starmark | IC Inbox | rubycity_rp

Of course he is. He'll probably remember, too, I'll bring it up in November and he'll be all, "Oh, Jean-Pierre, of course I remembered, what do you take me for, I've gotten you a hundred gifts already", and they'll be really well thought out, and he'll be all smug and I won't be able to hold it over him at all.

[Which is just a fancy way to say: I've thought about him coming here. And maybe he's aware of that a little, because he falls back on the bed, avoiding Jotaro's eye.]

[Oh. That — hmm. This is going in Directions again, and while it's better than dwelling on Sherry, that doesn't mean it's going to be an optimal conversation despite that.]

...What else are you gonna do? When he gets here.

[When. When.]

[When when when, when, because he has to believe that.]

Treat him to dinner.

[At least he smiles as he says that.]

We said-- before the mansion, I said to him, when we get out of this, buy me dinner, all right? And he agreed. And-- I mean, he still owes me. But I think I could spot him, just this once.

[Why is it all right to talk about this with Jotaro? He hasn't spoken of Abdul for months-- not outside one passing reference to Giorno, and even then he'd shoved past the topic. But now the words come forth-- not easily, but willingly.]

And then-- then I'd have to show off my baking skills. Dessert'd be some cake I made.

More like hunt him dinner. Go take down a moose or something.

[Like easy, natural fucking around. Like jokes about dowries and direwolf pelts.]

You could be the tour guide for a change. "In this city, the local custom is to eat your moose like this," or whatever. Make something up and he'd have to go along with it.

[He huffs a laugh.]

Nah. He's too smart for that. He'd probably play along right up until it's easiest to embarrass me. But maybe he'd get all impressed by my hunting skills. Chariot's more built for that than Red. I'll win his admiration with a moose of all things.

You bring it home, he roasts it over an open flame. Seems pretty straightforward to me.

[He hesitates a minute, suddenly struck by something else, but wavering uncertainly on the follow-through.]

He's not the type to embarrass you. Maybe other people, but not you.

Not in front of other people.

[A disagreement and agreement all at once-- because if there had been hints of Kakyoin and Jotaro being a separate unit, the same had also been true of Abdul and Polnareff. Not in any real seclusion way; they four of them had all enjoyed one another's company, and Abdul was as much Jotaro and Kakyoin's friend as he was Polnareff's. But there had been times away from the fire, and conversations between the two of them, and--]

And not like . . . not like you and me would do. He's just-- he's good with words. So he'll talk and talk and so will I and eventually it ends up he's right and I look like an idiot.

[Not that he sounds anything but fond as he says it.]

You are an idiot.

[But then, again, that same thing happens — he stops a little, hesitant, and this time the same sounds echo back as he very nearly repeats them, just with a subtle but significant variation.]

You're our idiot.

[And that's — he's missing the point, he knows, or dodging it, or avoiding it, but one way or another he knows what the point is and it's somewhere over there, not here.

Maybe he doesn't want to approach the point. Maybe that's why the dodge is easier.]

[He could say a lot of things to that, he thinks, and several of them flash through his mind. Some of them are flirtatious, and some are sad, and some continue along that deflecting line.

Polnareff finally tugs off Jotaro's hat. After a moment, he tosses it over at him.]

Yours, huh?

[He's not. Or-- well, he is and he isn't, and these days there's a pretty big distinction between the two. Yours, and he thinks about the start of this conversation, about what to get Kakyoin for his birthday, about he and Jotaro being a pair. You can get things for him I can't, because Jotaro and Kakyoin are a unit now, intertwined and inseparable. He thinks about Abdul and how very much he misses him-- not just him, but all the intimacy between them, the quiet conversations and the excited electric shock of earning a proper grin and the coolness of the desert night as they'd talked and talked and talked about everything and nothing. He thinks about the way things had been, once, before they'd found Dio's mansion and everything had gone to hell.

All of it coils in his chest, a heavy sad weight that won't go away, and so he does what he always does: he pushes it away.]

[He retrieves his hat when it comes sailing over to him, but oddly doesn't put it back on as one might've guessed from his apparent objections to losing it earlier; he lets it come to sit at the edge of the mattress, and unshoulders the strap of his guitar long enough to set it aside and pivot so that he can better look in Polnareff's direction without craning his neck to see.

