Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jon pushes the book carefully to the side, making room on the already overfull shelf, before inserting the newest return back into the newly made gap.

He takes a step back, watching the shelf for a moment to be sure that it won’t collapse from the added weight, before he nods, and looks back down at the stack of books in his arms.

He flips open the cover of the one on top, finding the informational card on the inside.

Nonfiction, Autobiography, Author R. Smirke.

Jon shuts the cover once again, and begins to weave his way back through the dim walkways in between the towering shelves, the sound of his shoes hitting the old wood floors dampened by the millions of pages in the thousands of books.

Even after spending hundreds of hours in the library he still thinks of it as a maze. A labyrinth. One he’s charted and knows all the twists and turns of, but still one none the less.

He navigates his way to the nonfiction section quite easily, and finds the book’s spot without much more effort, before repeating the process over and over again, until every book in the pile he’s holding is returned to their proper place.

It’s inefficient, certainly, but his email about the last cart breaking was received with a ‘We’ll look into it’, and then was promptly ignored, so for the past two months he’s had to carry all the returns by hand.

Jon places the final book onto the lowest shelf, crouching to put it into it’s spot, before returning to his full height with a sigh and a stretch, his knees popping, relieving themselves from the tension.

“Hello!” A voice calls from behind him, the tone giving away the smile on the speaker's face before he even sees who’s talking.

“Yes?” He responds, turning to face whoever it is that requires his assistance.

“Could you point me towards the historical fiction?” The speaker, a student he doesn’t recognize, in a colorful outfit, with their hair tied back into a bun, asks, tilting her head to the side ever so slightly. “I’m looking for a copy of Les Misérables.”

“Historical fiction is in the back left corner, three rows away from the wall. We should still have a copy on the shelf.” Jon instructs, pointing in the vague direction the book should be.

“Thank you.” She responds, their smile still fixated on their face, before hurrying past him, her bright skirt swirling around her legs in the rush.

He doesn’t watch her much longer, and fully turns to walk back towards the desk once they’ve disappeared into the walls of books, grabbing one off the shelf on his way, not having to look to find the one he wants.

It’s been a quiet morning in the library, and Jon expects it to stay that way until most of the classes have finished for the day, although there will be the few stragglers that wander in before then, as there often are.

He slips back behind the desk, sitting, and cracking open the novel he grabbed without a second thought, letting himself get lost in the words until the student needs their book checked out.

Chapter Text

Martin turns the knob to the custodial closet, pulling the mop trolley inside behind him.

He hums softly to himself as he grabs an extra pair of disposable gloves and another roll of paper towels. He has to stand on his toes and stretch to reach the respirator, which momentarily makes him pause the tune.

There had been a spill in one of the labs, and while it didn’t seem like the chemical was too dangerous, he didn’t want to risk breathing any fumes in, or tracking it throughout the university by using the mop, so the trusty old method of paper towels and cleaning spray will have to do.

He tucks the roll of paper towels under his arm, pulls the gloves onto his hands, before holding the respirator and spray in his left hand, opening the door once more with his right.

Martin passes clusters of students as he walks down the corridor, all of whom ignore him, as if they can’t even see him walking past.

Most of the professors do give him nods on his way, but none stop him for a chat. Which is normal. They’re all working, after all.

He really shouldn’t mind it at this point.

He’s already to the lab with the spill in it, the door partially open, when he catches sight of a student rushing down the hall.

Martin starts to turn, prepared to go into his usual warnings about running in the slippery halls, before remembering that he doesn’t currently have the mop with him, and the floors aren’t wet. He shuts his mouth, and is glad that he did so, as one of the librarians turns the corner, walking down the hall.

Martin stares for a moment, watching as the tall man strides by, captivated by how his dark complexion is complimented by his pale button up, how his forest green tie brings out the cooler tones in his sparkling hazel eyes, how his stunningly dark hair is broken by strands of silver, how half of it runs down his back but the other half is twisted into a neat bun. Captivated by every detail of him.

He doesn’t seem to notice Martin staring, and walks past him without sparing him a glance, seemingly focused on getting where he needs to go.

Martin recognizes the man as Jonathan Sims. They haven’t talked before, per se, not in the traditional sense of actually having a conversation, but they had exchanged the occasional greeting, and when he had asked Trevor about him he learned his name, and his job at the university.

He watches Jonathan walk down the hall, stuck in the doorway, fighting between his desire to call out and say hello, and the job he has waiting for him in the next room.

The librarian turns the corner, and Martin turns back, opening the lab door and slipping inside.

He takes a deep breath, before looking down at himself. It’s for the best that he didn’t try to get Jonathan’s attention. He’s in a bleached stained shirt, the cuffs of his cargo pants are drenched in mop water, and his shoes are scuffed. Comparatively he looks like a mess.

Martin sighs, trying to push the whole interaction, or lack there of, out of his mind, as he pulls on the respirator. It won’t do him any good to dwell on it, he has work to do.

Chapter Text

Jon slams his book shut in annoyance as the service bell continues to be hit, the ringing echoing throughout the entire library. He’s supposed to be on break, but apparently people can’t read the sign that’s posted on the desk.

It doesn’t take him much time to get back to the front, where he finds the darkly dressed man still continuing to whack the bell.

“You can stop that now.” Jon mutters, slipping behind the circulation desk, not bothering to move the ‘We’ll Be Right Back’ sign.

“Ding ding.” Gerard says, hitting the bell another two times.

“What can I help you with?” He asks blankly, doing his best to ignore his own frustration.

“Professor Gertrude sent me to place a few books on hold for her.” The goth explains, tapping his hands against the desk as he speaks.

“And what books does she want?” Jon asks, logging back into the computer while he talks.

Best to get this whole ordeal done as quickly as possible. And knowing Gertrude, it is going to be an ordeal.

“Well, she doesn’t exactly want any specific books.” Gerard replies, dancing around the question.

“I can’t put the books on hold for her if she doesn’t know what she wants.” He says, barely succeeding in his attempt to not grit his teeth.

“She does know what she wants,” The TA assures him, nodding vigorously enough for his dyed hair to start bobbing back and forth. “It’s just that she wants to reserve all of the books on the Library of Alexandria.“

Jon stares at the man for a moment, his brain trying to fully process what he had said.

“You do know there is a limit to how many books one person can place on hold, right Gerard?” He asks incredulously.

“Yes, I know that there’s a limit, and I tried to tell her that too, I really did,” Gerard responds, gesturing as he talks. “But that’s one of the subjects she’s teaching on next week, and she really wants the books to be available for her students.”

“Well then she can tell her students, and they can reserve the books on their own like everyone else does.” Jon suggests, although his tone of voice portrays it as a demand.

Gerard hums in frustration, pushing himself away from the desk. He gets halfway down the first aisle of Sci-Fi shelves, before circling back.

“What if you put some of the books under my name?” Gerard tries. “Would that work?”

“You yourself are already maxed out on how many books you can place on hold.” He replies, wishing the man would just give up already. “So no. Gertrude doesn’t get special treatment here just because she’s been teaching the longest, and neither do you.”

“Come on Jon, work with me here.” The TA responds, not giving up his hopeless errand.

“What you’re requesting is unreasonable.” Jon says, suppressing a sigh at the useless, time waste of a conversation. “Now, excuse me, I need to go back to my break.”

He turns and walks back out from behind the desk, ignoring Gerard as he walks back into the labyrinth of paper and ink.

Jon enjoys working in a library, he would even say he loves having access to all the books he could ever want to read, that part truly makes it a dream job for him.

What he doesn’t like, however, is having to deal with the students, or, in this case, professors and teacher’s assistants. He’s fine to point someone in the right direction while they’re trying to navigate the library, but some of the requests people have he can only find infuriating.

“She could get you access to the collection!” Gerard shouts from behind him, interrupting his train of thought.

Jon pauses, before turning to stare at the man, his eyebrows raised, but mouth shut.

“You know how respected she is around here, she could talk Elias into giving you access if she owes you a favor.” Gerard proposes. “She’s determined to have those books available, so I’m sure she’d do it.”

Jon lets out a low sigh, before he slowly, hesitantly starts to nod.

“I can set them aside. If anyone specifically asks for them I will have to give it to them.” He obliges, not fully giving into the absurd request, but giving them enough that he hopes will secure the favor. “But I can set them aside.”

“Great, that should work!” The TA says, a smile forming on his pierced lips. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”

Jon only shakes his head and starts walking away again, hoping he has at least some time remaining on his break.

Chapter Text

Martin pulls open the windows of the classroom, trying to get fresh air into the room, only partially doing it to delay having to walk up all the rows of seats.

The room isn’t very big, so it shouldn’t take too long, but no amount of stairs is fun to deal with.

He shakes his head, backing away from the last window, before turning towards the main body of work he has to do.

He starts by walking the rows of seats, picking up any trash or lost items he finds, and either throwing them away or putting them upfront, waiting to take them to the lost and found until he’s finished the rest of the clean.

Then, after the initial once over, Martin starts vacuuming the carpets, starting on the ground level, before working his way up, getting underneath each and every seat.

It’s as Martin is dragging the vacuum back down the stairs behind him that he spots it. It’s just in the corner of his eye, tucked underneath one of the chairs that he could have sworn he had cleaned under, a flash of something pale cream, not quite white, but too light for him to have missed it in his first inspection.

He pushes his glasses up, trying to get a better look at the object in question, making sure it wasn’t just a trick of the light.

The abandoned item underneath the chair is still there by the time Martin parks the vacuum by the door, so he determines that he must have missed it the first time he checked the rows. And the second time, when he was vacuuming.

He needs to start paying better attention to the details.

He returns to the spot he saw the object at, and bends down, having to reach a lot further underneath the chair to grab it than he had first expected.

His hand lands on something soft, and he grabs it, pulling it out into the bright classroom, before finally getting a clear look of what it is he found.

“Now what were you doing down there?” Martin asks the book, examining it.

It looks old, and the cover is a leather that he suspects was once dyed a mossy green, but is now too faded for him to be certain. The title is still clear and easy to read, though, no sign of aging shown in the single embossed word.

Beholding.

Martin frowns at the book, trying to make sense of it. It seems much too old, and much too valuable, for someone to just leave underneath their seat. Or even for someone to idle take to college.

Sure, some of the students, or, more accurately, their families, are well-off, and some of the professors are experts in this sort of thing, but that still doesn’t explain why it was left, by itself, under a chair.

Martin stares at it for a moment, debating what to do. He should probably just put it with the other lost and found items, but it looks so nice, and the previous owner obviously didn’t care enough about it to take good care of it. Then again, if it’s worth any amount of money, whoever owns it would probably try to track it down once they’ve realized it’s lost.

After a moment of just looking at the cover and frowning, he flips it open, revealing the first old yellowed page. The texture of the paper is rough, but it doesn’t fall apart as he runs his finger across it, staring at the eight words on the page.

Vol. LXVI In The Collection Of Jurgen Leitner.

"Jurgen Leitner?” Martin says the name aloud quietly, squinting at it.

Doesn’t he know that name from somewhere? Did it come up in class? Had one of the students or professors mentioned it and he overheard? Did he read it somewhere?

“Oh!” Martin exclaims, his memory finally catching up. “You’re an idiot Martin, it’s the library! Of course!”

The name is on dozens of plaques in the university’s library, he had read the phrase “Generously Funded By The Esteemed Jurgen Leitner” hundreds of times when he had been assigned to clean there.

It belonging to the library also solves the mystery as to why a student would be so careless as to leave it, it wasn’t even theirs to begin with, it’s no wonder they didn’t care. It also makes it much easier for him to decide what to do.

It would be a slight delay, meaning he might have to stay overtime, but he would return it while the library’s still open. It’s only a small detour, and the book seems important, or at least old enough to be valuable, that he should make sure it gets returned first thing.

Besides, he thought he had seen Jonathan working today, and he shouldn’t waste the opportunity to talk to him while he’s wearing his nicer work shirt.

Chapter Text

Jon hauls the stack of returns onto the desk, taking the top one and inspecting it, before entering the information into the computer system. Now that the after class rush is over he’s much less likely to get interrupted while he’s in the middle of the task.

So he works, making sure everything is in order on the computer, clearing the books from the students’ accounts, and making a new stack of books ready to go back onto the shelf, until the man wanders into the library.

Jon recognizes him as one of the members of the janitorial staff mostly because of the uniform. If the blond man wasn’t wearing his uniform he may have had a feeling that he had seen him before, but he doubts he could have placed where.

Jon frowns slightly, watching as the janitor glances around. Normally the library gets cleaned after hours, and the man doesn’t even have a vacuum or any cleaning supplies with him.

“Can I help you?” Jon calls out, trying to get his attention.

The janitor jumps slightly, and quickly turns towards him. He starts to tug the wrinkles out of his shirt with his right hand, and letting Jon see that he has a book clutched in his left, before he approaches the desk.

“I, um, I found this in one of the classrooms.” The man says, setting an old leather bound book down in front of him.

