Why should I not? Doth he not deserve well? (for John)

[jackrackham]

Jack arrives at the archive cautiously, early in the morning, for the first time hoping that Eliot won't be here. He's looking for Martin, because he needs advice and can't think of anyone else that might give a damn about modern social mores around giving gifts. Martin likes to be helpful, and he's ostensibly friendly with Eliot, so he's definitely the best option that he has today.

Only, as the little bell on the door announces his arrival, he realizes that no one is here. No Martin, no Eliot, no anyone. He steps in, and heads for Martin's office to make sure he's not there. He finds an empty desk, a stack of files arranged neatly on one side. He could just grab them and leave with some interesting reading, but that's not what he's here for.

He heads towards the back, thinking that maybe everyone is going through boxes, but he stops when he hears a voice through the other office door. He knocks gently. No answer, so he opens the door and finds John sitting behind his desk, reading aloud. He hasn't had much time to speak with the man, but he recognizes him, knows him as Martin's partner in this business venture...or whatever The Archive actually is.

"Oh, I was looking for-" He stops. John is still reading. He doesn't look up, so Jack takes another step towards the desk. "Hello?"

Comments

[statement_ends]

"Christ," John murmurs, impressed. He doesn't think he's seen such tidy work that wasn't done by machine, and he can't imagine how difficult or finicky it would be to do as much by hand. He almost asks if he can take a closer look, but the beep from the kettle reminds him that there's tea to be made — and a more pressing, if less safe, topic of conversation than Jack's embroidery skills.

John straightens, then turns back to the tea station so prepare them each a cup. "Eliot does have a rather developed sense of style," he muses as he plunks a teabag in each mug and pours hot water over them, "so that does seem like the sort of gift he would appreciate. As to whether it's romantic..." John cants his head briefly, then shakes it. "I'm of the opinion that nothing is inherently romantic, quite frankly. If that isn't your intention, then that isn't what it is." The alternative — that some otherwise neutral gestures are off-limits because someone, somewhere, might potentially get the wrong idea — is absurd.