

Jonah laughed and kissed him back happily, taking one of Jon’s hands and putting the ring on his finger, before intertwining their fingers.

It was, indeed, heaven.

A suivre...

Chapter Text

8 - Peach and Candytuft jam Mille Feuillet with Black Tea sweetened with Honey Flower nectar 

“Oh, you like love stories?” the man asks, serving you a small dessert with peaches, “this is quite the love story, but it does have the proper drama to it, you know?” the man shakes his head handing you the plate, “let’s try something sweet to pass the drama; a peach and candytuft jam Mille Feuillet, sided with black tea sweetened with honey flower nectar.”

Martin felt like shit.

He had stabbed the love of his life in a futile try of saving them both, just to be yanked with all the fears by the Web, out of their world and into whatever place it was where he was.

He had fallen in a back alleyway that he didn’t remember at all, in what it was supposed to be Chelsea, but now —or then— was something else entirely.

The people had looked at him funnily when he had asked for the panopticon and even more when he asked for the Magnus Institute. He seemed to be in an alternate reality where the Institute wasn’t a thing yet.

It took him at least three days to realise he was in the 1860s and it ashamed him so much.

At least Jon wasn’t around to mock him for failing to notice how everything looked so old and Victorian.

Jon.

Where was Jon? Why did they not appear together in this new world? Why hadn't he found Jon in the six months he had been looking for him through London? Did he kill Jon?

Martin didn’t want to think about that possibility, but the more time that passed the more he was convinced of it, and the more he felt like shit.

They could have lived together in the wreckage of a dead world. It wasn’t perfect, of course, it wasn’t. But at least they would have been together.

Martin regretted having convinced Basira, Melanie and Georgie of proceeding with the plan earlier.

Martin also regretted stabbing Jon.

“Go back to work, Blackwood,” the harsh voice of the foreman made Martin jump and hurry back to his work at carrying the stuff —mostly crates of valuable goods— onto the carriage, “we have to get this to Mr Fairchild state for the big event this afternoon.”

Fairchild.

Martin frowned at the name but kept at his work. He had no evidence that the Fairchild from this world was the same Fairchild that had threatened to make roller coasters scary for him. It could be just a coincidence, of course, a mere coincidence.

Martin sat by the crates as the coachman made the horses fall into a mild trot, sighing wearily. He should just give up and accept his new life. At the very least it was easier to earn a modest living wage and exist there.

Martin was lost in his musings when a soft deep voice startled him out of it. He knew that voice by heart now.

“Are you sure we need all this?” the voice said, audibly uncomfortable, “these seem too much for just a wedding.”

“Just a wedding?” jumped another voice, male and cheerful, “but Jonathan, dear, it’s not just any wedding! It’s our beloved Jonah’s special day.”

“Why do I feel like you are doing all this just to spite him?” Jonathan sighed, exasperated.

“I might be, Jonathan, dear,” the man replied, farther this time.

Martin scrambled to his feet, almost jumping out of the carriage that was just coming to a stop. He could hear the foreman calling his name, but it didn’t matter, he had heard Jon’s voice, and it was everything that mattered.

He could see a couple of men in well-fitted and quite expensive-looking suits walking down the main road to the immense manor.

“Jon!” Martin called, and to his surprise and happiness, the leaner man looked back. It was him. It was his Jon, with his dark cinnamon skin, his bright green eyes, his long black and white hair — that was tied in a loose ponytail that let just a few strands framing his face—, his thick ever furrowed brows.

His Jon.

His Jonathan Sims.

“Jon!” Martin called again, running towards him. Jon looked at him confused and surprised.

“Jonathan,” said the other man, and Martin stopped mid-run. It was Simon Fairchild. A lot of years younger than he remembered, but Simon Fairchild nonetheless, “who is this… gentleman? Is he a friend of yours? Will he be sitting on your side of the church?”

“I…” Jon looked at Martin intently before shaking his head, “I don’t know him.”

Martin let his hand fall. What?

“This isn’t funny, Jon,” Martin’s voice trembled as he took a couple of steps more towards a couple of men, “it’s me, Martin!”

“He seems sure that you know him,” Simon seemed amused by the situation, and his hand kept Jon in place with a death grip, “what is this, Jonathan? A lost ex-boyfriend who have come to ruin the wedding?”

“Simon!” An angry-sounding voice interrupted before Martin or Jon could say anything, “would you please take your hands off my fiancé?”

What? Wait! Fiancé?

“Jonah!” Simon greeted, overly cheerful, “we were just greeting this gentleman that seems to know your lovely soon-to-be-husband!”

“Simon, your hands,” replied the man —Jonah. Wait. Like Jonah? Jonah Magnus? — sternly, taking Simon’s hand and freeing Jon from his grip before placing his hand on Jon’s waist, “are you alright, love? Did he do something to you?”

“I’m fine, Jonah,” Jon giggled —Giggled! His Jon would never! — when Jonah kissed him on the cheek, “Simon was just curious about…”

Jon's gaze fell to Martin again, and Jonah’s followed. Martin wanted to hit him, to stab him, to erase that smug smile of his with his fists. Jonah Magnus deserved to be tortured and die for what he put them through, not to be hugging Jon as if they were a couple. This was ridiculous!

“Enough!” Martin said, balling his fist and walking towards Jon, “this isn’t funny anymore, Jon. Stand away from that… Monster.”

“Excuse me?” Jon asked, outraged, “you can’t barge in here like that and accuse my fiancé of being a monster!”

“Fiancé?” Martin asked, his voice spiking high on outrage, “FIANCÉ!? Jon! He is Jonah Magnus! JONAH FUCKING MAGNUS!”

“Language,” admonished Jon, and Martin sputtered with indignation.

“JON! He is responsible for Sasha’s and Tim’s death!” Martin howled, “he also killed Gertrude and Leitner!”

“I could see him killing someone,” commented Simon, amused, earning a deadly glare from Jonah.

“Jonah has done none of these things,” Jon replied, angrily, freeing himself from Jonah’s hug and walking towards Martin, “and if you are going to keep lying about my fiancé you better leave now!”

“Lying?” Martin took a couple of steps back, unused to be the centre of Jon’s rage.

Exasperation? Yes. Tiredness? That too. But rage? Never.

“Yes, you are lying,” Jon said, “Jonah has never caused the death of someone willingly nor on purpose.”

“Jon…”

“And I haven’t given you the permission to call me like that, Mister,” added Jon, crossing his arms, “I don’t know you so you shouldn’t treat me with such familiarity.”

“I…” Martin looked at Jon for a sign of all of this to be an elaborate prank. But Jon’s face had no such thing, Jon was being honest, and that hurt Martin, “J-Jon… What is happening? W-why you don’t remember me?”

Martin was about to cry, and Jon’s face lit with recognition before a shadow of hurt darkened his features. Martin saw how Jon tensed looking at him as if he was looking at him for the very first time.

“You…” Jon whispered, “you… You are Martin…”

“That’s what I’ve been telling you,” Martin sobbed, tears falling down his cheeks with happiness at Jon’s recognition. Martin reached for him, but Jon took a couple of steps back, looking at him with something that seemed like fear and betrayal.

“Do you know him, Jon?” asked Jonah, bursting Martin’s bubble.

“I do,” Jon said, his face hardening, “he is the man that stabbed me before you found me.”

“I had to!” Martin cried, “you asked me to! So you won’t die with the Archives!”

Jon’s eyes lit with something, but Martin wasn’t sure what it was and didn’t have any time to figure it out because the Indian man turned on his heels and walked towards Jonah Magnus, grabbing his arm and guiding him to the manor, “come on, Jonah, we don’t want to be late for our wedding and we are yet to get dressed.”

Martin reached his hand, feeling how his cheeks were streaked by burning tears. Why was Jon walking away with Jonah Magnus? Why he was going to marry him? Weren’t they supposed to be together? Maybe he had ended in a different reality where Jon and he weren’t close? But why?

“Now, that was interesting,” Simon commented, “I’ve questioned myself for the last months why no one had come to try and get Jon back, even with the amnesia.”

“A-amnesia?” Martin looked at the soon-to-be-an-avatar of the Vast, confused and hurt, “J-Jon has amnesia?”

“Yes,” Simon nodded, “Poor thing barely remembers his life before; he has all the knowledge you could ask him for, except about his life before his encounter with Jonah.”

“So he could be my Jon,” Martin looked back to the door again. But that Jon was about to marry Jonah, what could he possibly do?

“You know,” Simon said, patting Martin’s shoulder, “you should assist the wedding. I’m sure Jonah would hate it.”

“Then why should I?” Martin asked, moving away from the man.

“Well, it’s still my state, so I can invite whoever I want,” Simon chuckled, “and I’m going to spite Jonah as much as I can without hurting Jon. If I can get him to rethink his decision of marrying Jonah, I’ll do my best.”

“Why do you care about Jon?” Martin’s eyebrows furrowed, not trusting a word that came from the mouth of Fairchild on principle.

“He is… adorable,” Simon replied, shrugging a little, “trying too hard to remain as human as possible, to help people, and so on… He deserves someone better than Jonah.”

Martin felt his chest tighten. Jon; who had become the nearest thing to a demigod; who wanted to end their world so no other world would suffer from the same thing; who wanted to make it quicker and easier for everyone, even if it cost him everything.

Jon, who got cold feet at smiting avatars because they helped him; because they were too young to truly understand; because they were people once.

His Jon.

“And who would be worthy of him?” Martin asked, his voice barely audible.

“Well, not me, that’s for sure,” Simon laughed, “Maybe Bennett or Fanshawe; those two are too kind for their own good, and they seem to like Jon a lot…”

“If they like Jon why didn’t they…” Martin couldn’t say it. The idea of Jon with someone else sat wrongly in his gut.

“Jonah has this knack for getting what he wants,” Simon sighed, as he stirred Martin through the immense hall —Martin wasn’t sure when he had entered the manor—that was so filled with decorations that it felt too big, “and Jonah wants Jon, so…”

“I won’t let him,” Martin huffed.

“And what are you going to do?”

“I’ll… I’ll oppose the wedding.”

“That’s the attitude!” Simon laughed, “come here, I think I have a suit that you could use.”

Martin followed Simon through the manor’s hallways, filled with huge paintings of endless blue skies. Martin hated it.

It turned out that Simon did have a suit that fitted Martin. It was a little big on the shoulders, but it didn’t look bad. The fabric felt rich and expensive and Martin was scared of staining or ripping it.

Martin frowned at the number of people coming and going, preparing one of the enormous rooms to serve as a chapel. Simon had talked with the foreman and paid him some money to let Martin stay around at the wedding.

Martin saw Jon a couple of times more, with Jonah Magnus’ hand on his waist, chatting and arranging stuff for the wedding. Jon seemed happy.

“Simon Fairchild!” greeted a woman, with a rich blue velvet dress. She was smiling brightly, as she hugged Simon, behind her a young boy with white-blonde hair was carrying a baby, “I can’t believe you offered your house for this.”

“Dear Othala Merkstave!” Simon patted her shoulders, “I thought you won’t be coming.”

“And miss such an event?” the woman laughed, “even if Professor Smirke is against it, I can’t help but like our beloved Jonathan and I’m curious about how our distant Jonah would behave with his fiancée~”

“You wouldn’t recognise him, Othi,” Simon replied, amused, “he is smiling so much I think his jaw is stuck.”

“Oh my,” Othala chuckled, “it must be hilarious.”

Simon nodded, before looking at the boy, who shrank, hiding the baby in his arms. Martin would have done the same, “is this your little boy, Othi?”

“Yes,” Othala put her hand on the boy’s shoulder, stirring him so he would be in front of her, “this is little Perthro and little baby Fehu.”

“You think is good to bring them to such an event?” Simon asked, tilting his head a little, offering the boys a crooked smile. Perthro looked away, his bright blue eyes falling in Martin.

“I wasn’t planning on bringing them in,” Othala replied, “but Perthro wanted to see Jonathan.”

“Mr Jon is really nice,” jumped the boy, with a wide smile, “he reads us stories when Mother and Father are busy with Professor Smirke and Mr Magnus.”

“He does?” Simon asked, and Perthro nodded.

“He does! I brought a couple of them,” the boy said, gesturing to the bag on his side.

“Perthro!” the woman chided, “today is a big day for Jonathan, he probably won’t be able to read one of your books.”