Jon looks at it, still frowning. He doesn’t recognize the book, and he’s certain that he would have picked up such an intriguing book if it belonged to the library.

“I don’t believe this is one of ours.” Jon replies, pushing the book back towards him, not bothering to lift the cover.

It most likely belongs to a different library and he assumed it belonged to this one because he saw the word “library” in it. It wouldn’t do him any good to get his hopes up that there's a book like this in the library that he’s yet to have read.

“Are, are you sure? I’m pretty positive it belongs to you guys.” The janitor insists, pushing it towards him once more.

Jon sighs, flipping open the cover, preparing to prove him wrong.

Then he freezes, staring at the dark ink, reading it over and over again, trying to fully register the words, making sure his mind isn’t playing tricks on him.

Jon looks back up at the man, closing the book gently as he does so. The janitor is looking at him curiously, before his pale blue eyes glance down towards the book.

“So? Does it?” He asks softly, as if sensing the gravity of the situation.

“Where did you find this?” Jon asks instead, looking him up and down.

“It was in one of the classrooms I was cleaning. History, I think? Or maybe it was psychology?” The janitor replies, squinting slightly as he thinks. “I just spotted it underneath a chair, that’s all.”

“Right. Right.” Jon says, nodding a few times, before holding his hand out, his mind made up. “I’m-”

“Jonathan. I know.” The man responds as he takes his hand, shaking it with a smile. “Martin.”

“Just Jon is fine.” He replies, giving the man, Martin, a hesitant and tight smile.

“Right. Jon it is then.” Martin says, before letting out a soft laugh, taking his hand back.

“Say, Martin, if you happen to find any more of these books, the ones that say they belong to the collection of Jurgen Leitner, would you bring them to me?” Jon asks, lowering his voice, even though there is no one else currently in the library.

“Yeah, sure, I can do that.” Martin answers, the pattern of his freckles warping as his smile widens. “I can’t promise I’ll actually find any, but I will keep my eyes out.”

“Thank you.” Jon says, giving him a nod.

Martin just continues to smile, an excited light in his eyes, until he glances up at the clock, his face falling.

“Shit, I really need to get back to work.” The janitor murmurs, an edge of panic to his voice, before his smile returns, somewhat forced this time. “I have to go, but, uh, I’ll remember our conversation. Good talking to you.”

The man rushes out the doors, leaving Jon alone in the library.

Alone, with the priceless book, which was supposed to be locked away in the room upstairs, with the other books in the collection of Jurgen Leitner.

He can hardly resist throwing the cover open once more and getting lost in it’s pages.

Chapter Text

Martin rushes back to the last classroom he had been in, slamming the door open, hastily reaching towards where he had left the vacuum. He misses, having to catch himself on the door frame to avoid falling over.

He takes in a deep breath, doing his best to calm down and steady his nerves. 

He hadn’t realized how late it was when he had decided to return the book today. How long had he been staring at the cover, thinking what to do? How long did he read those few words on the front page?

He could have sworn it was only a moment, but when he saw the time in the library he found his internal clock to be over an hour off.

Martin had come to terms with the fact he may have to stay a bit late, but losing an hour of his time means he’ll either need to rush his work, or use his spare change of clothes and sleep the couple extra hours in one of the empty classrooms, which, last time he had to do that, was very uncomfortable, not to mention how he might be fired if someone caught him.

There’s still the chance that, even if he does make up most of the hour he wasted, it will be too late to be worth it for him to go home anyways.

Martin shakes his head, pulling himself back together. He certainly won’t be able to go home if he doesn’t get his act together and at least try.

He lets go of the door frame, grabbing, in a much less rushed manner, the vacuum, pulling it towards him and back out of the classroom, before he catches sight of a dark smudge on his hand.

He glances down at it, tilting his head. There’s a smear of dirt on the palm of his hand that certainly wasn’t there when he had handed the book over.

It feels dry, and when he looks back at the spot his hand had been he finds it to be as clean as the rest of the door frame. He frowns, but simply wipes it off on his trousers as best he can, trying to ignore it. He doesn’t have time to deal with mysterious dirt, he has a job to do.

Martin pulls the vacuum behind him once more, and goes into the next classroom, hurriedly repeating his routine, only doing a cursory glance around before starting on the carpets, not even bothering to open the windows.

His thoughts are scattered as he cleans, bouncing between listing the tasks he needs to accomplish, panicking about how late it already is, replaying the conversation he had with Jona-, with Jon, and squealing internally about how the librarian now knows his name.

He doesn’t even bother to wrap up the cord as he pulls the vacuum into the next classroom, only grabbing the tangled mess so as to not trip over it.

Only a few more rooms left, and then Martin can clock out. He can do this. He has to be able to do this.

Chapter Text

Jon’s hands tremble slightly as he pulls the cloth gloves over them. He pushes the books already stacked on the desk aside, before gently lifting the leatherbound book, placing it in front of himself.

He traces his fingers across the one word title, his eyes scanning the cover, soaking up every detail, reading the single word over and over, until his mind has committed every curve and line of the letters to memory.

Beholding.

He’s been waiting for years to get the chance to read a book in the famed collection, it’s the reason he started working here in the first place. He’s heard legends that the collection contains some of the most priceless, sought after, important books, oldest in history.

Jon takes a deep breath, a tingle running down his spine, flipping open the cover, revealing the first weathered page.

Vol. LXVI In The Collection Of Jurgen Leitner.

He turns the page, expecting to see a title page, a glossary, or a table of contents. Instead, he’s met with a wall of large text. The lettering looks hand written, but every letter stands out individually, not bleeding into each other at all.

Twelve books to the right.

Five books to the left.

Jon frowns, before continuing to read.

Paper climbing to the ceiling.

Hollow wooden walls.

Weathered floors.

An out of date circulation desk.

Antique lights hung from the above.

A man, tall, with glasses, and long hair.

A pack of cigarettes tucked into the corner of a drawer.

Jon swallows, although his mouth is painfully dry. He stares at the words, at the paper full of centuries old dried ink, his fingers turning the page on their own.

An eye watching over your shoulder.

An eye watching the doors.

Eyes looking from every corner.

Every eye watching you.

Jon slams the book shut.

He knows he shouldn’t, it’s precious, important, but he can’t help it. His instincts take over and he closes the book as quickly as possible, before checking behind his shoulder.

A camera.

Jon hadn’t noticed there being cameras in the library before. The thought doesn’t surprise him, there are millions of dollars worth of books in it, but he hadn’t realized that he had been watched at work.

He shakes his head, trying to dispel the thought. He’s being dramatic, there’s no reason someone would be actively watching him. None. It’s incredibly unlikely.

He only feels watched because the place the book was describing just happened to somehow match the library. That’s all, nothing more.

A strange coincidence.

Nothing he needs to or should dwell on.

Jon glances down at the book, the yellowed paper almost begging him to open it again.

He should get back to work. He can take another look at the book at a different time. Maybe in a corner, or a far aisle in a genre that no one cares about in a place out of view of the cameras.

But for now, he should leave it.

Jon pulls out one of the desk drawers, the one that is primarily full of stuff only he uses, clearing a space, before gently setting the old book in the back corner.

In the back corner right next to the pack of cigarettes that he swears to himself he won’t use, but keeps on hand in case of emergency, and that no one else knows about.

Chapter Text

Martin opens his cabinet, before frowning. He closes it, moving to the cabinet next to it, before repeating the process.

He’s out of tea. He actually ran out of tea.

He lets out a groan of frustration as he reaches for a glass, frowning while he fills it with tap water. So much for having a good start to his day.

Martin stares out the window of his flat, watching as the sun starts to take it’s place in the dark sky, observing as it begins to light the empty streets, brightening up the still sleeping city.

It’s a beautiful sight. Although it would be made better if he had a cup of tea with him, but it’s his own fault for not having the time to pick any up yesterday.

He sighs, pouring out the rest of the water back into the sink, before stepping away from the window. He doesn’t bother turning on the light as he walks through the sparsely furnished front room.

Martin remembers a time when he would have had to, when their stuff was cluttering the flat, when there was an end table next to the couch, a rug with a corner that was always a tripping hazard, extra chairs for when guests would come over.

But that was a long time ago, and now the room is much more easy to navigate.

Once he makes his way back to his bedroom he slides the mirror doors of the closet open, riffling through his clothes for a moment before finding a dark shirt and a suitable pair of trousers for work.

He changes into them before glancing at himself in the long mirror, a frown stuck on his face. He understands why they have the dress code, but he can’t help feeling that it’s dull, boring. There’s no spark.

He looks like he’s in a default outfit, like he is a default, someone interchangeable. It’s worse than his university uniform, at least there’s some color in that.

Martin sighs, before pulling a blue sweater out of his closet, tugging it on over the t-shirt. He can at least wear something he likes until he gets to work, if nothing else.

He looks back at his reflection, slightly more satisfied this time. He messes with his bangs, changing the part a few times, trying to get it to lay right, before giving up and running his hand through it, letting it fall into it’s natural place.

Martin steps back from the mirror, before grabbing a pair of socks and his shoes. He sits on the edge of his bed as he puts them on, double knotting the laces to make sure they won’t come undone on his walk to work.

He grabs his keys, phone, and wallet off of the mostly barren shelf, shoving the first two items into his pockets without issue, but pausing at the third. He glances down at the wallet in his hand, frowning at the thin layer of dirt covering it.

He returns to the kitchen, turning the wallet back and forth, staring at it in confusion. He grabs a paper towel, running it under the sink for a moment, before wiping the wallet off.

The item isn’t even covered in dust, the grime that’s coming off of it is much too rich and warm a brown for that. It’s soil, just dirt from the ground, which makes absolutely no sense to Martin.

He hadn’t dropped it, he would have remembered if he had, it’s just, for some reason, covered in dirt.

Martin shakes his head, quickly wiping off the rest of the soil, before throwing away the paper towel as he makes his way to the door. He doesn’t have the time or energy for this, so he just… Won’t worry about it for now.

It’s probably nothing.

It’s just something being dirty for no known reason, how could it even be something at all?

Chapter Text

“I’m going on my lunch.” Jon says over his shoulder, grabbing his sandwich out of his lunchbag as he does so. “I’ll be back soon.”

“You’re not eating in the library?” Georgie asks, raising her eyebrows.

“No, not today.” He sighs, his gaze wandering back to the drawer the book is stashed in for the hundredth time since his shift started.

“Do you need to get something? Are you meeting someone?” The other librarian questions.

“I’m just going on a short walk, that’s all.” Jon replies, walking out from behind the desk as he talks. “Unless you need me here for something?”

“No no, you’re free to go.” Georgie responds, before shrugging. “It’s just a bit unlike you is all.”

“I take plenty of walks around the campus.” He says, shaking his head, even though he knows she’s right.

If he hadn’t been having the sensation of being watched ever since reading Beholding, or if Georgie wasn’t at work today, he probably would be taking his lunch in the library. In fact, he would probably be reading that book right now.

But as it stands he doesn’t want anyone else to see or notice the book, so he can’t. It does, however, give him a good opportunity to find Martin.

Jon pushes the mahogany doors open, the warm light of the Edison bulbs replaced by the harsh fluorescents, warn wood floors turning to squeaky tiles. He always finds the transition between the two spaces jarring.

He eats his sandwich as he walks, looking through the windows of the classrooms he passes, making his way towards the janitorial closet. It’s the most likely place for him to find the man, but he still wants to keep his eyes out on his way.

He pauses as he looks into one of the classrooms, watching the students on the edges of their seats, furiously writing notes. He had never seen a class of theology students so enthusiastic about what they’re learning. Maxwell Rayner must be one hell of a professor.

The moment of fascination with the class passes, and Jon resumes his walk, before finally reaching the janitorial closet, finding it with the door partially open, a warm light visible from the opening, the soft sound of someone humming coming from within.

He knocks on the door twice, the action causing it to slowly swing further inwards.

“Excuse me?” He says, standing a step away from the doorframe, even as the door itself gets out of his way.

“Hm? Do you need help with something?” Martin asks, his back turned to him as he reaches for a spray bottle on one of the higher shelves.

“No, I just had a couple questions about our… Conversation the other day.” Jon replies, his voice hushed as he speaks.

“Oh, Jon!” The janitor responds, giving up his current venture to turn around, facing him with a smile. “I, um, hi! I didn’t realize it was you.”

“Well, it is.” He says, stepping through the doorframe and into the small room.

“Yes, right, of course!” Martin replies, a nervous laugh escaping his lips, his cheeks reddening. “You said you needed to ask me something?”

“Yes, it’s quite important.” Jon answers, closing the door behind him as he speaks, before he lowers his voice. “Did you tell anyone else about the book you returned?”

“No?” Martin responds, a look of confusion coming over his blushing face. “Was I supposed to?”

“No. No, that's perfect.” Jon says, nodding to himself, relieved to have found the answer he was hoping for. “I would like you to keep it that way.”