He looks like hell. Maybe no matter what happens here, he's going to look like hell. Maybe that's only to be expected; he'd looked like hell for a long time after he'd gotten here, too, and that was even having the advantage of Kakyoin being close by.

He thinks of Giorno slapping him, shaking him by the collar while he lay there in the sand. I don't want to watch you kill yourself.

He thinks of how easy it had been for Polnareff to call him a hero. If he really is one, then surely this must be the time for it — when he's needed, and someone needs him, whether anyone really realizes it or not.]

I can't talk and talk and end up with whatever's right in the end, Polnareff.

[He glances down and away, his eyes finding their way back to his guitar, to the name there.]

...You know my mom only sees my dad like...maybe one month or so out of the year. Maybe a little more than that, I don't know, but not by much. He doesn't come home a lot. I don't even really know if he even knows Mom got sick when she did.

Yeah. You told me. Because he's a musician, right?

[He could get angry about that. He's not as annoyed with Sadao Kujo as he is with, say, Kakyoin or Giorno's parents-- but still, there's a touch of irritation there, entirely on Jotaro's behalf. And maybe he ought to give in, because anger is better than grief and it would be nice, to be angry about something that ultimately doesn't matter.]

Yeah. He goes on tour. He taught me how to play, too, when I was little.

[There's a pause again, while he sifts around in the hopes of finding his words.]

I missed you, before you got here. In a way I don't think I ever really had the time or the chance to miss Kakyoin, not really. He's been here ever since I've been, and longer. I just got here and here he was.

But I missed you. Stared at the ceiling and wondered where you were. Wanted you here. And then you got here and I — I threw those damn groceries I was carrying, I didn't care. You were just here.

...I've felt that too, I guess is what I'm saying. Maybe not the same way. But I know...

[...]

If I could fix it I would. I hate that I can't. I'd fix so much if I could and I can't.

[He doesn't say anything for a few seconds-- and then lets out a breath, raspy and broken, the catch of a sob there. Stupid. He doesn't want to cry; he's cried so much these past few days. It's not that he minds crying in front of Jotaro, but god, he's so tired of it. And to be brought to tears by something like that--

It isn't just the declaration. Nor is it the knowledge that Jotaro really and truly means it-- that he'd do anything to make this right if he could, but he can't. It's just-- the fact of it, maybe, weighing down on him, heavy and hard, hitting him after three months of delusions.

When, he always says. When Abdul comes, when he gets here, and in the back of his mind he's got a thousand things he wants to show him, all the little joys and wonders he's found while coming here. Look, they're dating; look, there's an arcade; look, I have someone who calls me Papa and loves me. But what all that boils down to, what it truly means, is: look: I didn't lose you.]

I miss him so much, Jotaro.

I know.

[He takes that as his cue to clamber up onto the mattress, abandoning the floor entirely in favor of maneuvering his way up next to Polnareff as best he can, because he never knows the right thing to say in times like this and never has, but he can be a rock in a storm, an anchor in a tempest. He can do that. He can't do much but he can do that.]

Come here. Get over here, just —

[Just hold on to me, maybe, is what he means. Just know I'm here, though that's more callous, when the problem lies in the people who aren't.]

[He shoves over, giving Jotaro plenty of room-- they've gotten this routine down pat now, they know just how to arrange arms and knees and heads so they both of them fit comfortably together. Three months and they've done this too many times on too many nights, and one of these days Polnareff thinks maybe he'll just move in next door, camp out in that giant bed of theirs, so as to save them all time and trouble.

It's easier to think of that than why he's got Jotaro pressed against him. He wishes he could linger there, caught in irrelevant thoughts, but that's not how this works. He's tried that again and again and it never sticks; his traitorous mind always goes back to the ache in his heart. His breathing has gone ragged and he closes his eyes tightly, shuddering in desperately suppressed grief.]

...It won't be like this forever.

