Chapter Text
Jon is in love with his fake boyfriend.
Jon isn't sure how it's gotten to this point. They started "dating" at Christmas because Martin was very, very tired of a family member bringing a "casual friend" looking for a "nice boy" to "settle down with" to family Christmas dinner.
Martin had been crying at work, stressed and upset after a phone conversation with his mother that he didn't tell Jon the contents of, and Jon had asked him what was wrong. When Martin was done explaining the situation, Jon had said, without thinking, "Well, I'll come to dinner with you then."
Martin had laughed, thinking Jon was joking, but Jon doubled down. And after talking about it a lot, hashing out the details, Martin had agreed. Just as friends, they both had insisted, just through the holidays, Jon would pretend to Martin's boyfriend to help him out, and then things would go back to normal.
And well, the holidays had been followed by a baby shower, then Easter, then a wedding, and now…now it's been six months, and they are still "together."
And Jon is very, very much in love with his best friend. Who he is pretending to date. Who spends more evenings than not at his flat, sharing his food and his time and his space.
It's a fucking mess.
Tim thinks it's especially funny, for a reason he refuses to elaborate on. He has started to make a lot of awkward jokes when they have department meetings.
Jon is sitting slumped down in a chair in the break room, holding a now lukewarm mug that had once held some very mediocre coffee and now holds some kind of sludge, one hand scrunched in his hair. His eyes are screwed up tight against Tim's chuckles, because he can't bear to see the look on Tim's face anymore after he'd explained it all.
"Jon," Tim finally says, his voice still mirthful but thankfully not laughing anymore. "Just tell him. What's the worst that could happen?"
Jon sits bolt upright, and he can feel the horror on his face. "The worst!" he cries, "is that Martin could hate me!" This isn't shouted so much as wrenched out of his throat, words strangled without enough air to make the volume loud, the sounds instead ripped from a deep place of primal fear. "He'll think I've just been using him, and he'll never want to see me again because I've been daydreaming about our fake relationship being real!"
Tim sighs and gently pats the hand Jon still has around his mug, his smile fading a bit at the edges. "I think you've got this all out of proportion, boss. Why would Martin still be going along with this if he wasn't okay with it?"
Jon sputters a bit. "H-h-he, well, he— his family! We're going to fake-break up soon, he's already said so." Jon can't help the disappointment that sneaks into his voice at that. He really, really doesn't want this to end, doesn't want to go back to being only friends, doesn't want to stop having excuses to hold Martin's hand, because now that he knows, really truly knows, how he feels about Martin, he's not sure what he'll do.
But more than anything, he doesn't want to lose Martin, not as a friend. And that's what he's worried will happen: Martin will quit the Institute and ask Jon to stay out of his life.
Sasha chooses that moment to wander in, and Jon can see her slightly confused expression as she walks in. "Jon?"
It's a small query, and her dark eyes are soft, kind. She's very good at reading his moods at the drop of a hat, the two of them having become very good friends in the last six months. She is also better to talk to about the whole situation than Tim, being somewhat more sympathetic, or at least less likely to make jokes or laugh at him to his face.
Tim exhales loudly in what Jon thinks must be relief. "Thank god, Sash, you've gotta help me here! Jon, for some stupid fucking reason, seems to think Martin wants to fake-break up with him instead of for-real date him!"
"Oh, Jon," she says, shaking her head a little sadly. She opens her mouth to say more, but at that moment, Martin walks in, and at the panic in Jon's eyes and his mouth forming a small Shit, she turns around to intercept him. "Martin! There you are, I've got that information for the statement you asked about earlier!"
Martin looks a little shocked, but then waves his fingers to Tim and Jon and follows her back out into the assistant's office as he says, "I'll come back for tea in a minute then, yeah?"
Jon heaves a sigh, both of terror and relief, and then gets up to dump the rest of his very disturbing-looking coffee in the sink. He probably shouldn't have any more caffeine today anyway.
Tim doesn't say anything as he does this, but Jon can feel his friend's eyes on his back. When he turns around, he leans back on the counter and crosses his arms over his chest.
The fear must be written all over his face, because instead of pushing the topic, Tim smiles at him, a kind thing but with a hint of mischief. "You know what you need, boss? A night out, just you and me, no talking or thinking about dating or boys, just some drinks and karaoke."