“Sure, yeah, I can do that.” The janitor replies, nodding as he glances between Jon and the door. “Is there a reason, though? Was there something wrong with it?”

Jon pauses for a moment, uncertain how to answer, if he should mention the weirdness, it seeming to be able to describe his surroundings, the cameras, the perpetual feeling of being watched.

“It’s fine.” He says instead. “I just, I don’t want rumor of it to spread around.”

“Right. That makes total sense.” Martin responds, nodding slowly. “I won’t mention it to anyone else.”

“Thank you.” Jon replies, a soft smile appearing on his face, a bit of his worry getting etched away.

“Of course.” The man says, beaming at him, and pushing his golden hair away from his face.

They both stand there for a moment in silence, the quiet buzzing of the lights the only noise, before Jon snaps out of it, glancing at his watch.

“I should get back to the library, my lunch is almost over.” He says, turning quickly as he opens the door.

“It was good to see you Jon.” Martin says softly behind him. “I hope we talk again soon.”

Jon hesitates for a moment, before turning back.

“See you later Martin.” He replies, before walking out the door and back towards the library.

Chapter Text

Martin pulls the mop trolley behind him as he walks across the squeaky floors, retracing his steps, careful to not slip on the still wet ground, still smiling softly at the conversation he had hours ago.

Jon had been the one to seek him out, he took time out of his lunch to come and talk to him. Sure, maybe it was just to ask him a question, to make sure he had kept the old book a secret, but it still happened.

Martin just can’t get over it. Even if it was only because of some book that he didn’t want anyone else to know about, that does sort of mean they have something in common now. Something special, that only the two of them know about. Something that connects them.

They had been so close as well, shut in the closet together. Well, closer than they would have been if they hadn’t been in that decently sized closet, anyways. And the smile Jon had given him, it was so soft, full of relief, it was sweet, and charming, and made Martin’s stomach do summersaults. He’s blushing now even thinking about it.

“Hello? Mr. Janitor Man?” A voice cuts through his thoughts, making him jump in surprise.

“Oh! Um, yes?” The words tumble out of his mouth as he focuses back on his surroundings.

“Would you help me with this?” A student, a young man with messy hair, handsome features, and whose holding an array of different sized wood planks, asks.

“Tim! He’s working!” The student next to him, a tall woman, with long curls, and round glasses, exclaims, hitting the man softly on his arm.

“Yeah, well, you refused to help me, and now I have to ask for assistance elsewhere.” The first student retorts, shooting her a playful glare. “So really it’s your fault Sasha.”

“I’m carrying something too.” Sasha protests, nodding down to the books in her arms.

“Yeah yeah.” Tim replies, rolling his eyes before looking back at Martin, who’s been watching their interaction, unsure of what to do. “So, will you help me? Please?”

“Right, of course, no problem.” Martin responds, rushing forward, almost slipping, before he grabs as many of the planks from the student’s grasp as he can carry.

“See, everything worked out, he’s happy to help!” Tim says, glancing back to his companion with a smirk as he walks forward.

“Only because you pressured him into it.” Sasha huffs.

“Don’t listen to her.” Tim says, looking back at him.

“Right.” Martin says, before letting out a nervous laugh. “Where are we taking these anyways?”

“Just down to the auditorium.” Tim answers with a half shrug. “I’m helping the Theatre Students out with building their sets, and they asked me to pick up the lumber.”

“You really should have used a hand trolley instead of carrying it all the way there.” Sasha comments, walking slightly behind them as to not get hit by the wood.

“Well it’s too late for that now!” Tim responds cheerfully, grinning as he speaks.

Martin can’t help but smile at the two, the friendly bickering giving the duo a certain charm.

They continue to banter, with Martin simply nodding along or giving short replies, too focused on trying to keep a hold of the supplies to really participate in the conversation, until they reach the university’s auditorium.

Tim leads them into the backstage area, before dropping his load onto the floor.

Martin quickly leans his haul against the wall, letting out a breath of relief as he rubs his arms, trying to alleviate some of the soreness that has already begun.

“Thanks for all your help.” Tim says, shooting him a grin, before holding out his hand. “Tim Stoker, Architectural Engineering student.”

“Martin Blackwood,” Martin replies, taking his hand and smiling back at him. “Janitor.”

“That’s Sasha James, she’s a History Student.” Tim introduces, nodding his head in her direction, before dropping his voice. “But eventually she’s going to be the best professor this university has ever seen.”

“I can introduce myself.” Sasha says, sighing, even though she’s unable to hide the smile on her lips as she pushes the other student out of the way, and extends her own hand. “I’m Sasha, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Martin, and same to you.” He responds, taking and shaking her hand as well.

“Sorry about all the trouble Tim caused.” She replies, earning a wink from the man in question.

“It’s no problem at all.” Martin says with a laugh. “Although I do need to be getting back to work.”

“Don’t let us keep you.” Tim responds, making a shooing motion with his hand, accompanied by nodding from Sasha.

Martin waves at the pair before turning, making his way back to the main part of the university, smiling as he does so.

Chapter Text

“Here.” The student says as she drops the large stack of books on the library desk. “I would like to check these out.”

Jon looks up at her, before standing with a sigh, already knowing that this conversation will not be going smoothly.

“I told you Melanie,” Jon starts, frowning as he speaks. “You can't check out any more books until you return the ones that are overdue.”

“And I told you that I'm still using them.” Melanie shoots back pushing the stack of books closer to him.

“We both know that isn't how this works.” He replies, nudging the stack back in her direction.

“But I need them for one of my projects.” She argues, crossing her arms.

“Maybe you should consider buying yourself a copy of those books, if you need them so much.” Jon suggests, glaring at her.

“For fucks sake Jon, you work in a library, this is what libraries are for!” Melanie snaps, slamming her hands on the desk.

“And libraries have policies.” He replies, trying to keep his voice measured and low. “And one of those policies is to not lend out books to students who haven't been responsible enough to return the ones that are overdue.”

Jon doesn't understand it. It isn't that hard to simply just return the books, and it's not like they won't still be here after being returned.

His gaze briefly flicks to one of the desk drawers, the one with the old book that Martin had found, before snapping back to the student, hoping that she hadn't noticed.

That is completely different. Beholding is special, it’s, it's important, he has to study it, and if he returns it to where it belongs there's a decent chance he'll never see it again.

“Oh, hi Melanie!” Georgie exclaims as she emerges from the labyrinth of shelves.

“Hello Georg-” Jon starts before his words are cut off.

“Georgie, this man won't let me check out the books I need.” Melanie interrupts, crossing her arms as she turns to face his coworker. “You should fire him.”

“You know I don't have the power to do that.” Georgie replies, shaking her head, even while a smile is still on her face. “What are the books you need checked out?”

“She has too many books overdue.” Jon explains, earning a glare from the student.

“Books that I'm still currently using.” Melanie mutters.

“You're done with classes for the day, right Melanie?” Georgie asks, earning a nod. “Could you stick around for another forty minutes until I'm on break?”

“Georgie.” Jon sighs, already knowing where this is going.

“What?” Georgie asks rhetorically. “We make similar things, there might be something I could use for What The Ghost. And if I let her borrow a book after I've finished it, well, that's for me to worry about.”

“Just make sure she returns the books.” He says, before turning to glare at Melanie. “All of the books.”

“Yeah yeah.” Melanie responds, rolling her eyes, before turning to smile at the other librarian. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Georgie replies, smiling back at her.

Jon only shakes his head, grabbing a stack of returns, brushing past them on his way to put them back on the shelves.

Chapter Text

“And that about sums it up.” Professor Lukas’ voice rings out through the room. “Class dismissed.”

Martin continues writing in his notebook while the other students shuffle around him, exiting the classroom hurriedly.

Ever since he started attending he's had trouble with the international trading course, but it's one of the classes that can give him credits for a business degree that has any night classes, so he doesn't have much of a choice but to power through them.

His pencil scratches against the paper loudly in the suddenly quiet classroom as he tries to get all the information from the lecture onto the page.

“Are you almost done?” The Professor’s voice rings out from the lowest level of the room, startling Martin.

“Oh, um, yes! Yes, I’m, I’m almost done.” Martin responds, glancing between the notebook and the disapproving professor a few times. “I’ll be out of your way in a second.”

“Take your time.” Professor Lukas sighs, opening a desk drawer, not looking at Martin as he speaks.

He nods a few times, before focusing back on his notebook, and realizing that he has completely lost his train of thought. With a shaky hand he finishes writing everything he remembers, even though he knows it isn’t enough anymore.

Martin haphazardly shoves his notebook into his bag, slinging it over his shoulder, before rushing down the steps, trying to get out of the professor’s way as quickly as possible.

He’s tried his best to keep his head down, to not get singled out, to just do his work and leave, but of course he couldn’t even keep that up. He was bound to mess up eventually. He always does.

“Wait.” Professor Lukas calls, stopping him in the doorway.

“Yes?” Martin replies hesitantly, turning to face him.

“Do I know you?” The Professor asks, squinting at him.

“I, um, I don’t think so?” He responds, his grip on the bag’s strap tightening.

“You’re one of the janitors, aren’t you?” Professor Lukas says, pointing at him, his eyes widening in recognition. “The one who always looks away and keeps his head down when I walk by, who doesn’t talk to anyone, or have any friends, right?”

Martin takes a deep breath through his nose, plastering a smile on his face.

“Haha, yeah. Yeah, you, you got me.” Martin replies, the words having to claw their way out of his throat. “That’s me.”

“I thought I knew you from somewhere.” Lukas says, before waving his hand, and looking back down at his desk. “That was all, you can go now.”

All he does is nod in response, before he turns on his heels, walking out of the classroom door.

Peter is sure one to talk. He doesn’t even greet his students, or stop to talk to anyone in the halls. He’s aloof and detached from everyone else at the university.

And Martin does have friends. He might be too busy to see them, and it might have been that way for years, but he does have them. Even if he can’t recall who any of the said friends are.

He isn’t lonely, he just… Has priorities. Responsibilities.

Martin lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, before walking down the hallway towards the door.

Chapter Text

Jon sits down on the worn wood, pressing his back against the rows of books, curling his knees to his chest so as to not hit the shelf across from him.

He had scouted out all of the library to find the most secluded area, finally finding one of the horror aisles which was off to the side. The shelves had been pressed close together, and there were no cameras in sight, which means, Jon hopes, that no cameras can see him.

He takes a deep breath, before setting the leather bound book on his lap. He soaks in the cover once more, drinking up every detail, before opening it again, flipping back to the first page, his eyebrows raising at the new words, although, for some reason, he can’t find any true shock in himself at the fact the letters are not the same.

Countless books in front.

Countless books behind.

They stretch on into the distance.

As far as can be seen are more pages.

The words of hundreds of generations collecting dust, longing to be read.

A floor worn down by the shoes of dozens of librarians.

Old light bulbs, prepared to burn out.

An all too curious man, his head buried in a book he longs to understand.

The faint footsteps of a wandering student, ignored.

Jon turns the page, his eyes never leaving the book, even as his whole body shakes, his muscles tight, ready to bolt from an unknown danger.

No cameras.

None that can see the truth.

None that can gain the knowledge of what you’re doing.

But you know there are still eyes.

You are still being watched.

You cannot escape them.

You will never escape them again.

They’re following you.

Always watching.

Jon drops the book as he turns the next page, it falling from his lap onto the floor, still showing the print covering both pages. Still staring at him.

He claws his way from the floor, before stumbling back, his eyes still locked onto the book, the book’s gaze still following him. He swallows what air he can, his breaths raspy and shallow, hands still shaking as they grip the shelf to either side.

It has to be an optical illusion.

It can’t be real.

It’s ink.

It’s just dried ink on old paper.

The eyes on it can’t be moving.

They can’t truly be able to see.

Right?

Jon takes in a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

It’s just an illusion. Books don’t have eyes, and any illustrations of eyes in them certainly don’t move. And the text in books doesn’t change, the pages just stuck together, and it happened to fit the situation he’s in.

That’s all it is. That’s all it can be.

Jon nods slowly, pulling himself back together, back away from the edge of panic. He lets go of the shelves, standing up straight again, pulling down his jacket, before straightening the wrinkles out of his button up, steadying his breathing as he does so.

He takes a cautious step towards the book, looking down at the print that’s sprawled across both sides, lips pressed into a hard line as one of the eyes blinks at him.

“It’s just a book Jon,” He murmurs, forcing himself to bend down. “It can’t hurt you.”

He picks it up, not letting himself hesitate any longer, snapping it shut.

Jon lets out a low breath of relief, before shaking his head at himself. There’s nothing he needs to be relieved about, since there was nothing wrong to begin with. Just… A weird trick of the light, or the line art, or his own mind.

But he still doesn’t open it again.

He has to get back to work, after all. He’ll look at it again later.

In a few days.

Or a week or two.

Once his hands stop trembling.

