Chapter Text
In the following weeks, as he sees Jon a few more times, Gerry's hair fades out and he looks rather more 'forest nymph' than 'American Gothic'.
So it's not much of a shock when the next time Jon catches sight of Gerry striding through the library stacks, his hair has been re-coloured. This time it's a smooth buttery yellow and Jon is struck by how young the warm, bright colour makes him look.
Gerry doesn't feel young though, he feels tired and bored and wrung out, and he wishes he had never agreed to take art commissions.
"It's only the one time!" Gertrude had insisted to a very put upon Gerry, very early in the morning. "And if he puts in a good word for you in his circles, your name will really be on the map in the art world."
Gerry wasn't particularly interested in being put on any maps, or being picked apart by rich, stuck up strangers, but he had agreed to try, mostly because Gertrude had put a lot of effort into making his passion for art an actual career and he felt like he owed her.
(He forgets, frequently, just how much of a commission she takes on the sales of his paintings).
So there he was, striding around the library at 7 am and desperately looking for exactly the right reference book. Unfortunately, it has been out of print for years, and Gerry can't seem to find a copy anywhere that won't cost him half a liver. He has the money now, but he refuses to pay half a month's rent to a second-hand retailer on principle.
Jon watches him skulk around for so long, (apparently forgetting that he is, in fact, a librarian) that Sasha comes out from her desk to ask Gerry if he's looking for something specific. She's wearing her big round glasses today and even indulged herself in her favorite waistcoat to beat the Monday blues.
"Why, yes." At this, Gerry looks directly up at Jon, where he is standing and watching him from the upper balcony level. Jon's face burns, and he ducks out of sight, but not earshot. "I do actually come here to borrow books, not boys." And he smartly feeds her the name of the reference book he has been hunting for almost an hour.
Sasha giggles at his antics, "We do have a copy of that, actually, but it's very popular. There's a waitlist; also it's checked out right now."
Gerry's whole demeanor sags and he sighs in defeat. "Guess I really will just have to order it off the internet, then." He eyes the stacks of books, old and new, looking vaguely betrayed.
"No!" Sasha's exclamation takes everyone a bit aback, being that they are in a library and all. "You know, my mate has this sweet little bookstore, and he loves hunting down rare copies of older books, he might have a copy?" She wrings her hands, eyebrows raised in question.
Gerry beams down at her, causing even stoic Sasha to blush and scurry off to get a piece of paper for the address.
They're already most of the way to the front desk by the time Jon realizes just which bookstore Sasha is busy recommending to the man he is dating , and just who owns that particular establishment.
By the time he manages to get downstairs to try to deflect the situation, Gerry is out the door, nothing left but the faint scent of oil paints and leather from his jacket.
Tim Stoker leaves Gerry feeling faintly dazed. By the time he stumbles out of the bookstore and into the tea room, elusive book in hand, he's forgotten everything he has ever known in the face of such intense flirting. And Gerry thought he was bad.
Throughout the whole episode at the library, the walk through Chelsea, and the exchange with Tim, Gerry had never once taken a moment to consider that Sasha's friend with a bookstore and Jon's Martin with a bookstore might be the same person.
He chooses to blame the lack of sleep and general disarray that is his life for the oversight.
Which is how, 9:30 in the morning, having been awake for almost 24 hours and completely finished, Gerry walks up to Martin in his tea room and says, "I'll have whatever is pink and in that jug, please. The biggest you've got."
Martin, of course, recognized him immediately. He would have recognized Jon's gothic childhood boyfriend from his social media stalking alone, but Jon's frantic texting was also a pretty big giveaway.
Martin: Relax, I don't bite clients this early in the morning. He's in safe hands with me.
Jon: HE KNOWS THINGS ABOUT ME. Besides, who's gonna stop him from biting you?
Martin: Whatever he has to tell me can’t possibly be worse than the office gossip I heard about you before we even meet.
Jon: W H A T
Now, here Gerry is before him, and he’s quite pleased with what he sees. Even tired and vaguely dazed, his presence in the little room carries a certain energy that Martin enjoys.
"Right away. Take a seat and I'll call you with it." Martin's voice is sweet, but gentle and firm, in a comforting sort of way. Through Gerry's sleepy haze, the instruction makes perfect sense, although he has neither paid nor offered a call name.
