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On Monday, Sasha is coming back from lunch when Tim grabs her hand and yanks her into a private corner of the archives.
“Sash!” he whispers, looking around him furtively, like they’re in a spy thriller. “I need advice!”
She raises her eyebrows. “You realise you could have come to lunch with me and we could have talked about it like normal people without having to dodge around in the archives?” she says. They used to get lunch together all the time, she and Tim. Most days. It’s been over a week, now, and before that almost another week.
As though he’s thinking the same thing, Tim’s eyes skate guiltily towards the closed door of Jon’s office. “Sorry,” he says. “We’ll get lunch again soon, I swear. I just wanted to…”
“I know,” Sasha says, and she does. She gets it. Tim, Jon and Martin haven’t been together that long, and they’re still finding each other new and exciting. “So what is it you want advice about?”
“Well,” Tim says. “It’s Valentine’s day on Sunday, and I can’t decide which ideas I should surprise Jon and Martin with.” He turns his phone screen towards her, scrolling down to show a list of what looks like at least twenty five ideas. “What do you reckon?”
Sasha starts to feel the beginnings of a headache as she squints at the screen. “I don’t know why you think I’ll give good advice about that,” she says, scrunching her nose up at some of the ideas. “Oh my god, Tim, what would Jon do with a hundred red roses? I should think that’d be a bit much even for Martin.”
“Hah!” Tim says, snorting, but he takes the phone back from her and starts tapping at it. “I know Martin looks like a big softy, but between the two of them it’s Jon who’s the hopeless romantic, believe me.”
“Oh, I believe you,” she says.
“But maybe you’re right about the roses, they’d be a mess when they died. Okay, what about commissioning enormous candles with their faces on them?”
“You’re going to set fire to your boyfriends’ faces on Valentine’s day?” she says.
“I didn’t think about it like that.”
Sasha rolls her eyes. “And before you ask, no, I don’t think hiring barbershop quartets to serenade them awake in the morning is a good idea, either. If you could even do that on this short notice.”
Tim sighs and taps his screen again. “I’m starting to sense a theme here,” he says.
“Shouldn’t have asked an aromantic for Valentine’s day advice, then, should you?”
Tim looks up, eyebrows coming together in sudden concern. “Shit, Sash, I’m sorry. Is this okay? Should I shut up?”
For a moment, Sasha almost says God, yes, please. But it’s not that she minds, not really. Hell, she claims a solid fifty percent of the credit for getting the three of them together. They’re all so happy, now, and that’s a good thing! Every time one of them sees one of the others, their faces light up as if they can’t quite believe their luck. It’s both disgusting and adorable, and she’s glad for them. She just wishes…
She just wishes she didn’t feel left out quite so often. That’s all.
“Nah, don’t be stupid,” she says, nudging his arm with her elbow. “But look, I know it’s your first Valentine’s day together and you want to make them feel special and loved and all of that, but come on, Tim. You know Jon and Martin. You know the sort of thing they like. Stop getting caught up in the romance of it all and think about what the three of you are going to enjoy the most together. That’s what it’s really about, isn’t it?”
Tim blinks at her. “Yeah,” he says, and slips his phone back into his pocket. “Yeah, of course it is. ‘Course. That’s… thanks, Sasha. That’s perfect.”
“Obviously,” she says, but she can’t help smiling at him. He looks so bloody happy, the idiot. “You’re going to have a great day. You’ll see.”
*
On Tuesday, Sasha wanders into the break room to see if there are any bourbons left or if she’ll have to make do with custard creams, and finds Martin there, waiting for the kettle to boil. He smiles at her.
“Hey, Sasha,” he says. “Just making a cuppa for everyone. Also, now that you’re here, can I get your thoughts about something?”
“Sure,” she says, expecting him to have a question about one of the cases he’s currently working on. But instead, blushing ferociously, he takes a notebook out of his pocket and turns to a page somewhere around the middle.
“I, er,” he says. “I wrote a… a poem for Jon. You know, for Valentine’s day.”
Sasha’s lips twitch, but out of respect for his earnestness, she holds back her laugh. It’s adorable, really.
“There’s one for Tim, too,” Martin goes on. “But I, er, I haven’t quite finished that one yet. I just… would you mind, um, reading it? Just… just to see if it’s, you know, okay. I know I’m not the best poet, but…”
He looks at her with hopeful, pleading eyes, and what can Sasha do but hold out her hand for his precious notebook? The poem certainly isn’t the best she’s ever read, but it isn’t awful, either, and Martin’s feelings for Jon make every line glow with loving sincerity. Sasha feels the sharp twinge of envy in her gut. She doesn’t want Martin to be in love with her, but god, wouldn’t it be nice if he felt this strongly about her as a friend? If anyone did?