Chapter Text

Martin grabs the thermos from the shelf, standing on his toes briefly to reach it, smiling as it radiates warmth into the palms of his hands. He pulls the small bag of sugar cubes off of the same shelf, shoving it into his pocket.

If he had the time he would have made it fresh, but since he can’t he figures that any tea is better than no tea, even if he made it before he walked to work.

He slips out of the closet, his steps hurried as he makes his way through the hall, dodging out of the way of the occasional student, trying to be quick so he can get back before his break ends.

Martin hesitates for a moment as he reaches the imposing mahogany doors. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He’s just doing a favor for an acquaintance, trying to be nice. That’s all.

He pushes the doors to the library open, the smell of old books and dust in places that no one has been able to reach for decades hits him.

Jon looks up from the desk, his eyebrows raising as he sees him.

“Martin?” The librarian says as he pushes his glasses back up his nose.

“Hi, yes, hello.” He replies, hurrying over to the desk. “I, um, well, I brought you some tea.”

He places the thermos on the desk in between them, before fishing the bag of sugar out of his pocket and setting it next to it, all while Jon stares at him, not responding.

“You, uh, well you seemed really stressed when I passed you in the hall, so I thought, I had some chamomile, and it’s supposed to help with stress, so I might as well bring you some.” Martin continues, clasping and unclasping his hands. “I hope you like it. I’m sorry it’s not a book.”

“Thank you.” Jon says softly, looking down at the thermos for a moment, before his gaze returns to Martin once more, a smile on his face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Martin replies, beaming at him, his cheeks warming as his dazzling hazel eyes look him over. “I wasn’t sure how you like your tea, so I brought some sugar, just in case.”

“This is very thoughtful of you,” Jon responds, pushing a stray strand of dark hair away from his face. “But I don’t have anything to give you in return.”

“Oh you don’t need to do anything at all!” Martin quickly protests, waving his hands as if to wave away the idea. “It’s just a… A favor between coworkers.”

The librarian pauses for a moment, before nodding.

“Well then, I’ll make sure to return this to you.” Jon says, placing a hand on top of the thermos.

Martin smiles at him, before glancing towards the clock. He has a little bit of time until his break is over, he can afford to stay a little bit longer.

“Have you found anything interesting with that book I found?” He asks, tilting his head to the side.

Jon freezes for a moment, the air suddenly becoming thick with tension, before he clears his throat, pulling his now shaking hands behind the desk and out of sight.

“No. No, it’s just an old book. Hardly legible.” Jon answers, his words tight.

“Right.” Martin responds, nodding slowly, doubt building in his mind. “It seemed like a completely normal book when I first found it.”

“Exactly, it’s very ordinary.” The librarian says, nodding along with him, before glancing back down at the thermos of tea. “I should probably drink that before it gets cold.”
“Yes, of course.” He replies, taking a step back away from the desk. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Chapter Text

Jon knocks on the door of the office, his knuckles stinging from the unintended force.

“Come in.” A voice calls from inside, sounding disinterested and, frankly, annoyed by the interruption.

He grabs the doorknob, turning it with a rough jerk and pushing it in.

Gertrude Robinson looks up from her desk, a disapproving frown on her face, her silver hair pulling back into a bun, aging hands rested on a keyboard.

“Can I help you with something?” The professor asks, glancing back towards the monitor.

“Yes, actually, you can.” Jon says, approaching the old desk, the burnt wood at home in the cluttered, dimly lit room.

“Out with it then.” Gertrude replies, not looking back up at him.

“Your assistant said you would owe me a favor if I set those books aside for you.” He responds, gripping the corner of the desk.

“And?” She asks.

“And I want that favor.” Jon answers, earning a sigh from Professor Robinson as she turns to look at him once more.

“What do you want? For me to buy you a book? A history lesson?” She questions. “A good word on your next resume?”

“I want access to Jurgen Leitner’s collection.” Jon says, his voice low as his grip on the desk tightens.

“I’m sorry Mr. Sims, but I can’t do that for you.” Gertrude replies, not sounding all that sorry to him.

“I know you can’t,” He explains, keeping his words hushed, even though he doesn’t quite know why. “But you could get Elias to let me in there. If he’ll listen to anyone in this university, it’s you.”

“And why do you want access to the collection?” She asks, leaning forward ever so slightly. “What do you think you’ll gain from it?”

“It’s the most impressive collection of books to date.” Jon replies, his bafflement at the seemingly ridiculous question seeping into his voice. “Anyone who has any interest in books wants to have access to it.”

“But why do you want access to it?” She reiterates.

“It’s the reason I started working here in the first place.” He responds, confused by the repeated question.

“Why?” Gertrude asks again.

“Because I need to know what’s in there!” Jon snaps, the words springing from his mouth without him even realizing it. “I… I have to know.”

Gertrude stares at him for a moment, her eyes examining him as if she can look into his soul, as if her mere gaze can cut him open, make his insides spill onto the floor, his secrets become crystal clear, exposed to the world, to her.

“There isn’t anything interesting in there.” She finally says, breaking the suffocating tension in the air. “You should know that it’s all just a bunch of old, dusty, rotting books. You’re wasting your time with something that isn’t worth it.”

“I don’t care if it’s worth it or not, I need to know.” He replies, his words wavering.

She frowns, before turning back towards her computer.

“Suit yourself then.” Gertrude responds, sighing. “You won’t gain anything from it.”

“Does that mean you’ll talk to him about it?” Jon asks, hope creeping back into his voice.

But Gertrude doesn’t respond, instead opting to simply just ignore him.

Jon hesitates for a moment, before turning, and venturing his way back into the hall and out of her office, hoping that something will come of their talk.

He just can’t imagine that there’s nothing interesting in that collection. He’s been fascinated with it for so many years, and the one book that belongs to it that he’s been able to get his hands on has acted so strangely, there has to be something interesting about that collection.

And if Beholding is anything to go off of, he can see why she may lie about Jurgen Leitner’s collection.

Chapter Text

Martin pushes the door to the classroom open, dragging the stepladder in behind him, flipping the switch for the lights back on, illuminating the cluttered walls.

He’s always conflicted when he cleans the classroom used for the entomology course. On one hand, it’s the most decorated room in the university, the walls are lined with bugs pinned and framed, splashing the white paint with nature's color. On the other hand, it means he needs to get on a stepladder to dust all of the said frames.

Martin drags the stepladder toward one of the walls, setting it up, before pulling a microfiber cloth from his pocket, and, begrudgingly, stepping up the small ladder, reaching to wipe off the shadow boxes full of insects.

He hasn’t met Professor Prentus yet, at least not formally. He thinks he’s passed her in the hall before, but he’s certain they haven’t exchanged more than a greeting. Her reputation, however, is something he’s quite familiar with.

From what he knows from overhearing the students, and from the run down Trevor gave him when he was first hired on, Professor Prentus is one of the more eccentric teachers working for The Magnus University. Not quite as eccentric as Professor Shelley, of course, but still on the stranger side of the current staff.

Not only does she decorate her classroom with hundreds of taxidermied bugs, but from stories Martin’s heard, she also has a history of bringing living ones into lectures, and letting them loose into the room full of students, berating them if a student harms it.

He shakes his head, dragging himself out of his thoughts as he moves the stepladder over. It’s not fair to judge her based on all of the rumors. She’s probably a little weird, but who isn’t? Martin himself insists on setting any spiders that find their way into his flat free instead of killing them, everyone has their little quirks.

He hasn’t even met the woman yet, he shouldn’t be having opinions on her because of what he hears secondhand, even if her choice of decor causes him more work.

Martin finishes dusting all the shadow boxes, nodding at his work, satisfied that it’s sufficiently less dusty. He grabs the stepladder, shutting it, the sound of metal hitting metal ringing through the empty room.

He drags it through the carpeted classroom, before picking it up as he reaches the hallway’s tiled floor, carrying it under his arm to avoid the noise.

He takes it back to his closet, leaning it against the wall and out of the way. He turns back to grab the mop trolley, ready to start working on the hallways, before he hesitates.

There’s a dryness in the back of Martin’s throat. It’s not something that’s abnormal, it’s just a signal his body is sending to tell him to drink more water.

But then the dryness starts to spread. It crawls it’s way all throughout his throat, climbing his neck, reaching into his mouth, leaving a bitter, earthy taste, sliding down, clawing towards his lungs.

He starts to cough, trying to clear his throat, before the cough starts to become more violent, as if his insides are pushing against each other, trying to escape through his mouth.

Martin doubles over, clutching his stomach with one arm, while his other hand tries to cover his mouth, trying to muffle the sudden coughing fit.

His eyes start to water, so he tries to wipe them with the back of his hand, inadvertently uncovering his mouth, and releasing a flow of a dark dry substance cascading out of his mouth.

Martin’s coughing continues for fifteen agonizing minutes, as he tries to dispel the rest of the dirt from his body, all of his limbs shaking, unnoticed tears streaming down his cheeks, until, finally, the coughing stops, and he’s able to get deep breaths of, albeit, dusty, air into his lungs.

He stares down at the pile of dirt at his feet, it seeming impossibly big. It seeming, frankly, completely impossible, absolutely absurd, that it was inside of him.

“What the hell?” He tries to murmur, but the words come out choked and raspy.

He can’t be dealing with this. He doesn’t know what it is, but he doesn’t have the time, and he can’t miss work. And besides, what would he even say? He coughed up an obscene amount of dirt? Magically? He’d sound insane.

And he isn’t crazy. That happened to him, he felt it, the dirt is still there.

Unless he’s started suffering from hallucinations? Sometimes lack of sleep can do that, and he hasn’t been sleeping well for months, or years, or, most accurately, most of his life. Could that be it?

Martin tries to steady his breathing, placing his hand against the wall, using it as support.

Whether it’s real or fake… It hardly matters. There’s nothing he can do about it either way. There’s no one he can tell, no fix, no way to even start trying to figure out what’s going on.

He’s helpless.

All he can do is grab the broom and sweep up the mess he created.

So that’s what Martin does. With shaking hands he reaches for the broom, cleaning the evidence of his sickness, or cleaning a spotless floor, or cleaning dirt that magically appeared in his throat. He doesn’t know which.

Chapter Text

Jon stares at the desk drawer, his hands periodically reaching forward, before he realizes what they’re doing, and pulls them back into the safety of his lap.

He hasn’t been able to take his eyes off of the place the book is hidden all shift, it keeps gnawing at the back of his mind, holding all of his attention.

“Joooon? Jonathaaaaannn? Hellooooo?” The drawn out words cut through his thoughts, and he looks up to find the speaker leaning over the desk, watching him, their golden curls resting against the counter.

Jon quickly stands from his chair, pulling himself back together, trying to set the thought of Beholding to the side to give his focus to the job he’s supposed to be doing.

“How can I help you, Professor Shelley?” He asks, positioning himself across from the psychology professor.

“Oh come on, I’ve told you, just call me Michael.” They reply, straightening to their full height, a crooked smile on their face.

“Right. How can I help you, Michael?” Jon repeats, his words monotone.

“Much better. Good job, I’m so proud of you.” Michael replies, clapping, before he laughs, it sounding off kilter, grating on Jon’s nerves.

He stares at them, trying not to let his irritation show.

Michael sighs, before taking a deep breath, and straightening out his striped tie, which seemed to feature every color in all existence.

“Right, well. Where were we again?” They ask, cocking his head to the side, his curls bouncing from the motion.

“You were just about to tell me what I can help you with.” Jon answers, having to force himself not to grit his teeth.

“Yes, that!” Michael exclaims, slamming his hands onto the desk, his long colorful nails glinting in the light. “I was wondering if my students could occupy your little library for a little bit?”

“Occupy how?” He asks, automatically growing suspicious.

He can’t help but fear that it won’t end well if a group of students want to “use the library”. Anything could happen, they could damage books, they could get lost in the maze of shelves, a shelf could fall on them and hurt one of the students, or a book could start telling them their surroundings and freaking them out.

“Well you see, I want my students to run an experiment of sorts.” They start to explain, leaning forward as they talk, excitement in their bright blue eyes. “They’ll be studying a whole bunch of different places, running their own tests on how environment affects learning.”

“So you’re just your students to run a test for you?” Jon asks, raising his eyebrows.

“I’m giving them the opportunity to do things themselves, Jon. It’s hands-on teaching, and it will yield better results than only having them study out of the books you insist on.” Michael replies, crossing their arms over their chest. “You’ll see.”

Jon shakes his head, still certain they’re just using their students as a way to run unpermitted experiments, even if they’re harmless ones. They’re young for a professor, he probably wasn’t able to get a job where he could run the tests he wanted, so is instead using his job as a psychology professor to do them instead.

That’s the impression he gets from them, anyways.

“All students are permitted to study in the library, you don’t have to ask.” Jon informs them begrudgingly, doing his job as a librarian even though he doesn’t want to be involved in whatever it is they’re actually doing.

Michael’s expression brightens once more, and they smile at him.

