jongerry week 2025

Gerry crouched to look under the table, pushing up the black tablecloth to peer at the storage totes beneath it. "Which do you think I should put out next? I think I have another copy of that painting."

"Do that, since we know it'll sell." Jon bent forward to take the lid from Gerry, watching over his shoulder as he sorted through the stacked canvases. "Or the monster pig one."

"Monster pig," Gerry chuckled, pulling said painting from the stack and smiling at it. "You think there's a market for this big boy?"

"Well, there was for the bug wife. I'd argue the pig is much more palatable." Jon also gave the porcine portrait a fond look. Gerry's initial sketch had been a personal favorite of his, one of many that he'd requested to keep. "You should text Gigi and tell her that one sold."

Gerry's giggles turned downright mischievous. "She'll hate it," he said gleefully, walking away while pulling out his mobile. Jon smirked, recalling Gertrude's disgust at her grandson's insect related paintings. Especially the spider ones, even though they weren't insects, and as Jon frequently pointed out, had many environmental benefits even when they were inside their flat. He quite liked his washroom spider friends. 

Gerry went back to the small canvas he'd brought to keep himself busy between customers, and Jon went back to people watching. He enjoyed it greatly, especially because events like these tended to bring out interesting alternative people, and he loved seeing new styles of self-expression. And it was always nice to see other goths that dressed like them, or more commonly like Gerry. It was a shame‒ obviously Jon was biased towards his own romantic gothic tendencies, but he really felt other goths should embrace it more. Lace and billowy shirts were more fun than ripped fishnets and studs, in his opinion. According to Gerry, it perfectly reflected his own seriousness and‒ apparently‒ his dramatics. To which Jon always protested that he had no idea what his husband could possibly mean by that.

The couple who stepped into Gerry's stall reflected neither of their styles. The shorter of the two certainly had a firm grasp on his own counter-culture style, just like his hand had a firm grasp on his partner's. His hair was short and spiky, and he was covered in more piercings than Jon had ever thought a single person could possess. His parted shirt even revealed an impressive track of sharp dermals down his sternum. By contrast, his much taller partner was distinctly not-goth, wearing bright bold colors that matched his big blonde curls. The contrast suited them, Jon decided as he greeted them with a grin. Even if the blonde's easy smile had dropped like a stone at the sight of him.

His pierced partner didn't seem to notice. "Nice stuff," he complimented, gaze dragging over Gerry's paintings. He stopped at one in particular and pointed at it with a sharp grin. "Was that one influenced by anyone you know?"

Gerry snuck a glance at the painting and choked out a laugh at the scene depicted on it. "No, but I think we've all felt that way sometimes," he joked, earning a chuckle from their customer. Jon knew that piece was a bit more darker than Gerry's usual fare, but he didn't think anyone would be seriously bothered by a painting of a mannequin exploding. The blonde's expression still seemed oddly stricken, eyes flashing oddly as his head jerked between Gerry and Jon. Something about his attention was making Jon feel…not uncomfortable, but oddly on edge and off-center. Strange.

"You've got a wide range of subjects," the spikier of the pair noted, studying each painting with interest. "Good quality, too." Gerry grinned, chuffed by the compliment, while Jon hummed dismissively under his breath. Gerry's art wasn't just "good quality", it was spectacular and priced accordingly. "Where do you get your inspo?"

"Oh, all over the place. Most of what I have here comes from my head- I get weird dreams sometimes, or I'll see something while I'm out walking and base a piece off of that. And Jon, of course." Gerry sent a ridiculously sappy look towards him, which Jon mirrored back. "My muse."

"Interesting," said the customer, barely giving Jon a glance. His partner, however, was still staring at him. "You ever have anything…weird happen with your paintings?"

Gerry's smile fell. "What do you mean, weird?" he asked sternly. Jon stood from his chair, moving to his husband's side and taking his hand, all while glaring pointedly at the pierced customer. He had a suspicion about what they were referring to, and didn't care for it at all. 

"I'll take that as a yes," the stranger drawled, his eyes bright and sharp as he laughed. "No worries, mate, not looking to get you involved if you're not interested." His smile turned mean, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "That tends to happen on its own."

Jon felt Gerry's shiver through their connected hands, and squeezed his tightly. Despite the warning from the pierced stranger, he had no interest in his Gerry being drawn into that again. Gerry still had nightmares from that damn Institute, on top of his usual terrible dreams. Jon did everything he could to keep his husband's life free from the terrors of the world, and he'd do anything to keep it that way.

"You don't‒" the tall blonde finally spoke up, his voice cracked and raw. "You don't…know me?" His unfocused stare juddered between Gerry and Jon, wide eyes searching their faces for any recognition. "Neither of you?"

Jon glanced up at Gerry, seeing confusion in his expression as well. "No, I don't think so," Jon said hesitantly, as Gerry shook his head. The blonde let out a short noise of pain, and the pierced half of the pair whipped around to face his partner, suddenly concerned.

"Whoa, hey. Michael, what's wrong?" he asked, reaching out with his free hand, but his partner didn't budge. He was shaking, a strangely devastated look on his face as his breaths came short and fast. "Twisty, talk to me. What's happening?"

"I…"  Michael's expressions were shifting so quickly that Jon could barely comprehend what he was seeing. Anger, then heartbreak, then anguish and rage and sadness. "We…we can't. We have to go, Needles. Get us out of here. Please."

"Okay," his pierced partner immediately responded. "Okay, we're gone." He fumbled with his wallet and one-handedly threw a note at Gerry, grabbing his choice of painting and towing his partner away with a firm determined focus in his stride. The one called Michael sent them one last look over his shoulder, an unimaginable expression of pain on his face. Then they were lost in the crowd.

"Huh," Gerry huffed, leaning against Jon's shoulder and passing him the payment. "That was weird."

"Quite," Jon agreed, reluctantly noting down the overpayment in his notebook. "You didn't…know them either, did you?"

"Never seen them before," Gerry confirmed. "He looked like someone I'd see in one of my weird dreams, but not in real life." Gerry frowned, a look of concern on his face, and Jon rose up onto his toes, gently kissing it away. His husband relaxed as he kissed him back, the tension bleeding away with his touch. "I really hope he's okay."