Sasha doesn’t look up from the poem until she’s certain she’s got her expression under control. “It’s lovely,” she says at last, smiling at Martin, and she means it. The poem is incredibly sweet and Jon will probably be speechless for a good five minutes after reading it. She wishes she could be there to see it.
Well, no, she doesn’t. It’ll be Valentine’s day, and it’ll be their date, the three of them. It’d be pretty weird if she was there too, hanging around to watch and enjoy their happiness.
“You really think so?” Martin says anxiously.
She hands him the notebook back. “I really, really do,” she says. “Jon’s going to adore it.”
He beams. “Oh, wow, Sasha, that’s… thanks! Er, is it okay if I ask you to read Tim’s one when it’s finished, too? I just… I want to make sure they’re as good as they can be, you know?”
“Yeah, of course,” Sasha says. She leaves the break room, forgetting all about the biscuits she’d been looking for until much later, and she definitely doesn’t have to pause in the corridor to sniffle for a moment and blink away tears before going back to the office. She’s being stupid. Them being together doesn’t mean they lo—like her any less. Just because it sometimes feels that way doesn’t make it true.
Still, when Tim accosts her in document storage later on and starts telling her about the incredibly romantic evening he’s now got planned for the three of them, complete with three course meal, fancy wine, and an inordinate number of candles, it costs her a real effort to keep the smile on her face more or less natural. It’s a relief when Tim hears Jon yelling his name somewhere and hurries away again.
This time Sasha admits to herself that she is feeling a bit weepy. She sits down on the edge of Jon’s now long disused camp bed and wipes her eyes.
What a fool she is.
*
On Wednesday, Sasha is finishing up a report when Jon appears in the doorway of the assistants’ office, looking rather nervous and fidgety, and says, “Sasha, could I have a quick word? In… in my office?”
Tim and Martin pay no attention as she gets up and follows Jon into his office. Once the door is closed, Jon looks up at her, shifting anxiously from foot to foot, and says, “It’s, ah, not actually about work,” and Sasha starts to get a sinking feeling. “But would it be acceptable for me to ask your advice about something?”
“Valentine’s day, is it?” Sasha says, raising an eyebrow.
Jon blinks at her, startled. “Well, yes, it is, but how did you…?”
“Call it a lucky guess,” she says.
Jon looks at her a moment longer, frowning slightly, then says, “So can I ask?”
“Yeah, go on,” Sasha says, though part of her wants to turn around and walk away. But that would be petty, and Jon really does look very worried. It would be cruel to leave him as the only one having to fend for himself on Valentine’s day, now that she’s already helped Tim and Martin.
“It’s… I was going to name a star for each of them,” Jon says, eyes darting to his bookcases, his filing cabinets, the ceiling, anything but Sasha’s face as he confesses the idea like it’s a crime.
“Cute,” she says.
“Yes, well, then I did some research and discovered that it’s not official.” Jon’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “Can you believe that? Companies charge money for people to name a star, and it’s not even real!”
“Huh,” Sasha says. “I didn’t know that. Kind of makes it seem like bullshit.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Jon says, his eyes finally resting on her face for a moment before flitting away again. “It shouldn’t be allowed. Or they should at least have to make it clear that that’s what they’re doing!”
“Totally agree,” Sasha says, and has to smile a little at his indignation. “But, Valentine’s day?”
“Oh! Yes.” He frowns again, worried now, rather than aggrieved. “Well, I… I got star maps printed instead. For the days we met, you know? It seemed… well, the night sky is rather lovely, isn’t it? And it’s always a little different. So I thought…” He hesitates, scowling down at the carpet, and then looks up at her again. “Is it stupid?” he says desperately. “It… I think it’s stupid. It’s not enough. Or… or it’s too much. I don’t know, it’s all wrong. I should throw them away and just buy them, I don’t know, chocolates or flowers or something, shouldn’t I? Should I?”
Sasha doesn’t think she’s ever met someone who can think themselves into inextricable knots quite as impressively as Jonathan Sims.
“Of course you shouldn’t throw them away,” she says briskly. “Those sound like amazing presents. Thoughtful and beautiful.”
He blinks at her. “Really?”
