Chapter Text
The first time Gerry had slept at Jon’s flat had been completely unplanned.
It was a miserable day, typical London weather, and Gerry had been halfway across the city waiting for a delayed tube when Jon texted him. ‘Work meeting running late, so no need to rush over. Sorry to be a pain.’ By the time the two met outside of Gerry’s station and awkwardly ran towards their usual Costa, it had closed.
‘Not the end of the world’ , Gerry thought. It wasn’t like they couldn’t sit and chat somewhere else - there were enough options for coffee places across the city. ‘Just as long as we can get out of this bloody rain.’ He was about to suggest trying the Neros down the street, which tended to stay open later, when Jon had spoken up first.
“My flats actually not too far from here, if you wanted to? We could just, you know,” Jon trailed off, tugging on his shirt sleeves in a nervous gesture that Gerry hadn’t seen from him since their first couple of dates, but he’d felt himself smiling already.
“Yeah! Yeah, that sounds great, actually.”
The coffee dates had been routine for a few months by that point, a day or two every week where they would meet at the same crowded Costa and trade stories about the last few days. Jon would complain about his work in research, and Gerry would offer whatever mildly interesting thing had happened at his art class. Occasionally they would do something different - a pub on a few Friday evenings, a museum or gallery trip here and there, on one occasion a concert that they had both already been planning on going to anyway - but the idea of an evening at Jon’s flat was something new and Gerry couldn’t help but immediately agree. He liked Jon and, although he hadn’t really ever had the chance to do the whole ‘serious dating’ thing before, he figured that spending time at each other’s places probably indicated that things were going decently well, right?
The walk really wasn’t that far, and it probably took even quicker with the half-jog they were both doing, but the rain had picked up and made it feel far longer than it should have been. Gerry had pulled the collar of his leather jacket up over his head like Jon vaguely remembered doing with his secondary school blazer, and Jon had been making a point to tell him how ridiculous he looked when a car had driven through one of the puddles forming in the road, and Jon’s entire back was suddenly soaked through.
Gerry shook with silent laughter whilst Jon half-heartedly glared at him, until Gerry gave in and returned the look with a mocking pout.
“Here, you’ll get cold like that,” he shrugged the jacket off and wrapped it around Jon’s shoulders. “Now you’re the ridiculous-looking one, look how big that is on you!”
Jon spluttered indignantly, “I’m not that much shorter than you. And don’t be an idiot, there’s no point in you getting rained on when I’m soaked now anyway.” He moved to give the jacket back, but Gerry shook his head.
“Honestly, Jon, I’m fine. Just get us back to yours, yeah?”
Jon’s flat was in an old building, a few floors up. The lift was broken, and the flights of stairs were carpeted with a grimy blue that Jon said reminded him of his primary school classrooms. Gerry liked that about Jon - he spouted seemingly random pieces of information, answering questions Gerry hadn’t had the chance to think of, let alone ask. It was cute, that Jon wanted Gerry to know these things.
The flat itself was cluttered in the way Gerry had expected of Jon. Lots of bookshelves - all seemingly overflowing with books, but Gerry knew there was a definite organisational system to them - and lots of empty tea mugs littered across various surfaces. The coat pegs by the front door were loaded with an array of jackets that Gerry definitely wanted a closer look at (there was no way this man, Jonathan Sims , was keeping up his uptight reputation at work whilst owning that many patch jackets. It wasn’t possible.), and as he was led into the living room he noticed photographs scattered across the walls and various surfaces, vaguely recognising one of the reoccurring figures as another researcher from the Institute.
“Well, this is home,” Jon announced, almost sheepishly.
“It’s nice,” Gerry noted. “Cozy. Very you.”
Jon rolled his eyes at this, before moving back towards a door that Gerry assumed led to a bedroom. “Oh! Er, here,” he paused, taking off Gerry’s jacket as if he’d only just remembered he was wearing it, “Could you hang this up whilst I put something slightly less damp on? And leave your shoes by the door, please.”
Gerry nodded, not that Jon could see it with how quickly he retreated into the bedroom, and hung up his coat with the many other in the hall. At the back of his mind, he thought there was something to be said about how well the old leather fit in with Jon’s collection of denim, and he took a moment whilst unbuckling his boots to read some of the patches on the jacket closest to him. A few folk-punk band references, some pride-related paraphernalia, nothing that really surprised him that much after knowing Jon for a while. Gerry had a few patch jackets of his own, back at his own apartment, although his well-worn leather coat was almost entirely bare. As he retrieved his phone from the inner pocket, the familiar nametag greeted him as always, black text on white fabric reading ‘Eric Delano’ from where it was untidily stitched over the brand logo.
Gerry waited in the living room, watching the rain through the balcony doors until Jon returned and finally boiled the kettle. They settled down at the coffee table with a tea and a Nesquick chocolate milkshake Jon had offered after admitting he didn’t actually own any coffee. It was still gloomy out, enough so that Jon turned on a lamp, which flooded the room with warm light. It was, admittedly, a lot nicer than their usual Costa.
They chatted about the usual things, Jon complaining about his coworker Tim, who Gerry recognised as the man from the photos - clearly, Jon was fonder of him than he let on -, and Gerry updating Jon on how the disposal of the last of Pinhole Books’ old stock was going.
