starmark | IC Inbox | rubycity_rp

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.

Were.

[The past tense makes him want to cringe. Not in a vast, high-magnitude way — Polnareff doesn't lean on the word, doesn't try to call attention to it, doesn't try to make it the keystone of the entire statement so that it will deliberately cut like a knife — but in a lighter, more bittersweet way, like a faded photograph going old at the edges.

What strikes him then, with quiet memory, is the thought of that month or so that he'd begged from Kakyoin back in the day, back when Kakyoin had been so much braver than he'd been and leaned up and kissed him and said here they are, these are my feelings, and he'd asked for more time to think about what it was going to change. He'd thought back then that it might, and he knows full well that there have been ways that it has. But the foundation wasn't supposed to shift. It was always supposed to be —

But Polnareff didn't see that. Polnareff saw what is, what's standing now. Polnareff doesn't have the benefit of seeing how it was built.

Polnareff is braver than he is, too, isn't he. Here they are: these are his feelings.]

I didn't know there was — I mean I didn't really think about whether there even was something to notice.

[He hesitates.]

Most of the stuff I worry about with him...it doesn't feel like we're that different. Whatever we are, it just feels like something just got added to what we already were. Like boyfriend just...got stacked on top of everything else that was already there. Not that it's a whole new or different thing.

I never wanted it to change what we already were. I don't want it to have to...change you. Or me and you. Maybe it has to and that's another thing I can't fix, but...I don't know.

It feels like it shouldn't have to be some kind of zero-sum game. Moving closer to him shouldn't have to mean ending up farther away from you.

[But it does change things. Oh, not so severely they'll somehow stop being friends, but-- you change one thing, no matter how minor an addition, no matter that the pieces were already there, and suddenly everything changes. Jotaro and Kakyoin had shared a room nearly every night on the way to Egypt, so why should it be so different here? But it is. Because it's not just Jotaro and Kakyoin anymore, but Jotaro-and-Kakyoin, a unit, a pair, something that Polnareff very much is not a part of.]

Why do you do it back?

[It isn't an accusation-- just a question. It's also a way to avoid committing to that vast question of being close to him shouldn't have to mean ending up farther away from you. He doesn't know what the answer to that is-- if it's possible for Jotaro to have both at once.]

All that flirting stuff, do you ever think about kissing me-- we never did that before here.

I guess...

[He hesitates again, searching, tempted almost to try and motion something out with his hands as though he's hoping that moving them through the air will somehow put the words he needs into the palms of his hands.]

Because going along with you is...it feels more right than if I didn't. If you fucked around with me and I didn't back? That would be something that changed. I thought it would make you laugh, or...feel good, or...it's like sitting up with you all night. Why wouldn't I? Isn't that who we are?

...Maybe I was worried about it happening. Things ending up different, or something. Not being close like we were. Maybe I was just trying to keep that, I don't know.

[Who started it, he wonders. Him, probably; probably he'd started it because he'd felt so off-kilter, hearing about what had changed in his absence. Everyone else had moved on, and so he'd done it to try and keep up, and because it was fun, and it was easier to call Jotaro mon mari than to say I didn't even know you liked men.]

I like it.

[He does, truly. It helps, and maybe it's not the best way to deal with it all, but it's a way.]

We are still close, you know.

[An affirmation and assurance all at once, and his eyes dart up, searching Jotaro's face.]

You know that, right? Even if-- like I said, it's not like I think about this all the time. It doesn't always come up. I'm not sitting in here mourning this great friendship I used to have. It's just-- hard to deal with the change, still. I'm still trying to figure out how I fit into all this. I mean--

[He hesitates, and then:]

I mean, I didn't even know you did it both ways, I didn't think-- and then suddenly I'm giving you sex advice, and don't get me wrong, it's not bad, I just-- it's like I hit the ground running.

...For what it's worth, I didn't really think about it like that, either. I mean...

[He shifts, sitting back, readjusting their positions so they can both relax and recline a little — seeking to leave space between them, but to make it an easy and casual space, not a tense and strictly delineated one.]

Yeah, sometimes I get hung up on it when it's something like — when it's something the boyfriend is supposed to do, and I want to be a good one, but I don't want to treat him like he's "my girlfriend", either. But when it was just my feelings? I don't think it was ever really a question. It was just...of course I feel that way. Because it's about the person, you know? I can't imagine feeling differently if he were exactly the same in everything except that he were a girl instead. Because what makes me feel that way isn't what changed. It stayed the same, so why wouldn't my feelings?

...I think that's got to be how it's going to be someday for Jolyne's mom, too. That I'll just...know. Being around her will make me feel that way, so I'll know, and it won't have anything to do with her being a girl or not, it'll be because of...her.

[He shrugs a little, vaguely.]

I don't know. That's just what it seems like to me.

[That's a little like how Giorno had described it to him. I suppose in that way it's easier for me to say that I love everyone, regardless of gender, girl or boy or inbetween. They like people, Jotaro and Giorno, they choose based on personality, and wouldn't it be easy if it was always so clear-cut?]

