Jean-Paul and Warren, Sunday morning-ish
Sep. 17th, 2017 10:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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ax_mainAfter their rude awakening, Warren has to face the music, and Jean-Paul has reached his vulnerability threshold for the week.
When Warren dropped off the Gatorade, Jean-Paul was already in the shower. He'd gone back to his room, taken his time collecting his things, and by the time he'd made it to the bathroom the place was deserted. He kind of hated himself for the feeling of relief, but he needed to get his head straight.
He'd fucked up. He wasn't even sure he understood all the ways how, but by the time he'd washed himself thoroughly enough to remove the residue of an evening well spent dancing, drinking, and--well, other stuff--he thought he had a good idea.
Basically, he had to grovel. An idea that... didn't sound all bad, actually, but only if it worked. So he texted JP once he was dried off and dressed (he even put on a velcro'd tank, just to make it fair):
I'd knock, but I'm hoping Simon's out like a light. Wanna meet me? For breakfast? OK, lunch?
Jean-Paul didn't keep him hanging, at least.
You had better not mean the cafeteria.
... Warren had absolutely meant the cafeteria, but in retrospect that had been utterly stupid. He checked his delivery app and what would send what where from Salem Center. I can have brunch in 30 minutes. Quiche? Pastries? Fruit? Whatever you want.
I know you're trying, but let's just talk, OK? I don't eat much when I'm pissed off anyway.
Warren sighed and ignored the rumbling in his stomach. He was fucking starving, as usual when hungover. But he sent: My room? Scott's out. Your roomie should sleep.
There was a knock at Warren's door literally a second after the message went out. Jean-Paul let himself in.
"So." He closed the door, then leaned back against it. "Simon said you were probably still pretty messed up this morning."
Warren nodded. He hadnt been about to bring that up--it didn't exactly make him look any better than being an idiot sober. Still dumb, just in a different way. "I mean, I wouldn't have answered otherwise. Just--She's been calling since Wednesday and I forgot not to be annoyed."
Wow. Okay. Worst excuse ever, but it was what it was. Warren wasn't gonna lie to JP, even if the truth was god fucking awful.
"You didn't tell me that." There was no note of accusation in Jean-Paul's voice, but he clearly wasn't happy. "That she'd been hounding you, I mean."
Warren flushed and looked down, wings rustling with the shock of embarrassment he felt. He hadn't even thought to tell JP. And now that seemed... wrong somehow. "I, uh. I knew you weren't super happy about the pictures and I didn't want you to feel worse. I mean, I'm not sorry she saw them, I just didn't want to deal with her."
"Dealing with this kind of shit comes with the celebrity, I guess. But better if you don't have to do it alone, right?"
Warren nodded, wide-eyed. He hadn't expected... that. But it felt good, kind of unknotting the tightness in his chest... a little. "I'm sorry," was all he could think to say. Because he was.
"You'd better be." Jean-Paul folded his arms over his chest. "I don't like being used, Warren. If you want to tell your mother to fuck off, I can teach you some interesting ways to say it. But I'm not your weapon."
Warren winced like he'd been hit, and he knew he deserved it. He took a step forward, but stopped himself, forcing his hands to slide into his pockets instead of reach out. God, JP had been through so much, seen so many shitty people, and he trusted Warren, and this was how he treated him. Awesome. You're a real fuckin' Prince Charming, Worthington.
So, in a way, his mother had been right.
Except she wasn't. At all.
He nodded again, a muscle in his jaw working, and then said quietly. "You're right, and I'm so sorry, seriously. She was more pissed off about me being out at all, I think, but then she started pretending she was worried about me breaking hearts with some typical schoolboy phase or something and I... lost my shit." His feathers rustled with embarrassment again. His face felt like it might burst into flames as he realized the worst of it: "She was using you and I did the same thing right back at her. Fuck."
"So it doesn't happen again. Right?" Jean-Paul held his gaze.
Warren shook his head vehemently. "I swear. If I'd thought for even, like, half a second--" He wouldn't have even picked up the phone, let alone been so goddamn stupid when he did... Ugh why was he like this.
"Because if it does, I will pluck you bald." Jean-Paul took two strides over and gave Warren a hug that was warm enough to be affection, but hard enough to be a warning. He could and would kick his ass. "Got it?"
"Got it." Warren felt like his knees were about to give out, he was so relieved. His hands were out of his pockets and his arms around Jean-Paul so fast, holy shit. He hung on tight, but not as tight, since yeah--he got the message. He buried his face in Jean-Paul's hair. "Fair. Totally fair.
"I know the timing was shit, too..." I'm all gung ho make out with your roommate and now I'm using you like a sword to duel my mother... "... but I really--I really like you. I mean, I know we said we're just enjoying things, and I am but that doesn't mean I'm not. You know. Serious."
