#from jim

Sebastian would not have said that the specky, bookish look was really his type. But, admittedly, if you’d asked him a year ago, he’d have said the whole the psychotic consulting criminal thing wasn’t his type either.

He stepped into their flat early one evening, shaking rainwater from his hair and dropping his bag near the door. The flat was dark, but he knew Jim was definitely home; his highly polished, handmade shoes were placed neatly by the door – Jim hated walking around the house in shoes, choosing to go around barefoot or in stocking-feet more often than not.

Discarding his coat, Sebastian had a quick look around. Jim wasn’t in the sitting room, but the ex-soldier could hear the faint sound of fingers moving quickly across a keyboard. He crossed into the study, standing in the doorway. Jim sat in the dark, face lit up by the bluish glow from the laptop on the desk in front of him. He didn’t look up as Sebastian entered, absorbed in whatever he was working on and…huh. That was new.

Sebastian didn’t know Jim wore glasses. He’d never seen them before, not even lying around the flat. Was this a recent acquisition? Did he only wear them to read? He watched Jim’s face closely, taking in the effect of black lines framing dark eyes. The idea that they could make Jim seem more… human… was very nearly laughable. But there was something… did he look less child-like? More… professorial? Maybe, but that wasn’t it.

Jim moved and the light from the screen flashed white across the lenses, obscuring his eyes for a split second.

“You’re home early,” he stated, without looking up or pausing his typing.

“Jim, it’s almost nine.”

“Oh.” Jim seemed to completely forget the passage of time while he was working, hence how he often found himself sitting in the dark. He looked up at Sebastian curiously.

“Is there something on my face?” he asked, catching his stare.

Yes, Sebastian thought, then mentally shook himself. “Sorry, I was just… tired…”

Jim leaned back in his chair with a small sigh, pulling off the glasses and closing his eyes. He rubbed them tiredly.

“How was Glasgow?”

“Fine,” Sebastian answered. “Routine stuff.”

Jim nodded distractedly, then looked back to him. “Dinner?” he asked.

“Ravenous.”

*******

It seemed as though Jim was wearing glasses more and more often. When he was on the computer, reading missives from his various dealings and ventures, when he could be bothered to pick up a newspaper. This had to be new. Sebastian didn’t believe that he simply hadn’t noticed earlier. Had Jim’s vision gotten worse recently?

Whatever the reason, Sebastian was seeing a lot more of Jim in glasses. And he found, oddly enough, that he liked what he was seeing. The thin, black metal frames did just that: they framed Jim’s eyes, striking as they already were. They framed his entire face, seeming to accentuate the shallow angle of his nose and the height of his forehead. Sebastian found himself taking in the small, commonplace mannerism Jim had about them. The way he slipped them on and off. The way he straightened them absently. The way he slid his fingers underneath to rub his eyes, or the bridge of his nose. The way he sometimes looked over them. And he still couldn’t place exactly what they did to have him so fascinated.

Jim hadn’t mentioned the sudden change, and why would he? It was a fairly minor one. Sebastian sure as hell wasn’t going to ask. He took every opportunity now to watch Jim, careful not to let the other man catch him staring. He could only thank God Jim never wore them on the job. Sebastian would have had a very hard time explaining why he missed a shot because of his boss’ corrective eyewear.

One evening, they sat together on the couch, as sometimes happened when Jim wasn’t working, or in a mood, or when he hadn’t sent Sebastian off to some far city to shoot some poor bastard between the eyes. Sebastian sat at one end, Jim at the other, feet pressed up against Sebastian’s thigh, his legs having seemingly claimed ownership of the space between them.

Jim was reading something that must have been far less dull than it appeared, to hold his attention for this long. There was silence, except for the occasional rustle of pages. Sebastian was getting bored. Getting antsy. He wanted a cigarette, couldn’t have said whether it was for the nicotine or just to have something to do with his hands. He was about to stand up and retrieve the pack from his jacket, when-

“Seb?”

Sebastian glanced up at Jim, whose eyes were still fixed on the page before him, brow furrowed slightly, hand outstretched.

“Can you pass me my glasses?”

Sebastian stilled. His eyes turned to the coffee table where he had propped his feet; the small, black case sat on top of that day’s paper. He reached out and picked it up, snapping it open and carefully sliding out the glasses. He was about to hand them to Jim, when he decided to throw caution to the winds completely. He unfolded the thin frames, leaning in close towards him. The other man looked up from his papers, one eyebrow slightly raised quizzically. Without saying a word, Sebastian slipped the glasses over Jim’s eyes, fingers brushing his temples. He lingered there, hands on either side of Jim’s face, just looking. The smaller man returned the gaze steadily… and didn’t seem at all surprised, actually. He grinned up at Sebastian.