“Thank you Jon, I knew I could count on you.” They say, grinning.

“Right. Is that all you need help with?” Jon asks.

The Professor nods, before turning, practically skipping out of the library in his flared neon trousers.

Jon simply shakes his head as he watches them leave. He hasn’t known them for long, but he has a feeling he could have known them for years and still not understand them in the slightest.

Chapter Text

Martin breaths in the cool night air, looking up to the sky, seeing faint distant stars twinkling down at him, dimmed by the city lights.

He hikes the bag higher onto his shoulder, pulling at the strap, before forcing himself forward into the dark street, his feet dragging as he walks.

Between trying to study, work, work, and whatever is going on with the dirt that seems to be haunting him, he’s gotten even less sleep than usual, leaving him completely exhausted.

He can barely force himself to take a single step forward. He can hardly even imagine making it back to his flat. But he has to. He needs to get home and get what little sleep he can so he can work his shift in the morning.

If he misses too many shifts he’ll be fired, and if he’s fired he won’t be able to afford all the bills, and then he’ll lose the flat, and he’ll have to start sleeping in an empty classroom because he has no one to stay with, and-

Martin takes a ragged breath in, placing a hand on a cold brick wall, running his thumb across it, using the rough texture to ground himself back in reality, to give himself an anchor point to stop his spiral.

He’s fine. Everything is fine. He just needs to get a grip on himself. He pushes his hair back away from his face, letting the cold breeze hit his forehead, the chill helping calm him.

After a few moments Martin takes a hesitant step forward, venturing back down the sidewalk, counting the streetlamps to keep his mind occupied.

The rest of his walk is quiet, and he reaches his building without incident, hauling himself up the stairs with minimal muttering about the number of steps he has to climb.

Martin pulls out his keys, the jingling of metal hitting metal echoing, cutting through the silence. He pushes it into the lock, turning it the wrong way first, before jerking it in the other direction, using more force than necessary in his frustration.

He pushes the door open, stumbling into the dark flat. He haphazardly kicks off his shoes in the entryway, not paying any attention to where they land, and letting his bag fall off of his shoulder, onto the floor.

He barely remembers to relock the door before he staggers past the kitchen and living room. He fumbles with the bedroom door for a few seconds, before it finally unlatches for him.

Martin falls onto his bed, not even bothering to change into pajamas. He climbs further onto the blankets, flopping onto his back, grabbing the glasses off of his face. He tries to reach out and set them on his nightstand, but it’s too far away, so he just sets them on the bed next to him.

He blinks up at the dark ceiling, his vision blurring, spots like specks of dirt clouding his sight. He closes his eyes, welcoming the sensation of the blankets folding around his tired body, cradling him.

That is until the sensation doesn’t stop, and Martin just continues to sink into the mattress, the blankets wrapping around his limbs, constricting him, swallowing him.

Martin’s eyes snap open, being met with only darkness. He fights against the cloth, clawing his way upwards, until suddenly he’s free, and falling to the floor.

He takes a shuddering breath in, relieved by the feeling of the solid wood. He doesn’t move to get back onto the bed, or move to the couch, instead staying sprawled on the ground, head resting against his forearm, until he falls asleep.

Chapter Text

Jon starts to pull the drawer forward, unable to resist the draw of the book, needing to make sure it’s still there, safe, ready for him to read, untouched by anyone else, before the door to the library opens, and he slams it shut.

He’s momentarily annoyed by the interruption, until he looks up, his frustration melting away as sees the blond janitor, holding a thermos close to his chest, glancing around the labyrinth of books.

“I’m over here Martin!” Jon calls, unable to keep a smile from his face as he watches him turn towards the desk, beaming.

It’s become their little ritual. Every couple of days Martin visits the library, bringing Jon a new flavor of tea, talking until the end of the janitor’s break. He’s started to look forward to it, even.

“I hope hibiscus is alright.” Martin says, gently placing the thermos in front of him.

“It’s free tea, I couldn’t complain even if I didn’t like it.” Jon replies, shaking his head with a soft exhale.

“Does, does that mean you don’t like it?” Martin asks, his face falling, eyebrows creasing in worry.

“No, no, hibiscus tea is fine, I promise.” He assures him, pulling the thermos towards himself as proof.

“Okay good.” The janitor responds, sighing with relief, his shoulders falling as tension seems to leave them. “You had me worried there.”

Jon stares at the man for a moment, examining him, for the first time noticing the faint burns on his hands, noticing how the dark circles under his eyes seem more prominent than the splash of freckles across his cheeks, noticing how his eyelids are drooping over bloodshot eyes.

“Um, hello?” Martin says, giving him a small wave.

“Is everything alright?” Jon asks, pulling back as he realizes he had started to lean forward.

“Ye-Yes?” The janitor answers uncertainly.

“You don’t have to bring me tea, you know.” He says. “If there’s too much on your plates I completely understand that, you aren’t obligated to continue doing this.”

“What? No!” Martin responds, his voice spiking with panic. “It’s the best part of my shift when I get to give it to you, I don’t want it to stop.”

Jon pauses, debating what to do. The man seems exhausted, and he doesn’t want to burden him with anything more, but he doesn’t want to hurt him if he insists that he stops bringing him tea.

“It’s not too much, I make myself tea in the morning anyways, it’s hardly any more work at all.” Martin continues, clasping his hands together as if he’s pleading.

“As long as you’re not pushing yourself on my account, alright?” Jon finally says, unconsciously placing a hand on Martin’s arm.

“I’m not, I promise.” Martin insists, a small smile reappearing on his face.

“Good.” Jon says with a nod, pulling away as he grabs the thermos, tucking it behind the wall of the desk.

He won’t press him any more, not about why he looks so tired, or about if he’s burdening him, but he is determined to make sure he isn’t making his life any harder.

“Martin?” Jon starts, grabbing a stack of returns, setting the books between them, looking down at them, instead of at the man across from him.

“Yes?” Martin replies, and, Jon sees as he briefly glances forward, tilts his head.

“Would you like to get lunch together sometime? Or perhaps dinner?” Jon asks, sorting the books, even though he already did so only fifteen minutes ago. “I would like to give you something in return for all the tea you’ve made me.”

There’s a long silence, eventually forcing Jon to look up, finding Martin staring at him, his cheeks pink, but his lips white from being pressed too tightly together.

“I’m sorry,” He says quickly, looking back down at the books, an unexpected pang in his chest. “You don’t need to say yes. Just forget it.”

“No. No, no, that’s not it at all, I would love to.” Martin replies, grabbing Jon’s arm, making him look up, seeing a sad smile on the janitor’s face. “Really, I would. I’m just… It’s just… I’m really, really busy, and, I don’t know if I would have the time to for the next couple of months, and my lunch break isn’t long enough for us to go anywhere, but I would like to if I was able to, I just… Can’t.”

Jon nods a few times, forcing a smile.

“No, of course. Don’t worry about it, I should have known.” He says, nodding, trying to reassure himself as much as he is Martin.

“If I do end up finding the time, I’ll let you know, because I really do want to.” Martin responds, letting go of Jon’s arm and pulling his hand back. “I do really appreciate the offer.”

There’s an awkward silence for a few moments, neither one of them moving to return to their work, until the sound of footsteps start echoing through the library.

“Oh hello,” Georgie says as she approaches the desk, grabbing both Jon and Martin’s attention. “You must be that janitor I’ve heard about, the one who keeps bringing Jon tea. I’m Georgie.”

Jon watches as Georgie holds her hand out to Martin, and as Martin takes it, smiling curiously at her.

“I’m Martin, and yes, that’s me.” Martin replies. “You’re the other librarian, right?”

“Yep, you got me.” Georgie answers, nodding a few times. “I’m sorry if Jon has caused you any trouble.”

“I do not ‘cause trouble’.” Jon argues, frowning at her.

“Oh, not at all.” Martin replies, laughing softly. “He’s been nothing but nice.”

“Nothing but nice?” She repeats, raising her eyebrows, and earning a nod from the janitor.

“Really, I do enjoy his company.” Martin insists, before looking up at the clock. “But I should be getting back to work now.”

“Don’t let me keep you.” Georgie says.

Jon waves as he leaves, watching him walk out of the library.

“So that’s Martin, huh?” She hums for a moment, looking at the door, before turning to face Jon.

“Is there a problem with him?” He asks, grabbing the thermos, absentmindedly turning the cap.

“Oh, no, no problems.” Georgie replies, smiling at him suspiciously. “I was just wondering what type of man would make you fall this hard in love.”

“I-, he-, we’re not-,” Jon sputters, his face, for some unknown reason, starting to heat. “That’s not what’s going on here!”

“Of course not Jon. And you didn’t ask him out on a date, Mr. ‘Would like to get lunch, or perhaps dinner, sometime’.” She says, lowering her voice in a poor impression of him.

“That wasn’t me asking him out, that was just…” He hesitates for a moment, his grip on the thermos tightening. “Trying to repay a coworker for doing something nice.”

“Something nice as in bringing you tea as an excuse to spend time with you? How dense can you be?” Georgie asks, crossing her arms. “I know you, and that man is incredibly easy to read.”

“There isn’t anything going on between us Georgie. No feelings, no relationship. He’s just doing something nice.” Jon argues, even though he is pretty certain she’s correct that Martin has some sort of feelings, or else he wouldn’t still be talking to him. “That’s all.”

Georgie doesn’t say anything for a moment, until she takes a deep breath, turning to face him, locking eyes.

“You can’t lie to me. I’ve seen the way you look at him, Jon. It’s the same way you used to look at me.” She says, not breaking eye contact. “You can deny it all you want, but it’s clear as day.”

“I’m not denying anything, there isn’t anything to deny.” He replies, standing firm.

Georgie rolls her eyes, before backing away from the desk, seemingly tired of arguing.

Jon looks down at the thermos, frowning at it. They hardly even know each other, they haven’t even called each other friends. She’s being ridiculous. Even if Martin’s only bringing him tea because he has a crush of sorts on him doesn’t mean that Jon likes him back. None of that means Jon likes him. He’s just not turning the favor down so he doesn’t hurt the man’s feelings. That’s it.

“You know,” Georgie says, looking back at him over her shoulder. “He seemed pretty bummed out about not being able to accept your offer of going out to eat together. Maybe you should try eating your lunch in whatever classroom he’s cleaning? I’m sure he’d enjoy that.”

Jon stares at her, before blinking, and starting to nod, the advice making sense to him.

“You know, that might work.” He mutters, the words slipping out without him even realizing it.

Chapter Text

Martin squeezes the trigger of the spray bottle, the droplets of glass cleaner hitting the windows. He squeezes the trigger again, harder this time, trying to get his frustration out.

It’s been a day already, but he still can’t help being upset with himself for turning Jon down. He didn’t have a choice, he quite literally doesn’t have any time to go out on a date, or, an outing that isn’t a date since Jon has no reason to take him out on a date and it would be silly for him to imagine that it was ever implied to be a date, but it still frustrates him.

Spending time with Jon is one of the only things he wants, but as soon as he’s met with the opportunity to, he has to turn it down because he doesn’t have a minute of free time left in his days.

Martin sets the spray bottle onto the stepladder, between his feet, as he pulls the microfiber cloth from his pocket, reaching up to wipe the cleaner off of the window, his other hand gripping the handle of the small ladder to keep his balance.

There’s a knock at the door to the classroom, startling Martin into almost losing his balance, before he hears the door creak open, and footsteps entering the room.

“I’ve never actually been in Professor Crew’s classroom.” He hears Jon say, and, as he turns to look over his shoulder, he sees him gazing at the whiteboard full of weather charts and diagrams, which all seem like nonsense to Martin.

“He, he’s very particular about the widows, so I’m in here pretty often to clean them.”  Martin says, looking back towards the window, his mouth dry from sudden nerves.

“The man does seem to love meteorology.” The librarian observes.

“Almost as much as you love books.” He responds, letting out a slightly shaky laugh.

The classroom becomes quiet again for a few moments, until Martin finishes wiping down the first window, and he steps down off of the ladder with a muffled grunt.

He turns fully to look at Jon, who’s now sitting in a chair only a few feet away, eating a sandwich that Martin hadn’t noticed.

“Did you… Need me for something?” Martin asks hesitantly, tugging at the cloth in his hands.

“Oh, no.” Jon replies, looking up at him, something he’s unused to, his eyes watching him attentively from behind his thin glasses. “I just thought I’d eat lunch in here, if that’s alright with you.”

“Yes, of course, yes, that’s fine.” He responds, nodding enthusiastically, starting to smile. “I do still need to work, but you’re more than welcome to stay.”

“Thank you.” The librarian replies, giving him a smile in return.

Martin turns back towards the windows, partially to hide the blush that’s creeping it’s way onto his cheeks, and partially to drag the stepladder over to the next window.

“You and Georgie seem pretty tight,” Martin comments as he works, filling the silence. “I was surprised she knew who I was.”