Gerry considers taking a seat on the plush bench that occupies one wall, before deciding that he desperately needs a cigarette, and wandering outside.
Technically he is only supposed to smoke at night when he's painting and needs just the right kind of boost, but he decides to call this one since he's on a painting-based errand when he's supposed to be sleeping.
"Gerry?" He turns toward the sound of his name, to find the barista offering him a large to-go cup of what he assumes is fruit ice tea. He frowns at having his name known (his new, much-preferred name, no less) and then frowns at a blonde, bespectacled man in a tea room attached to a bookstore.
His brain finally takes a moment to function, and he puts all the pieces together in an avalanche.
"Martin?" Far from his usual self-confident tone, the single word comes out in a squeak that would make even a toddler wince.
"Yes?" Martin returns the single word in the same solidly reassuring way, and even offers a happy smile.
"I didn't... I didn't recognize you."
"Would be pretty hard for you, considering this is the first we've ever met." Martin's voice is calming in a way that eases Gerry a bit, teasing and all.
"Thank you. For the tea, I mean." Gerry closes his eyes and desperately begs his shit to pull together for him, just this one time. "It's nice to finally meet you."
His hands are fully occupied with a book, a cup of tea, and a cigarette, but Martin doesn't seem particularly bothered by the lack of a hand to shake. "It's nice to meet you too. We're giving Jon a heart attack by doing it without him."
"That is the lawful good," Gerry says, after a long drag of his smoke. "A panicked Jon is a happy Jon, after all. Whatever would he do with himself without a situation to unnecessarily complicate?"
"Yes, the man does seem to thrive on anxiety, doesn't he?" Martin asks warmly, eyes crinkling around a fond smile. "Speaking of, you seem pretty wrecked yourself. Good party, I hope."
Gerry's answering laugh has a razor edge, "Not hardly. This fucking painting I'm working on will be the death of me." Gerry lifts the reference book as proof of trauma and stabs out his cigarette viciously.
"Hmm, sounds like a pain. I hope you typically find art a more enjoyable career?" Martin asks, tilting his head inquisitively. His curly hair moves fetchingly and Gerry catches himself tracking the movement.
"Mostly, yes. Although I keep the bartending gig for variety. You'd be amazed at the sort of inspiration someone can find in the right drunk crowd." Gerry grins, thinking of all the ridiculous things he’d seen walk in and out of the bar in his run there.
"I'd be very interested to see what kind of art you can turn that into. Maybe you'd like to show me sometime?" Martin's words are open and friendly.
Gerry eyes him for a minute, hiding behind a long taste of his drink. He's trying to suss out Martin's motivations, for his kindness and general geniality. The drink is good and it tips Gerry's mood far enough back into cheerfulness that he shrugs off his considerations for the time being.
"You know what," Gerry quips back. "I think I would like to show you sometime. How 'bout tonight."
It's not a question really, with Gerry's typical force of personality behind it, and he leaves the shop with Martin holding an address in his hand and a time to drag Jon over for dinner that evening.
Gerry does not make a big deal of Martin coming over. He acts as if any other friend is coming over for dinner.
He tidies, a little. Lights a few candles. Wears pants. The bare minimum really.
He isn't trying to impress anyone, he tells himself sternly.
Except he is, obviously. He doesn't know Martin very well yet, but he does want to keep Jon around, and they are a packaged deal these days. Which he was happy with, truly.
In their limited interaction, Martin had been sweet and put Gerry instantly at ease. He knows, from many years of working a bar, how to spot a dipshit, and feels confident in his assessment of Martin's character.
But, it's his own character that concerns him. People don't always like Gerry past surface interactions. He can be tempestuous and moody, and catching him tired is a pretty bad idea. The combination of artist and mommy issues can be jarring.
He desperately wants those things to not bother Martin though. He wants Martin to like him, and he's not interested in putting on a show to make it happen.
It occurs to Gerry an hour before they're due that he doesn't even remotely know what takeout to order for dinner.
(He knows what Jon will eat, and he obviously knows what he likes, but what about Martin? Why didn't he ask this morning? Why didn't he ask Jon earlier?)
Gerry is just starting to really panic about all the life choices leading up to this moment, when he gets a text from an unknown number, instantly filling him with relief.
