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Jon hated the Institute parties. Usually it was fine. He would spend about five minutes talking to Tim's friends, which apparently included just about everyone there, before sneaking off and downing enough alcohol to make everything a bit more bearable. Unfortunately, that hadn't worked this time, and he was still painfully aware of the noise and people surrounding him. He'd lost track of Tim, just after he'd been talking with a tall ginger man wearing a rather garish Christmas jumper. No longer able to stand the environment, and really not wanting to have a meltdown in the middle of a party, he'd snuck outside to the small alleyway behind the Institute. It was only really used for smoke breaks or the odd mental breakdown. Or both. That was how Jon knew about it.
He hadn't been out there for months, not since the last panic attack had left him desperately needing a cigarette. That wasn't why he was out there now. He didn't even have any cigarettes on him, only a bic lighter tucked in his jacket pocket. It was just the only place he could think of that was sure to be completely deserted. All of the empty office spaces and bathrooms came with the risk of catching those party guests who had snuck off for a snog. He knew he and Tim had utilised them for that purpose on more than one occasion. No-one in their right mind would be spending their time in a dingy back alley. Or at least that was what Jon thought.
At first, he didn't notice the figure leaning against the wall, a little way down from the fire exit Jon emerged from. The late evening darkness combined with all the drink in his system meant that it took Jon a moment to process what he was seeing. The figure was tall, wearing ripped black jeans and heavy looking boots. They were reminiscent of something Jon might have worn in his Uni days. Back when he wore what was in hindsight far too much eyeliner, and went through a bottle of black nail polish a month. The most striking thing about the figure's outfit was a long, black leather coat. Their obviously box dyed black hair fell over their face, obscuring their features from view. They glanced up on hearing the fire exit door swing closed behind Jon. A freshly lit cigarette was held to their mouth, and in the other hand a Zippo lighter. Likely custom, judging by the eye design on its side.
"Sorry. Not disturbing you, am I?" Asked Jon, hoping he didn't sound too obviously drunk.
"Not at all. You come out here to escape the party too?"
Jon nodded. "Too many people. I can't stand it," The other man smiled in recognition, obviously sympathising with Jon's dislike of crowded environments on at least some level.
"I don't think I've seen you around before. Do you smoke?"
"Used to. I only do it occasionally now. When work gets particularly bad," he added, in an attempt of making a joke. Casual conversation wasn't exactly an area where he excelled.
"I'm guessing you're one of the Magnus lot, then?"
"Yeah. You aren't?" Asked Jon, surprised. He was sure Elias had said this party was only for staff. He was usually very strict about that kind of thing. Tim had tried to sneak previous partners into Institute events before, to no avail.
"Sort of. I help out, from time to time. Sometimes they can use my expertise," Jon almost shuddered. The man seemed nice enough, but Jon had read the statements. He'd been in artifact storage. Hell, even the library housed some horrors if you knew where to look. He dreaded to think what kind of expertise this man had that the Institute could find useful. "So what do you do?"
"Oh, I'm a researcher. In research," Jon cringed. That was definitely not something that a sober person would say. He looked back up, expecting to find the other man judging him, but instead he just laughed. It was a quiet sound, that bordered on withdrawn. As if he wasn't used to laughing with people. Jon pressed a palm into his face, in way of trying to bring himself to his senses. He wasn't going to start psychoanalysing a man he hadn't even really met.
"Well, I know where to come if I need any research researched by a researcher," he said with a final chuckle. Jon found himself smiling at that. He never usually got on with small talk, but somehow talking to this complete stranger wasn't all that draining.
The man took another drag from his cigarette. The smoke curling up from his mouth made a craving Jon had never fully managed to kick itch under his skin. He wasn't drunk enough to not realise that it was a bad idea. Quitting had been hard enough for him in the first place. He blamed how quickly he relented on the alcohol, knowing how annoyed at him his sober self was going to be.
"Could I, ah- I'm sorry to ask, I know it's annoying, but could you spare a cigarette?"
"Course," He fished the pack out of the inside pocket of his leather jacket. "Need a lighter?"