“Well I did have to explain the random thermos that showed up, and why she shouldn’t throw it in the lost and found.” Jon replies in between bites of his sandwich. “But I’ve known her for years.”

“It must be nice to have someone you’re close to.” He responds, a tinge of longing in his voice.

“We hardly see each other outside of work, so I wouldn’t exactly call us close.” The librarian says, his chair creaking as he shifts in his seat.

Martin nods in response. He really shouldn’t try to comment on a relationship he knows nothing about, but they had seemed friendly for coworkers, so he couldn’t help but assume they were close.

“Do you normally work alone?” Jon asks, the reflection in the now clear glass showing him glancing around the room.

“Yeah, I’ve worked by myself ever since I was trained,” Martin answers, stepping back onto the floor, before moving the stepladder again. “It’s easier to clean such a large building if you split the custodial staff up.”

“Hmm.” Jon hums softly, as if he’s absorbing the information.

“Of course, I do see other people sometimes.” Martin continues, not wanting to make his job sound too lonely. “Like when I’m cleaning the halls, or someone spills something in a classroom that needs to be taken care of immediately.”

“Naturally.” The other man says, the image of him nodding getting covered as the mist of the cleaner hits the glass. “It seems nice to not have to deal with people all the time.”

“I would imagine it’s similar working in a library.” He replies, wiping the window.

“You would be surprised.” Jon grumbles, running a hand through his long hair. “They all seem to have trouble navigating the library, or are unable to comprehend that you can’t have seven thousand books checked out or placed on hold at the same time.”

“At least you don’t have to clean up the consequences of Professor Hopworth’s infamous anatomy classes.” Martin responds with a laugh, even though the memories are quite unpleasant.

“I can’t imagine why you’d stay after that.” Jon replies, wrinkling his noise at the thought.

Martin freezes for a moment, his arm mid swipe, before he forces himself to take a deep breath.

“Well, you, you know.” He says, not elaborating any further, not wanting Jon to know. “But it has become more enjoyable recently.”

“I suppose mine has too.” Jon replies softly.

A comfortable silence falls over them for a while, as Martin finishes cleaning the windows, and Jon eats the rest of his food.

“My lunch is almost over.” Jon says, standing, as Martin folds the stepladder.

“Thank you for keeping me company.” Martin responds, smiling up at him.

“Right. It was nice.” Jon replies, nodding. “Shall we do this again sometime?”

“That’d be wonderful.” Martin answers immediately, beaming at the thought, and how well it went.

Chapter Text

Jon rubs the sleep out of his eyes as he pushes the door to the cafe open, the bell ringing overhead. He normally makes himself coffee at home, but he overslept his alarm, so grabbing a cup to go before heading into the university will have to do.

He files into the queue, pulling out his phone to check for any messages, trying to ignore the sound of the coffee grinder, and the chatter of the people around him.

He shuffles forward until he reaches the counter, putting his phone away, and looking up.

“Welcome in, what can I get you this morning?” Martin asks, the words monotone and practiced.

Jon stares at him, trying to make sense of the sight in front of him, at seeing the janitor standing behind the counter, his head down, looking at a register, working at this cafe.

“Martin?” He asks, not truly believing what he’s seeing.

“What can I get-” Martin starts, looking up, before he freezes, his eyes widening.

The janitor, or… barista? Pushes his glasses onto his forehead, covering his eyes with the back of his hands. Jon hears a whispered ‘Fuck’ as Martin takes a step away from the counter.

“You… Work here?” Jon asks, even though he knows the question is ridiculous.

“It, it would appear so.” Martin replies, after taking a shaky breath in, uncovering his eyes and stepping back towards the counter.

No wonder the man seems so tired, he’s working two jobs.

“How long have you been…?” He starts hesitantly.

“I, I just, I needed some extra cash.” Martin says, his knuckles white from how tightly he’s holding his hands together. “It’s, it’s only temporary, and I, I haven’t been working here long.”

Jon narrows his eyes, a doubt creeping up, something telling him that the man is lying to him. Although there’s no reason he has to tell him the truth, it doesn’t even affect Jon, after all.

“Listen,” Martin sighs, his shoulders drooping. “Could you not tell anyone about this? I, I don’t want it to get back to the university. Just, forget you even saw me here at all.”

“I don’t think they’d fire you for working a second job.” Jon tries to reassure him, but the man cringes at his words.

“I, I know that, but…” Martin glances down, not looking at him. “I just don’t want people to find out about it.”

“It’s not a problem-” He starts, his words getting cut off as Martin looks up again, a sadness in his eyes stopping him from continuing.

“Jon, please, just forget about this.” Martin says softly.

“Right, yes.” Jon replies, before clearing his throat. “I’ll take a large black coffee.”

Martin nods, typing something into the register.

“That will be three pounds.” The man says, falling back into the monotone voice he had started with.

Jon hands over the money, before finding a small table, getting out of the way until his drink is ready. He watches as one of the baristas places a hand on Martin’s shoulder, before taking over his position, smiling at the next customer.

Jon sees him make his way towards the espresso bar, flinching when Martin splashes steamed milk on his hands, the burns he had seen now making sense.

He looks down at the wood grain of the table he’s seated at, guilt welling up inside of him, unable to shake the feeling that his presence is still throwing Martin off. He didn't know he worked here, but still, he shouldn't have questioned him about it, especially not while he was trying to do his job.

“Order for Jon!” A barista, notably not Martin, calls into the crowded cafe.

Jon slips out of the chair, making his way to the pickup counter, grabbing his drink without another word to Martin, before making his way out of the cafe, hoping the effects of his sudden appearance won’t continue for the rest of Martin’s shift.

Chapter Text

Martin squeezes his eyes shut tightly, trying to ignore the knocking next to his head becoming louder. Why isn’t he allowed to just sleep?

“Mr. Blackwood.” The voice of Professor Lukas cuts through his exhaustion, snapping Martin awake.

He bolts upright in his seat, blinking rapidly as he tries to remember where he is, the fluorescent lights hurting his eyes.

“Y-yes Professor?” He says, the words mumbled.

“I need to talk to you in my office.” Professor Lukas instructs, turning, and walking back down.

Martin stares after him for a moment, before it registers in his still partially asleep mind that he’s supposed to follow, and he scrambles out of his seat, grabbing his bag, and rushing down after him.

He follows the Professor into the sparsely decorated office, taking the seat Lukas gestures at, folding his hands in his lap. Professor Lukas sits across from him, at the other side of the desk, before he places his arms on it, leaning forward.

“We have to discuss your recent performance.” Professor Lukas starts, his eyes piercing.

“My, my recent performance?” Martin repeats, tightening his grasp on his hands, trying to center himself as dread starts to build.

“Yes. To put it bluntly, your grades are dropping, you’re… Falling behind,” The man across from him explains, his tone uncaring, light even, compared to the crushing news he’s delivering. “You’re failing.”

Martin tries to swallow, but the saliva in his throat sticks, making it difficult. He digs his fingernails into the back of his hands, trying to force himself not to cry, as the weight on his shoulders, the weight of his responsibilities, of everything he’s required to do, of what he needs to accomplish to make sure he doesn’t disappoint, starts to bear down heavier on him.

He can feel the dirt slipping through his fingers, he can feel the precarious balancing act he’s tried to keep up for the majority of his life tipping, he can feel the shame at his inability to keep up constricting him.

He was already caught at his other job, and now he’s being told he’s failing, that he’ll be expelled, that he’s wasted the one chance he had for something better.

“I’m sorry.” Martin whispers, the words coming out as choked.

“Well, not everyone’s cut out to be a student of The Magnus University.” Professor Lukas says, sighing, the words cutting deep into Martin.

He nods, casting his eyes down. He stands slowly, his legs shaking, and grabs his bag, understanding the meaning behind the words. He was never meant to succeed, especially not in a place like this. He doesn’t belong. He never did.

“I talked to Elias about you.” Professor Lukas says, throwing the words out casually, even though they make him freeze in his tracks.

“Elias? The Elias?” Martin asks, turning back to stare at the Professor.

“Mmm, yes.” Peter replies, nodding. “The same Elias who’s the Vice-Chancellor of this very university.”

Martin gawks at him, trying to comprehend why on earth he would mention him to Elias. Unless maybe the Professor wants him fired as well as expelled? He doesn’t exactly seem like the type to do that sort of thing, but Martin can’t rule that out as a possibility.

“We both agree that you have potential, you just…” Professor Lukas pauses, pursing his lips for a moment. “Struggle to actually use that potential.”

Martin squints, before unconsciously shaking his head. He isn’t some secret genius, or a prodigy who hasn’t unlocked their special gift. He isn’t special, or even particularly good at anything, or at least not anything useful.

“Well, um, I’m sorry if I let you down?” Martin responds uncertainly, earning a shake of the head from the Professor.

“You aren’t getting it, Mr. Blackwood. We’re giving you another chance.” Professor Lukas sighs.

Martin blinks, before smiling, relief flowing through him.

“I, I can’t thank you enough, I-” He starts, before Professor Lukas holds up a hand.

“On one condition,” The man says, and Martin starts nodding, before even hearing what the condition is. “You will be staying longer after class so I can help you understand whatever it is that isn’t clicking for you.”

“That’s it?” Martin asks, not quite believing his ears. “That’s, well, that’s more like a benefit than a condition.”

“Do you agree to the terms of this arrangement?” Professor Lukas asks, his tone turning more serious than before.

“Yes. Yes, of course I do.” Martin answers, nodding emphatically.

“Good.” Professor Lukas replies, his stern look turning into a smile. “Now, sit.”

Chapter Text

Jon grabs the stack of returns, carrying them into the maze of shelves, briefly glancing over his shoulder with a frown, before turning, losing sight of the mahogany.

It’s been a week since he’s seen Martin. The janitor hasn’t brought him any more tea, or delivered any lost books, and every time he’s gone to try to find what class he’s working in so he can eat lunch with him he’s run out of time before finding him.

He can’t help but worry. Maybe Martin just needs some space, maybe he’s simply busy, but what if he did something wrong? What if the incident at the cafe is why Martin’s avoiding him?

He didn’t have the best reaction, but he was just surprised, it’s not as if he cares that the man has a second job, he just wasn’t expecting to see him there.

Jon sighs, shaking his head. It won’t do him any good to dwell on it. Martin knows where he is, he’ll visit again in his own time. He hopes he will, at least.

He looks down at the top book in the stack, flipping it open to double check the shelf it belongs to. He nods, taking a few more steps forward, before pushing two books to the side, and squeezing the one in his hand in between them.

Then Jon blinks, shaking his head, trying to make sense of what he thought he had seen. He pulls the book back out, staring at the shelf, and the sliver of white underneath the books that were next to it.

He starts pulling more books off of the shelf until he fully uncovers what he had seen. There’s an envelope, the paper still crisp, bright white, sitting on the shelf as if it’s waiting for him to pick it up.

And he does so.

He grabs it, turning it over as he sinks to the floor, frowning at the blank front as he sits down on the wood. He cautiously places his fingers between the folds of the paper, running it along the now dried adhesive, tearing it open.

Jon pulls out a piece of paper, unfolding it with trembling hands.

Dear Jonathan Sims,

I hope this letter finds you.

I was unable to grant you the favor you asked of me.

As consolation, I have left you something under the library’s main desk.

1. R.

Jon scrambles up from the floor, dropping the letter in his haste, a jolt of adrenalin running through him, pushing him into action. He isn’t sure what could be under the desk, in fact, he doesn’t have a clue, but if the writer of that letter went to the extent of hiding it in the library instead of just giving it to him, or emailing him about it, well, it must be something important. Something secret.

And, if he’s correct in suspecting that the letter was left by Gertrude Robinson, then he has even more reason to be intrigued.

Jon rushes back behind the desk, frowning as he doesn’t see anything. He gets down on his knees, bending over to get a closer look, still not seeing anything except the backside of the circulation desk.

He pulls out his phone from his pocket, turning on the torch, lighting the space, his frown deepening as he doesn’t see anything. He glances up, checking the underside of the desk, seeing if there’s anything taped or written there, but finding nothing.

Great. He got his hopes up for nothing. What was he even expecting? A new book that does weird things? Does he even want that? And in what world would she give that to him?

“Damn it!” Jon exclaims, slamming his hand against the floor.

Except…

The floor bends as he hits it, as if it’s lacking support, and the thud of him hitting it echoes more than he would think it should, as if it’s hollow.

He presses his hand against the wood again, gentler this time. It bows beneath the weight he forces on it. A smile starts to form on his lips as he moves his hand, trying to find where this strange area of floor starts and ends.

Eventually Jon feels a small gap between the floor boards. He curls his fingernails into the thin wood, before pulling, forcing it open, and revealing a hidden compartment, a box under the ground.

He shines his torch into it, his smile faltering as it is shown to be mostly empty, only a small, rectangular box, sitting in the middle, seemingly staring back at him.