“But!” the boy retorted, “if he is nervous maybe reading a book will help!”

“Jon always relaxes after reading a book,” commented Martin, the boy beamed and nodded.

“See, Mother?” Perthro said, “Mr… Mr… I’m sorry,” Perthro looked at him, “I don’t know your name, Mr I’m afraid we haven’t been introduced. I’m Perthro Merkstave, this is my brother Fehu.”

“I’m Martin Blackwood,” Martin replied, slightly amused by the formality of the young boy, “nice to meet you, Perthro.”

Perthro nodded and looked at his mother, “See, Mother? Mr Blackwood says that Mr Jon relaxes with books!”

“I see, love,” Othala agreed, her eyes piercing blue eyes fixated in Martin, as she caressed the boy’s hair, “then why don’t you hand me your brother and go look for Mr Jon? Maybe you could read to him while he prepares.”

“That’s a wonderful idea, Mother!” the boy jumped, handing the baby to his mother before running away towards the door.

“So,” Othala said, cooing a little to the baby, that blurted in her arms, “Mr Blackwood, you seem to know Jonathan.”

“I do,” Martin replied, shivering under her stare. It felt like she could see through him.

“He knows Jon since before,” Simon beamed, “and he seems to be a former boyfriend of his.”

“Oh, really?” Othala’s eyes gleamed with curiosity, and Martin wanted to run away, “so this is going to get interesting, huh?”

Martin almost wished he had left as soon as Jon said he didn’t know him. Almost.

Lady Merkstave was one of Smirke’s alumni it seemed; she was quick-witted and quite cheerful and had a bunch of hilarious stories about Jon and her children.

Martin had never imagined Jon with kids because Jon seemed always so goal-oriented and so focused on his work. Martin wanted to kick himself for not seeing it before; Jon’s curiosity and wonder were the ones of a child, and that was why he was so reckless in his pursuit of knowledge.

Hearing Lady Merkstave and Simon talking about Jon and the things they’ve been doing together all those years —decades! Jon had spent with them decades! — he could only think about how much of Jon he had lost. He just hoped that the four years they worked together and went through literal hell were more worthy than the almost four decades he had spent with these people.

These people seemed to be on the way to becoming avatars, all of them.

Martin had seen Mordechai Lukas while walking through the infinite state and had been avoiding him like the plague, much to the amusement of Lady Merkstave and Simon.

And between avoiding guests and hearing tales, the time for the ceremony came.

Martin gapped when Jon entered the room, in a deep green suit that hugged his slender frame and complimented him preciously, with his peppered mane braided up with delicate flowers that made a crown around his head. He had a deep green cloth in his hand and it seemed to have emerald embroidery, though Martin couldn’t make the figures.

Jonah was standing a few metres away from the altar, in an elegant black suit that —and Martin would never admit it— made him look gorgeous; his rich brown hair framing his face in soft waves, his strong jaw tilting up a little as he beamed, his grey eyes fixated on Jon. He had also flowers in his hair, but they were fewer and seemed more like small dots of white than an actual crown.

Jonah had a dark grey cloth with silver embroidery in his hands.

When they were standing alongside, they reached at once, caressing each other’s faces before tying the cloths over each other’s eyes.

Jon put his hand over Jonah’s, who smiled and squeezed Jon’s hand to reassure himself. Jon snickered as he guided Jonah towards the altar, both with their eyes blindfolded, and they stopped just in front of a tall woman that made Martin think about Peter Lukas. Only that the woman seemed stern and severe

“Fellow scholars of the occult,” said the woman, barely looking around, “today we are reunited here to be the witness of the union between our member Jonah Magnus, and Mr Jonathan Sims, the Archivist.”

“This bond is one that goes beyond the self, it’s about being united and standing together against all odds,” the woman continued, “and being this bond permanent I must ask, Jonah Magnus, are you here on your own volition?”

“Yes, I am.”

“And do you want to continue with the ceremony?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Very well,” the woman nodded, “and you, Jonathan Sims, are you here on your own volition?”

“Yes, I am.”

“And do you want to continue with the ceremony?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then,” the woman made a grimace and rolled her eyes, “the grooms have their own vows to say…”

Jon and Jonah turned to join their hands, a small smile curving their lips.

“I, Jonathan Sims, am here for you, Jonah Magnus, to help you see in the dark,” started Jon, reaching for the blindfold of Jonah and taking it off slowly, “to accompany you through the longest path, to teach you, to learn from you, to care and comfort you, until the End that will come for us all.”

“I, Jonah Magnus, am here for you, Jonathan Sims, to help you see in the dark,” replied Jonah, taking Jon’s blindfold in turn, “to be by your side through the longest path, to learn from you, to help you see beyond, to care and comfort you, until the End that will come for us all.”

“So cheesy,” said a man from the first row, loud enough for everyone to hear him. Jonah glared at him before looking back at Jon and smiling like the idiot he is. Jon simply looked at him fondly, joining their hands again.

“So you have said it, so mote it be,” said the woman, with a rather bored tone, “and I ask you then —because you insisted— will you follow each other down the entrails of the earth or up in the endless blue sky?”

“Yes, I do,” said Jon and Jonah at the same time.

“Will you step together against the liars and concealers, to uncover the great truths of the world?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Will you fight together the hunger, the thrills and the sweet talk of madness?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Will you heal each other's wounds and rebuild each other to rise from the ashes?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Will you light each other's paths and untangle each other from the traps of destiny?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Will you stay together no matter the weather, until the Bitter End?”

“Yes, I do.”

“In that case,” the woman said, bored and with a sigh “and if no one has anything to add that could stop this wedding from happening…”

“I OPPOSE!” Martin jumped, but he felt surprised when he heard a voice echoing him. Martin looked back, confused and saw —and he only recognised him thanks to Tim’s trivia— Robert Smirke entering the room with a resolute pace.

“I refuse to let you elope with a monster, Jonah,” said Smirke, in a chastising tone.

“We are not eloping, Mr Smirke,” Jon snapped, “you were invited to the wedding, and you said you couldn’t come.”

“You didn’t object to the ‘monster’ part,” Smirke huffed.

“Your definitions are old, even for your own time,” Jon hissed before Jonah could stop him.

“We have already talked about this, Professor Smirke,” Jonah said, standing tall beside Jon —not that it was complicated, being Jon as small as he was—, “Jon is not dangerous for us and loves me deeply, as I love him.”

“Monsters are not capable of love,” Smirke countered.

“In that case, Jon is not a monster,” Jonah replied in a sharp tone that allowed no more interruptions, “so, Mrs Lukas, continue.”

“Oh, but little Mr Blackwood here opposed too,” commented Simon, gesturing at Martin. Jon’s eyes glared green at him, and Martin did feel small under that absurdly big stare.

“I-... I oppose,” Martin repeated, “Jon, please, you have to remember… D-don’t you remember the… the dog in the Archives?”

“Why would there be a dog in My Archives?” Jon grunted, clearly offended at the idea.

“It was an accident,” Martin shivered at seeing Jon upset, “and… Oh, what about Prentiss? Do you remember her?”

“Yes, she attacked… us, with worms,” Jon said, tilting his head a little, his eyes squinting at him, “what about her?”

“S-she trapped us, on Document Storage, remember?” Martin said, “I- I was living there because you allowed me to, so she won’t get me, but she attacked the Archives and… That was the day we lost Sasha, and we found Gertrude’s body.”

“What is this thread of…” Jonah started, but Jon raised his hand to stop him, his eyes fixated on Martin. All of them, looking for a crack in his story, for a lie, or the complete truth. It encouraged Martin.

“And… And the Unknowing!” Martin proceeded, “do you remember? The Stranger kidnapped you to use your skin on their ritual!”

“What?” Half of the room was now looking at Martin bewildered, and someone asked “the Stranger?”

“B-but Michael, do you remember Michael?” Martin trailed off.

“The Distortion,” Jon nodded, grimacing a little as if he had just heard the echoing laughter.

“Why do you remember him but not me? You know, don’t answer,” Martin huffed, angrily, “anyways, Michael got you out… And then you went back with Tim, Basira, and Daisy to stop the Unknowing!”

“That’s when we lost Tim…” Jon mumbled, his eyebrows furrowing as he reached his hand to massage his temple, “and Daisy got trapped… Right?”

“YES!” Martin nodded, “on the Buried but you rescued her! After your comma, of course.”

“Comma?”

“Six months… We thought you wouldn't tell it; you were barely alive until…”

“Oliver woke me up.”

“Yes,” Martin hissed, still upset about it. And a little jealous, but no one had to know that, “then you went and stopped the Dark Sun, and… And you saved me... from the Lonely.”

Martin looked at Jon intently, hoping that he remembered. Jon’s gaze seemed far away, just as he was when telling a statement. Or Knowing something.

“There were cows…” Jon finally said.

“Some good cows,” nodded Martin, ignoring the confused expressions of the other attendants to the wedding.

“All cows are good cows, Martin,” Jon chastised, but there was no bite on his voice.

“And then everything went to hell,” Martin added, and Jon averted his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” Jon mumbled, in such a hurt voice that Martin couldn’t help but remember that moment, six months prior, when he had to stab him, “I’m so sorry, Martin.”

“It wasn’t your fault!” Martin assured, walking towards the hunching figure of Jon, “it was his.”

Jonah looked confused at Martin’s death glare. “I beg your pardon?”

“Martin,” Jon called softly, in an overly vulnerable and tired voice, that reminded Martin of those days in Daisy’s cabin in Scotland.

“Yes, Jon?” Martin reached to touch Jon’s hand, but he took it away.

“It’s enough, Martin,” Jon said, looking up with a pained expression, “Jonah hasn’t done anything.”

“But he sent you the…”

“It hasn’t happened there!” Jon interrupted, “and if it’s in my power, it won’t happen there.”

Martin frowned, before looking at Jonah, and then looking at Jon, and back and forth, with realization slowly painting his features, “are you gonna…?”

“Why your solution to everything always is smiting people!?” Jon jumped, exasperated, “I’m not smiting my husband, Martin, not even if you are jealous.”

“Wait, ‘husband’? Husband?” Asked Martin, with utter disbelief, “are you still marrying him?”

“Well, yes,” Jon said, and Jonah smirked when Jon took his hand, “I do love him.”

“But he is… He is Jonah Magnus!” Martin gestured wildly at Jonah, who simply shrugged at the questions of the attendance.

“I Know, Martin,” Jon replied, “but he is Not that Jonah Magnus… He is different.”

“Oh really?” Martin let out a humourless chuckle, “prove it!”

“What day is it?” Jon asked, and Martin looked around confused.

“It’s the 13 of June of 1861-, why?” Martin replied, cocking his head.

“Barnabas Bennett,” Jon called then, “would you please bring the rings?”

Barnabas jumped on his seat, surprised and a little scared, scrambling to his feet to get to them. Martin stared at him surprised.

“But… But…”

“See? My Jonah is different,” Jon said, caressing Martin’s cheek softly, “now go back to your seat, leave me have my wedding day and we’ll talk later.”

“But…”

“I promise, we will talk later,” Jon insisted, in a kind tone, “and we will fix everything… Together.”

That last word was uttered so soft that Martin wasn’t sure he had heard it but nodded nonetheless before going back to his seat.

“You will have to tell me about your adventures, Jon,” said Jonah, in a playful tone when Jon turned his attention back to him.

“We have all the time in the world, Jonah,” Jon replied, in a wistful tone, “be patient.”

“Well, then,” Jonah nodded after staring at Jon for two minutes, “please, resume the wedding, Mrs Lukas.”

“What?” Mrs Lukas looked up at them before nodding, “oh, right. Bennet, the rings.”

Bennet handed each of them a band of pure gold.

“Those rings,” Mrs Lukas, “will be the token of this marriage, a symbol of your everlasting union.”

“Jonathan… Jon,” Jonah sighed, caressing Jon’s hand before putting him the ring, “I tie you to me with this ring, so we will forever be bonded to each other, to always stay together no matter the circumstances.”

“Jonah,” Jon said, taking Jonah’s hand and sliding the band on his finger, “I tie you to me with this ring, so we will forever be each other’s anchors, to find ourselves no matter what shall happen.”

“Now, for the power conceded to me by our Organization, I hereby declare you husband and husband, you may kiss.”

