Title: Day Off
Fandom: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), modern AU
Length: 600
Content notes: no warnings apply for this fic, but it's a sequel to one which contains consent issues (alcohol, group dynamics).
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Grant/Jonathan
Author note: timestamp fic for the day after Good Luck Ritual (the Edinburgh Fringe AU of the Medsoc Musical 'verse); this is for owl_by_night, with thanks for prompting it.
Summary: The rest of the run's sold out, which means Medsoc don't have to go flyering today..



The rest of the run's sold out, which means Medsoc don't have to go flyering today. That's what you get for being on the Fringe First shortlist. Grant feels vaguely stunned after last night's good luck ritual. He's not sure what to do with himself. He could go to a show, but there are too many to choose from. Maybe he'll have more idea after another mug of tea.

William doesn't quiz him about what happened with Jonathan after the two of them disappeared, which is a relief. Too busy covering his own tracks, Grant notes with a grin, as William announces that he might as well go to Franz Kafka's Flying Circus at the Pleasance if there's nothing better to do. You mean the show Arthur's been on about for the last week? Grant thinks about saying, but catches Jonathan's amused look, which is just as satisfying.

John S is off spending the day with someone he cagily refers to as “a friend”; Grant suspects it's the older guy who's been in front at Road Show half a dozen times already. John C is on the trail of a rare book dealer who apparently has something special he wants to show him. (“Beats 'Come up and see my etchings', I suppose”, Arthur said.)

The flat feels ridiculously big with just Grant and Jonathan left in it, and too full of last night's events. Grant stares into his tea.

“So,” says Jonathan, and clears his throat. “Looks like a nice day.”

Christ, are they going to talk about the weather now? This is a new shade of awkward. It's true, though, it's a beautiful morning. Late morning. Practically lunchtime. Whatever.

“Yeah, it does.”

“I thought I'd go for a walk,” Jonathan says, sounding almost as elaborately casual as William.

“Arthur's Seat?” Grant says. He's not trying to be funny, but they both start giggling.

“That's more William's territory, isn't it?” Jonathan says, and grins.

“Looks that way,” says Grant. “So, where were you thinking?”

“I thought maybe the New Town. Stockbridge, there's a walk along the river to the Museum of Modern Art. Want to come?”

“Yes, sure,” Grant says, trying to ignore the warm feeling in his chest. It's a walk, not a date. But the way Jonathan lights up when he says yes makes him slightly giddy.



It's a walk, not a date, but that's not how it feels. Grant's never been so physically aware of anyone as he is of Jonathan walking beside him, close but not touching. It's quiet under the trees; you'd hardly know you were in the city. Not many people about, though they pass the odd dog-walker and a couple of middle-aged hikers with serious boots and rucksacks. The self-consciousness isn't just about who might be watching, though. It's more about how new all this is, how completely fucking weird it is that anything happened between them in the first place, the uncertainty about where it might go. The Water of Leith's stupidly picturesque, which makes everything even more unreal.

They stop under the massive arch of a road bridge, and Jonathan presses him back against the brickwork and kisses him till his knees buckle.

“Thank fuck for that,” Grant says, when he can breathe again.

Jonathan hugs him fiercely, and Grant hugs back just as hard.

“OK,” says Jonathan, pulling away reluctantly. “Being sensible again now.”

“OK,” Grant says. He still wants to climb Jonathan like a tree, but he'll try to be good. Three more shows, two of them tomorrow. “How hard can it be?”

Jonathan snorts. “I'll let you know.”