[The words slip out, half-muffled where he's got Polnareff close and his face kind of mashed against his head, not really thinking about much except holding on as best he can, as securely as he can, so that if nothing else Polnareff won't be able to get swept away by his thoughts and his grief entirely. There will always be the feeling of arms around him, always the heat of someone else close by. No matter how else his emotions might toss him around, at least Jotaro can make sure that he'll always have that.

Maybe it's the wrong thing to say. He tries to remember what it was like when he was the one in Polnareff's place, if he would've loathed to hear words like that. He can't recall; maybe he would've. Maybe he's wrong.

But it's something that came true, too, whether he would've wanted to hear it or not.]

It won't. I know it seems like it will. But it won't. I'm — I'm going forward, too, and I'm taking you with me. Out of this. Out of feeling like this. It won't feel like this forever. It won't.

[It's easy to reply oh yes it will, because that's what it feels like. He's never going to escape this grief, this awful raw feeling of loss and loneliness and desperate need for something that won't come.

But it won't last. It hadn't with his parents, nor had it with Sherry (the first time, he has to add now, and that sends another shudder running through him). It's always there, but the pain of it lessens and lessens, until whole days can go by without thoughts of them running through his mind; until he can talk about it casually, easily, without falling face-first into despair. It had happened before, and it would happen again.

But knowing that is so much different than realizing it factually now. And right now, it doesn't matter that it won't last-- he hurts now, more than he ever wants to, hurts so bad he thinks the pain of it is going to tear him apart. He ought to stop crying-- but now that he's started he can't stop. And Jotaro doesn't care, he doesn't care-- so he cries, because he can't get the thought of slitting Sherry's throat out of his mind, because he's never allowed himself to properly mourn Abdul dying, because it's his fault they're both dead and gone.

Is it me? It would be easy to blame himself. They both died twice, his Sherry and Abdul, and it was his fault both times. I'm not going to save you, Abdul had told him, face serious and eyes dark, and it would have been vastly better if he'd had the decency to keep his damn word.

The tears abate, after a time, and when he looks up, one hand shoving roughly at his cheeks, Jotaro is still there. And that's worth more than Polnareff can ever really say.]

You keep coming into my bed like this, Kakyoin's gonna start to wonder.

[It's a weak joke, and he's still sniffing, trying like hell to pull himself together-- but it's an attempt.]

[It ought to bother him that his shirt is damp, but it doesn't. It ought to be gross and clingy and uncomfortable, but it isn't. It barely even registers, and when it does it's only because it confirms that Polnareff did manage to let some of his grief out, and that he and his shoulder and his shirt were there while he did it, and really that's all that matters right now.

Even when he pulls away, he does his best to make sure their contact doesn't break entirely. Even when he lets Polnareff have his space to get himself together, or to attempt it, he makes sure there's still a hand on his arm, a knee brushing a knee — something so that they're still connected, so there's still proof he's not alone.]

That's your go-to joke. ...That.

[He says it softly, as recognition gradually washes over him; rising to the bait goes by the wayside in favor of studying Polnareff carefully, the drying remains of salt on his cheeks.]

...It's not really just about trying to be my Shih Tzu up Sex Mountain, is it.

What?

[He's still caught up in Abdul, and so it takes him a moment. Polnareff's eyes dart around Jotaro's face-- but oh. Oh, oh no, and this close, Jotaro will be able to see the way Polnareff suddenly goes stiff. The contact between them is good, but nonetheless Polnareff pulls his leg back, disconnecting them, because maybe this isn't something they can talk about all tangled up.

He could deny it. Jotaro would let him get away with it, if he protested and pulled away and said no, that's not it, I'm fine, it's fine, we're all fine. But that would be stupid, and he's so tired. So, instead:]

Don't think part of it wasn't to give you advice, because it was. I am more experienced than you, and you do need somebody to talk to about it. I would've done that no matter what.

That's not really an answer.

[Or rather, it is, but not to what he was asking. Once, maybe, he wouldn't have known to listen carefully for that nuance; now, today, he's watching for it, and isn't surprised when it comes to pass that his hunch isn't wrong.]

And you're right. I do need somebody to talk to about stuff like that. But.

[There had been what's-his-name, hadn't there, with the amazing cheekbones. The one who probably contoured.]

...Is that on your mind a lot, when I'm around?