Jonah grabbed Jon’s waist and pulled him closer, at the same time Jon hugged Jonah smiling.

Martin couldn’t find it in himself to look. But he knew the moment it happened when most of the attendants started cheering.

Martin was looking at the back of the room and could see Robert Smirke grimacing and muttering before leaving. That couldn’t be good.

Martin sighed softly, looking at his feet as Jon and Jonah walked out of the chapel hand in hand. Martin tensed when a hand tapped his shoulder.

“Come on, Mr Blackwood,” Simon said, with an empathetic smile, “let’s go to the dining room, there’s nothing that food can’t make feel better.”

Martin nodded and walked behind him with the mood of someone that is walking to his death. Martin felt hollow.

“Mr Blackwood?” called a nervous voice, making Martin lookup. Mr Barnabas Bennet was there, looking at him intently, “I… Nice to meet you, I’m Barnabas Bennet.”

“And I’m Jonathan Fanshawe,” added another man, approaching with a fake smile and a resolute pace, “we are Jon’s best friends.”

“Hello…” Martin looked at them and frowned. He remembered their statements, the hate and resentment they had for Jonah Magnus. But they had been at the wedding, supporting them.

“You know,” Jonathan said, crossing his arms, “I’m the first that wants to know more about Jon, but ruining the happiest day of his life it’s not nice.”

“And accusing Jonah of murder, that’s bad,” added Barnabas, shaking his head, “he is a very nice man, and saved me of dying a horrible death alone in the fogs.”

“What?” Martin frowned at that.

“It’s not the moment,” Jonathan said vehemently, “we should be at the reception, so we are going to get there, make sure that our friends are having a wonderful party and then… We’ll deal with this.”

“With due respect,” added Jonathan, “Mr Blackwood, I know we all are sad for having to give up Jon to Jonah, but that is what will make Jon happy and his happiness is of the uttermost importance for us.”

“So, let’s enjoy the party and let’s get a small taste of Mr Fairchild’s fortune, shall we?” Barnabas smiled, gesturing to the party, “let’s go.”

A Suivre...

Chapter Text

9 - Acacia Flower Fritters with Earl Grey 

“A beautiful wedding, don’t you think?” the man serves a cup and smells it, “ah, Earl Grey, it goes deliciously with the acacia flower fritters,” the man sighs, handing you a cup, “and with bitter sweet love stories too.”

Jonah didn’t want Jon to get up. Especially not if he was going to talk with that ‘Martin’ about whatever they would talk about.

Who did Martin think he was, interrupting his wedding and now his honeymoon? Jonah wanted him dead. Especially after seeing the amount of attention that Jon gave him at their wedding!

“Jonah, love,” Jon whispered, against Jonah’s neck, “we need to talk.”

“Go ahead,” Jonah replied, caressing Jon’s back softly. He was delighted to have a naked Jon pressed against himself, having the warmth of his lover's skin against his. Jonah wasn’t all that used to it, but kind of liked cuddling with Jon.

“You know I love you, right?” Jon kissed Jonah’s jaw.

“I know, my dearest,” Jonah replied with a chuckle, “we just got married~”

“You remember the guy from the wedding?”

“Which guy?”

“The one that interrupted it.”

“I can’t seem to recall him,” Jonah replied, averting looks, “was our wedding interrupted?”

“Jonah,” Jon chastised, propping in his elbows to look at Jonah, “you know I don’t like when you lie, especially when you lie to me.”

“I’m sorry, my love,” Jonah replied, not sorry at all, “but I would prefer not to talk about him on our honeymoon.”

“But…” Jon sighed, hiding his face, “I… The thing is I… He and I went through a lot together, and we were kind of… together? Before the stabbing and all that.”

“And?” Jonah frowned, cupping Jon’s cheeks with his hands to force him to look at him, “Jon, say it.”

“I think I still love him,” Jon confessed, softly.

Jonah stared at the man in front of him. They just got married. They just consummated the marriage —sort of. What was Jon talking about?

“I love you, Jonah, I do,” Jon promptly reassured, “it’s just that… Please don’t think I’m an attention whore or something like that.”

“An attention whore?” Jonah asked, confused by the slang.

“It’s just that I want you, both of you to be with me!” Jon kept ranting, “but I know you are possessive and you love me a lot and probably now hate Martin because he interrupted our wedding and now is gonna interrupt our honeymoon because I promised I’ll talk with him. And I’m so sorry, but I’ve been thinking about all this since the reception and I can’t get out of my mind the image of us three together…”

Jonah couldn’t help but smirk as Jon kept ranting about how much he loved him —fine, and Martin—, and couldn’t help but finding it endearing. Jon could have all the knowledge of the world, but whenever he had to deal with people he turned into a little mess —or a big one, but endearing nonetheless.

And Jonah made a decision.

“Jon,” Jonah called, trying to snap Jon out of his rant, “JON!”

“Yes?” Jon looked at Jonah, scared. Jonah wasn’t used to seeing the Indian scared, but it was a look that sort of suited him. It was beautiful to watch, as all his expressions.

“Jon, I love you,” Jonah said, kissing Jon softly, “and if being with us both is what it takes to make you happy, then so it be.”

“Really?” Jon’s eyes lit with happiness, as they hugged Jonah and kissed him deeply, “thank you so much, thank you, thank you. I knew you would understand, you are so kind and sweet with me~”

“I’ll do everything just to see you happy, Jon,” Jonah murmured, against Jon’s lips, “anything.”

Jon simply kissed him again, hugging him tightly. Jonah chuckled, kissing him back and climbing on top of him, to cage him with his body.

Maybe this way he could get a couple of minutes —or hours— more with his husband.

Jonah loved thinking about Jon as his husband.

It was a shame their honeymoon was going to get interrupted, but it can wait until after they snogged a little.

“Now I have to ask Martin,” mumbled Jon, happily.

Or not.

Jonah sighed and let himself fall by Jon’s side, “go then. If you don’t ask him now, you are not going to allow us to enjoy our honeymoon.”

“That’s not…” Jon’s cheeks blushed deep red, and he seemed precious.

“Jon,” Jonah caressed Jon’s cheek softly, enjoying how he leaned towards the caress, “I know you; once you have something in your mind nothing can distract you. So now go and ask your murderous friend to be part of this relationship so we could enjoy the rest of the night before our big trip.”

Jon nodded and stood up from the bed, a silly smile curving his lips beautifully.

“And Jon?” Jonah called, making Jon stop before reaching the door and look at him curiously, “please get dressed. I had to wait until our wedding to see you like that, so I request he does the same.”

Jon blushed marvellously, the dust red reaching his lovely chest.

Jonah wanted to take him back to the bed and kiss him until the blush covered his entire body.

Jon yanked a bedsheet to hide himself, muttering something about how ‘dumb Jonah was’, as he walked towards the closet to get some clothes and disappeared through the bathroom door.

Jonah stretched in the bed —their bed— and took the book Jon had been reading lately, to leaf it lazily. Jon got out of the bathroom a couple of minutes later, wearing that hideous casual outfit that he had begged Bennett to repair. It consisted of an oversized green wool shirt with a rhombus pattern, a white shirt with a pressed neck, some dark blue ragged and rather tight pants —why he hadn’t asked Bennet to repair those too was something beyond Jonah’s comprehension—, and what could have been a striped black and white cravat if Jon tied it correctly.

“I’ll be back in a while,” Jon said, opening the door. But he didn’t leave.

After a couple of minutes, Jon sighed, “please wish me luck.”

“Good luck, my love,” Jonah replied. Jon nodded and walked out decisively.

Jonah sighed when Jon was out of earshot. He had spent the last four months trying to scare away all probable suitors from Jon, to be sure that he would look at him and only him, and now that man had appeared and he got even more attention from Jon than Jonah.

That was unacceptable.

But Jonah was a very patient man and could play with Jon’s rules.

Jon would realise that Jonah was perfect for him and more than enough, eventually.

            -.-.-.-

Martin had been fidgeting in the room that Simon had lent him. It was way too big for the too big furniture that furnished it, and Martin —being an almost Avatar of the Lonely— felt not only small and insignificant but even more lonely than in the last six months.

When Jon knocked at the door Martin was about to slip into the fog again.

“Martin?” Jon’s voice brought him back to reality. Jon’s voice always helped. Martin missed hearing Jon, even the statements.

“Come in,” Martin mumbled, and Jon opened the door. He was wearing the same clothes that he had been wearing the last time, on the panopticon. He was different, though.

His hair was still braided up, and still had several flowers interwoven —they were askew as if Jonah Magnus had raked his hand through Jon’s hair—, with the silvery strands giving him a distinguished look rather than the old and dishevelled he had before. His eyes were bright green, as always, and lacked the dark purple eye bags that Martin had learnt to love; he still had eye bags that talked of late nights but were barely darker than his regular skin.

And he was definitely less bony; it seemed like Jonah Magnus got easier the keeping Jon fed thing. And his complexion was a little more caramel than the sick ashy he had while the apocalypse.

Jon was absurdly handsome and was looking at him as if he was the most important thing in the world. It made Martin’s heart flutter.

“I can’t believe it’s really you,” Jon sighed, closing the door behind him, a warm fond smile curving his lips, “Martin.”

Martin shivered at the purr on Jon’s voice when he pronounced his name.

“You still married Jonah,” Martin mumbled, and Jon looked down guilty.

“I actually come to talk about that,” Jon sighed, sadly, “I spent all the reception and afterwards thinking about us… About the past that I’ve only got back today.”

“You did remember Prentiss and Michael,” Martin accused, and Jon looked up before gesturing at the scars.

“It’s only because of the scars,” Jon replied, “I’m the Archive, and I recollect fears, so of course I remember the ones that inflicted me, and why.”

“Why did you have amnesia?” Martin asked, biting his lip at Jon’s slight slump of shoulders.

“Remember when you…” Jon started, averting looks, “when you did what I asked you to do.”

“Stabbing you?”

“Yes, that,” Jon nodded, “well… I think it was too late.”

“What do you mean?” Martin asked, “we are here, alive.”

“Yeah, no, my bad” Jon shook his head, “I mean that part of the damage to the Archive was already done, and when you stabbed me plunging us through the rip between dimensions my mind got broken and ripped too.”

“Jon,” Martin gasped, “I didn’t...”

“I know, I know you didn’t mean it,” Jon interrupted, taking Martin’s hands between his, “you did what you had to do to save us, as always, because you are so caring, kind, and sweet.”

Martin blushed, looking down at their intertwined hands. The golden ring with an eye pattern contrasted with Jon’s cinnamon skin, reminding Martin that Jon wasn’t his boyfriend anymore. It hurt.

“What does your husband say about you spending your wedding night talking with me?” Martin asked, trying to not sound too hurt.

“He is okay with it,” Jon replied, caressing Martin’s hands, “actually, I’ve already told him that I still love you and that I want to be with you.”

“And he accepted?” Martin was confused, especially with the possessive way that Jonah had been with Jon during the reception.

“I- I told him I…” Jon bit his lip, “that I wanted to be with both of you because I really love you both and you are really different and I couldn’t possibly choose, because well you are you and you make me so happy, but Jonah is so nice and kind with me and has been so lovely and helped me so much and I grew to love him as much as I do love you and I don’t know what else to do because I don’t want to hurt any of you nor give up on any of you, and…”

Martin blinked at Jon, who was still ranting while he squeezed Martin’s hands. Why did Jon look so cute when he was ranting? Still, Martin had heard what he asked and he wasn’t convinced.

“Jon,” Martin called, squeezing Jon’s hands in turn to get his attention, “I don’t think it is a good idea.”

Jon looked at him baffled, “b-but why? I— J-Jonah is not the same, I swear, I can prove it and… And if he is then… Then we’ll deal with it together!”

Martin frowned at that, “are you sure? Are you sure you could deal with him if he ended up being the same as last time?”

Jon freed Martin’s hands, his eyes darkening, “you don’t trust me.”

“It’s not that…” Martin promptly said, “it’s just that you always do things on your own! You always run headfirst alone! You are always so…”

“Selfish?” Jon asked, his voice nonchalantly, but his eyes hurt.

“I…”

“I am, I know,” Jon replied, crossing his arms as if he was hugging himself, “I am selfish and maybe that’s why I changed so much... Maybe that’s why I changed them so much. And I’m sorry, Martin. I should have known better… It’s… It’s like the blinding thing.”