Jon can't help the weird snort that leaves him. He and Tim have been banned from not one but two bars for their drunken karaoke hijinks, and Jon is probably not as ashamed of this as he should be. He'd learned to use karaoke as stress relief back in uni and, well, when Tim found out when they worked in Research, it came back to him like a bad habit.
He also has never told Martin these facts, and while Tim's definitely told Sasha, he think she doesn't believe him. All for the best, no need to ruin his reputation further at the Institute.
"I'd love to, Tim, bu—"
"Excellent!" Tim cuts him off, jumping up for a high five.
"Tim!" Jon exclaims, laughing a bit. "I've got to get up early tomorrow! I've got that breakfast thing with Martin's mum and family to go to, remember? I can't show up hungover to that! Again! His mum thinks I'm an alcoholic now, thanks to you."
Tim is a man full of energy and joy and momentum, so when he pauses, it feels like the air in the room also pauses. His face furrows a bit as he tries to remember this event, and as the office gossip, he usually does remember what everyone's weekend plans are.
"Is this that yearly summer brunch they do? The women, I mean? Why are you and Martin going?" Tim asks, and Jon thinks it's a very valid question, because he'd had it, too. Martin's been out to his family for a number of years now, since before he started at the Institute.
"Apparently, they felt bad un-inviting him from the "girls' brunch" after so many years of his attending," Jon says, rolling his eyes a bit. "And his grandmother insisted he bring me along, too."
Tim chuckles, "So while his mother isn't your biggest fan, apparently Nana likes you. Sounds about right, you stuffy old man."
"Hey!" Jon protests, but now he's laughing, too. He can't really argue. Even at 29, he's closer to middle age than his uni days now anyway.
"Well, tomorrow night, then," Tim amends, "and don't say you can't, because I know you never have Saturday plans!" He shakes his finger in Jon's face in an attempt to be menacing, but it just makes Jon smile.
He's still not sure how these friendships survived and blossomed in the face of those first six months as Head Archivist and his, well, extra-surliness, never mind that it's been a year since Tim had forced him to get his head on straight now.
Martin, especially, had had a lot to forgive Jon for. He isn't quite sure how he's earned that forgiveness, but he did, and somehow managed to earn the man's friendship and trust, too. He doesn't want to do anything to screw it up.
"Hello in there," Tim says, waving his hand in front of Jon's face to get his attention. Jon snaps back, and Tim chuckles good-naturedly. "Welcome back, boss. So drinks and karaoke tomorrow?"
Jon sighs, but he knows the smile is still on his face. "Sure, Tim."
Martin chooses that moment to wander back in, a soft smile on his face. Sasha follows, her hands held up a little helplessly, but Jon shrugs and smiles at her.
"What's Tim doing now?" Martin asks as he moves quickly across the room to the kettle.
"Oh, just planning to drag dear ol' Jon out for a night on the town," Tim says, smiling casually, "after your family brunch tomorrow."
Martin snorts and nudges Jon with his elbow as he reaches up to grab a mug with his other hand, standing almost on his toes to reach the shelf.
"Oh, and what was that?" Jon asks, nudging Martin back. Martin jerks a bit and almost drops the mug.
Laughing, Martin says, "Trying to picture out having a night on the town."
"I'll have you know," Jon starts, a hand on his hip and the other pointing at Martin's face, "that Tim and I have a lot of fun when we go out!"
Tim offers a joyful "Yeah, we do!" from the other side of the break room as he gathers up his things.
Martin laughs. "I'll believe it when I see it."
Jon is tempted to invite Martin along, just to prove that he can be the sort of fun who goes to pubs and sings karaoke, but he sees Tim's face, watching him consider it, and knows Tim would use the opportunity to get drunk-Jon to spill his guts to Martin.
Instead of letting Jon make it weird, Tim interrupts by saying, "I'm back off to the old grindstone. File on your desk in fifteen, Jon?"
Jon nods, and when he looks back at Martin, he's mixing sugar in to his tea. Martin glances back at him. "Want a cup?"
Jon smiles, easy and light, but how could he not smile with Martin looking like that?
"Yes, please," he says, ignoring his recent decision not to have more caffeine today. Martin's tea, the attention he puts into learning how everyone likes it best, is worth any sleeplessness tonight.