Jon grabs it, replacing the floorboard and turning off the torch function on his phone, before opening the box, his heart skipping a beat as he sees what’s resting on the velvet lining in the box.

An old, weathered, brass key.

He practically jumps to his feet, cursing as he hits his head on the top of the desk, but not allowing it to slow him down as he runs through the library.

He vaults up the stairs, taking them two, or sometimes three, at a time, until he reaches the singular purpose of the second story, the one thing it’s used for.

Jon's fingers tremble as he inserts the key into the lock, turning the doorknob, and gently pushing the old door into the room, grabbing the key before gently shutting the door behind him.

He takes in a sharp breath at the sight before him.

Every wall is covered with books, each packed tightly. There are dozens, hundreds, of volumes, far more than he had ever expected.

The smell of old paper and leather is overwhelming, but Jon can’t help but notice that, further into the room, there are books with newer covers, books that hadn’t come out until long after the founding of The Magnus University and the death of Jurgen Leitner.

Jon drinks in the sight, amazed at how expansive it is, wondering at how he got the privilege of being able to see it.

Then it hits him.

He doesn’t have that privilege.

Professor Robinson can’t actually grant that to him, he isn’t actually permitted to be in here.

A panic starts to build in Jon’s chest. He shouldn’t be in here, if someone catches him he’ll lose his job, or be charged with breaking and entering. But he can’t just leave, not without looking inside the books. He has a key to it now, but, still, he can’t just pass up an opportunity like this.

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, before making his decision.

Jon grabs one of the books from the shelf, not even taking the time to examine them, or even make a choice about which one he takes. He has to pull it out using more force than he expected, or would like to use, and he pays no mind to how the lights dim when it’s free from it’s shelf.

He tucks it close to his chest, before slipping out of the door and back into the main part of the library, hurrying back to hide the letter he had found.

Chapter Text

Martin pulls his cardigan tighter around himself, shivering against the cold night air. His grades have started improving now that he’s been staying after class to be taught one-on-one by Professor Lukas, but because of that his sleep schedule has gotten even worse.

But it’s a trade off he has to make. He can sleep more once he’s done with school. Or once he no longer has to worry about the bills. Or once he only has himself to take care of. Or once he’s dead.

Martin sighs, forcing himself to continue forward, dragging his weary feet down the sidewalk. He’s been too busy, working too many hours, to make a trip to the store, and he’s been out of tea for too long now.

Not that Jon would want to see him now anyways. He had tried so hard to make sure no one found out about it, did everything he could to keep it a secret, to keep everything a secret. He can’t take the looks of disdain, of disappointment. If he could just handle everything by himself without anyone else knowing then it would all be fine.

He hopes that Jon won’t bring it up the next time they see each other. Assuming that Martin can even muster up the courage to see him again.

He closes his eyes, shaking his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He takes a deep breath, before pushing forwards, setting one foot into the road, starting to cross the street.

The ground buckles under his step, pavement cracking, his foot sinking into the ground.

Martin looks down, staring in shock as his foot is enveloped in dirt. He tries to pull it back up, but to no avail. He starts tugging on his leg, trying to break free from the concrete, when he sees the bright light approaching.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” He repeats, muttering, as he starts to shake.

The horn of the oncoming car blares, and there’s nothing he can do but continue his helpless attempt to get out of the road.

This is it.

This is how he’s going to die.

He’s going to die and there will be no one left to pay for his Mum’s care.

Martin lets out a whimper as he’s drowned in the car’s headlights.

The car hurtles past him, the wind blowing his hair back, sending a shock of cold and fear through him. He pulls back as much as he can, and, somehow, in doing so, breaks himself free from the ground, making him fall back onto the sidewalk, hitting the back of his head against the concrete.

Martin lays there, shaking, staring up at the dark sky, his head spinning. After a few moments he gathers enough wits to check if his head is bleeding from the fall, breathing a sigh of relief when he doesn’t feel any blood on the back of his head.

He sits up unsteadily, his vision tilting as he body sways slightly back and forth. He takes deep, gasping breaths of air.

He needs to get home.

He needs to stand up and keep walking.

He can’t just stay on the street for the rest of the night.

Even if taking another step terrifies him, even if the idea of setting his feet back on the pavement petrifies him.

He has to keep going.

So Martin pushes himself off of the ground, taking a cautious step forward once he’s stood, trying to make it back to his flat.

Chapter Text

Jon takes one final look towards each end of the aisle, before pulling the book out of the cloth bag he had brought the day before.

He looks down at it, turning it over in his hands, examining it. The cover seems to be made of a thin wood, a black fabric pulled tight over the wood to cover it. There is no title on the front, no embossing, no details, no texture aside from the old cloth.

Jon flips open the cover, being met with a cream colored page with black letters scrawled across the middle.

Vol. CLIX In The Collection Of Jurgen Leitner.

He studies the page, running his finger along where it meets the spine of the book. The string tying the page to the rest of the book is visible, knots exposed, and while there’s a chance the book was just bound like this, considering the lack of anything else on the page, Jon’s almost certain it was added after.

He turns the page, nerves spiking, and excitement building up inside at what he may find. Beholding was so strange, he can hardly imagine what will be inside this one’s pages.

Then his heart plummets.

The page in front of him is just… Black. It’s as if the whole paper was dipped in ink.

Jon runs his hand across it, expecting to feel waves and ripples in the paper, caused from it having absorbed so much ink, but the page he feels is perfectly flat and smooth, the texture having no evidence that anything was done to it at all.

He flips the next page, being met with the same darkness. He bites his lip, worry and doubt clawing it’s way into his chest.

He turns the next page, and then the next, and the next, repeating the action over and over, only seeing the same inky black. Of course, out of all of the books he could have grabbed, he grabbed one he can’t read, one he can’t even translate since there’s no text in it.

Jon slams the book shut in frustration, dropping it onto the floor next to him. He takes off his glasses before rubbing his eyes, groaning from the disappointment.

He’s been obsessed with books ever since he was a little kid, and when he first heard about The Collection Of Jurgen Leitner back when he was in university, gaining access to it became his main goal. He was so driven to find out about these books that so many collectors and enthusiasts regarded as sacred.

He had compiled a list of all known books in the collection, the testimonies of everyone who had spoken about their visit inside the locked room, which were few and far between.

Maybe he had known that there was something strange about it, that no normal collection of books would be regarded so highly, but he had never expected that the two he would get his hands on first would be so weird.

One seems to describe the reader’s surroundings, it seems to see, and the other, the other is just completely blank. Or, not blank, but void.

Jon sighs, shaking his head as he stands up. There has to be more. He’ll do research on books that don’t have any text, in ways to hide writing, and ways to discover hidden ink.

There has to be something there.

There has to be something more.

Chapter Text

Martin takes a deep breath, the smell of cleaning chemicals filling his nose, the beeping of the ring back echoing in the custodial closet.

“Hello, you have reached Breekon And Hope Care Home, how may I help you?” A too chipper voice says on the other side of the phone.

“Hi Sandra,” Martin starts, fixing a smile on his own face, trying to keep his tone light.

“Ah, hello Mr. Blackwood.” Sandra replies, part of the false happiness dropping from her words. “What can I do for you today?”

“Well, it turns out I actually have a day off soon,” He answers, picking at the threads in his trousers as he speaks. “And I was hoping you could check the visitor schedule for my Mum-, Emily Blackwood, for the sixteenth.”

There’s a silence on the other end of the call for a long moment, and Martin squeezes his eyes shut, trying to push down the dread in the pit of his stomach.

“There aren’t any visitors scheduled, but we still need permission from the resident before we can allow you in.” Sandra says, before sighing. “Listen, we both know-”

“Would you at least ask?” He cuts her off, before taking a deep breath in. “Please? I just want to try.”

“Sure, Mr. Blackwood, I can try.” She replies, her voice softening.

“Thank you.” Martin says quietly.

He has to pull the phone away from his ear as hold music starts to blare through the speakers. He taps his fingers along to the beat, trying to distract himself from the inevitable answer he’s going to receive.

“I’m sorry Mr. Blackwood,” Sandra’s voice says, returning on the other end of the call. “She said she’s too tired for visitors right now.”

“Right. Right.” Martin replies, sighing, the breath coming out shuddering. “Thank you for your time.”

“I know this is hard for you, and you don’t want to hear this,” She starts, her tone gentle, even though they both know her words will hurt. “But maybe it’s time you give up. She doesn’t want to see you, and it would be better for both of you if you stopped trying.”

“It’s not that she doesn’t want to see me, she’s just too tired right now.” He lies, the words slipping out of his quivering lips.

“Martin, she refuses to even open your letters.” Sandra snaps, her voice remaining calm despite the venom the sentence carries. “It would be best to move on.”

“Thank you for your time.” Martin repeats, before hanging up the call.

He stares at the blank wall for a moment, his eyes stinging, the phone slipping out of his hand.

“Stupid.” Martin says, hitting his forehead with the heel of his hand, his voice climbing. “Stupid, stupid, idiot!”

He should know better by now. He should really, really know better. She never accepts his visits. She never writes back. She never calls. He takes a shaking breath in. He can’t cry now. He has to get back to work in a couple of minutes.

“Get a hold of yourself, Martin.” He mutters to himself, leaning his head against the wall. “You knew this was what was going to happen, so suck it up.”

Martin bites the inside of his cheek, before forcing himself to stand, even as his legs wobble underneath him. He has a job to do, he can’t dwell on this any longer.

Besides, he did it to himself, it’s his own fault.

Even if he doesn’t have a clue why she won’t talk to him.

Chapter Text

Jon pulls the hair tie out, undoing the bun, as he leans back in his chair, closing his eyes in frustration. He rubs his scalp, trying to release the tension.

He had tried everything, from a blacklight, shining a torch through the paper, using heat, lemon juice, anything he could find that might reveal hidden text on those dark pages, but nothing worked.

He sighs, opening his eyes to glare at the offending book sat on the desk in front of him. He wasted so many hours after the library closed, just to come up with nothing.

Jon straightens in his seat, shaking his head, before sticking the hair tie in his mouth. He runs his fingers through his hair, before pulling half of it back up, tying it back much less tightly this time.

He should go home. It’s already late, and he’s wasted too much of his day on this hopeless project, lost track of too much time trying to find the key to a puzzle that probably isn’t even there.

He pushes himself from the chair, grabbing the black book from the desk, before kneeling, opening up the floor boards, carefully placing the volume back into the secret compartment.

Jon uses the edge of the desk to help himself up, slower this time, in order to not hit his head again. He dusts off his knees, before gathering his belongings, slinging his lunchbag over his shoulder, and grabbing the umbrella leaned against the desk drawers.

He pauses as he reaches the doors, glancing back at the dimly lit library, frowning. His eyes may just be tired from so fervently looking at the black pages, searching for any difference or details, but… The library seems to look darker to him, as if all the lights have started to burn out.

He shakes his head, trying to dispel the nonsensical thought. It’s been a long day, there’s no way the lights are actually any different than they normally are.

Jon turns off the light switches, before exiting the library, locking the mahogany doors behind him. He walks down the hall, thankful that the night classes keep the university functioning so late.

He pauses at one of the corners, hearing the sound of students shuffling out of a classroom, shoes squeaking on the tiles, and softly spoken conversations.

He doesn’t have to wait for them to leave, it’s not as if he would get in trouble for being here late, he is part of the staff, after all. But he doesn’t exactly want to deal with going around a gaggle of tired students.

Jon twists the umbrella in his hand, spinning it around and around as he waits, glad he remembered to bring it as he hears the rain pounding against the windows. He would have hated to be stuck without one.

He hopes that Martin got off before it really started pouring. That is assuming he even worked today, which Jon isn’t even sure off.

He sighs, before venturing forth once again, the noise of the students having died down.

Chapter Text

Martin stares out past the awning, tapping his foot, hoping that the rain will start to die down. It’s his own fault for not checking what the weather would be, for not being prepared and bringing an umbrella, but he’s still annoyed that he has to wait out the rain. His only other option is to walk to his flat now and get absolutely drenched, but he’s hoping he won’t need to resort to that.

He grabs his phone from his pocket, glancing down at it to check the time, his frown deepening. Maybe he will have to just suck it up and walk home, suffering through being cold and wet.

If only he had Professor Lukas’ class tonight, then he would at least still be inside, making use of his time by being taught what he still needs to know to pass his classes, rather than just watching the rain fall onto the dark street.

“Are you waiting for someone?“ A familiar, deep voice asks from behind him, making him jump.

Martin turns around, lips parting in surprise as he sees Jon standing in the doorway, leaning on an umbrella.

“Uh, no. No.” He says softly, glancing back at the water falling from the sky. “I’m just waiting for the rain to let up.”

Jon takes a step closer to him, pursing his lips as he looks out into the dark street.

“Well, I don’t think that will be happening anytime soon.” The librarian observes dryly.