“The blinding…?” Martin cocked his head confused, “you mean when you came to me so I would dissuade you from quitting?”

“I was serious about that,” Jon said, with a sad smile, “I would have run away with you that day.”

“Jon…”

“I’m sorry,” Jon interrupted, shaking his head and giving him a smile, “you are right, I’m a selfish bastard and you deserve someone better. I’m sorry I hurt you so much and…” Jon hesitated, as two thick tears went down his cheeks, “if you want I can take the pain away, I can take your memories of me… of us and send you back home.”

“What?” Martin almost screamed. Figures, Jon always being an insufferable idiot, “are you listening to yourself? How do you plan to do that?”

“Hilltop road.”

-.-.-.-.-.-

Jonah looked up when the door opened. He had prepared mentally for his wedding night to be spent with another man in their bed. But John entered through the door alone, part of his bangs obscuring his face as he walked slowly towards the bed.

"Are you okay, love?" Jonah asked, closing the book and putting it on the nightstand before approaching Jon slowly.

Jon climbed on the bed and curled himself on Jonah's lap, sobbing quietly.

"He didn't like the idea, huh?" Jonah asked, caressing John's hair softly, un-braiding it carefully.

"I'm a selfish bastard," Jon cried, hiding his face on Jonah's neck, "and Martin is tired of following me around!"

"You are not selfish, Jon," Jonah cooed, "you work hard for others."

"I don't," Jon mumbled, "I was just trying to attune my past sins."

"Jon, you are a sweet kind workaholic," Jonah said, kissing the top of Jon's head, "I love you and I want to see you happy, so I will go talk to this 'Martin'."

Jon looked up, his green eyes puffy and watery, "don't! He will stab you!"

Jonah raised his eyebrow, "I thought you asked him to stab you?"

"Yes, but he hates you and won't hesitate to kill you."

"And you want me to be in a relationship with him," Jonah huffed, "is this an elaborate scheme to steal my library?"

"What? No!" Jon chuckled in disbelief, "I'm your husband, so now it's my library too."

“Please tell me that you didn’t marry me to get a hold of my library,” Jonah joked, and Jon pretended to ponder.

“Well…” Jon said before laughing at the kiss Jonah gave him on the neck.

“That’s better,” hummed Jonah, caressing Jon’s side, “I don’t like when you cry or are sad; your eyes become dark and dull.”

Jon gave him a small sad smile, before resting again against him. Jonah sighed softly and, securing his hands on Jon’s butt, stood up and marched out of the room.

“W-what are you doing!?” Jon cried, surprised and embarrassed. His nails were sinking on Jonah’s shoulders.

“We are going to talk to that guy, so I can have a proper wedding night,” Jonah replied, and Jon emitted a distressed sound, “I don’t want you moping in our bed when we could be cuddling.”

“F-fine, but put me down!” Jon mumbled and Jonah chuckled.

“Why? I like carrying my husband around.”

“It’s humiliating! What if Jonathan or Barnabas see us?” Jon almost whined —and if Jonah commented it, he would deny his whining—, squirming to get down, “What if Lukas or Simon see us?”

The thought of those two seeing Jon flustered made Jonah grimace. No, he won’t allow it.

Jonah lowered Jon slowly and kissed his cheek when he hit his shoulder with a lovely pout. His eyes were bright again, though, so Jonah was sure he wasn’t that upset.

Jonah strode purposely towards Martin’s room, knocking resolutely while Jon stressed behind him, scream whispering everything that could go wrong.

Jon’s rant was interrupted by Martin when he opened the door. Jonah felt fear coil in his gut at the profound hate that brewed in Martin’s gaze when he saw him. If Martin had stabbed his ‘lover’ then what could he await?

Jonah nonetheless slips easily into his polite smile, clasping his hands in front of himself and trying to seem as less threatening as possible.

“Martin Blackwood, right?” Jonah asked, politely, he thought that he should’ve reached his hand to shake the other man’s, but after seeing how Martin crossed his arms and grimaced he was glad he didn’t try, “I would introduce myself, but you seem acquainted to that information.”

“What do you want?” Jonah was taken aback by the amount of hostility in Martin’s voice. He loomed over him easily, and was broad enough to take him down in close range.

“I came here in behalf of my husband,” Jonah replied, maintaining his amicable tone as much as he could, “I know that he already asked you to engage in a relationship with us.”

“If he already went to mop with you then you already know my answer,” Jonah was having a hard time seeing what Jon saw in that man.

“Yes, I know,” Jonah agreed with a nod, “I must agree with you that Jon is being incredibly selfish to suggest something like that.”

Jon’s sharp intake of air made Jonah’s hands crisp. Martin, on the other hand, seemed baffled.

“I thought you were alright with the idea?” Martin asked, his demeanour a bit more relaxed.

“I’m not ‘alright’ with the idea,” Jonah replied, “I simply think that Jon’s happiness is worthy of one or two minor nuisances that could end up being interesting.”

“Are you calling me a ‘nuisance’?” Martin was angry again.

“Well, you appeared uninvited the day of my wedding, interrupted said wedding and I’m here talking to you instead of being with my husband enjoying our wedding night,” Jonah huffed, letting slip how upset he was about all that, “nonetheless, I’m not going to ask you to apologize…”

“Good, because I wouldn’t,” Martin interrupted and Jonah could feel the anxiety coming from Jon who was hovering behind him.

“But I will request your forgiveness,” Jonah finished. It hurt his pride and made his gut revolt, but it would show him as the bigger man to Jon, “Jon has told me that we might have a difficult relationship, given the things you say I did or would do,” Jonah barely stifled a grin at Martin’s baffled and outraged expression, “I couldn’t say I regret my actions, for I have not committed them yet as you say, but I do want to say I’m deeply sorry for the death of Sasha, Tim, Gertrude and Leitner. They seemed to be important to you and Jon.”

“See?” Jon chose that time to speak up, “he is different, he is nice!”

“He is probably just trying to manipulate you!” Martin snapped, “That’s what he does! That’s how he made you destroy the world!”

Martin had taken a step forward and Jon had put himself between him and Jonah. Jon seemed so small and fragile standing by that man, Jonah wanted to take him and run away. But he also wanted to watch; why Jon thought he could stand against a man that was a head taller and weight three times as much? How he was thinking to resolve the conversation? How will the conversation unfold?

“Why would I want to destroy the world?” Jonah asked, but none of them were noticing him. They were having a duel of stares for all Jonah could guess.

“He is different, I know!” Jon insisted, taking another step forward. Martin balled his fists.

“You ‘know it’? Or you ‘Know it’?” Martin countered, his small nose wrinkling in disgust.

“That’s…!

“Oh, so it’s just because he is so charming?”

“What? No!”

“Then Know him!”

Jon balled his fists and looked away. Martin’s rage became realization and, afterwards, mockery, “so he doesn’t know, huh? Your husband isn’t aware of what you are, Jon? That’s a bad way to start a relationship.”

“He knows what I am and who I serve,” Jon replied, icily, “he… He just hasn’t seen me.”

“Show him!” Martin demanded, “if you show him and he accepts it I will be… willing to try this thing.”

Jon turned to look at Jonah, his shimmering green eyes looking for something in Jonah’s face —Jonah smiled, of course. He loved when Jon looked at him so intently—, and when he found it he grinned.

“Very well, I’ll show him,” Jon said, resolute. Martin seemed surprised and looked at Jonah with renewed interest and a deep frown. Jon had turned to look at him and gave him a reassuring smile, “this won’t hurt… I hope.”

Jonah opened his mouth to point how little reassurance that gave him when he noticed how Jon’s eyes shone, literally, and each one of the scars he had kissed and caressed almost obsessively for the past month started to open and reveal smaller eyes of different colours. Around Jon’s head, defying all nature, several green eyes opened in a grotesque parody of a crown.

Jonah took a step back, his heart pounding fast at the image in front of him. The rational part of his brain screamed him to run, to flew. It sounded like Smirke. In fact, it was telling him that Jon was a monster in Smirke’s snob tone.

The part of him that loved to watch and wanted to know more despite the risk told him to approach the seemingly divine creature in front of him —Jonah could remember have reading how the Old Testament depicted angels, full of eyes and grotesque. Was Jon an angel? — and to stare back at all those eyes, in hopes to understand what or why they were.

“…is in shock,” Jon’s voice took Jonah out of his musings; he seemed worried and had his arm —a huge red amber eye looked at him from Jon’s hand— outstretched as if he had thought of reaching him. Jonah reached and caressed underneath the eye, which fluttered shut in what Jonah wanted to assume was delight.

“Jon…” Jonah found his voice, brittle and so soft that he barely heard himself, “how… what… I…” Jonah looked up at Jon’s furrowed eyebrow, his questions leaving his mind when he locked eyes —with the principal green ones— with his husband, “you are beautiful.”

Jonah then kissed Jon, passionately, before starting to deposit soft kisses over all the smaller eyes, "you look like an angel," Jonah whispered against Jon's skin, hugging him tightly by the waist, "like an Old Testament one... Have you come to smite me for my sins?"

“He should,” huffed Martin, outraged.

The morbid fascination of being sure that the magnificent creature in his arms won't hurt him made Jonah tremble in expectation.

The fear was still there, but the curiosity and fascination were stronger. Jonah hoped that Jon wouldn't feel hurt for his fear; he loved him, with or without millions of eyes.

"Jonah," Jon called softly, caressing Jonah's cheeks.

"Yes, Jon?"

"Why are you so cute and cheesy?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand?"

Jon simply laughed, before kissing him tenderly, "I love you, Jonah."

"And I love you too," replied Jonah happily. Before looking at Martin and smiling smugly, "so... Are we going to our room? Our bed is bigger than this."

"I'm not..."

"You promised," Jon interrupted, and Martin grunted before nodding. Jonah didn't wait further and hailed Jon up again, much to Jon's dismay, to get him to their room

When they got to the bedroom the hundred eyes had disappeared, but Jon had a lovely blush darkening his cinnamon cheeks.

Martin hovered awkwardly right by the door as Jonah gently deposited Jon in the bed.

"Well, you are not going to sleep with me on our wedding night on those hideous clothes," Jonah said, handing Jon a pair of soft pants and a shirt.

"But this is comfy," Jon pouted and Jonah shook his head.

"Absolutely not! At the very least take those disgusting pants off!"

Jonah then looked at Martin, who was still using Simon's spare suit.

"And you too, you need different clothes to sleep," Jonah stated, walking to the closet to look for something big enough for Martin, "what are you? Savages?"

Jon chuckled, making no moves to get changed, and instead beckoned Martin to enter the room.

Jonah handed Martin a pair of pants and a night gown, "here, you can get changed in the bathroom."

Jonah then looked at Jon, who was pointedly avoiding his gaze, "Jon, I'm serious, get those pants off!"

But this time he didn't give him any chance, climbing on top of him, kissing him and unbuttoning the pants, to take them off from a mildly upset Jon —Jonah was sure Jon was more embarrassed than upset— who hit him a couple of times. Jonah kissed Jon's neck as he handed him the pyjama pants.

Jon pouted but put on the pants and gripped his oversized green shirt, "can I keep the jumper?"

"But take off the shirt," Jonah conceded, kissing him softly, "it's uncomfortable to sleep."

Jon nodded, and proceeded to hide his arms inside the 'jumper' to take off the shirt. His gaze went to Martin, who was looking at them with a mild frown, "you should get changed, Martin, or Jonah won't let you accompany us."

Martin frowned but nodded, before walking towards the bathroom. Jonah sat on his side of the bed and hailed Jon towards him, nuzzling his neck with a pleased sigh. Jon cuddled against him.

“So, I’m selfish, huh?” Jon asked, looking at Jonah, his green eyes were bright and full of hues, as always, but not shining or shimmering.

“A bit, but I like that,” Jonah replied, “you deserve to be selfish every once in a while, especially if you spend your life attuning for past crimes.”

Jon hummed, and chuckled when Jonah kissed his cheek. Jon gave him a playful hit on the shoulder, before cocking his head a little, “ain’t you curious about those past crimes?”

“I am,” Jonah replied at once, “I want to know everything about you; I want to know about your adventures, the stories behind your scars, the reasons why you should hate me,” Jonah empathized every phrase with a kiss on Jon’s face, “but I know it must be complicated to explain and it’s more likely to be a really long story, so it’s okay, you can take your time.”