“Yup. I’d want one, if it was me.” She looks away from him quickly. Daft thing to have said. She doesn’t want to date them. Dating is weird and awkward and ends up with people having feelings Sasha’s never going to reciprocate. She just… well, it doesn’t matter what she wants.
Jon’s face has brightened into relief and gratitude. “Oh, thank you, Sasha,” he says. “That… that helps a lot.”
Sasha pushes her feelings away. “Good,” she says firmly. “Because they’re going to be thrilled.”
He beams, and it’s lovely to see, even if it isn’t quite enough to soothe away the grey misery that’s swirling in her mind. She’s sick of sodding Valentine’s day.
She’s even sicker of it a couple of hours later when Martin, red and shy, shows her his poem for Tim in his notebook. It’s just as adorable as the one for Jon and Tim’s definitely going to cry. Sasha, too, has to swallow several times to get rid of the lump in her throat before she can give the poem the praise it deserves.
“Are you okay?” Martin says, and Sasha mentally curses herself for letting him see her feelings.
“Fine,” she says, rather too brusquely. “Just… a bit of a headache. I’ll take some paracetamol when I get back to my desk.”
Really, she tells herself, as she does just that, it’s ridiculous to feel so sad and left out. She wanted the three of them to get together. She still wants it! Feeling like a door has suddenly been slammed in her face makes no sense. She shouldn’t have bloody got them together, should she, if she wasn’t prepared to deal with the consequences? But who’s she kidding. They’d have ended up together with or without her, they like each other too much not to. Sasha was never necessary.
She wishes that didn’t hurt so much.
The miserable culmination of the whole depressing day comes when they all leave work at the same time, and instead of all walking to the tube station together, as they’ve done before on similar occasions, the other three hover awkwardly outside the entrance when Sasha makes to turn in that direction.
“We’re actually…” Martin says, looking at her worriedly, and gestures in the other direction.
“We’ve got a date,” Tim says. He steps closer and puts his hand on her arm. “Didn’t we tell you? I definitely meant to. I must have forgotten. Sorry, Sash.”
Sasha moves away from him, suddenly, stupidly, angry. She tilts her chin upward and flashes them a bright, sharp smile. “It’s fine,” she says. “Have a great date!”
“Sasha.”
“I need to get home. Things to do. See you tomorrow!”
And she swings round, digging her hands deep into her pockets so that nobody can see them clenching into fists, and marches away.
This happens sometimes, Sasha knows it does. It’s happened to her before. Friends get together and immediately seem to forget anyone else exists. She just hadn’t expected it to go this way with Tim or Jon or Martin. The four of them were friends before of this, they’d been a unit. She’d been happy. And now it’s Tim, Jon and Martin who are the unit and Sasha’s suddenly on the outside, not even quite sure how it happened.
It’s just the excitement of a new relationship, she tells herself. It’s still only been a few weeks. They’ll come out of the haze of new-found love and remember that she’s still their friend, and things will go back to how they used to be. Or, mostly how they used to be. She hopes. It’s not like they’re doing it on purpose, after all. She just wishes that she wouldn’t have to feel quite so bruised and weary while she waits for it to fix itself.
*
On Thursday, Sasha takes advantage of Jon handing her a new case to announce that she’ll be spending the whole day out of the office, doing field work. The case definitely doesn’t deserve that amount of time or effort, but Sasha is pretty sure she’s going to end up setting fire to the archives or something if she doesn’t get some time away from her three romantically fulfilled friends.
Her phone rings around lunchtime, and it’s Tim. Sasha hesitates, thumb hovering over the answer icon. He’s just going to want to talk about Jon and Martin again, and she’s not sure she’s going to be able to listen to his rhapsodies without giving away how much it’s hurting her, and that would be kind of shitty. She needs a break.
In the end she lets the call go to voicemail, and she doesn’t listen to the message he leaves. She doesn’t read the text he sends afterwards either, or the two or three that come through during the afternoon. She’s done with her work by half past three, but instead of calling in or returning to the office Sasha goes straight home, opens a bottle of cheap wine, and watches the crappiest telly she can find until she falls asleep on the sofa, cuddled up with Lulu, her cat.
*
On Friday, Sasha calls in sick. She’s not, or only in her heart, but she can’t face another day of being the odd one out in the office. She’ll be feeling better by Monday, she’s sure, and the other three will be less distracted once Valentine’s day is over.
