Martin winces a little. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s fair. I guess we’ll just... both be kind of bad at this, and figure stuff out?” For example, kissing! Kissing is very good. Also cuddles and holding Lev very tightly. 

Kissing! And then maybe eventually they can go kiss on the bed, and then they can find some other nice things.

Oooh, other nice things. (Martin is a bit inexperienced but enthusiastic. He calls Lev "good boy" a lot.)

Lev makes such happy noises when he's called a good boy, and is so very very enthusiastic about Martin in general and Martin's body in specific, and is pleased to discover that the knowledge he learned from seven years of sleeping with one guy generalizes well to the second, and... does not quite work up the courage to take off his pants, and afterward he presses his face into Martin's shoulder and smiles and doesn't think about Asher at all.

Martin falls asleep curled around Lev and very, very happy. 

When he wakes up the next morning, he doesn’t really want to get up, but he makes himself open his eyes anyway. “Lev?”

Lev murmurs something sleepily into his shoulder.

“We should probably, like, get up. See if Sasha’s dead or, or whatever.”

Lev wakes up.

"What? I was briefly so happy I forgot my life is a horror film."

“That’s... good, I guess?” Lev’s forehead should be kissed. “Mmmloveyou.”

"Mmmm love you too and probably we should not get too distracted from the ongoing horror of our lives."

(Even though Martin is naked and that is very distracting.)

Prolonged sigh. “...Yeah, probably not. Okay, time to get up.”

This is probably a significantly more cuddly and less efficient process than usual but eventually they are both dressed and heading for work and no matter how much Lev braces himself for horrifying mood whiplash mostly he keeps smiling dopily at Martin instead.

Awwww. Best boyfriend. 

Sasha’s at work, looking mostly unharmed! She waves Lev over. “Whenever you have a minute?”

"Type it up on the typewriter, please."

“Yes, boss.”

Continued statement of Sasha James, April 1, 2016.

I checked the cafe on the way home. I even went down there on my lunch, but ‘Michael’ wasn’t there. Martin tried to talk me out of going, but... I didn’t know if what Michael had said was a threat or a warning or just a lie, but I decided I couldn’t take the chance. So I went to the cemetery.

The sun was starting to go down when I got there, and the gates of the graveyard were lit with the bright orange of the dying light. It had been raining earlier that day, and the pools of water reflected the vivid colours of the sky. Hanwell is an old cemetery, and past the walls I could see the weathered old gravestones standing silent. As it turned out, I didn’t have to go inside. Michael was waiting for me next to the tall iron gates when I arrived. I caught a glimpse of its reflection in one of the deep pools of rainwater, and shuddered as I saw again - the warped body and swollen bony hands.

It didn’t say anything when I arrived, just nodded at me to follow. I have no idea how long he had stood there waiting for me. I expected to go into the graveyard, but instead Micahael started walking down the road towards a nearby row of houses. The sign on the road said Azalea Close. Most of the buildings were in good repair, but there was one at the end that looked abandoned. It might have been a pub at one point, but now all the windows were boarded with metal sheets, and covered with dirt and graffiti. The door, however, was open and swinging gently. Michael went inside, clearly expecting me to follow, so I did.

Inside was dark and dusty. I was annoyed with myself that I hadn’t thought to bring a torch, but just enough of the setting sun came through the door for me to see by. It clearly had once been a pub, and the bar appeared to be intact, though riddled with woodworm. Sitting on top of it was what looked like a builder’s kit, with a toolbox and a small fire extinguisher. I was just about to ask Michael why we were here, when I heard it. A low, wet groan coming from the far end of the room, where the light didn’t reach. It sounded like someone in a great deal of pain.

I walked towards the noise. As I got closer my eyes began to adjust, and I saw the floor was covered in pale, writhing shapes. I had talked to Tim after he gave his statement, so I knew what to expect. But hearing about something doesn’t even come close to seeing it. To smelling it. I expected to see what Tim described, a squirming mass that was once Jane Prentiss, but the figure slumped against the wall looked like it was once a man. The worms wriggled out through the holes in his skin. The ‘flesh-hive’, Michael had called it, and the silver things formed clustered knots where his eyes used to be. I couldn’t help it. I gasped.

It wasn’t a loud sound, and given how sick the whole situation made me feel I think I actually was quite composed. It was loud enough, though. The head snapped around to face me, dislodging a small cascade of twisting shapes. The mouth opened as he tried to scream but that wasn’t what came out of his mouth. The worms also seemed to have taken notice and began to move towards me at an alarming speed. I backed away, but slipped on a piece of loose wood and fell into the bar. I glanced desperately at Michael, but it just watched me, its face unreadable.

I started to try and stamp on the worms as they approached, but there was just too many of them. Staggering to my feet, I felt my hand come to rest on something cold and metal - the fire extinguisher. Without thinking, I pulled the pin out and squeezed the handle. A cloud of gas shot out and, to my surprise, the silver worms began to shudder and recoil, shrivelling and dying. I began to walk forward, catching every last one in the jet of gas. Finally, I found myself standing over the mass of pitted and hollow skin that was once a man. He shuddered violently as the gas engulfed him, and then lay still.

I was breathing heavily, and the CO2 from the fire extinguisher was making me feel light-headed. For some reason I felt like I should check his pockets. They were empty except for a wallet. It was stained with blood and other substances, but the name on the driver’s licence was still readable: Timothy Hodge.

As I stood there, staring at the wallet, I felt a sharp pain in my right arm. I looked up to see Michael, reaching into my shoulder. Its fingers were long and distorted as they reached through my skin, cutting it like paper. I screamed. After a few seconds, it withdrew its hand. Held there was a single silver worm, wriggling pathetically in its grip. I hadn’t even felt the thing burrowing into my arm.

After that it’s all a bit of blur. I remember I was going to phone the police, but Timothy Hodge’s corpse was gone, and I was worried about trespassing, so I just sort of wandered away. Michael, or whatever it was, had gone as well. Eventually I found my way back to the Institute; it was after hours, but Tim was there, and he drove me home. Said I was too shaky to drive. He was probably right, honestly. At home, I bandaged up my arm. It wasn’t a deep injury, but I didn’t want it to get infected. And then I fell asleep. I thought about not coming in today, but I didn’t want you all to be panicking about me being missing, so, well, here we are.

Statement ends. 

When Lev's done reading he says, "I'm not panicked about you being missing, you can go home if you want to."

“Might take you up on that. It’s been a really long week. —You should probably let Elias know that the Institute should switch to CO2 for its fire suppression if it’s not already, since we know the worms are weak to it now. Or stock up yourself.”

"Will do," he says. 

Lev contemplates how likely it is that the Institute already uses CO2 for its fire suppression, decides that there is a 67% chance they do, and sends the email to Elias about it anyway. Then he goes to find Martin.

Martin is talking to Tim, but he breaks off when he sees Lev. “Hey!”

"Don't let me interrupt you," he says, "I wanted to talk about a statement but it's not urgent."

“No, it’s fine, we were just talking work stuff anyway. —Sasha’s statement or an old statement?”

"Old statement," Lev lies, "come get me when you're done."

He goes back to his desk and takes his personality tests.