“Yeah. I suppose I’ll be stuck here for a while.” Martin replies, letting out a sharp laugh as he rubs his sweater sleeve.

“You could use my umbrella.” Jon suggests, glancing down at it in his hand.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t!” He quickly objects, trying to wave the offer away. “You need it for yourself, I wouldn’t want you to be stuck here!”

“Why not share it?” Jon asks, tilting his head.

“I… Are you sure?” Martin asks in return.

The librarian just shrugs, opening the umbrella, and taking a step out into the rain, stopping, before he turns back to look at him.

“Are you coming?” Jon asks.

“Yes. Yes!” He replies, hurrying to join him underneath the shelter.

“Which way do we go?” The librarian questions.

“That way.” Martin answers, pointing right.

Jon turns, starting off in that direction, and Martin has to hurry to keep up with his long stride.

He smiles as they walk side by side, almost unable to believe that the handsome man, with gorgeous eyes, and stunning hair, is actually walking him home. His smile only falters as water runs down the fabric of the umbrella, dripping onto his arms, and making him shiver.

Martin glances up at the umbrella above their heads, frowning at how small it is. It certainly wasn’t made to shelter two people, especially not if one of them is on the larger side, as he is.

He opens his mouth to comment on it, when a car speeds by them, both running through a puddle, splashing the pair, and causing the umbrella to be pulled by the wind, making it almost slip out of Jon's hand.

Frustration starts to bubble up inside of him. He’s been stuck outside, waiting for the rain to go away, and when things finally start looking up, with Jon offering to walk him home and share his umbrella, some asshole comes along and ruins it.

“Hey, go learn how to fucking drive!“ Martin yells at the car already in the distance.

He runs his hand through his hair in frustration, before the sound of Jon laughing makes him pause, and he turns to look back at the librarian.

“You know Martin, you’re quite full of surprises.” Jon says, the umbrella at his side, smiling softly, even though he’s being drenched in rain.

Martin stares at him for a moment, his face heating as the man looks so intently at him.

“I… Suppose so?” He replies uncertainly, earning another chuckle from him.

“Would you like to get drinks?” Jon asks suddenly, surprising Martin. “I know a place that should still be open. It’ll give us a chance to warm up and dry off.”

“Are you sure you don’t just want to go home?” Martin questions instead, looking down at himself. “I’m already thoroughly soaked through, so it’s not like your umbrella would be of much help anyways.”

He’s already inconvenienced him too much, it isn’t fair to hinder him more.

“You don’t need to drink anything if you don’t want to, if that’s the problem.” Jon says, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder, grabbing his attention.

“Oh, no, that’s not it at all.” Martin replies, the words spilling out of his mouth. “I just, I don’t want to get in your way, or, or keep you from getting home.”

“I planned on stopping after work anyways.” The librarian responds with a half shrug. “Besides, it’s not far from here.”

Martin takes a deep breath, before nodding.

“If you insist.” He says, before smiling at him.

Chapter Text

Jon watches as Martin takes a cautious drink of his pint, his frosty blue eyes downcast towards the bar, face slightly red, although he could chalk that up to the change in temperature, now that they’re inside.

“Martin,” Jon starts, grabbing the man’s attention.

“Mmh?” Is the janitor’s response, looking back up at him.

“Why were you at the school so late?” He asks softly, worried about how he may react, but too curious not to speak the question.

Martin takes in a deep breath, looking away from him again.

“It wouldn’t do much good to try asking you to forget it, would you?” Martin asks, although the question seems rhetorical.

“Probably not.” Jon responds with a shrug. “But if you don’t want me to bring it up again, that’s fine.”

“No, no. You already caught me at my other job, it doesn’t make sense to try denying it.” The blond man says, tapping his fingers against his glass, before taking another drink.

Jon leans against the bar, resting his cheek in his hand, waiting for him to respond.

“I…” The janitor starts, pausing, before taking a deep breath. “I had just gotten out of my last class.”

He stares at him for a moment, trying to understand what he was just told.

“Dear god Martin, no wonder you didn’t have time to go to dinner.” Jon says, the words slipping out of his mouth. “You’re a student and working two jobs, do you even get any sleep?”

This earns a bitter laugh from Martin, who shakes his head.

“Not really.” He replies, before his shoulders slump.

Jon blinks, before shaking his head. He couldn’t imagine having that much on his shoulders, trying to balance all of that at once.

“Why?” He asks simply, his voice full of disbelief and astonishment.

“I don’t really have a choice.” Martin replies, his words sounding forced. “Someone has to pay for my Mum’s care, and, and if I want to keep the flat without working two jobs the rest of my life, then I need to be able to get a better job, which means getting a degree. I had tried lying on my CV, but either they tossed it out anyways or they checked, so I figured I need a real one.”

“Do you at least like your major?” Jon asks, desperately hoping, for some reason, that there’s a positive side to it.

But Martin slowly shakes his head.

“My Mum had drilled it into me, back when she was-, back when I was younger, to never get a useless, frivolous degree.” Martin says, looking back down at his drink. “I didn’t want to disappoint her, so I started working towards a business degree.”

“Do you do anything for yourself?” He questions, feeling so bad for the man.

“I take the poetry course that’s available at night?” Martin suggests with a shrug. “I make myself tea?”

“Martin, that’s-” He starts, before being cut off.

“Pathetic?” The janitor interrupts, his voice hollow and empty. “Yeah, I know.”

“It’s not pathetic, it’s commendable.” Jon replies, putting a hand on the still slightly damp sweater without even thinking about it. “I have absolutely no clue how you’re keeping it up.”

“That’s the thing Jon, I’m not keeping it up.” Martin responds, his voice breaking. “I haven’t been for a while now.”

Jon looks down at the wood top of the bar, unsure of what to say. He wishes he could help, that there was something he could do, something he could offer without majorly overstepping.

“I’m sorry for not bringing you any tea recently.” Martin says after a few moments.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, you’ve clearly been busy.” Jon replies, looking back up at him.

“But the timing was awful, and you probably thought I was mad at you about the whole cafe thing, and I wasn’t, really, I was just surprised, and, and embarrassed, and-” The other man starts to ramble, his eyes darting back and forth.

“Martin,” Jon says firmly, getting his attention, and seeing, as Martin looks at him, the tears glittering in his eyes. “It’s okay.”

Martin nods, his lips turning into a quivering smile. He rubs his nose with the back of his sleeve, before letting out a soft laugh.

“Thank you, Jon.” He says quietly.

“What? Of course?” Jon replies, not completely certain why exactly he’s being thanked.

He looks out the window, a mix of relief and sadness welling up in his chest as he sees the lack of rain. He drains the rest of his pint, before looking at Martin.

“The rain’s let up.” He says.

“Oh. Yeah. It has.” Martin replies, reaching into his pocket.

“Let me pay.” Jon responds quickly, pulling out his own wallet.

“But-” His companion starts to object.

“My treat.” He says, cutting him off as he places the money on the bar. “Now, let’s get you home.”

“It’s not raining now, you don’t have to.” Martin replies, following him out of the door.

“Well I want to, so, tough.” Jon responds, before pulling the door open.

Chapter Text

Martin takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, trying to steady himself and his buzzing nerves. He can’t put it off anymore, his break only lasts so long.

He nods once to himself, opening his eyes, and pushing the mahogany door into the library. He walks in tentatively, trying to keep his footsteps from making too much noise.

Martin glances around the large room, looking at the towering shelves, the hundreds of books, and squinting. He could have sworn it wasn’t so dark in here before.

He shakes his head, dispelling the thought, and approaches the empty desk, looking down, and reading the brass plate as he waits.

Generously Funded By The Esteemed Jurgen Leitner.

“How can I help you?” A light voice asks.

“Ah, hi Georgie.” Martin says, looking up to see the other librarian. “Is Jon working today?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s just putting the returns back on the shelf.” Georgie replies.

“Thank you.” He responds, already turning towards the main body of the library.

“It’d probably be easier if you wait for him to come back!” She calls after him, but he’s already steeled himself, and he can’t afford to lose his bravery.

He weaves his way through the walls of books, peaking into every aisle, until he catches sight of the librarian he’s grown even more fond of, now that he actually knows him.

“H-hey?” Martin tries, his voice wavering.

Jon’s head snaps up, and he turns towards him, smiling.

“Martin, I was hoping you would stop by today.” Jon says, an excited edge to his voice, as he shoves a book haphazardly onto the shelf.

“I didn’t bring any tea today, but-” Martin stops, before his words are cut off from the surprise of the quite attractive librarian approaching, and getting very, very close to him.

“That’s perfectly alright.” Jon replies, walking past him, but gently grabbing his arm, turning him. “I have something for you.”

“You, you what?” He asks, following quickly behind him as he continues forward.

“I have something for you.” The librarian repeats.

“But, but I came here to thank you?” Martin says, trying to wrap his head around him, for some reason, having something for him.

Jon stops in his tracks, turning to stare at him.

“What do you have to thank me for?” Jon asks.

“Well, you know, last night?” He replies, suddenly becoming uncertain, even though he had been so determined all morning to thank him. “Letting me use your umbrella, taking me for drinks, walking me home?”

“Right, that. No need to thank me.” Jon responds, nodding, before turning once more.

Martin stands, stunned for a moment, before he rushes forward, trailing the librarian out of the sea of shelves, and back towards the desk, where Georgie is nowhere to be seen.

Jon quickly slips behind the desk, leaving Martin hesitating at the gap between the desk and the wall, not sure if he should follow, or wait out here.

The librarian pulls out a drawer, rifling through it for a few moments, before pulling out a leather bound book, and promptly handing it to Martin.

He looks down at the soft, reddish leather, running his thumb over the embossed details. Both sides of the cover display swirling, twisting patterns of flowers, with a strap coming over the front, secured with a buckle, latching the book closed.

“I…” Martin starts, before shutting his mouth, looking back at Jon with awe and confusion.

“It’s for you.” Jon says, nodding towards the book.

He glances down at it again, before looking back at the librarian.

“Thank you,” Martin replies, swallowing the spit in his throat before continuing. “But I can’t take this.”

“Of course you can.” The librarian insists. “You can write your poetry in it.”

“My poetry?” He repeats, not sure when he had mentioned it.

“You said you’re taking a course in it, so I assume you write.” Jon answers, nodding. “I thought you might like something nice to write it in.”

“But, I can’t pay you back for it.” Martin says, holding the notebook back towards him.

“You don’t have to. It’s…” Jon starts, before pausing, a glint appearing in his eye. “A favor between friends.”

Martin blinks, the words sinking in, before he starts to nod slowly.

Friends.

Jon thinks of him as a friend.

“Well, I, um… Thank you, then.” Martin replies, before a laugh of pure delight escapes his lips. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” Jon responds, leaning against the desk, smiling at him.

Chapter Text

Jon stares at the two books sat on the desk, frowning at them, trying to decide what to do. He’s determined that the black book must just not have anything written in it, even though he can’t understand why it would be in the collection if that is the case, and he’s too nervous to open Beholding again.

So now he’s at a stalemate. He could return the books to the collection now that he has a key, but he can’t help feeling like he’s giving up. Although, he could take a different book when he puts them back, actually taking the time to properly choose one.

There is the option of not returning them, simply keeping them out, hidden in the drawer or underneath the floorboard, but then he risks the books getting damaged somehow, or someone else finding them.

Jon buries his head in his hands, letting out a frustrated groan. He can’t help but feel a tremendous weight from the choice. They’re just two books, sure, but, for some reason, it feels like so much more than that, that if he makes the wrong choice it could have catastrophic results.

Even though that’s ridiculous. There’s no reason for him to think that. Why would there be?

“I need a smoke.” Jon mutters, pulling the drawer out, grabbing the pack of cigarettes and lighter from the back.

He pushes the doors open, walking down the hall until he finds a door leading outside. He steps out into the cold day, walking a few feet away from the door before lighting one of the cigarettes. He takes a breath in, before coughing, the breath he took being too deep.

Jon flicks the cigarette, kicking a few specks of ash into the air, before they float slowly down to the grass. He really should quit. Permanently, that is, since he’s been trying for years.

He sighs, staring off into the horizon, taking another drag of the cigarette. It would be so much easier if he didn’t have to make the decision alone, if it wasn’t all on his shoulders.

He shakes his head at his own thoughts, frowning. He shouldn’t complain about having it all on his shoulders when Martin is having to deal with two jobs and going to university, all on his own.

Martin.

That’s it!

He can tell Martin about it. He was the one who first found the book, he’s already noticed that Jon’s stressed, and he’s shared so much with him. Jon can trust him with this. He could probably trust him with anything.

He can find Martin, tell him about the books, and ask his opinion.

Jon puts out his cigarette, turning back toward the university, his energy building from his renewed excitement at now having a plan.

He pushes the door open, the heating warming his slightly shaking limbs. He has to stop himself from running, reminding himself that it would only draw attention, and, more importantly, he won’t be able to find Martin if he doesn’t get a good look in all of the classrooms.