[Again, he thinks of balking. Haven't they had too many emotions tonight? Sherry and Abdul and now this, this hot shameful thing he doesn't have a name for, and how much can he possibly be expected to feel in one night? But if he doesn't blurt it out now he's never going to-- or, worse, it'll come out in other ways, worse ways, and he can't take many more fights.]

Not-- not like that.

[He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to get his thoughts in some kind of order.]

Not like it's all I ever think about.

[God, and he can't do this like this, just lying here, staring at Jotaro. Polnareff glances away, twisting until he's lying on his back, until there's an inch of space between them.

That hadn't been an answer to Jotaro's question either. He does that a lot when they talk like this. Have you ever thought about kissing his user, Jotaro had asked, and he'd choked then too, alone in Dio's apartment.]

But-- sometimes, I guess.

...It bothers you.

[That one isn't a question, so much, but a summation. The kind thing to do would be to stop looking at Polnareff, maybe, but he can't quite make himself do that, so he settles for trying to blunt the sharp edge of his focus instead, letting his chin dip and his gaze wander without it going altogether all that far.]

So...you cover it up? By making it into a joke. Trying to, so then it's not so...whatever. Serious.

[...]

What part of it bothers you?

[Blindly he reaches to the side, grabbing for his cigarettes. It's stupid to smoke in bed, it's the right way to setting yourself on fire, but he'll take the chance right now. Besides, the motions give him time to think. ]

There's a difference between . . .

[A pause.]

Between three friends, and two of them are a little closer, and . . . a guy who has two friends who are together, y'know?

[There's more to it than that. That part isn't insurmountable, no, he definitely feels it, he's felt it since he came here and found out-- but it's not just that. And Polnareff knows that, even if he still doesn't have words for what the Other Part is.]

It's not-- I'm glad you two are together. You fit together. I'm glad you're together and you're happy. But it's-- it's different. You remember--

[And now he twists, facing Jotaro, meeting his gaze, cigarette hanging from his lips.]

I used that shit Japanese pickup line on you-- the one that Kakyoin taught me. And you said, well, what did you expect, he's an asshole, of course he taught you something like that, and I was gonna agree, except I had to stop and think, well, watch what you say, because he's his boyfriend, so you can't say too much. It's nothing to do with you or him, but it's-- it's all different now, all three of us.

...You had to stop and think that...?

[But he frowns, a deep and somewhat troubled frown, because as he considers it at length he gradually begins to realize that even though his kneejerk impulse is to say no, that's wrong, it's not like that, you've got it wrong, there's still a small sliver of nagging recognition that Polnareff isn't entirely off the mark, either. Hadn't he lost his temper when Izabel had flirted with Kakyoin right in front of him, even if ostensibly it was both harmless and facetious? Hasn't he always been different where Kakyoin is concerned, whether he's been willing to admit it or even conscious of it or not?

Polnareff's a people person. He can read things that are there, see them. Surely he's better at seeing things in other people than Jotaro is at seeing them in himself.

So. He'd assumed that nothing had changed, when for Polnareff everything had changed.

So.

It's not about an inability to be someone else for Polnareff. It's that he's not who he used to be anymore.

He can say that he's not going to leave Polnareff behind as often as he wants, and yet all this time he's missed that on some level, through Polnareff's eyes, he already has.

For a second, he has no idea what to say.]

...What about to Kakyoin? Is it — with him, is it different, too? Or...just me?

You and I were always closer.

[So yes and no. Yes, because of course it's different; Kakyoin is different, and part of the reason for that change is the fact he's with Jotaro. But . . .

He loves Kakyoin. He really does; there's no hesitation there. He loves him the same way he loves Jotaro and Abdul-- fiercely, all-encompassing, without a second thought. That love is why he gets so irritated by the thought of Kakyoin's parents making him feel strange; why he's ready to follow those train tracks no matter what monsters might attack.

But he and Jotaro are more alike, and so they're closer. It'd been Jotaro Polnareff had texted that night with Dio, desperate for distraction. Kakyoin would have rallied to the cause, but it was easier with Jotaro, because they have the same stupid sense of humor.]

So I think . . . I notice it more with you.

IC Inbox | rubycity_rp | II

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