Maybe she should think seriously about looking for a new job. She’s still rather sore about Jon being promoted over her – not with him; he didn’t even know she’d wanted it, and she’d never expect him to refuse the job when offered it, but with Elias. It isn’t easy to get promoted at the Magnus Institute, remarkably few people ever leave, so holding out for another department headship is pretty much a non-starter. It’s felt worth staying until now, doing work she enjoys and being in a department with her friends, but if it’s going to be like this from now on she’s not sure she wants to continue.
She does, eventually, respond to their texts, which have been becoming increasingly concerned as the day goes on. That soothes Sasha a little, although she feels guiltily that she oughtn’t to be pleased about worrying her friends. But it’s reassuring to know that they’ve noticed and felt her absence. It makes her feel a little less miserably alone.
*
On Saturday, Sasha gets a text from Tim. hey Sash, you up to anything tomorrow?
She looks at it bleakly, not sure what he’s getting at. It’s Valentine’s day tomorrow. He’s been planning for it all sodding week. Why does he care what she’s doing? Maybe he’s hoping to call her in the evening, once the romantic festivities are over, and talk about how wonderful it’s all been. She should want that, shouldn’t she? He’s her best friend, after all. She’s supposed to be happy for him. She is happy for him.
Eventually, she replies, think I’ll just treat myself to a quiet day in, even though that’s what she’s been doing for the last two days and it’s been a long way from anything you could call a treat. But Tim doesn’t know that.
He replies almost immediately. mind if I pop in for a bit in the morning?
It takes Sasha even longer to reply this time. Does he want more romantic advice? Or is he nervous about whatever he’s got planned for Jon and Martin, and hoping she’ll give him a good pep talk? She doesn’t want to. But it’s his first Valentine’s day with them, and even now she can’t completely begrudge giving him a bit of encouragement, if that’s what he needs. sure, she writes.
great! he texts back. see you then xxx
The kisses warm her heart a little. Tim still cares about her, of course he does. Things will go back to normal between them soon. She just has to be patient.
*
On Sunday, Sasha forgets that she cancelled her alarm on Friday and never switched it back on, and doesn’t wake up until nearly ten o’clock. She just has time to pee and brush her teeth before Tim starts knocking loudly at her door. Oh well, it’s not like he hasn’t seen her in her pyjamas a hundred times. She’s wearing new ones today, yellow with little cats all over them that look almost exactly like Lulu. She’d been meaning to save them for her birthday, but put them on last night instead in the slightly forlorn hope of cheering herself up a bit.
Still yawning, she pads across the living room to the front door, where Tim is still knocking, as though he thinks she might just forget he’s there if he stops. Like she’d forget that her best friend was coming over after several weeks of only seeing him at work, she thinks as she yanks it open.
Oh.
It’s not Tim. Or rather, it’s not just Tim. It’s Tim and Jon and Martin and a large cardboard box and several carrier bags and an enormous bunch of helium balloons. One, she sees, is in the shape of a llama, and another is a cat which, like her pyjama cats, look just like Lulu. And is that a gigantic eye shaped one in the back?
Sasha stares at them.
“Er,” she says, after a while. “What?”
“Can we come in?” Jon says, squinting at her over the top of the huge cardboard box. Why they have him, the smallest of their party by a long way, carrying the largest item, is beyond her.
“Sure,” she says, standing back and watching them all troop past her. Jon stumbles his way across to the coffee table and puts the box down on it, Martin heads for the kitchen with two carrier bags dangling from each of his hands and starts putting things in her fridge, and Tim puts the other two bags down next to the coffee table and lets go of the balloons, which float gently up to the ceiling. Then he turns to Sasha and engulfs her in a warm, tight hug.
For a moment, Sasha just stands there, completely dumbfounded. Then Tim kisses her hairline and tightens his arms, and she lifts her own to wrap around him. God, she’s missed this. Tim is a couple of inches taller than she is, but they slot together perfectly, his cheek resting against her hair, her chin on his shoulder. Sasha shuts her eyes and lets herself sink into it. He lets go of her eventually, of course, but the moment he steps back, Jon takes his place, and finally Martin. By the time they’ve all finished hugging her, Sasha feels warm and soft and rather dazed.
“Er,” she says again. “Not to sound ungrateful or anything, because that was really nice, but what the hell are you guys doing?”
“We’ve come to spend the day with you,” Jon says, as though this should be obvious.
“We’ve got presents, and we’re going to cook you an amazing dinner,” Tim says. “We’re sorry, Sash. Especially me.”
