#jonmike

Day 2: Books

I am so starved of Jon and Mike content together, so here is my input to it. I just wish, they were friends.

So, what if everything had gone differently? What if Jon had explained that day that he didn't understand what was happening to him? What if, after the fall, Mike had asked Jon's reasons? What if Jon had told Daisy that Mike was human?

Not causing physical harm or attempting to kill is a low bar, but Jon has little choice. Nicola is frightening, and Jon is pushing his luck to avoid hurting those he loves. So he knocks on Mike's door. And Mike opens it.

They truly have a lot in common; everything becomes mundane. Sometimes Jon even forgets the dangers, both outside and within. The freshness of the apartment, always seeming a little larger than it actually is, has become familiar. The whistling sound of the kettle in the background has become familiar. The mug Jon chose, always filled with his favourite tea in the morning, has become familiar. And vice versa. The quiet humming under his breath when Jon is absorbed in something has become familiar to Mike. The quiet footsteps at night, when Jon couldn't sleep or when nightmares haunted him, became familiar. The warmth in his shoulder when they sat on the couch, Jon leaning against it, became familiar.

They fit together like a puzzle. Mike wasn't surprised by the random little things and sounds in the apartment. Jon wasn't surprised by the smells of ozone and cold. It warmed Jon's heart that on difficult days, he could always find a stack of statements on the table along with a mug of tea. Mike always looked with gratitude when, on difficult nights, the windows and balcony were wide open, inviting him to free fall. When things were especially hard, Jon could hear the smaller man's quiet breathing as he slept in his arms, and in return, during particular nightmares, he was held and comforted by cold hands with a very familiar scar.

It was Mike's idea – to give Jon a little respite. He wasn't sure, but he accepted it. Through the endless expanse of the sky, they landed gently on the green, lush grass. Scottish fields, boundless. It was Mike holding Jon's hand, and Jon squeezed it back as Mike moved. Their steps quickened until they became a run. The wind beat against their chests, stealing and giving them breath. Only they were here, only for them this field was. For a second, Jon forgot. Forgot about the horrors, about the ever-watching Eye, forgot about the pain and contempt he felt, and a laugh escaped his lips.

At that moment, there was no Archivist. There was Jon. Jon who played in his band in college, who had strong opinions about ice cream flavours, and who loved to talk for hours about historical facts. At that moment, there was no Michael Crew, avatar of the Vast. There was Mike. Mike, who knitted scarves in his spare time, who knew a great deal about all kinds of art, and who collected teas. There were only two people who had feared their entire lives, and who found a moment of peace and safety in each other's arms. There was only the wind, the rustling of the grass in their ears, and the ringing laughter spreading across the fields, across the world that, in that moment, belonged only to them.