Work Text:
Falling into loneliness was easy.
Jon had been a lonely child. From the day he was born, he isolated himself despite loving parents that hardly took their eyes off of him from their adoration. He was spoiled beyond measure; although their wealth was not great, it rivaled families who’s riches of money were immense by riches of love. Despite this, Jon was a lonely child. It only became more apparent when his parents both suffered ill-timed fates and he was alone for the first time in his short life, something he would become accustomed to unpleasantly. His grandmother, although bitter, did love him in her own way. She had never wanted children again after the passing of her son, Jon’s father. She didn’t offer to mother the orphaned boy, but who else would have taken him? The Sims family was not the greatest in numbers, and he was just a boy.
Jon proved to be an easy child to raise until his teenage years. The passive nature of his boyhood continued into his young adolescence and with it came an air of entitlement. He would stay in his room at all times except on weekdays, when he would attend school. His grandmother had told him time and time again how she was rather surprised he had grown into a fine young man, as she had doubts his entire life.
Jon and loneliness went back like old friends. The oldest friend he had, truly. He was no stranger to this gutted feeling and his usual vise of smoking to alleviate the pain was currently being taken up by chewing gum and soft candies until his jaw ached.
But his stomach was full, and his chest was still empty. Surrounded by wrappers and empty gum plastics, he tucked his knees to his chest and heaved a sigh. The archives basement was damp, and cold. Perhaps this was actually a kindness, he thought. He had spent his entire academic career pushing people away until they finally left and now he was moping about it? Had he no shame?
Jon had not shaved in what had to be a week. His beard had grown beyond what he had normally allowed it, and it looked odd. Most streaks of premature grey he had when he had only just turned twenty three were now nearly white, and there was hardly any black left to be seen. Perhaps twenty nine was older than he had ever thought. But Jon did not feel old, nor did he feel particularly young. He was in those inbetween times when he was both in his prime and becoming old enough to see old friends, lovers, and strangers both die and have children. Some married to their sweethearts, others to the mouth of a gun or pill bottle.
The archives were haunted. That’s what he told himself on days like this. Others agreed, though not in the way he had meant. A ghost was only a thing that once was, and the ghosts of old friendships were haunting the building terribly. If you asked anyone else who the ghost was, they would all turn to the archavist himself who thought no one could hear his quiet cries when a particularly long night struck them.
Jon unwrapped another piece of soft candy and held it between his fingers until it was sticky. He pulled the loneliness inside of him tighter like a perfectly fitting coat and did not acknowledge that the sun was rising outside.