Jon beamed, before hiding his face on Jonah’s chest, “you are the best, Jonah.”

“Oh, really?” Martin asked, and Jonah chuckled at Jon’s guilty expression.

“Martin!” Jon smiled at the bigger man, who was frowning at them, “are you ready to come with us?”

“By all means, come and join us,” Jonah added, “I really want my wedding night.”

“Jon, what is he talking about?” Martin asked, frowning, climbing on the bed by Jon’s side.

“Oh right, Jon is asexual,” added Jonah, caressing Jon’s hair tenderly, “so we are going to cuddle and kiss tonight.”

“I know he is asexual!” Martin hissed, “I was his boyfriend before.”

“I’m happy you decided to come,” Jon mumbled, taking Martin’s hands and kissing them, “now things are perfect.”

Martin huffed, but whatever thing he was about to say was drowned by Jon’s passionate kiss. Martin closed his eyes and hugged Jon tightly, kissing him as if there was no tomorrow.

When Martin opened his eyes again there was no light in the room, but Jon’s eyes almost shone in the dark. All of them.

Martin could almost pretend it was just the two of them —if he ignored the hand on Jon’s waist, the soft breathing and the small kisses sounds— there in the darkness.

A Suivre...

Chapter Text

10 - Parsley and Chicken Salad Sandwich with Kennedia tea

“Don’t feel bad for Martin,” the man comments, “Jon loved him dearly.” The man stretches a little and looks around, “I believe we have eaten too much sugar now… How about some parsley and chicken salad sandwich while we See what the world has in stock for Martin?” the man offers, “it goes perfectly with kennedia tea.”

“The Institute,” whispered Martin as they got out of the carriage that Jonah had sent them in. Jon was beaming, clutching his bags as he took in the front of the building. It was freshly painted, probably just built; the bronze plate on the front was gleaming and polished, and the staircase that went up to the tainted glass doors was as perfect as if no one had ever walked up it. It gave Martin the creeps.

“It was inaugurated a week or so before I got there, but Jonah agreed to do a renovation a month before the wedding,” Jon provided, as they walked up the steps to the door. Jon opened it and a shiver went down Martin’s spine.

It wasn’t like he remembered; the main hall was decidedly emptier, with just a desk in which a plain-looking man was ordering something. The twin staircases that climbed in a circle were polished and the wood had some carvings that he hadn’t seen before given the layers of dust and paint it had in his time. The far door was closed but had a plaque that read library and the side door that went to the Archives was nowhere to be seen.

“Jon!” An over-excited greeting made Martin and the man behind the counter jump. A good-looking man with tame curly hair was running towards them from the stairs, “You are back!”

“Jon!” the man behind the counter greeted, scrambling to get to him, a huge grin on his face, “My, the honeymoon did wonders on you; you look relaxed and well rested!”

“And here I was thinking that Jonah won’t let you rest,” joked the other man, patting Jon’s back affectionately, “but alas, tell us, tell us, how was it?”

“Barnabas, Jonathan,” Jon greeted merrily, “it was quite nice, actually; we saw a lot of places and found some interesting books and stories to add to our collection.”

“Only you could go and work during your honeymoon, Jon, dear,” snorted the plain-looking man —Barnabas, it seemed—, “A honeymoon is for enjoying the bliss of a new beginning with your lover, Jon, not for working!”

“We are talking about Jon, Barns,” the other man —Jonathan, Martin assumed— stated, taking one of Jon’s bags, “he would find a way to work even in his death bed. Remember the Yule ball?”

“You make me sound like a workaholic,” Jon protested, with no bite to it, “besides I did enjoy myself during the honeymoon, and Jonah insisted on being lazy until midday.”

“Well, it’s good to know that your husband takes good care of you,” Barnabas said, wriggling his eyebrows, “and it's…”

Barnabas trailed off, his eyes falling on Martin, who had been standing a few metres behind, right by the door, “Ain’t you the guy from the wedding?”

Jonathan looked at him at once, his amber eyes fixating on Martin, measuring him, “My, my, you are right, Barns…”

“Gentlemen,” Jon interrupted, “I want you to meet Martin Blackwood, he is going to be helping us with the Institute. Martin, those are Mr Barnabas Bennett and Dr Jonathan Fanshawe.”

Jon gave Martin a meaningful gaze; do not say too much. While Barnabas and Jonathan approached Martin and shook hands with him.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr Blackwood,” greeted Jonathan, “I’m Dr Fanshawe, the Second Archivist and Head Researcher I guess.”

“It’s good to see you all right, Mr Blackwood,” greeted in time Barnabas, “You may call me just Bennett or Barnabas, I’m not a lord nor a doctor as most of our circle. I take care of the hall and the Library.”

“Y-you may call me Martin,” Martin replied, suddenly embarrassed, feeling Jon’s interested gaze over him. Watching the interaction, probably, “I’m not quite sure what I’m going to do here?”

“Since there are so few of us now,” Jon replied, gesturing at the library, “we should see what is missing and fill in as best as we could. Martin is quite good dealing with people and if you sent him to get some extra information he won’t come back without due diligence.”

Martin hummed at Jon’s smirk at the last two words. It was a joke, an inside one. It felt kind of good.

The Library was different too; for instance, the windows were clean and there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere to be seen. The shelves weren’t filled with books yet, and they and the several ­­tables and chairs for study seemed brand new. There were also several crates on the floor.

“Those got here yesterday afternoon,” commented Jonathan, gesturing to the crates that were already open, “you did find a lot of books on your trip, huh?”

Jon blushed and nodded, “We needed a broader vision… and hum…”

“And since Jonah is up to your every whim…”

“That’s not true,” Jon jumped, “if any it is Jonah who ends up having everyone at his every whim.”

Martin huffed and Jonathan and Barnabas laughed.

“Look, even Mr. Blackwood knows Jonah will bring down the moon if you ask him,” Jonathan pointed, opening the last of the crates. Jon opened his mouth to retort but his eyes flew to the contents of the crate, his breath hitched and he was stopping Jonathan from touching a particularly plain-looking manuscript.

“That’s…” Jon started before frowning, “This one is not going to be here in the library,” Jon stated, looking around until he found a cloth bag and carefully took the manuscript without touching it, “and this is the perfect excuse to show you the new division I convinced Jonah to do.”

“Uhuu new division,” Jonathan seemed excited and curious, while Barnabas seemed wary and scared, his eyes fixated on the manuscript in Jon’s hands. Martin could almost feel the pull from the manuscript. It must be from the Lonely.

Jon opened a side door to a long hall and entered through the second door. Martin felt a shiver down his spine when they entered the place, filled with cabinets and tables —mostly empty— that had several items in glass cases with big ‘Do not touch’ signs around.

“Welcome to Artifact Storage,” Jon said, a bit too excited to Martin’s liking. Jon put the manuscript on one of the cabinets and filled a small card in the front. ‘The cry of the trees – The Lonely’.

“What are these things?” Jonathan asked, going from case to case, looking at the contents intently but making no move to touch anything. Barnabas on his side had approached a rather large one that had a small simple black box, his hand reaching. The card simply read ‘the flesh’.

“Those are items tied with the fears,” Jon explained, “we found some on our trip and some of Jonah’s friends described others and sent them over.”

“What does this do?” Asked Barnabas, finally, his hand against the glass. Jon looked at him expressionless before turning to Jonathan.

“Jonathan, are you still taking care of that Piton?” Jon asked, and Jonathan nodded while paling. Jon’s remaining eyes were watching Barnabas. Martin was sure. Jon simply asked, “Do you still have mice, then?”

“Oh,” Jonathan sighed relieved, “yes, I’ll bring some.”

“He thought you were going to use the snake,” Martin stated, his tone borderline on disappointed, “you scared him.”

Jon’s gaze darkened, and he looked down, the other eyes closing, before mumbling, chastised, “I’m sorry…”

Barnabas looked between them, confusion and curiosity brewing in his eyes and frowned eyebrows when Jonathan entered with a mouse in his hands.

“I got one!” Jonathan said handing Jon the mouse, who took it without even looking and walked towards the case. He opened it and looked up, hesitating when his gaze met Martin’s. But when he looked at Jonathan and Barnabas a small glint of hunger lit his eyes.

“Behold,” Jon said, and Martin could almost hear the static in his voice. Jon put the mouse over the box.

A distressed sound came from Jonathan’s mouth, just to die in his hands as he covered it. Barnabas froze in his place, paling.

The mouse cracked, as its bones rearranged and its skin melted away. The muscles and organs moved around, contorting, breaking, stretching and knitting together until instead of a mouse there was a small bloody ball.

Jon’s eyes were gleaming, as he fed from the terror of Jonathan and Barnabas. Martin felt nausea. How much did Jonah corrupt Jon in those months?

“That…” Jonathan mumbled, “That was horrible.”

Barnabas nodded, his eyes following Jon’s hand as he extracted the former mouse from the case, closed it again and disposed of the corpse.

“That’s why we need this place,” Jon replied, “this way we can contain and study these artefacts so they won’t hurt anyone.”

Jonathan and Barnabas nodded solemnly. They followed Jon around with bright eyes, taking in everything he said or did. Martin felt a small pang of jealousy when he recognized their gazes as the ones he used to give Jon back when they first started working at the Institute. The big difference was that this Jon gave the other two men his attention and answered his questions without a hint of disgust or loathing.

“Jon,” Jonathan called, then, and Martin felt a shiver when he recognized the expecting way Jonathan looked at Jon. Just like when he made Jon some tea and waited for him to like it.

“Yes?” Jon turned, closing again the wooden box in which a disturbing doll had rested.

“You remember how we recollect and archive stories of encounters?” Jonathan said, his voice getting louder and more confident as Jon fixated his attention on him.

“Yes, that’s what we do as Archivists, Jonathan,” Jon replied, a small hint of curiosity in his voice. None of that tiredness that came when Martin used to ask obvious stuff.

“Well, I supposed that maybe it was time to have a place solely dedicated to that,” Jonathan continued, gesturing for them to follow him to the corridor. He went to the last door and opened it.  It went downstairs, “so I discussed it with Jonah and Mr Smirke, and with a little help of the latter I prepared this.”

Jonathan opened the door at the end of the staircase: The Archive.

Clean, perfectly ordered. With a huge mass of cabinets in the centre that seemed like a flower with fourteen petals. It had a couple of desks on one side and shelves lining the walls. In the far corner was a small group of shelves that had a sign that read ‘discredited’. Every one of the points of the ‘petals’ had a big sign in blank awaiting for them to be labelled probably.

“I took the chance to move all from Jonah’s library to here, respecting the fourteen sections you had devised,” Jonathan explained, as he toured them around the cabinets, “Smirke helped design this so we could store all the documents that fall in the fourteen categories and having a special part for the mixed statements.”

“It’s beautiful, Jonathan,” Jon said in a warm fond voice, looking around with a huge grin on his lips, “our Archives.”

Jonathan’s cheeks blushed slightly, “and… hum, since you like your privacy when reviewing the statements and attending people… We put together an office for you.”

Jonathan practically ran towards the right side of the Archive, where a simple door of polished mahogany was. It had a bronze plaque that read ‘Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist’.

Jon caressed the plaque, a fond smile curving his lips, “Thank you, Jonathan, you are as thoughtful as always.”

“It was nothing,” Jonathan replied, and Jon looked at him over his shoulder before smirking.

“Do you mind if I look around and try to get some work done?” Jon asked his hand already on the doorknob.

“Go ahead, Mr. I-don’t-believe-in-days-off,” joked Barnabas, making Jon’s cheeks bright red. Jon huffed and entered the office with as much dignity as he could. Jonathan and Barnabas cackled as soon as the door closed.

“Oh my, that was the most endearing thing,” Jonathan said, dreamily, as they started walking back up. Martin frowned at the closed door before falling in pace behind them.

“I told you he was going to like it,” Barnabas commented, “It’s just a shame you decided to act up after he got married.”

“As if it could have changed anything,” Jonathan huffed, as they entered the library, “Jon practically lives for Jonah’s attention since he arrived.”

“It may be true, but still,” Barnabas replied, approaching one of the crates and starting to take books off from it, “Jon likes you a lot.”