Martin: Since you're hosting this time, I'll grab the take-out. Jon says you like Thai, I'll bring that. You got the drinks covered?
Gerry: As long as you drink either coffee, vodka, or water, yes.
Martin: I'm sorry, I subsist only on the blood of virgins.
Gerry: Oh dear. I couldn't tempt you to settle for Earl Grey?
Martin: Hmmm, yes, I'll accept your offerings this time.
The first knock comes right on time. Gerry, dressed in his best paint-stained jeans and cherry blossom kimono, opens the door with a flourish.
Martin allows himself to be welcomed in and hands the food off to the dramatic artist, who deposits it on the table where he has already set the tea tray.
"No Jon? Not that I mind quality ‘us’ time, of course."
Martin is busy taking in the rambling studio space and barely spares the attention to respond, although he manages a blush at the flirty tone. "He's, uh, running late. Work stuff. You know Jon."
Gerry smirks at that. "I do indeed. Is it a 'stumble in at 3am' late, or 'we could probably wait to eat' late?"
"Hmmm? Oh, let's wait a bit? If you don't mind." Martin seems equally taken with his painting wall and his book wall and keeps trading his attention between the two. The paintings, being the larger attraction, eventually win, and he meanders over to study them closer.
"Do you keep all the completed paintings around?" His voice is soft and reverent, and Gerry feels a rush of pride for his work.
"For a while. I like to make sure they're in their final forms before I release them into the wild." Martin blinks big brown eyes at him, before grinning and giggling slightly.
"You're very talented. Jon said as much, showed me the pictures, but words and photos are nothing compared to seeing the real thing." Martin really regards his paintings as if they're special, and rather than the prickly feeling of appraisal he feels during gallery nights, it fills Gerry with warmth.
He turns to examine the wall himself. It's filled with an eclectic group at the moment. Large abstracts made by pouring paint and then layering designs over, three-dimensional pieces painted and then embroidered or quilled over in select places, including a particularly wild eye design. Surreal faces and scenes that seem realistic except for the wild subject matter of planets in meadows and chimeras going to battle.
"Is this what comes from your adventures in bartending?" Martin asks Gerry, turning from the wall and towards the slightly taller man.
"That, and my traumatic childhood." Gerry makes sure to laugh at the last, taking the edge off the small confession.
"Obviously." Martin offers.
"Obviously." Gerry accepts.
Gerry and Martin drink tea on the floor while they wait for Jon. Gerry gently prods Martin through the story of how he came to open the bookstore. The blonde man even softly confessing that he had to lie on his CV to get the librarian gig at Magnus.
"How old are you? How did you convince them you had a Master's degree?" Gerry is incredulous. Not that he doesn't think Martin could have an advanced degree. But in paranormal research? Gerry hadn't even known that was an option.
"That's the thing! I'm only 29 now . I worked there for five years!" Martin's voice pitches up in disbelief. "I'm still in shock that anyone ever brought it. Desperate times, desperate measures, you know?"
"I do, actually." Gerry shifts slightly, adjusting his balance with the long remembered urge to flee from those desperate times. He fiddles with his teacup to distract himself. He brought this particular set from a pawn shop because the filigree and florals appealed to his love of colour theory. Soft pinks and corals warm against the cool aqua background.
"Jon says you wanted to go to art school when you two were younger."
It's not a question, but merely Martin offering the same space for openness that Gerry had given him.
"I never went. After my A-levels, I had to get away, and I never really stopped moving for long enough to go to uni when I was younger. Now I'm settled and it's not important to me anymore. Besides, no one asks for a copy of my phantom degree when I sell a painting. So I'm happy with how things turned out for the most part." He stops to consider the outline of a possible past for a moment, one where he didn't have to skip college and go ten years without seeing Jon. "Besides, can you imagine a 27-year-old in art school? The young ones would sacrifice me for more creative talent."
Their eyes meet for a moment, and then they laugh easily and move on to different topics, sliding through the easy stages of getting to know each other.
Jon does eventually arrive, looking panicked and harried. He de-ages 10 years when he finds them laughing and relaxed instead of tense and awkward.
So, the three of them eat cold Thai take out on the floor of Gerry's loft, leaning against the perfectly good couch. They share the odd intimacy of people who have known each other for very disjointed amounts of time but like each other just the same.