"No, I've got one here," he said, holding the cheap plastic lighter up. It was a bit sad, compared to the other man's rather fancy one. Jon missed his Zippo, sometimes. He couldn't be certain, but it was more likely than not Georgie who'd run off with it. Probably accidentally, to be honest. Lighter theft had been a rampant issue among his uni friends. The other man rasied an eyebrow.
"Really? You sure you don't work in the library or something?"
"I- what?"
"Nothing, just- Well, an inside joke, I suppose," he held out the packet of cigarettes, and Jon stepped closer to take one. "It's the cheap stuff, I'm afraid. The Institute pays like shit when you don't technically work there,"
"And when you do, apparently," Jon muttered, already fumbling with his lighter. He hadn't fully intended on the other man hearing his comment, but was glad that he did when he laughed again.
Jon was pleased that he didn't cough when the smoke entered his lungs, like he often did after months without a cigarette. They stood there together in silence for a while, the only sound the occasional passing car or bus. It was pleasant. Not like the usual uncomfortable silence Jon had grown used to during forced social interactions. There was always the chance that it was the alcohol making things so much easier, but Jon didn't think that was the case. For some reason he found comfort in the company of a stranger who happened to be avoiding the same party as him.
Jon jumped at the music coming from his jacket pocket, not recognising his own ring tone for a moment. He dug out his phone, and saw Tim's name on the caller ID.
"Sorry, my boyfriend's calling me. I didn't tell him where I was going. I should probably head back inside," He stubbed out the almost finished cigarette on the wall, and threw the butt into a nearby bin.
"That's alright. It was nice talking to you-" The man paused, obviously asking for Jon's name.
"Oh! Jon. Jon Sims. And you-?"
He cocked his head for a moment, as if in consideration, before saying, "Gerry. Gerry Delano,"
"It was nice meeting you, Gerry," Jon smiled.
-
The three rounds of shots Jon partook in after returning to the party had probably been a mistake. But it was Sasha's idea, and it hadn't seemed like a bad one at the time. Despite that, and the two bottles of wine she'd shared with Tim, she somehow remained sober enough to pick Jon up when he collapsed on his way over to the makeshift bar. He caught sight of Gerry in the corner as Sasha lead him back to Tim, Rosie, and the jumper man from earlier. He was standing deep in coversation with a serious looking older woman. Jon gave him a slightly overenthusiastic wave, which he returned with a bit less vigour.
-
"Who's that?" Asked Gertrude, a glass of red wine in hand.
"Jon Sims," Gerry said with what could have been called a proud smile. Gertrude sighed.
"You say that as if the name should mean anything to me,"
"He's just some guy I met out on a smoke break,"
"Those things will kill you, Gerard," Gerry rolled his eyes. He was very used to Gertrude's mothering, if it could even be called that.
"You're one to talk,"
-
It was almost two o'clock in the morning when Tim practically carried Jon out of the Institute. He'd long since lost track of how much he'd drank, but some distant part of him knew that he'd be sorry in the morning. He was vaguely aware of Tim saying his goodbyes to Sasha, while they stood on the curbside waiting for a taxi. Tim gave his own address once he'd eventually ushered Jon into the back of a cab, and moved to allow him to rest against his side. He rinkled up his nose, obviously smelling the scent of cigarettes on Jon's hair.
"You've been smoking,"
"Just the one," Jon near enough slurred. "I was talking to this man. Out behind the Institute,"
"Oh, right. Some tall, dark and handsome stranger looking to steal you away from me?" Tim joked.
"No," Jon shook his head, perhaps more vigorously than he should have given his already present dizziness. "But I want to be friends with him. I should have asked him to be my friend," he murmured into Tim's coat.
Tim chuckled, apparently finding Jon's drunk rambling rather endeering. "I'm sure you'll see him again. He does work here, after all," Jon was already passed out on Tim's shoulder, and unable to interject that that wasn't the case.
There was no Gerry Delano on the Institute's employment records. In fact, there was no Gerry Delano on any records anywhere. But for a moment, to someone, that had been his name. And that night, Gerry Delano walked back to the closest thing he had to a home with a smile on his face.