Gerry appreciated that about Jon, that he understood . After years of trying and failing to connect with the real world, it was refreshing to have someone he could talk to about shit like man-eating books because, as much as Jon liked to play the sceptic, at least a Gerry didn’t have to pretend he lead a completely normal life to him. In a way, Gertrude had made a perfectly fine companion for the same reason, until they’d parted ways back in America. He liked Jon a fair bit better, though, in retrospect.
As the evening wore on, Jon had suggested dinner, and curry was ordered and shared sat on the rugged floor of the living room, thanks to a complete lack of space on the dining table in the kitchen. Jon suggested a film, so Gerry logged into his Netflix to find a period horror interesting enough to appeal to both of their attention spans, and Jon pulled the knitted blanket off the back of his sofa to throw over their laps and lent into Gerry’s shoulder. Gerry put his arm gently around his waist and Jon moved in closer, resting his head properly as though to show Gerry he had full permission to actually cuddle him.
For all the months of coffee dates and time spent together, for all they had clicked so well and Jon had quickly become not just the guy he liked enough to be dating but also probably his best friend, they’d never had the chance to just relax around each other like this. It was unbearably domestic, and nothing like what Gerry had ever pictured for himself. He found himself hoping that he wouldn’t fuck this up.
He didn’t know whether he had fallen asleep first or Jon had, but at some point Gerry was being gently woken up by Jon’s hand carding through his hair. It had been shorter then, still slowly growing out from the chemo, but it was long enough to flop back into his face when Jon stopped.
“Hey,” he had said. “What time is it?”
“Late,” Jon replied, voice slightly rough from sleep. “We missed the end of the film.”
Gerry couldn’t help but laugh at the way Jon’s mouth turned down at this, at the little crease between his eyebrows, the fact that he was pouting over some cheesy horror. Then he checked the time on his phone and groaned.
“Shit, think I’m gonna miss my train.”
Jon paused, and Gerry could practically see him running the calculations in his head before he offered, “You’re welcome to stay here. Obviously.”
“If that’s okay? I don’t want to be a pain, I can probably call a cab.”
“Gerry it’s fine , I’ll take the sofa and you can borrow some clothes, I must have something that would fit you.”
“I can’t make you sleep on your own sofa Jon, don’t be an idiot.”
“Maybe I like sleeping on the sofa.”
Gerry raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, no, I don’t like sleeping on the sofa.”
“I mean- obviously, only if you’re comfortable, I don’t want to push any boundaries here - I’m not completely against the idea of sharing?” Gerry had suggested, unsure if he was pushing his luck as far as Jon’s hospitality went. He held his breath as Jon’s eyes searched his face, only letting it out again when Jon let out a small smile.
“I think I could work with that arrangement.”
Jon lent him a pair of pyjama trousers that came up a few inches short, and Gerry changed in the cramped bathroom, rinsing his face before gently knocking on Jon’s bedroom door.
“Oh, you can come in,” Jon had replied, and when Gerry pushed the door open he found Jon sat on the edge of his bed wearing what looked to be an old Ramones shirt, of all things.
“You are absolutely going to have to tell me about your sordid punk past one day, you know,” Gerry commented, pulling lightly on the worn sleeve of the t-shirt.
“I hardly keep it a secret from you,” Jon replied, lightly batting Gerry’s hand away before shuffling over as if to encourage him to sit down. “I’m sure Georgie has a stash of photos from uni, if you’re that desperate to see evidence.”
Georgie, Gerry had been told, was Jon’s ex from uni, and the owner of the orange cat that had been Jon’s lockscreen when they first met. Gerry had never met Georgie, but he’d listened to some of her podcast and found it endearingly cheesy. Jon had recently reconnected with her after he had recounted their dramatic parting of ways to Gerry one night at the pub, at which Gerry had commented that he was probably reading too far into things and that he should probably try just talking to Georgie, if he missed her friendship so much. This had been a month or so ago, and Jon had since reported back that things seemed to be okay with them, which was nice, and every so often Jon would forward photos of the Admiral that he had been sent to Gerry, which was even better.
“I’ll hold you to that, Sims.” Gerry began to move the duvet to get under it when he stopped. “Sorry, I didn’t think to ask, do you prefer to sleep on a certain side, or?”
Jon nodded, “Ah, yes, actually. I have to sleep on my right, I managed to damage my left ribs binding when I was younger and they still give me trouble if I sleep on them, stupid I know.”
“I meant side of the bed, but that works too,” Gerry chuckled, moving so Jon had space to lay down comfortably and then turning to face him.
“Jon,” Gerry whispered into the dark after Jon had switched off his lamp.
“Gerry.”
“You should get a cat.”
Jon laughed, clearly not expecting that to be what Gerry would say. “I can’t, the landlord doesn’t allow pets.”
“Do you want me to persuade your landlord?”
“Please refrain from threatening my landlord, Gerry.”
Gerry stuck his tongue out at him, only feeling slightly childish. “You’re no fun.”
Jon laughed again. It was a nice laugh, Gerry thought. “Goodnight, Gerry.”
Gerry couldn’t help but grin, despite how tired he was. Jon moved so his head was tucked below Gerry’s chin, and he felt his smile grow softer.
“Night, Jon.”