“As he likes you,” Jonathan sighed, walking towards a closet and producing some stamps, what looked like a notebook, a bottle of ink and a quill.

“No, I don’t think so,” Barnabas shook his head, a sad smile on his mouth, “he is just kind.”

“In his own skittish way,” Jonathan nodded, placing the objects on the same table Barnabas placed the books.

Martin looked at them, wondering what he could do or if he should be listening to their conversation. He could feel the fog licking his shoes and ankles, ready to swallow him up. Then Jonathan looked up; his eyes seemed to pierce the fog, just like Jon’s.

“Mr. Blackwood, come here,” Jonathan patted the seat by his side, “we are going to add these to the library’s inventory. Would you like to help?”

“S-sure,” Martin promptly replied, walking towards the table, where Barnabas was putting more books, “what can I do?”

“I’m going to put the names on the inventory, you could put the ex-LIBRIS on the cover and classify them on piles so Barnabas can put them in their rightful places,” Jonathan said. He was an innate leader it seemed; charming, kind, decided, confident, and good at his work.

“So, ‘Martin’,” adventured Barnabas, sitting by their side as they started their work, “what happened with the whole ‘I oppose’ at the wedding? I mean, Jon and Mr Magnus still got married, but you came here with Jon.”

“We had a small chat and we are giving a go to a three-way relationship,” Martin replied with a shrug. He read the title of the book Jonathan just handed him; ‘A Comprehensive List of Europe’s Mythical Creatures’ and promptly put the ‘From the Library of the Magnus Institute’ with the hideous owl/eye that served as the logo of the Institute. Martin hated it.

“Really?” Jonathan asked, bewildered as Martin put the book away and got the next one; ‘Tales from the Catacombs of Edinburgh’, “I should have opposed too then.”

“Wait, I thought you were the one that stabbed Jon?” Barnabas asked, taking the first book and looking for a place for it on the shelves.

“He asked me to!” Martin hissed, “Besides I was trying to save him from the thing that Jonah Magnus did!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Martin could feel some eyes over him. Was Jon looking at him? Was he making sure he won’t spill the beans?

“Well, well, well,” Jonah’s voice made Martin jump, “it seems like Jon had already put you to work.”

“He loved the office,” Jonathan promptly said, grinning, “and the Archive.”

“Perfect,” Jonah beamed, looking around, “Oh, Martin. Jon did tell me that you used to work together,” he said, amicable. Martin wanted to hit him.

“Yes, we did,” Martin replied, harshly, “I was his assistant.”

“That sounds like hard work,” Jonah said, sympathetically, “but alas, at least you know your way around Jon’s overworking self.”

Jonathan and Barnabas snorted, and Jonah smirked.

“Still, I’m going to request you three to make sure Jon doesn’t over-exhort himself,” Jonah added, “and, Martin, I would like you two back home by six; we have an important soiree this night and we need to prepare ourselves.”

Jonah then looked at Jonathan and Barnabas, “I think a young lady is going to come later here, so if you could direct her in the right direction. I would love to do it myself, but I have a reunion to secure more funding for our little Institute. With any luck, I could get some more people to help you out.”

“If anyone could do it, is you, Jonah,” Jonathan replied, smiling at Jonah in the same way he had smiled at Jon moments before, “take care.”

“Take care, Mr Magnus,” said Barnabas with a small smile, “we will take care of the Institute and Mr Sims for you.”

“Thank you, Barnabas, Jonathan,” Jonah made a small inclination, and turned to Martin, “see you later, Martin.”

Martin glared at Jonah, who smiled politely and turned to walk away.

“If you stabbed your boyfriend,” commented Jonathan, “I’m wondering what you’ll do with your boyfriend’s husband whom you seem to hate.”

“Jon is worried about that too,” Martin simply replied, turning his attention back to a book written in German with a note scribbled in Jon’s particular spidery handwriting ‘Of the third Horseman: recount of plagues in Northern Europe’.

“Please don’t kill Mr Magnus,” Barnabas pleaded, “if he dies and I lose this job I’m going to have to face Mr Lukas and I definitely don’t want that.”

“He took you to the Lonely, didn’t he?” Martin asked, not even bothering to look up from the books he was marking and categorising.

“Y-you know?” asked Barnabas, shivering slightly.

“He used to be Jon’s assistant,” Jonathan pointed, “he probably can sense or know things too.”

Martin opened his mouth to refute it but closed it again. How he plan to explain it? He could feel the discreet eyes on the light green wallpaper looking at him, expecting, watching his every move.

“Uhm, excuse me?” a feminine voice interrupted Martin’s racing thoughts, “the door was open and… This is the Magnus Institute, isn’t it?”

“It is indeed,” Jonathan replied, standing from his place and walking around the table to greet the woman with a veil that just entered, “what can we do for you, ma’am?”

“Dr Fanshawe?” the woman asked, losing the veil to show a rather yellowish complexion and a couple of deep brown eyes in a bony face that was lined by a dull brown unkempt mane, “what are you doing here?”

“Lady Berkeley!” Jonathan seemed taken aback, “my goodness, you seem worse than the last time. I think we could get a carriage to get you to the hospital…”

“No, no!” the woman interrupted, “really, it’s not as bad as it looks, Dr Fanshawe. I just… I met Mr Magnus a while ago to ask him about…”

The woman’s voice trailed off, as her gaze went from man to man. She was obviously traumatized.

“Lady Berkeley,” Jonathan said then, his voice even and sympathetic, as he took her hands in his, “if it was something strange or weird that put you in this situation then you’ve come to the right place.”

Miss Berkeley seemed to relax, sighing relieved, “Oh dear lord, thank you. I had heard, Dr Fanshawe, from Lady Kim, who heard it from Lady Upright that Mr Magnus was well versed on this kind of things and that he was acquainted with a man named Mr Sims…”

“That’s correct, my dear,” Jonathan replied, stirring the woman towards the door that conduced to the Archives, “in fact, Mr Sims is now in his office. He is a little busy but I’m sure I could convince him to give you a couple of minutes to explain what is troubling you.”

“Oh, that would be lovely, dear,” replied Miss Berkeley. And if she said something else, Martin couldn’t hear it, for the door closed behind them.

“She must be the ‘lady’ Mr Magnus was talking about,” Barnabas commented, moving the books that Martin had piled, “I’m glad she came here; she is a good client and a very polite and kind woman. I’m sure Jon will be able to help her.”

“Help her?”

“Yes, Jon will ask her what is troubling her and will give her some advice or insight. She would feel better afterwards and may have a way to deal with whatever is tormenting her.”

“Has he been doing this a lot?”

“For quite a while… More than a month before the wedding.”

“Really? It was his idea?”

“I think it was Mr. Magnus’. But it was after he talked to me after I sent Mr. Magnus a letter to request his help. After they got me out of that hideous place, and struck a deal with Mr. Lukas I was tormented by nightmares and flashbacks. Jon finally came to me and asked me about it; it was liberating and afterwards, I stopped remembering the nightmares if I had them at all. Mr. Magnus noticed that and commented to Jon that it could help the Institute and people at the same time, and since then Mr. Magnus, Dr Fanshawe and yours truly have been stirring people that had dealt with the supernatural towards Jon so he could help them.”

“Right… Help them,” Martin knew he shouldn’t be mad at that, nor judge Jon. He had to feed the Eye or die, but still. It sat badly on his guts, though.

“May I ask you a question, Mr Blackwood?” asked Barnabas, taking the last books Martin had listed and marked.

“It’s just Martin, and yes, you may.”

“Right, Martin,” Barnabas nodded, “you seem to get upset about the Institute and what Jon and Mr. Magnus do here… Did you have an… upsetting experience with those things?”

“More than one,” Martin replied, grimacing, “I was trapped in my flat for two weeks by a monster made of worms, attacked several times by said monster, watched and traumatised by an eye guy, isolated by a being of the Lonely… Without talking about the events that led to Jon and I got stranded there.”

“I don’t envy you at all,” Barnabas stated, shivering, “but… Why did you keep going behind those things? I would have run away; I still want but I’m sure that man would find me so…”

“It’s not like I could actually run away,” mumbled Martin, sparing a glance towards the door to the Archives.

“You must love him a lot,” Barnabas commented, looking at the door too, “Dr Fanshawe loves Mr Magnus and Jon a lot too. That’s why he keeps trying as hard as he can to help them with this.”

“It will only end badly,” Martin stated, shivering at the sudden attention over his shoulders, “being around Jonah Magnus, that’s it.”

“You truly hate him,” Barnabas frowned, “I don’t know why or how can someone hate Mr Magnus that much, but I assure you; he is really serious about Jon and they both do well to each other.”

“Jon is down receiving statements,” Martin replied, “and he has scared you and who knows how many more people. He does it almost instinctively. No, that relationship is not good for him.”

“You talk like Mr Smirke,” commented Jonathan from the door, he had just returned and was staring at them, “just like him when he insists that Jon is a monster.”

Jonathan’s eyes were fixated on Martin, and Martin could see the faint glow on those amber orbs that Martin had learnt to associate with the Archivist and the other Eye Avatars. Martin fought back the urge to cover himself with the fog of the Lonely to run away from the attention.

“Jon is not human anymore,” Martin simply replied, “but it wasn’t his choice.”

*-*-*-*-*

Jonah watched Jon from the eyes of a small painting on his desk; it was delectable to see how he fed from the fear that carried the recounting of Lady Berkley’s experiences. How small eyes opened in the sheer fabric of the universe to stare at the back of the young woman’s head, drinking on every move that would carry the terror she had felt during the events.

Jon just stared at her, taking notes without looking down, nodding at the right places but without asking questions. Miss Berkley just talked and talked giving up even the most embarrassing details of her dating with the dead, and Jon simply listened with eager rapture.

Jonah knew now that Jon would gladly walk down the nightmares she’d have after this, drinking on a fear that she wouldn’t remember.

Jonah wondered, not for the first time if it would take a toll on her nonetheless. It had seemed to Jonah that the people who had talked to Jon had been better afterwards; happier. But still tired as if sleep didn’t come as it should to them. Maybe Jon just made sure they didn’t have any recollection of him parading their dreams, who knew?

Jonah wanted to know.

The desire to know more about Jon’s powers, about Jon himself was almost terrifying, the way he would toss any reservations behind himself just to see what Jon would do. Maybe curiosity will get him killed after all.

Or maybe not, if Jon had been truthful to what he told him back in Paris while they strolled the Louvre.

Jonah could remember it clear as day as if it had happened just an hour ago; Jon’s small waist hold firmly with his hand, Jon’s hair braided up in a loose bun, smelling like violets, Jon’s random data from the paintings and the artists —mostly how many of them had encounter the Fears—, and how Jon had stopped in front of a painting of a bed filled with worms and some gruesome looking corpse. It wasn’t signed, but it had a date of several decades in the future.

Jon had stared at the place and had repeated the name of the painting —a woman’s name— and had frowned. “This will be one of Prentiss’ victims…”

“Will be?” Jonah asked and Jon looked at him before smirking.

“I’ll save this tale for another day,” Jon said, nuzzling against Jonah, “besides I’ll taste better if the poor man tells us about it.”

“But it’s a bit far in the future,” Jonah replied, dreading the pass of the time.

“Are you scared of dying before that?” Jon asked, amused.

“I haven’t yet met a person who isn’t scared of death,” Jonah frowned at Jon’s amused expression.

“Oh, dearest,” Jon gave him a chaste kiss, “you don’t have to worry about the End, I’ll make sure you won’t leave my side.”

Jon had been earnest in his words, and Jonah would die before doubting Jon. Still, he failed to see how Jon would prolong his lifetime. Then again, Jon was almost a demigod born from a terrorized scholar —Jon had started to recount his experiences at one point during their honeymoon— now knowledgeable about the ways of the terrors that lurked in the world.

Jonah looked around the institute using the several eyes that plagued the mouldings, wallpapers and tiles, drinking on how marvellous it was, even if he had a rather reduced personnel at the moment —he had already hired a new receptionist, a librarian and a library assistant and a personal assistant for himself, so Jon could assign their friends (and Martin) whatever task he felt inclined to.

Yes, his institute was starting to look good and it was all his doing —well, his and Jon’s—.

“What a pretty office, Jonah,” Mr Lukas said, barging in followed by a rather distressed Miss Gonzales who was insisting on him to wait.