So there was no . . .

[He trails off and then shrugs. Distracts himself by reaching back for the ashtray and settling it between them.]

I can't see it like that. I mean, you're not-- I'm not saying it's wrong, I just--

[He wrinkles his nose.]

Giorno told me that too, like it was this big obvious thing, like everybody feels like that.

Mmm. He does that to me sometimes, too. "Why are you like this, you're so ridiculous, it's as easy as this." Not about this specifically, but about...other stuff. You've seen what he wears to sleep in, right? I had a hard time with that. Not because I want to make him feel bad or anything like that, but just...it's like I look at it and I have to work to get it. And he doesn't have to. He gets it without working at it.

[Almost without realizing it, he automatically offers his near hand for the cigarette when Polnareff's done with it, through sheer force of ingrained habit.]

It's okay, you know. Just say whatever you think. Don't worry about making it come out right, just say it. A lot of times it helps more than you think it's going to.

Christ, I nearly fucking-- he opened the door in that damn outfit and we nearly had a fight then and there, because I didn't actually want to see that much of Giorno's leg.

[He'd grown to accept it, yeah-- or at least, the concept of it. Skirts and dresses and high heels are all fine, but could have lived without seeing the guy in lingerie. Polnareff huffs out a little sigh, not truly annoyed-- and it's familiar, to agree on this. To look at Jotaro and say yeah, that did throw me off, without any strings or worries attached. It's familiar, too, to pass the cigarette over, sharing it as if they're on a limit once again.

Maybe that's why he's able to say what he does next. Because this is suddenly familiar, this easy way they go back and forth; because it's just Jotaro, Jotaro his best friend, his savior, his hero, the closest thing he'll ever come to a brother, permanent and irreplaceable.]

I miss Abdul. But I think-- I think it's more than just-- the way you miss him.

[The words come out jerkily, haltingly, utterly uncertain and terrified to be voiced.]

[And this, Jotaro knows, is a moment that could make or break Polnareff. He knows it profoundly, emphatically, in light of who's-his-face with the cheekbones and the manga sensation they'll never write with the girl who's Abdul in everything but gender. This is Polnareff having a hard time and trying his damnedest to attack it head-on anyway; this is why his Stand is the Chariot of the tarot, this determination to hurl himself at obstacles even when he's overtly, noticeably, unmistakably afraid of them.

If he's not careful, he'll ruin that charge and have nothing but a devastating crash on his hands instead.

He's glad that he's the one holding the cigarette at this point, because taking a drag on it himself buys him a few extra seconds that he means to use to search for words, but really just ends up thinking about how great Polnareff is so consistently, so perpetually, all of the time.]

I think you're probably right.

[His voice, he finds, is soft.]

I think when you're having a hard time, you always want the people who matter most to be near you instead of far away. I think...it's when you're having a hard time, that it's sometimes clearest who those people really are.

[There's no sharp shout, no laughter, no smirk. No hidden person suddenly springs from the shadows, shouting ah HA, look what he just admitted, did you hear that? And it's amazing, even with Jotaro dating another man, even with this entire conversation having been nothing but supportive, how much he'd been tensing up, waiting for that to happen.

Because you just don't do that. In the same way men don't put on dresses, they most certainly don't look at their friends in such a way. They don't crave those moments when it's just the two of them alone; they don't feel like they've won the gold when they get their friend to grin, bright and wide, even if it's just for a few seconds. They most certainly don't notice all the things Polnareff had noticed about Abdul, all the little details that weren't platonic, and all the little questions he'd asked himself and never gotten answered.]

Not just matters most.

[A little clarification, but an important one, given their discussions tonight. Abdul is special to Polnareff, just as Kakyoin is special to Jotaro-- but that doesn't mean most important.]

But it's-- different. [And then, with an irritated little exhale:] I'm different.

Okay.

[He does everything he can to keep that word from becoming patronizing or condescending; he holds it steady as best he can, and accompanies it with a nod, pulling it back into the realm of something along the lines of simple tacit acceptance.]

...Here. Take this —

[He offers the cigarette back, then turns his hand palm-up and brings it down to rest on the mattress near Polnareff's in open invitation.]

...Half of you's saying "I shouldn't feel like this", but the other half is saying "but I do". Is that how it is?

[He takes the cigarette first, pushes it between his lips and sucks like it's a lifeline. It's not a good habit for him, but there's only so many ways he can cope, and at least this one isn't half so self-destructive as alcohol.

Polnareff hesitates for a moment, and then reaches down, threading their fingers together.]

Yeah. Kind of. I mean, it's not--

[Not anything new, and he'd bring up Rolf if he'd known Jotaro had known.]

More like I don't want to feel like this. Not ever, and not especially for him.

[At least: not when he's not here.]

...Do you not want to feel like it because it hurts? Or because...it's not "you", or because someone might say something, or...

[He pauses, glancing Polnareff's way, searching his face.]

If it's "not ever", then...you already have some idea of why, right?

IC Inbox | rubycity_rp | II

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject