Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jon didn’t usually go hunting for Leitners, especially not to give to someone, but this was a special case. Simon had heard about it through the Fairchild grapevine, and he just had to have it. Even though he won’t end up keeping it, the concept of having found one and having it not harm him felt like a victory. This one, a copy of Infinite Jest, was rumored to cause the reader to fall into a constant dreamlike state. A few chapters, and they would be left seeing comets and stars in reflections. The whole book, and they’d be completely disconnected from the Earth, falling through space forever. Jon couldn’t pretend it didn’t fascinate him. He had always been more connected to space, and this seemed like it was right up his street. The book wasn’t for him, though. He knew that. It was for Simon. And Simon promised to pay him extra on top of what he made as a researcher in the Stratosphere group, so he couldn’t pass that up. You’d think that Simon would be less stingy since he was a nihilist, but it somehow made him worse.

Currently, Jon was in London, paging through books in a used bookstore. He didn’t have the location of the book, and although he had the name of the victim, they couldn’t do much for him now. He scanned book after book, looking for the telltale sign of a bookplate. He knew what book he was actually looking for, but these sorts of stores aren’t organized very well. Plus, finding a different Leitner to destroy would be nice. Jon never said he wasn’t petty.

He could feel people walking around him; can feel them looking at him. Jon didn’t mind, though. He did have rather striking features. The brown of his eyes was so deep they were almost black, aside from the minuscule drops of stars, glowing softly. And his star-greyed hair did seem like it defied gravity, floating without any wind. He was, though he didn’t know it, quite a sight to behold. Unbeknownst to him, people would later describe him as ethereal. Tell a friend about him, calling him “austere but beautiful”. But none of that was happening now. Right now, Jon was sprawled on the floor of the bookstore, making sure to put books back in their proper places. Nothing annoyed him more than trying to find a book, only to find it in an incorrect spot, so he tried to help others with that.

As he shuffled through the shelves, he began to consider leaving this bookstore to go to a different one. He should be able to feel the book, not have to search blindly. Of course, someone else may have bought it already. He did try to take that into account, but he had a gut feeling that that wasn’t it. So Jon stood up, pulling off his reading glasses, and began to walk out. He smiled at the person at the checkout and left the secondhand shop, the bell jangling as he walked.

The next shop felt different. Better, maybe. There was hardly anyone in there, a few kids with their parents, a tall guy with dark hair, and a couple of older women. He sat himself down in the fiction section and began the process again, carefully scanning each book.

Half an hour into his search, Jon saw a familiar blue and white cover. He stood up, dragging a stool towards the copy of the book he was sure was a Leitner, when a hand reached up and plucked it off the shelf.

The taller, goth (?) person had taken the copy of Infinite Jest off of the shelf, and he turned to walk towards the register.

Jon panicked.

“Hey, uh, what book do you have there?”

The person turned around, their long leather coat swinging, and looked Jon dead in the eyes. Jon actually took in the person’s appearance now that he had a full view. They were tall, much taller than Jon, and their long black hair went past their shoulders. The person had striking grey eyes with dark makeup. The makeup with that expression made them look… beautiful. He noticed a scar running down the side of their face, but it only contributed to the overall effect. Then, Jon zeroed in on their hands, and noticed the small eye tattoos on each joint. Oh. Oh.

This was Gerard Keay. Jon had heard of him by reputation, but had never met the man in question. More importantly, Gerard had a reputation for burning Leitners. And while Jon was not a fan of Jurgen Leitner, or his collection, he didn’t want to disappoint Simon again. He needed to get that book.

Gerard cleared his throat. Jon snapped his eyes back to Gerard’s face.

“It’s a copy of Infinite Jest. Why, do you want it? Honestly, wouldn’t advise getting this one. There’s something wrong with it,” Gerard remarked.

From the angle at which Jon stood, he could see the outline of a bookplate on the inside. Damn it.

“Oh, I’d be willing to take my chances. Plus, misprints can be very valuable as a collector’s item.”

Gerard’s eyes narrowed. He looked Jon up and down, lingering on the glowing dewdrops in Jon’s eyes. Something like a challenge flashed through Gerard’s face, and he bolted for the door, throwing a twenty pound note on the front desk.

Jon swore and chased after him, struggling with his cane, and saying a quick apology to the bewildered cashier. Jon could see Gerard running down the block, clutching the book in his hands. Jon got close behind him when Gerard made a sharp turn into an alleyway. His momentum made him speed past, and he had to take a second to turn around. He turned into the alleyway and he saw Gerard with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. The book was on the ground next to his platform boots, the cover still pristine in opposition to the mistreatment it had faced that day. Jon stopped to catch his breath, and while he steadied himself on the wall (gross and dirty, he would need to wash his hands!) Gerard picked up the book.

“Put that down,” he snapped.

Gerard laughed softly.

“I won’t be giving this to the one person who can use it. I’m not stupid.”

Jon scowled, glaring at him. He couldn’t do anything to Gerard here, where the sky was just a crack of grey in between buildings. Gerard seemed to know this, and smiled at Jon.

“I think I’ll make it so no one can use it. Get one parasite out of the ecosystem, or whatever the saying is,” said Gerard. He produced a matchbook from somewhere inside his jacket, pulling a match out.

“I wouldn’t use it. It’s not for me, anyways. It’s for Simon Fairchild’s collection.”

Gerard paused. He’d been splashing lighter fluid onto the book, which he’d placed into an empty trash can.

“Sorry mate. I don’t think it’s worth it to risk it.”

And with that Gerard threw a match into the trash can, and Jon watched the book go up in flames.

“Christ, what am I going to tell Simon now?” Jon mumbled to himself.

“Tell him a beautiful stranger took it from you and burned it. It’d be less embarrassing than you chasing me down the street and then watching me burn it helplessly.”

“That is not what happened! I did not watch helplessly,” Jon sputtered, knowing that was exactly what happened.

Gerard picked up the canister of lighter fluid and stowed it away in his jacket.

“Anyways. I have things to do. See you around.”

Jon stuck his hand out towards Gerard.

“I’m Jon. Jon Sims.”

Gerard looked at him like he’d just announced he was in love with him, but he took Jon’s hand and shook it.

“Gerard.”

The light from the dying fire flickered on Gerard’s face, casting his face into shadow. And he turned, and walked out of the alleyway, leaving Jon alone in an alley with a burning trash can.

The train ride back to his apartment felt like a walk of shame. Jon sat on one of the plastic seats, waiting for the crowd around him to stop feeling so oppressive, or for his stop. He put in his earbuds and tuned out the world, until he could see the familiar walls of his station out of the train window. He got off the train, scarf blowing behind him in both his speed and the rush of air from the doors opening. Jon needed to get back above ground. Climbing the stairs, he felt better with every step until he was under the sky again. A rather polluted sky, but still the same sky Jon had since he was a kid.

When Jon had met Mr. Spider, the aftermath wasn’t easy. He wouldn’t tell Dadima what happened, and she thought that maybe one of the older kids at school had told him something that scared him. He knew she would never have believed him. Jon had taken the book to the ocean after sneaking out of his house one night. His dadima was already asleep, and she’d not noticed him leaving. He took the book, which he’d put in his rucksack, and dumped it out on the sand. Then he grabbed it, careful to use the rucksack to touch it, not his hands (because if he touched it, it would get him. Mr. Spider would get him) and took it to the dock. He ran down the docks, getting as far out as he could, and then he had hurled it into the ocean, as far away from the shore as he could. The book had fallen with a splash, and he ran back to the beach, tears running down his face like stars falling from the sky. Maybe stars did fall that night, because ever since Jon’s eyes had been like a galaxy. When he cried, the tears would shine like the borealis.

After that night, Jon had always felt a connection to the night sky, and to the ocean. It was only natural when he found himself dreaming of the stars for days on end to let the endless stars take him and make him its own. Simon found him a few months after, and Jon had been fine. Happy, even. The Vast may have had its flaws, considering it had marked him as an eight year old kid, but it made his life better. It kept him alive. And maybe, just maybe, he was allowed to have something nice for himself. He had a job he loved, and he knew people he could maybe call his friends.

Jon shook himself from his reverie as he unlocked his apartment door. The inside of his apartment was small, but it was what he could afford outside of getting a roommate, which is something Jon was not planning on doing. Somehow he knew that he would not be a good roommate.

He put his bag down on the counter and sat down at his worn kitchen table. Dropping his head to the table, he sighed. Jon let himself sit for a little while, processing the events that lead up to this. He should be on his way to Stratosphere Group, book in hand. He could see Simon now: jovial as always, happily accepting it. But instead he was here, and he was thinking about Gerard Keay.

There was just something about Gerard that made Jon want to know him more. Maybe it was the way his eyes glinted when he laughed, or maybe it was the quirk of his mouth as he spoke. Either way, Jon wanted to see him again, and that pissed him off.

“I’m fucked.”

Jon’s empty apartment said nothing. He pulled himself up from the table, and decided to reheat something for dinner. He’d made pasta a couple days before, so it was probably still fine to eat. He sat waiting while it was in the microwave, and thought about that book. He knew that for any other person it would have been dangerous, or even deadly, but for him and Simon? It would have been fine. For God’s sake, Simon wouldn’t even had used it! He would have put it in a little room and looked at it every now and then. That’s just how Simon rolled. It was fucking ridiculous that Gerard burned it. He didn’t have to do that.

The beeping of the microwave started Jon out of his thoughts, and he pulled out the warm linguini. Gerard could wait, he was having dinner now.

Later that night, Jon fell asleep on his couch, crossword puzzles in his lap, an infomercial for an ambiguous product playing silently in the background.

Jon dreamed of falling.

Getting up to face Simon was a task that Jon was not very keen on, to tell the truth. Simon may act jovial, but he’s very prone to sulking. Jon can’t imagine how he will react to the book having been burnt. He’ll probably close all the blinds in his office and not talk to anyone for a few hours, and then come out like nothing happened. It's not like Simon would actually hurt him. Maybe he’d throw a random researcher off the roof, but he didn’t do anything to other Vast avatars. Honestly, Jon thought that if Simon threw Mike off the roof that he would just enjoy it. Avatars were weird. Jon knows he’s done a lot of very strange things since he Became. He had some very interesting stories for at avatar parties (if that was a thing). Interestingly, Jon could hold his breath under water for eight minutes, and then he had no issues breathing afterwards. You really just need to accept the strange parts of life, and Jon’s were just a little bit weirder than the average person.

But right now, he knew he needed to get off the couch and get ready for work. So he stood up, cracking his back as he walked to the bathroom to shower. After he showered, he got dressed in a flowered shirt and a pair of dark pants. Simon encouraged the people who worked for him to dress in a way that they preferred. (The exact quote, although Jon didn’t remember it, was “Dress however you want to, I don’t care how you look as long as you get everything done! Life is unimaginably short, make the best of it.” Everyone took this to heart immediately.) He packed his bag as slowly as time allowed, not wanting to go to work. Jon did love his job, honestly. He had a knack for spotting things that human researchers missed; one time he accurately predicted the location of an asteroid that would have ruined a launch and cost Simon a lot of money. And being able to think about space all day made him very happy, although he has sent a few coworkers into a state of vertigo accidentally. Everyone makes mistakes, right?

He finally finished packing up, and left his apartment in a huff. Jon put in his earbuds and shuffled his playlist as he walked to the Underground. It wasn’t a long train ride, but Jon preferred to have something to think about. Music could do that for him.

The train passed in a blur of colors and drums, and Jon twisted his ring as he walked towards Stratosphere Group. Simon didn’t scare Jon, exactly, but Jon didn’t want to disappoint him. Simon taught him how to be an avatar. He taught Jon how to find victims (Jon was pretty unwilling in this case) and how to use his power. Even though he and Simon never saw eye to eye on the value of human life, Jon could appreciate him.

He walked through the sliding doors, looking up (as always) at the glass floors. It was genius, really. Simon had made the above-ground floors all glass. They were perfectly stable, of course. Losing people would not be ideal for the company’s reputation. But it was just enough to generate fear from the more acrophobic scientists, and it would feed the Vast just by having people in the building. Jon thought it was beautiful. If you looked hard enough, you could see the sky. He scanned in, smiling at the receptionist. Then Jon got on the elevator (along with a short man in glasses who looked like this was the worst part of his day), a glass box just big enough to avoid claustrophobia but to induce acrophobia. He looked the shaking researcher in the eyes as they rocketed up to the top of the building, seeing the ground fall away underneath their feet. The sky was a blur out of the huge glass panels, painted in streaks of blue and white.

“Isn’t the sky beautiful when we’re almost flying? Doesn’t it feel like we’re being held by the clouds, embraced by cirrus?” Jon remarked. The researcher paled, whimpering. He could have a little fun if he wanted to. It didn’t make him evil. “The sky is just so huge, and we’re so small compared… I wish I could fly like this, without the box. Just plummet through layers of cloud towards a never ending blue shade. It’s just like heaven.”

The researcher closed their eyes, sweating. Jon could feel their fear, wanted it. A voice in his head told him to take it, because he had the right to. The voice didn’t sound like him. And so he ignored it.

The lift opened to a huge room full of people, with Simon speaking with elaborate gestures at the center. He spotted Jon walking out of the lift, cane in hand, and beamed. He broke free from the crowd of researchers and scientists to bounce over to Jon.

“Jonny! Great to see you, my boy,” Simon declared, attempting to peer into Jon’s bag, probably looking for the book.

“Simon, can we talk somewhere that’s not here?” Jon said pointedly.

“Of course, of course.”

They walked into Simon’s office, huge and airy. Jon sat down in the chair across from him, and set his cane down.

“So? Did you get it? Can I see it?”

Jon coughed.

“Not exactly. Have you heard of Gerard Keay? Tall, goth, beauti- I mean Beholding-aligned? He got to it before I did and burned it.”

Simon’s face fell. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers.

“Get out.”

“What?”

Simon looked at him, and that was all Jon needed to exit the office, which suddenly felt far too small. The elevator ride was less enjoyable than the ride up, but that was alright. Jon left the glass paneled building, clutching his bag. He put Simon from his mind; he’d get over it. He always did.

On the train ride home he found himself thinking of Gerard. Of his eyes. Of the way he smirked when he knew he was going to win. Bastard. And as much as Jon hated it, he wanted to see Gerard Keay again.

Chapter Text

Gerry Keay couldn’t get Jonathan Sims out of his mind.

He tried to concentrate on his work, but those eyes kept working their way back into his daydreams. Who knows? Maybe he’d worked some avatar magic on Gerry, made him a lovesick fool. But Gerry obviously didn’t feel much more than a fleeting crush on a stranger, and the Vast couldn’t do that as far as he knew. The look on Jon’s face as Gerry burned the book made its way into his mind again. And, as much as he knew he was being a dick, seeing Jon’s visceral, human reaction was somewhat reassuring to Gerry. Maybe the Vast didn’t have as much of a hold on him as it seemed to. But, looking in Jon’s dark eyes, seeing the unearthly shine of stars not yet snuffed out, he couldn’t help but feel the Vast on him. What good was hoping for any semblance of humanity in someone so far gone?

Gerry shook himself from his thoughts and focused on the map in front of him. The brightly colored paper was covered in pins, symbolizing bookstores known to have stocked Leitners before. He was supposed to be adding one for the bookshop he’d found Infinite Jest in, but he had gotten… distracted. Now was not the time to fall back into daydreaming again, though. So he picked up a pin, and drove it into the map. Landlord be damned, he’d nailed the pinboard straight into the wall. At first, he'd been careful about hanging things, keeping to the nails that were previously there, but he realized he had worse to deal with than a bitchy landlord. Usually, during an inspection, he would hang a painting over the map. Worked for him, but maybe it was just his general aura of being “untouchable.” (Not his words. Gerard knew better than to think he was safe.) He pulled the Sharpie out of his bun, letting his hair tumble down his back and into his eyes. Gerry quickly wrote the name of the bookstore, and the phrase “Vast - I.” He used to write out the names of every book, but now he just used a tally per entity. Less hassle, and it used up less space. He was all about making it so he could pack up within an hour to leave. Maybe it would be a little bit depressing to other people, but Gerry didn’t mind traveling. It was how he grew up, which wasn’t an ideal childhood, but he was used to it. Plus, Leitners didn’t wait around for you to find them. You had to chase them. You had to chase them until either you got them, or they got you. More often than not, they got you. Gerry was just lucky.

He pulled his hair back up, holding it in place with the pen he knew he’d eventually pull back out, having to tie it up again. As he walked towards his kitchen, he made a mental note to buy hair ties. And more lighter fluid. Infinite Jest was a huge book, so he’d needed more than he usually would. Fucking fears, man. Even though he was far removed from the world as most people knew it, he still had to abide by capitalism. He wished he’d get free lighter fluid for the public service he was doing. Well, shoplifting could do that for him, he supposed.

Sitting down at the counter, he sipped water, lost in his thoughts once again. Gerry had never met an unknown avatar who wasn’t immediately hostile on sight. Most avatars, even if he didn’t know them, knew him. He had a reputation, that he knew about. People in the supernatural community (if it could be called that) were very aware of potential threats, and Gerry knew he was close to the top of that list. Destroying vessels of an entity’s power, well all the avatars knew about that after enough had been burned or shredded. But Jon didn’t seem too hostile. He’d recognized Gerry, that was for sure. But instead of immediate aggression, he’d tried to approach him. It was baffling. Either he didn’t care that Gerry could have probably taken him out, or he didn’t know. Or, he thought, maybe Jon was more powerful than Gerry thought he was. Really, Gerry knew next to nothing about the man he’d met in a secondhand bookshop. Anything he thought could only be speculation, and that was all it would be.

He didn’t hold out hope of seeing Jon again, either. Vast avatars, Gerry had learned, didn’t stay in one place long. Simon Fairchild was known to travel to multiple continents in a few weeks. Harriet traveled with him but would branch off like a crack of lightning for years on end, only to return as if nothing happened. It seemed like it was just their way of life. Mike Crew, as far as Gerry knew, was the only exception to this. He still had the flat he bought after uni, and only traveled if he heard about some new, acrophobia-spreading event. Mike always returned to the same rooms, the skylight in the bathroom just big enough to see the sky on a clear day. Gerry didn’t understand what made him different from other Vast avatars, but he’d learned to accept the strangeness of the entities and their avatars. Jon, though, was an odd case. Gerry had never heard of him prior to meeting him. He didn’t seem like a new avatar, no, he was much too in control for that. He had to be at least a few years into his new life. Somehow, Jonathan Sims had completely escaped Gerry’s notice for several years, maybe more. And it was especially odd since he had an interest in Leitners. Gerry knew the people and avatars who dealt in Leitners like the back of his hand, and Jon was now one of them. Until now, he supposed, Jon had managed to fly under the radar and evade most avatars’ knowledge (as far as Gerry knew.) That would change after this, definitely.

Gerry closed his eyes, and laid his head onto the cold counter, and slowly drifted off.

Listen, it’s not Gerry’s fault that the Corruption’s after him. All he did was destroy a book. Or two. Or seven. He guessed it just was one too many for them, and now he was in an underground station, back pressed against the door of the family bathroom. The door was rattling under the weight of the strangely muscular Corruption avatar who was slamming their weight against it in an attempt to get Gerry.

He pulled out a pack of matches, a bottle of petrol, and a small, torn piece of paper from his pocket. It looked like it was a corner of a star chart. Where the hell did that come from?

The door was still being slowly broken down by the avatar, who’d begun shedding bugs from their deteriorating body. As the beetles fell from the avatar’s body, they crawled under the door to try to attack Gerry. He jumped up, stomping on them with his boots, hearing them crunch under the platforms.

“Gross.”

The avatar had gotten an idea and they began hitting the lock with something heavy, intent on smashing it through the door. Gerry resigned himself to a fight, and brandished the lighter (non)threateningly.

The door burst open, and the avatar stood in the doorway. They were short, shorter than average for sure. They appeared to be very muscular for their height, but on closer inspection, their body was coated with layers upon layers of crawling bugs. The beetles were dripping off the avatar like blood, and they had a smile on their face, teeth sharp and eyes sharper. They laughed like a cicada chirp and ran at Gerry.

Gerry threw the petrol onto them, and then set them on fire.

The avatar flailed, trying to save their beetles from the fire crackling on their legs and feet. The fire was slowly climbing up their body, and they looked at Gerry with white-hot pain in their eyes. He’d forgotten how much bug Corruption avatars depended on those bugs. They were so close to being the same being that they were entirely dependent on them: physically and emotionally. It was a whole thing with “unconditional love” or something. Lies, of course, but the avatars were desperate for love. The avatar in front of Gerry screamed in anger, and the beetles that were still unhurt swarmed him, their iridescent wings clicking loudly and blocking his sight. He batted at them with his arms, but there were so many of them. It felt like there were millions of them flying around him, biting him and crawling on his skin.

Gerry dropped to his knees, overwhelmed by the mass of bugs on him. There were just too many, and they were so heavy. The beetles whispered in his ear, saying things like “Wouldn’t you like to be loved? Aren’t you tired of running? Can you become us?” He tried to scream, but they just took that as an opportunity to crawl into his mouth, and he panicked, spitting. Gerry had dropped his lighter fluid and matches when the beetles had flooded over him. He couldn’t see a way out of this. He could hear the Corruption avatar singing sweetly to their bugs, and he hated that that would be the last song he ever heard. Gerry, although he was covered in a crawling doom, looked up from the suddenly grimy floor, trying to find his matches and lighter fluid. He knew if he could get them he would win. He knew it.

He didn’t need to.

There was a gust of wind, echoing around the small room, and the bugs scattered. Wait, they didn’t scatter. They were… gone. All of them. The Correction avatar, abandoned by their loves, began to weep, and collapsed onto the ground in a motionless heap. Gerry pushed the hair from his eyes, looking up into the face of a concerned Jonathan Sims.

He leapt back, startled, and Jon laughed softly.

“Hello, Gerard.”

Gerry stood up, dusting his hands off on his black jeans.

“Call me Gerry.”

Jon’s face flushed slightly (it was almost impossible to notice, delicate), and he smiled at him.

“Hi, Gerry. Thought you would need help with this one.”

“How the hell did you know I was here?” Gerry sputtered.

“Well, I was taking the train? And I could, ah, sense the Corruption in the area, I suppose. So I got off the train and came here. It took me ages to find you, I had no idea they had bathrooms back here.”

“I was hoping they didn’t know that either,” Gerry said, indicating the Corruption avatar still catatonic with grief on the floor.

“Oh, yeah. Makes sense. We should go before they get up,” Jon advised, turning to walk out the door. Gerry found himself starting at the way Jon’s hair floated as he spun around, as if it only applied to gravity because it wanted to. Focus, Keay. Gerry followed Jon out the door, closing it behind them.

“Why?” Gerry demanded, the minute they’d gotten out of that small room.

“Why, what?” he said, completely innocently.

“Why did you intervene? I can handle myself.”

“It didn’t look like that,” Jon scoffed. “It looked like those beetles were kicking your ass, actually.”

“If you’re trying to get me to join the Vast, it’s not going to work. I’m, uh, spoken for.” Gerry gestured to his abundance of eye tattoos.

Jon rolled his eyes, smirking. “You realize that I don’t have to want to recruit someone to be interested in them.”

Interested? What is that supposed to mean? Jon filled the slightly awkward beat in the conversation with a cough and an awkward laugh.

“Hey, why don’t we get out of this Underground station? I don’t like being underground very much, if you know what I mean,” Jon remarked.

“Why not?”

As they walked up the stairs, the sky gradually shone down on them, a soft blue. The wisps of clouds were illuminated from behind, and Jon noticeably exhaled.

As they walked towards the bustling park, Gerry’s hand brushed Jon’s (accidentally!), and Jon jumped.

“Sorry, sorry!”

Jon’s face reddened, barely noticeable.

“It’s alright.”

As they sat down on a bench, Gerry saw Jon look up at the sky, smiling. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe he was just head over heels in love with the sky. Maybe those two things were a Venn diagram that was actually just one circle. But something drew him towards Jonathan Sims.
Jon had a gravity to him, you see. Something about him made you want to be around him; something pulled you into his orbit until you were lost in the stars he’d captured. Gerry could see the trap he was hurtling towards, and he couldn’t (didn’t want to) do anything to stop himself from crashing.

He could watch himself fall, Icarus unwound.

Jon snapped his fingers in front of Gerry’s face. He snapped out of his thoughts, jolting as Jon stared at him, eyebrows upturned.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Jesus.” With this Jon’s face turned from concern to an expression of slight teasing.

“You zoned out a little, and you were staring.” Jon laughed like a bell, an unwitting black hole staring down an astronaut.

“Was I? Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.”

The silence that followed was extremely uncomfortable.

“So I’m sure—” Jon began.

Simultaneously, Gerry said, “I want to—”

Jon laughed. “You go first.”

“No, I can wait.”

Jon shrugged in a “you asked for this” way, and pushed his glasses up on his nose.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I found you again. And I really don’t want to seem stalker-ish, so please understand that I haven’t been following you or anything. I was on my way back from my friend’s flat on the Underground and I saw you run to the bathroom with … that thing in pursuit.” Gerry laughed. Jon continued.

“I wanted to help, but I am weaker underground. I honestly only take the train because it’s too expensive to have a car. And I didn’t want you to think I was following you. Or think I thought you were weak.” Gerry snorted at this, and Jon shot him a glare.

“Anyways, I only went to help when I thought you were in actual danger.”

“I can take care of myself, Jon. I don’t need help from you.”

Jon frowned.

“Well, if you ever do want my help, or you want to just… meet up, you can call me. Can I, ah, give you my number?” He gestured to Gerry’s phone, held tightly in one hand.

He knew he shouldn’t. Associating with an avatar that he had no real ideas of their power was beyond dangerous. But he really, really wanted to. And that part of him that saw Jon’s soft smile won over in that moment, handing Jon his phone.

Jon passed it back, having sent himself a text so he also had Gerry’s number.

“Thank you, Jon.”

“Pleasure’s mine. See you soon.” Jon stood up, grabbing his cane and walking away, leaving Gerry alone on the park bench.

Gerry was trying his best to ignore the new contact in his phone. His life was complicated enough without Jon’s involvement. Beautiful, enigmatic Jon.

As the days passed, he started caring less and less whether it was a wise decision to text Jon. Eventually, he gave up.

Gerry opened his texts, creating a new thread with Jon. He didn’t want to come on too strong, because he didn’t want him to think he was weird. But he didn’t want to make a fake “research” meeting or whatever Jon had offered. He figured he might as well frame it as a friend thing, just to see how he reacted.

‘Hey Jon! It’s Gerry. I was wondering if you’d like to get coffee sometime?’ There, that was good. Could be a friend thing or a romance thing.

He pressed “send” and waited. And he waited. And, three days later, Jon responded.

‘Sure. When?’

Gerry couldn’t have stopped the butterflies in his stomach if he had wanted to.

Chapter Text

Jonathan didn’t think of himself as one who fell easily. There was a joke to be made there about Vast avatars and falling, but he didn’t want to hear it. Jon had only had a few relationships before, his longest one with Georgie during uni. He’d dated here and there, but once he’d become an avatar he didn’t feel like it was safe to date a human. If he hurt someone he cared about, Jon didn’t think he’d be able to forgive himself. But this was Gerry. And Gerry could take care of himself. Gerry wasn’t afraid of him. He was smart, and independent, and beautiful— not beautiful. Well, objectively, yes, obviously, but not like that.

Who was he kidding? Jon absolutely had feelings for Gerry. Romantic feelings, if he needed to specify.

He just thought that Gerry was so magnetic. He was so mysterious to Jon, and that was appealing. He’d always thought he would have been an Eye avatar of the Vast hadn’t gotten to him first. The idea of learning something about someone that they typically hid from the world sounded like one of the most romantic things he’d ever heard. There were infinite things that you could never know about another person. Jon’s phone dinged, and he looked down.

‘Hey Jon! It’s Gerry. I was wondering if you’d like to get coffee sometime?’

Jon could almost picture Gerry saying this. He could hear his voice dip, how it did when he was nervous. He could imagine the way he would turn to face Jon, and he could almost see Gerry’s hair flipping over his shoulder. Jon could see them happily talking and smiling over some joke.

But, he could also see Gerry falling through miles of endless space, lost inside his own head. He could see Gerry buried alive, or infested, or replaced, simply because he knew Jon. Jon knew that Gerry could take care of himself, he really did, but the risk felt like it was too great. So Jon ignored the text. He put his phone into his bag and decided to leave it there for now.

A few days later, as he left for work, the sky was breathtakingly beautiful. This wasn’t something he said lightly, as he’d seen plenty of gorgeous skies. It sort of came with the territory. But this was something beyond what he’d seen. The sunrise he saw lit the clouds from behind in varying shades of orange, red, and gold, fading into a dark purple. Jon’s first thought was to raise his phone and snap a photo. He had to send that to Gerry. Then he remembered the text Gerry had sent, and the photo seemed less relevant. He tucked his phone into his bag, and walked to the station. As Jon went down the stairs, it seemed like the sky was reaching, screaming for him to stay, but he knew better. The Vast didn’t care. It wouldn’t recognize their planet out of a sea of millions, let alone him. So, he turned away from the rectangle of space above him and walked further underground, buffeted by smartly dressed people who were very clearly in a rush. They obviously didn’t appreciate being slowed down by some guy staring up at the sky. He let himself fall into the rhythm of the people and got onto his train.

Arriving at Stratosphere Group so quickly after Simon’s outburst may not have been the best idea Jon had ever had, but it certainly wasn’t the worst. Plus, he did have lots of work to do. He stared up at the building as he always did, the glass shining with the sun’s morning rays. Walking into the building, he saw someone he hadn’t seen in ages.

“Mike?”

“Jon.”

Mike Crew was leaning against the security desk, having been chatting with a clearly quite flustered security guard. Mike quickly wrote something down and handed it to the man across from him, cool as ever. Jon assumed it was his number. Mike walked languidly over to him, his scar highlighted under the sunlight streaming through the window. His dark hair wasn’t styled, windswept even, and his loose-fitting shirt was unbuttoned several buttons. Typical of him.

“Didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you were off chasing a thrill?” Jon remarked.

“Oh, you know. I got a call from Simon. And when he calls, I seldom pick up. Glad I did this time.” Mike’s eyes glittered coldly. On anyone else it would be terrifying, but Jon knew him too well.

“Oh?”

“Apparently, they’re adding more floors onto this behemoth of a building. All glass, of course. And they’re going to find builders who are afraid of heights.”

Really, Simon? Clearly the loss of Infinite Jest needed something to replace it.

“Where do you come into this? Thinking of putting down roots?”

Mike laughed airily. “Christ, no. Think of it as a temporary landing. He’s asked me to oversee it.”

“Oh, congratulations.” Strange. Mike was the least responsible of them all.

“And, a little birdie told me, he meant for you to be in charge of it until something happened.”

Was Mike really going to talk to him about this? After not seeing him for a year?

“Can we discuss this in my office?” Jon tried to sound like he didn’t care.

Mike gestured to the elevators, and they began their ascent.

The glass walls of his office displayed the sky above as they stepped in.

“Yes, I lost the book. Infinite Jest.”

He nodded. “Can’t find it?”

“It was burned. By Gerard Keay?”

Mike snapped his fingers. “Tall, dark hair, eye tattoos?”

“Yep. He took it from me and burned it.”

“Oh really.”

Jon felt himself redden. “Yes!”

“Huh. That sucks.”

Jon heard his phone ding quietly from his bag, and without thinking he grabbed it and opened it, thinking it was Gerry, to see an email. He turned back to Mike, who’d raised his eyebrow, trying not to smirk.

“Christ, Mike, what?”

“You like someone.” It was stated as a fact. Nothing dramatic or life-ending. Jon really appreciated that about Mike.

“So what if I do.” He tried to keep his voice as deadpan as possible.

“Who?”

“I don’t have to tell you.”

“You want to, though.”

“I do not!” Jon sputtered.

“Well, they’d be lucky to have you. Lord knows we’re all tired of you always moping around.” Mike stood up, and walked from the room, waving over his shoulder.

The audacity of that man. Jon fumed as he watched Mike saunter towards the elevators, gripping his phone tighter than he thought he was. Would it really hurt to go to coffee? It would be fun. He knew that. Plus, he’d probably hurt Gerry by ignoring him. That thought sent a spike of panic through him, and he opened his texts. How should he respond? He didn’t want to come on too strong. He settled for casual.

‘Sure. When?’

Jon responded. He wasn’t being ghosted. Gerry smiled, brushing his hair from his eyes. As far as he knew, Jon was just a bad texter.

‘Are you free tomorrow?’ Suggesting this, Gerry didn’t even know if he was free, but he knew he would make time. He set his phone down, only for it to buzz after a minute or two.

‘Yes. Does 10 work for you?’

Of course it did. Jon could have suggested any time of day and Gerry would have said yes.

‘Yep. Does Wild & Wood Coffee sound good?’ Gerry sometimes went there when the flat echoed with the memory of his mum’s steps. He could do his work there if he needed to. They usually wouldn’t kick him out as long as he had a cup of coffee in front of him.

Jon responded almost immediately. ‘Sure.’

He was going on a date with Jon tomorrow! Oh God, he was going on a date with Jon tomorrow. Gerry knew he hadn’t exactly made a great first impression, what with the whole “i-burned-your-book-in-front-of-you” thing, but he could make a good second impression. Well, third, technically.

He picked out different outfits, fussing over little details like an earring or a belt. A bleach tie-dye shirt with black carpenter pants? His leather coat or his patched jacket? Oh, it was all so arbitrary, wasn’t it. If Jon even showed up, the man himself was such a disaster that what Gerry wore wouldn’t affect it so much.

Gerry stretched, then winced as his fresh tattoo stung. He’d momentarily forgotten about the eye he’d gotten put on his shoulder blade, but he quickly remembered as the pain hit him in waves. It was more than his tattoo. The fighting and running he’d been doing may have caught up with him. It felt like his shoulder was disconnected, although a quick check in the mirror proved that theory wrong. His hands ached, and he subconsciously adjusted his ring splints. He needed an ibuprofen and a lie down. Maybe a hot pad. It would be nice to relax, especially with his chronic illness hitting him so hard.

So that’s what he did. He quickly made a cup of tea, wincing as his fingers curled around the handle of the mug, and plugged in his hot pad. As he lay on his couch, the warmth of both the tea and the hot pad lulled him into a comfortable, albeit nervous, sleep.

He woke the next morning much earlier than he would have wanted. But it was five in the morning, and he was awake. He decided to do something about it. Gerry pulled out one of his miniature canvases, his hands feeling much better from the ibuprofen and the hot
pad. The canvas was about the size of his palm, having been coated with primer and forgotten about. His paints were right where he’d left them: under his sink. An odd place to store them, but it was hard to find somewhere where he could put the more sunlight-sensitive ones. He grabbed a few tubes of paint at random and ended up with white and several different shades of blues and greys. He had unconsciously picked the color of the sky that morning, and he began to paint.

Gerry was sure that he was one of the only ones awake in his building, although he could hear the baby next door babbling through the walls, so he didn’t play any music. It was just him, standing by his flat’s window, glancing up at the sky periodically. The sun barely shone over the horizon, lighting the corners of the sky with a pale grey glow. As he painted, he tried to capture the feeling of being awake so early, feeling utterly alone, but not lonely. The feeling was more like anticipation, anticipation for the day to come, and the days after them. Maybe it was the Vast, but Gerry could see how someone like Jon, beautiful and austere, could be drawn in by something this gorgeous. One of the few remaining stars winked at him.

A few hours later, his hands covered in paint, Gerry set down a painting on the table (on a towel, as to not stain the table that was definitely not his) to dry. The canvas seemed like a window to the sky. He thought, against his better judgement, that if he touched it his hand would go through, into the empty sky. He didn’t touch it, of course, the wet paint would get smeared.