“I’m so sorry, Mr Magnus,” Miss Gonzales said, bowing to him, “I tried to tell him to wait but he didn’t listen.”

“It’s okay, Miss Gonzales,” Jonah said, feeling a bit of pity for the girl and a bit of hunger for her fear of being caught not doing her job properly, “I was waiting for Mr Lukas to show up today.”

“Oh,” Miss Gonzales’ cheeks reddened as she excused herself and practically fled the room.

“She is cute,” Mordecai said, with a sly smile, “and I can see she is not the only cute addition to your Institute.”

“I’d like to ask you to refrain from trapping my employees, Mordecai,” Jonah sat by his desk and stared at him.

“You are no fun, Jonah,” he said simply, sitting in front of him, “and here I was getting ready to help you with this endeavour of yours… Though it seems like you don’t need my help.”

“I would appreciate it,” Jonah replied, “I’ll assure you that even if Jon has managed to charm some Lords to help us out, your collaboration is invaluable to me.”

“That’s good,” the older man said with a small grin, “you ought to make sure little Barnabas pays up.”

“I’m making sure of it,” Jonah nodded, “he is one of Jon’s assistants at the moment.”

“That doesn’t sound like a hard job.”

“I assure you, Jon is a merciless boss.”

“That’s good, I would love to see him work his assistants out.”

Jonah had to stifle a laugh because Jon had just gone to the library again and asked Mr Bennet and Mr Fanshawe to do some ‘leg work’ for him, while he appointed Martin as the adjourned librarian because he “used to work in the library before, so he knew his way around the dewey system.

“Mordecai,” Jonah said jovially, “would you mind joining me for lunch?”

“Lunch?”

“Yes, I’m afraid that Jon has been caught up by work and won’t be able to join me at the moment,” Jonah said with a bit of a flare, “do you mind joining me?”

“Not at all,” Mordecai replied, “but you ought to tell me what has Mr Sims so busy.”

“His first actual case, it seems,” said Jonah with a smirk. He could see how invested Jon was by giving him a glance from the portrait in the library; he had already surrounded himself with books and was scribbling furiously on a sheet of paper.

He followed Mr Lukas out of his office and tasked Miss Gonzales with getting Jon’s his midday tea.

Though maybe Martin would take care of it.

*-*-*-*-*

“Jon!” Martin whined and Jon looked up from where he was looking for more information on these death lovers, “you cannot just send them to look for a zombie!”

“Our duty as members of the Institute…”

“No, no, no, shut up!” Martin shook his head, “don’t you dare saying that shit. Jon! This place is evil!”

Jon stared at Martin and sighed softly, “Martin, you know I despised the Spiral, but I ought to quote them this time,” he said patiently, “is a thing evil when it simply obeys its own nature?”

“Nature? Nature?” Martin huffed, “this has gone too far, Jon, way too far,” Martin shook his head again, “this is evil and monstrous, and it has to stop.”

“You are free to go then,” Jon replied, hurt, turning his attention back to his work. Always his work, before Martin. But not before Elias, Jonah. Why?

“Jon… Come on, I didn’t mean…”

“You did mean it, Martin, you know I didn’t choose to be like this.”

“I just thought you’ll fight it more.”

“Then what?” Jon snapped, looking up at him, “would you prefer me to starve myself until I can’t take it anymore and go hunting some poor person whose only crime would be crossing paths with me? Is that what you want?”

“Jon I…

“No, Martin, listen up,” Jon interrupted, seriously, “I know this is not ideal by any account, but this is what we have. I care deeply about Jonathan and Barnabas and I can assure you I wouldn’t have sent them if I had thought it too dangerous. I might be a monster, but I still have a conscience, thank you very much.”

“I’m sorry, Jon, I…” Martin chewed his lip, “It’s just a lot to take in… For me, six months ago you were angry about being a monster, ready to sacrifice yourself to rid the world of the Entities.”

“For me, it has already passed more than a decade, Martin,” Jon replied softly, “I Know this is not ideal, and you have your reservations, but I need you to trust me when I tell you I know what I’m doing and I’m not doing it to be an evil monster.”

“I trust you, Jon,” Martin replied with a sigh, “I really really trust you… I just don’t trust Jonah nor the Entities.”

“I can live with that,” Jon smiled at Martin and the taller man just sighed deeply and sat by Jon’s side.

“Okay, tell me what are we looking for…”

A Suivre...

Chapter Text

11 - Petunia Greek Salad and Cyclamen Stuffed Bread, with Darjeeling Tea

“See, Martin was a rather stubborn man,” the man says, “but he was a man after all, and men, people, are greedy... The same could be said about Jon and Jonah, to be fair…”

 

The man hands you over a plate with a salad and some stuffed bread, smirking, “but eat now, dearest, you seem to be starving,” he says, “it’s Petunia Greek Salad, Cyclamen Stuffed Bread and I’d accompany them with Darjeeling tea.”

Martin had stolen a cup of tea from the kitchen.

Well, not stolen. It was ‘his house as well now’ at least according to Jon.

It felt weird to call Jonah’s house his…

It felt weird to share Jon with that monster.

But Martin had learnt his lesson, and won’t speak ill about Jonah. He would wait; after all, Jonah was still Jonah, which meant that he was still the bastard that hurt Jon and made him cause the apocalypse. And Jon would have to notice it, sooner or later.

And Martin was going to be by his side when it happened, so Jon won’t get too hurt.

Yes.

Martin was going to take care of Jon.

Martin was nodding absentmindedly to his thoughts as he climbed the stairs to the bedrooms’ hall when he heard it.

It was a whine.

No.

A moan.

No.

A very loud cry.

And it was Jon’s voice.

Martin felt panic rush through his body as he ran towards Jon & Jonah’s —and his, as well— bedroom, his hand stopped in the knob when he heard the next cry.

There was no pain nor anguish in that cry,

“Oh, my gods! Yes!” Moaned Jon, “oh, yes! Jonah, there… Ahhh YES!”

What!?

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!?

Wasn’t Jon ‘asexual’? Wasn’t that why they just settled with kissing and cuddling and holding hands?

What was he doing fucking with damned Jonah Magnus? Fucking! And moaning shamelessly!

Martin opened the door, prepared to scream at them both.

He wasn’t prepared for the image in front of him.

Jon was lying half-naked and face down on the bed, practically melted against the mattress, with a blissful expression that Martin had never seen before on him.

On top of him, was Jonah, still dressed and completely red. He had the sleeves of his dress shirt up, and was massaging Jon.

Massaging Jon.

Jonah Magnus was giving Jon a back massage, and Jon was in complete bliss.

Martin had opened his mouth to ask or say something, but Jon moaned again ecstatically. Jonah shivered and licked his lips, averting looks from the man under himself.

Martin and Jonah locked gazes.

Jonah’s gaze was pleading.

Jonah was aroused by Jon’s moans, squirming and all that, and seemed to be asking Martin to help. To help with what?

“Oh…” Jon practically purred, “Jonah~”

Ok, Martin could see the problem there. Or feel it arise at the very least.

Jon’s voice was too arousing.

Jon purred a little more, sinking in the mattress while Jonah applied a little more cream on his back so tenderly that Martin could almost believe him. Almost.

Jonah leaned over Jon, to leave a butterfly kiss over every scar on Jon’s back before kissing his nape, “it’s done, love. Do you feel better?”

“Have I told you that I love you, Jonah?” Jon replied, in a husky and hoarse voice that matched —and exceeded a little— what Martin had imagined what Jon’s voice would sound after sex —the fantasies that he had before he had known Jon wasn’t into that kind of thing.

Damn it. Martin was starting to get turned on by the whole situation.

Jonah climbed down from Jon, the bulge in his pants confirming Martin’s suspicious of his horniness. Jonah looked at Martin, pondering, before smiling predatorily.

Nope, Martin didn’t like that look and smile at all.

“You know, Jon,” Jonah said, still looking at Martin, while he carded Jon’s hair softly, “your voice is really erotic, am I right, Martin?”

Jon tensed on the bed, turning his head slowly to look at Martin before hiding his face again in the pillow. It was followed by unintelligible mumbling that made Jonah’s smile wider.

“It is erotic,” replied Jonah, with a chuckle, “I mean, Martin is as turned on as me, just by hearing the lovely sounds you make.”

Jon whined, mortified, and Martin could feel his cheeks heat up. He opened his mouth to protest when Jonah looked at him again, pinning him in place with that dreadful silver gaze.

“You know… I think you’ll like seeing us together,” Jonah commented, licking his lips, “huh, Jon? Seeing your husband being fucked by your boyfriend… Would you like that?”

Martin huffed, annoyed, and hissed when Jon perked up, looking first at Jonah and then at him with hungry eyes. Jon simply nodded, licking his lips.

“I’m not fucking you!” Martin hissed, angrily, “I hate you, remember?”

“It could be hate sex,” Jonah shrugged, saying that as if he was just commenting on what was for breakfast or how was the weather, “either way it would help up with pent-up energy and maybe to dissolve some tension.”

“Dissolve some tension?” repeated Martin, outraged, his voice going up with every phrase, “how can you suggest that so easily?”

Jonah looked at Martin and smiled kindly, almost patronizing, “Well, because I see we are in the same situation; excited due to our lover’s sweet voice, and I thought that maybe we could solve it together while he enjoys the view,” he replied, calmly, “besides, I think it would be rather hot to have Jon watching us.”

Martin didn’t like the way Jonah had said ‘watch’, nor the way Jon had slowly sat on the bed and was looking back and forth, a small blush tinted his cheeks while he chewed his lip. Jon was trying hard to control the hunger that was obvious to Martin, but to be hungry for that?

On the other side, it could be that Jon simply had it harder to get aroused and that was the nearest that he could get to actually have sex with Jon. Not that he didn’t like the few times that Jon had offered to help him out —it had been embarrassing, mostly because Jon had looked in that predatory way too, as if he was trying to commit to memory every expression—, but maybe having Jon voyeauring him fucking his husband could elicit some sort of reaction from him?

“I’m not going to be gentle to you,” Martin huffed at Jonah who cocked his head ever so slightly. It was worth a try, Martin thought.

“Really? That’s a bit out of character,” Jonah commented, as he started to undo his shirt’s buttons. Jon gasped softly, looking intently at Jonah’s skin with more than just two eyes. Jonah was basking in the attention, “But I guess is fine, I mean, hard is good too, don’t you think?”

How could he say it with such a straight face while undressing?

Martin tsked and looked at Jon, who seemed very invested on beholding how Jonah slowly undressed. The many eyes had started to open slowly, to gaze at the skin.

“You really want to see that?” Martin asked, and Jon looked at him guiltily. The many eyes closed promptly. Jon shrunk, chastised.

“I…” Jon mumbled, chewing his lip and hugging his legs. He had those puppy eyes he tended to put on whenever he wanted something but felt imposing, “I would… I mean… If you don’t want to do it, it’s okay…”

Martin frowned, looking at Jon — in all his half-naked, oiled, and blushed glory— before looking at Jonah, who had finished undressing and had sat by Jon to carefully caress his hair. Jon’s many eyes had started to open again, looking at Jonah who had started to place soft kisses around them.

Jonah wasn’t that bad. Martin couldn’t help but note.

Jonah was quite handsome. Martin would not admit that one, though.

And to Martin’s surprise, as Jon got more comfortable against Jonah and lowered his legs, it seems that Jon was turned on.

That was a first.

And —damn it— Martin was curious about how Jon’s face would look like when cumming.

“Will you masturbate to it?” Martin asked, and Jon’s face got even redder and he closed his legs, mortified. He looked adorable.

“Martin asked a question, love,” Jonah pointed, in a husky and hungry voice that made Martin shiver. Jon chewed his lip and nodded sharply, averting looks with all his eyes but keeping them open.

Martin chewed his lip, and nodded slowly, “fine,” he said, and almost laughed when Jon looked at him hopefully, “but you’ll have to direct me.”

Martin wanted Jon to be part of it, so he could not think about the other man in the room.

“Direct you?” Jon asked, and Jonah’s eyes lit with mirth.

Martin nodded, “yes, tell me what do you want to see me do to him.”

Jon moaned, his eyes wide with expectative.

And Martin shivered under Jon’s half-calculating, half-aroused gaze.