“All of us are,” Martin says firmly. “You’re our friend and we’ve been neglecting you, and we’re sorry it took us so long to realise it.”
Sasha blinks around at them, at the balloons, at the huge box on her coffee table, at the various ingredients and bottles of wine on her kitchen counter.
“But it’s Valentine’s day,” she says blankly. “It’s… I’m not… Did you think I was going to resent the three of you spending today together? Because I don’t. I… I know I’m not part of you, and that’s okay.” She swallows down the lump in her throat. It is okay. It is. It will be. She’ll make it be.
But Tim steps forward and takes her hand, threading their fingers together. “Yeah well, maybe you should be,” he says. “If you want to be. We know you’re aromantic, you don’t feel that way about any of us, but that doesn’t have to mean you can’t be part of us. You know, our best, cleverest, loveliest, hottest, most special best friend ever in the world who we want to spend as much time with as we can?”
The lump is back in Sasha’s throat.
“We love you,” Jon says earnestly. Tim was right, he is a hopeless romantic. Or, not romantic, because that’s not what they’re offering, but a sap. A hideous, horrible, good-for-nothing sap. “And we… we want you to know that. Whatever you’re comfortable with, that’s what we want, but we really do want you to be part of us. The three of us, it doesn’t feel right without you.”
Martin puts his arm round her shoulders again, and Sasha finds herself leaning her head on his shoulder. “We are so sorry we made you feel like we didn’t love you,” he says. “But we’re going to make it up to you, starting today, if you’ll let us.”
Sasha sniffles. “You’re all disgusting and I hate you,” she says. “But fine, you can make it up to me. You’d better make it good, though.”
Tim grins and leans forward to kiss her on the forehead. God, she loves him. Of course she does; she loves them all, so bloody much.
“You have no idea how good it’s going to be,” Tim says. “Jon, if you would?”
Jon attempts to tear the tape off the box with a dramatic flourish, but it ends up coming off in tiny shreds until Sasha takes pity on him and finds a pair of scissors. He takes them with a sheepish smile and cuts through the tape, lifts up the flaps, reaches so far into the box that his arms almost disappear, and pulls out…
Sasha’s mouth falls open.
It’s a cake. It’s a cake in four tiers, each one smaller than the last, the top one not much more than a little round blob. They look like chocolate cakes, rich and moist. Sasha’s favourite.
“The tiny one’s Jon, obviously,” Tim says, pointing to it.
“Shut up,” Jon grumbles, scowling at him over the top of the cake.
“And Martin on the bottom, keeping us all steady,” Tim says. Martin goes scarlet to the tips of his ears.
“You and me in the middle then?” Sasha says, unable to stop herself from smiling.
“Right where we belong,” Tim says. “You on top, obviously.”
She grins. “Obviously.”
“Could someone move the box so I can put this thing down?” Jon demands, sounding strained. “It weighs a bloody ton.”
Martin does, and helps him settle the cake stand on the coffee table. Sasha stares down at it, feeling tears prickling at her eyes, so different from the ones she’s been shedding most of this week.
“You didn’t have to do all this for me,” she says.
“Yeah, we did,” Martin says.
“We wanted you to feel special,” Jon says.
“And it wasn’t only for you,” Tim says. She raises her eyebrows. He shrugs. “I just mean it’s to make us all happy. Today wouldn’t have been the same without you, no matter how romantic. Nothing is.”
“You little shits,” Sasha tells them, scrubbing at her eyes. “You’ve made me cry. Please leave my home immediately.”
They don’t, of course. There’s a great exchange of gifts, and Sasha isn’t permitted to feel weird about not having anything for the three of them. The logic behind each of the daft balloons is explained, and they’ve somehow found not just one, but three heist movies she’s never seen, and they all pile onto the sofa, which is in no way large enough for four people, not to mention Lulu, who curles up in Jon’s lap, to watch them.
“Tim wanted us to plan a real heist to take you on,” Martin tells her, grinning, as they start the first movie. “But there wasn’t time to set it all up.”
Sasha snorts with laughter. “Oh my god, what would that even look like?”
“No telling her!” Tim says. He’s got his arm wrapped around her shoulders, and Martin is cuddled up to her on the other side with Jon in his lap, his legs thrown over Sasha’s as he pets Lulu, who’s purring up a storm. Sasha feels rather like purring herself. “We’ll do it for your birthday instead. It’s gonna be epic!”
She laughs again and reaches out to scratch Lulu behind the ears. She could get used to this, and, evidently, she’s going to.