The sun was shining in full force now, lighting the cloudless sky up in blue, and Gerry realized how late it was. He began to get ready, brushing his hair as best he could (it was still crunchy from the dye job he’d done a few days before). He put in his earrings, and got dressed in the bleached tie dye Iron Maiden shirt and his black jeans. Gerry put on makeup, though not as intense as he sometimes did. The eyeliner didn’t take up as much of his face as it typically would. He just felt like toning it down a little. He still put on plenty of lipstick — wine red. Just in case he got kissed.

Jon was early. It was a habit of his, to be early when he’s nervous, which was often. He was usually nervous because of a meeting or something of that sort, though, but no. He was nervous because he was going on a date with the guy who’d burned his book and who’d also likely lost him plenty of Simon’s favor. And despite all of that, he was excited. Gerry was so far out of his league that it was almost funny. It wasn’t that he’d never dated alt people before, Georgie was very punk but this seemed different. Maybe it’s because Jon abandoned his college look of “punk academic” (Georgie’s words, not his), or maybe it was because of how cool Gerry was. Gerry felt too good to be true.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by something being put down on the table in front of him. Not a coffee, his Dadima had instilled table manners in him from a young age. If he had even thought about ordering before Gerry arrived, he thought that he may have even been able to hear her spirit chiding him. This was a small painting of a sky, exquisitely done, set down by a tattooed hand.

“Oh, Gerry, hi! Did you— did you paint this? It’s gorgeous,” Jon stammered out. Gerry, who had been standing near him, holding onto the table for balance, sat down, his face flushed.

“I did, yeah. It’s of the sky this morning? I woke up really early and I figured I’d paint something. It’s for you. You like the sky, right?” Gerry smiled at him.

Jon looked more closely at the painting. He woke early, as was his usual, and he too had stared at the sky as the sun rose. This almost perfectly captures not only the image, but the feeling. If he was more sensitive, he might have teared up.

“It’s beautiful. I love it. Thank you, Gerry.”

“You’re welcome.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment or two, and a waiter came over to take their orders.

“Gerry, I think the drink you ordered is more of a milkshake than a coffee.”

“This is coming from the guy who ordered a tea,” Gerry laughed. His eyes were so pretty when he laughed, lit up with a bright glow.

“I like tea! It’s good.”

“It’s leaves, Jon. Leaves.”

“That’s fair.”

When their drinks arrived, Gerry’s some sort of awful sweet thing and Jon’s tea, Gerry wrapped up the canvas to protect it.

“Do you paint often?”

“Oh, yeah, sometimes. When I’m not busy working.” Gerry’s hands were stained with blue paint.

“That’s nice. I used to do more artsy stuff, I used to have a punk band in college. Now I’m pretty occupied with the whole… you know.” He gestured vaguely towards the sky.

Gerry had almost forgotten about the whole Vast thing while they were chatting. Now his eyes noticed what he had just accepted as part of Jon. His eyes, appearing maddeningly deep in space. The fact that his hair, star-greyed wisps coming out of his bun, floated a little bit more languidly than was allowed by gravity. Normally this would have put Gerry off, scared him even. But it was just how Jon was. It was odd how easily he accepted that.

“A punk band, huh. What’d you play?” Gerry unconsciously braided bits of his hair as he looked at Jon.

“I sang. Sometimes I played the keyboard, but I wasn’t great. Do you play an instrument?”

“I’m a guitarist. I can also play bass if pressed, but it’s not my primary instrument.” Gerry thought of his choppy music lessons at dozens of different schools as his mum moved them around.

“That’s really cool.” Jon was so handsome, smiling like that. It seemed to make his eyes sparkle, quite literally.

They trailed off into silence again. It wasn’t super awkward— it could have been much worse— but it wasn’t great. Gerry wanted to say something, but he felt like it would be wrong of him.

“I’m glad we did this.” Jon. It was quiet, barely audible over the hum of the coffee shop. But Gerry heard.

“I am too.” It was almost involuntary.

Jon reached over the table, hesitating.

“Can I… hold your hand?” Gerry nodded.

Jon’s hands were cold, almost unnaturally so, with long fingers and calluses on his palms. Gerry’s hands, he knew, were rough and paint-stained, and they must not be very pleasant to hold. But when he held on to Gerry’s hand, he realized that it wasn’t going to stop him.

They continued conversation like that, casually holding hands, as if it was nothing. It was not nothing, but it felt nice to be normal. Even if they were both anything but normal. There were reminders of that in conversation, but nothing that was able to make them unhappy. Jon would mention something about his travels, going from skyscraper to skyscraper, and pause, remembering how it wasn’t exactly normal. And Gerry would just smile at him, and conversation would continue.

By the time they both finished their drinks, the conversation was coming to a natural stop. Gerry noticed, as they both paid, Jon was still holding his hand. They walked, hand in hand, out of the door of the shop, back to under the sky.

“I’d like to do this again.” Gerry looked at Jon as he said this, smiling softly at him.

Jon smiled back at him. “Me too.”

They didn’t let go of each other’s hand. Gerry looked down at their hands, then back up at Jon to see him looking at him.

“Gerry, can I kiss you?” Jon was smiling.

“Yes, Jon, you can.”

Jon threaded his hands through Gerry’s hair and he kissed him, right outside of the coffee shop.
Jon pulled away and smiled at him, and Gerry kissed him again, the blue sky above them.