“C-can you undress?” Jon asked, half-hiding his mouth with his hand. He was embarrassed, but he wanted to do it. Good.

Martin started to undress and saw how more of the eyes in Jon’s skin started to open to look at him. It was a weird sensation, but it wasn’t that bad. To have all Jon’s attention.

“Jonah?” Jon called softly, still looking at Martin, “can you… in fours?”

It was adorable how Jon’s turned into a mumbling mess, all red and turned on just by looking at him undress under his command. Fuck.

“I…” Jon looked at Martin and Jonah, who had obliged and was now caressing Jon’s legs wistfully, Martin looked at Jon and smiled encouragingly. Jon nodded, “Martin… P-please, prepare him.”

Jonah opened his mouth to say something and Martin shoved his fingers in his mouth. Jon smirked, tilting his head a little to admire the scene unfolding in front of him.

Embarrassment was slowly abandoning Jon, who was growing more and more comfortable with the fact that they were doing that for him to watch.

Martin groaned when Jon reached into his underwear and started caressing himself languidly.

Martin took his fingers from Jonah’s mouth and could see how Jon licked his lips as he took them to Jonah’s ass.

When Martin started preparing Jonah he moaned shamelessly, his eyes locked with some of Jon‘s eyes. Jon shivered, as many more eyes started to open on his skin to capture every movement.

“Take him,” Jon suddenly breathed, Martin looked at him frowning and Jon simply smiled hungrily, “he is ready, take him.”

Martin wasn’t about to deny Jon in such state, given the echoing sound of his voice and the somehow not that distant wiring sound that could only mean that the tapes were listening. Martin was starting to feel self-conscious with all the attention.

“Wait,” Jon reached when Martin took Jonah’s hip, “turn him over… I want to see him.”

Jonah moaned and let out a surprised gasp when Martin flopped him on his back; Jon hummed, admiring Jonah’s body as Martin took his hip.

“He is strong,” Jonah said, breathless, as Martin started easing himself in. Martin opened his mouth to snap at him when Jon hummed in agree. Martin shot him and angry glance just to see how Jon was now caressing his erection, legs wide open, almost in display.

“He is really strong and warm,” Jon convened, his eyes staring at Martin as he kept masturbating. Martin shivered when he noticed the crown opening and several more eyes ripping reality around them. Martin could feel thousands of gazes from every direction, as Jon stared.

Jonah bucked, groaning as Martin entered him. Jon trembled, bucking his hip too. A faint green glowed on Jonah’s eyes.

Martin saw how Jon started caressing his chest avoiding the many eyes, while chewing his lips. And Martin couldn’t help but wonder if Jon was feeling what Jonah was. Jon seemed ready for a statement, though, almost as when they traversed the nightmarish landscape after the Change.

Now, if that was the case, better make it a statement of moans, whimpers and groans.

Martin started caressing Jonah’s chest just as Jon was caressing himself, and both men moaned at the same time. Maybe Jon was knowing Jonah’s pleasure.

There was only one way to know for sure, though.

Martin smirked at Jon and thrusted deep into Jonah. Both men arched with a pleasured scream and Martin knew he was right. He could see the many eyes fighting to keep open as Jon was slowly overthrow by the shared pleasure, just as Jonah tried his best to look at Jon with his back arched and his hands clawing at the slender legs of their lover.

“J-jon,” Martin panted, thrusting hard into Jonah.

“Jon~” Moaned Jonah bucking his hip against Martin’s, trying to get more.

“Martin,” Jon panted breathless, “Jonah.”

Jon’s face was flushed with arousal and Martin wanted more; he wanted to see more to hear more of Jon.

And to taste him.

Martin reached for Jon’s face and fisting his hair, he stole a deep kiss from the love of his life.

Jon kissed back hungrily, clawing at Martin’s nape and back. They had never shared such a demanding kiss before and Martin just melted on it; kissing Jon as if they had never kiss before.

Jon was the one to interrupt the kiss with a hard bite on Martin’s lower lip, before whispering over it, “cum for me.”

It was an order; demanding, husky and with no place for doubts.

Martin was more than happy to oblige.

He plunged deep inside Jonah with a strangled scream, filling him with his hot seed, while Jonah came hard between both of them arching in a silent scream. Martin sighed contently, panting a little as Jon moaned, admiring the scene in front of him, before letting out a soft whine when Jonah licked him from base to tip and took him in his mouth.

“I think he wants you to cum,” Martin whispered in Jon’s ear, smiling with delight when Jon moaned and, gripping Jonah’s hair, cum deep in his mouth.

Jon trembled as he rode out his orgasm, the many eyes closing one by one as Jon melted against Martin. Martin hummed happily as he hugged Jon, carding his hair softly as he enjoyed the warmth of his lover against his skin. Martin kissed Jon’s cheek, melting in the after bliss, wondering what could be more perfect.

His little bubble was broken soon, though.

“That was hot,” purred Jonah, climbing over Jon and kissing him softly, “especially the part where you were all Eyes.”

“You liked that?” Jon asked, partially embarrassed, partially pleased, and partially wary, while he started caressing Jonah’s hair. Martin wanted to be angry at Jonah, but he had to admit he was right; Jon was so hot with his many eyes drinking in the pleasure of his lovers. Fuck. Martin wouldn’t mind fucking Jonah again —it had been quite good, even if he won’t admit it out loud— if it meant to see Jon like that again.

“You know I love when you do that,” Jonah replied, kissing Jon’s face.

“And what about you, Martin?” Jon asked, reaching for Martin to caress his hair.

“It would be better if it were just the two of us,” Martin replied, hugging Jon possessively. Jon smirked as he snuggled both of his lovers.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Jonah wasn’t sure why he had offered Martin to fuck him; he didn’t find the man appealing in the slight, but… But he was interested in Jon’s reaction to them together. It was obvious that Jon enjoyed being with both of them and while Jonah was a very greedy man, he couldn’t find it in himself to deny something to Jon.

His Jon, beautiful, divine, terrifying Jon.

Jonah would do anything to see him again in all his monstrous glory with such a pleasured smile and hungry gaze.

Only by thinking about it made Jonah feel giddy.

Maybe he could get Jon to be like that just with him, with no Martin around to spoil the fun.

Martin… Martin was a real problem, now that Jonah thought about him; always trying to hinder Jon, always accusing Jonah of things.

So self-righteous and over-zealous… Jonah kept worrying that one day Martin would decide to finally see through one of his many plans to get rid of him and take Jon back to wherever they were before.

Not that Jonah would give up without a fight. And though he would prefer to end the hindrance of Martin Blackwood with his own two hands, maybe in a ditch or something, he knew that Jon wouldn’t like it at all.

Jon won’t forgive him if he hurt Martin. So, he had to wait and hope.

After all, it seemed like Martin and Jon weren’t that sure about the other.

Jonah was good at playing on the long run, and he had patience.

He would be at the very End with Jon, only the two of them, he was sure.

He’ll fight for it.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Martin didn’t want to feel like a third wheel, and certainly Jon didn’t mean for him to feel like that, but it was more than obvious that Jon and Jonah had built a routine around each other. They would walk around almost like dancing, as they carry on with their things, always within eyesight of each other, stealing little smiles and nods.

It was their house.

Their room.

Their life.

And Martin felt like an intruder every time Jon tried to make him part of this new life of his, eager to share everything he had with Martin and Jonah.

Jonah.

Martin wasn’t sure how to feel with the fact that Jonah Magnus seemed to be a rather mild fellow; he was attentive with Jon and an ace at handling bureaucracy, but beyond that there wasn’t anything evil nor scheming about himself.

That made Martin mad, because he was sure as hell that the fucking panopticon was already around and that man was trying to do something to make Jon don’t like Martin anymore.

Maybe it was just paranoia, though.

It could be paranoia.

In which case he was only feeding more the monster that was growing inside Jonah Magnus, and that sucked.

Martin sighed softly as he put the books back to where they should be, he was now the librarian assistant of the institute and his job was to keep the library as orderly as possible so the investigators —Namely Mr Bennet and Mr Lockwood— and the other people interested in the occult could find something in it.

Mr Fanshawe perused the library too, bringing new books every now and then from his usual travels around the continent.

And Jon.

Jon came every other day to the library and would spent hours checking books, as if he didn’t just know their contents right away.

Maybe it was just a way for him to hung into some type of normalcy, maybe he just liked books.

Either way, when Jon was in the library it was like they were back at their cabin in Scotland. They sharing small smiles over books and tea cups.

Then something would distract one of them and the moment will vanish.

Those stolen moments were enough for Martin, at least for now.

While he found how to prove that Jonah was up to no good.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Jon was drinking from the perfect mug of tea that Martin had prepared him, watching how Fanshawe and Lockwood explained their most recent case.

Jon was rather fond of Mr Lockwood, who was a rather young addition to their teams, but the young man was eager to know more and to help, which was perfect for a Researcher if you’d ask Jon.

Mr Lockwood was commenting about how the case for the Stirring Clock and the case for the Disappearing Door were connected when Jonah entered triumphally followed by a tall man that looked around in awe.

Jon frowned at how near he was to Jonah, not that he was a particularly jealous man, but there was something about him Jon didn’t like that much.

“Gentlemen,” Jonah greeted them with his trademark smile, “I’m proud to present you with my new assistant, Mr Richard Mendelson, he is going to help me with all the tedious bureaucracy you all seem to loathe so much.”

“Greetings, Mr Mendelson,” Jon said, stretching the hand of the tall man and therefore surprising all of his usual companions. He was more on the just acknowledging people side, but Richard Mendelson was the name of one of Jonah’s identities, so he was curious. There was also something disquieting about the man

“You must be Mr Magnus’ husband,” Richard said with a small smile. He was young, almost as young as Lockwood, but taller than Jon at least two heads. He had clever eyes and Jon felt a shiver down his spine immediately.

“That I am,” Jon replied, politely, “I’m also one of the Archivist of the Institute.”

“Out of qualifications and not because of nepotism I hope.”

And Jon couldn’t help but laugh out loud at that, “I’m afraid it’s a bit of both.”

Jonathan looked at the new arrival with a deep frown, the same as Barnabas, which made Jon’s heart filled with warmth.

“Richard!” Jonah chastised, “Jon is the best Archivist one could find in this fine country.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Richard said, smiling, “also the only one with a sense of humour.”

“You should respect Mr Sims more,” Barnabas hissed and Richard raised an eyebrow, looking at Lockwood and then at Jonathan.

“Will do,” Richard said, “as Mr Magnus said I’ll be helping him with some of the bureaucracy and also I’ll be joining the Research team as a friendly respectable face.”

Barnabas huffed again and Jon hummed, “a friendly face is important…”

Lockwood huffed, “So I’m not friendly enough?”

“You are a foulmouthed bastard with the face of an angel, Aster,” commented Jonathan, staring at Richard, “Research needs someone a little more polite.”

“Polite he says,” Lockwood said, crossing his arms, “but he had just been rude to Mr Sims.”

“It wasn’t my intention,” Richard said, bowing slightly, “I was just trying to make a joke, but it seems only Mr Sims caught it.”

“It would be better to refrain from doing such jokes,” Jonah said, making a gesture so Lockwood wouldn’t say anything else, “and I’ll ask you to be courteous one with another.”

“I’ll try, boss,” Lockwood sighed, “but if he keeps making jokes, I don’t want to be held responsible for putting his head on a pike.”

“You just put the blame on you,” pointed Barnabas.

“I maintain my request,” Lockwood replied harshly.

“I’d like to remind you this is a library,” Martin chose that moment to appear, with an armful of books and a rather disgruntled frown, “will you please keep it quiet?”

“I’m sorry, Mr Blackwood,” Jonah said with not an inch of remorse, a thing that made Jon smirk. Jonah gestured at them, “I’ll get them out of your hair now since we have finished with the offices for the Researchers.”

“Finally!” Lockwood smiled, before turning to Martin, “it’s nothing against you, Martin, it’s that I really want a desk so I don’t have to move my things all around.”

“Don’t worry,” Martin promptly shook his head, “it’s nice to have your own desk and office.”

To what Jon had to snicker, earning a glare from Martin, who also smiled nonetheless. He was starting to love those inside jokes he had with his lover.

“Come on guys, let’s move all this to the offices,” Jon said, with a smirk, “so Martin can have the Library to himself.”

A Suivre...