The last word stuck in his throat a little. Warren separated from the hug, wings twitching slightly, and looked Jean-Paul in the eye. His heart was beating so fast he could hardly hear. It wasn't that he was trying to say--you know, that they should be boyfriends. But he felt like he should say something, because it wasn't like it was just a joke or a bomb to lob at his mother, either.
And suddenly, things were awkward again. Just because he was willing to forgive the gorgeous idiot for fucking up didn't mean the whole thing didn't still sting.
"Yes?" Jean-Paul didn't look away. "Is serious something you want?"
"Yes," Warren said, throat tight, blood pounding in his ears. But he held Jean-Paul's gaze. "I'm--I know we've both got stuff to deal with, and I'm not saying it should be today. But that's the point of dating, right? Hooking up with people is easy but this--this is more complicated for a reason. It's like, if I wasn't considering serious, why bother?"
He wasn't articulating it right, but what was new? Dating was a test, though, to see if you wanted to... attach yourself to someone. To be partners.
Honestly, Warren wasn't sure he was ready for that, in a general sense. But he absolutely was trying to figure it out, and, he had to admit now, he was trying to figure it out with Jean-Paul. Because maybe. Maybe with very good odds.
"It shouldn't be today," Jean-Paul agreed. "But... you're worth considering. I think so, anyway." He finally looked away. "You're kind of an ass when you're not thinking, but when you do... you're kind of special."
Warren huffed out a small laugh, both continually embarrassed and freshly flattered. Jean-Paul said absolutely nothing lightly. And definitely not something that made him look like he cared. It was the biggest relief to Warren yet. "It's a constant struggle not to become my parents, but I'm not used to it actually fucking with anyone but me." He stepped closer and tried to catch Jean-Paul's eye again. Because he meant it as a promise: "I'll do better."
Jean-Paul finally turned back toward him.
"I believe you'll try," he said. "That's worth a lot, believe it or not. So we'll see how it goes. I don't plan to ditch you."
Warren swallowed his disappointment that it wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement--but there was hope, still. Lots. The only part of him he didn't manage to school into absolute understanding and acceptance were his wings, which drooped sadly. It was a better result than he had any reason to expect, so Warren wasn't about to argue.
He'd make it up to Jean-Paul. Somehow. "Thank you," Warren said quietly. Silently, he added, I'll deserve the second chance. Promise.
When Warren dropped off the Gatorade, Jean-Paul was already in the shower. He'd gone back to his room, taken his time collecting his things, and by the time he'd made it to the bathroom the place was deserted. He kind of hated himself for the feeling of relief, but he needed to get his head straight.
He'd fucked up. He wasn't even sure he understood all the ways how, but by the time he'd washed himself thoroughly enough to remove the residue of an evening well spent dancing, drinking, and--well, other stuff--he thought he had a good idea.
Basically, he had to grovel. An idea that... didn't sound all bad, actually, but only if it worked. So he texted JP once he was dried off and dressed (he even put on a velcro'd tank, just to make it fair):
I'd knock, but I'm hoping Simon's out like a light. Wanna meet me? For breakfast? OK, lunch?
Jean-Paul didn't keep him hanging, at least.
You had better not mean the cafeteria.
... Warren had absolutely meant the cafeteria, but in retrospect that had been utterly stupid. He checked his delivery app and what would send what where from Salem Center. I can have brunch in 30 minutes. Quiche? Pastries? Fruit? Whatever you want.
I know you're trying, but let's just talk, OK? I don't eat much when I'm pissed off anyway.
Warren sighed and ignored the rumbling in his stomach. He was fucking starving, as usual when hungover. But he sent: My room? Scott's out. Your roomie should sleep.
There was a knock at Warren's door literally a second after the message went out. Jean-Paul let himself in.
"So." He closed the door, then leaned back against it. "Simon said you were probably still pretty messed up this morning."
Warren nodded. He hadnt been about to bring that up--it didn't exactly make him look any better than being an idiot sober. Still dumb, just in a different way. "I mean, I wouldn't have answered otherwise. Just--She's been calling since Wednesday and I forgot not to be annoyed."
Wow. Okay. Worst excuse ever, but it was what it was. Warren wasn't gonna lie to JP, even if the truth was god fucking awful.
"You didn't tell me that." There was no note of accusation in Jean-Paul's voice, but he clearly wasn't happy. "That she'd been hounding you, I mean."
Warren flushed and looked down, wings rustling with the shock of embarrassment he felt. He hadn't even thought to tell JP. And now that seemed... wrong somehow. "I, uh. I knew you weren't super happy about the pictures and I didn't want you to feel worse. I mean, I'm not sorry she saw them, I just didn't want to deal with her."
"Dealing with this kind of shit comes with the celebrity, I guess. But better if you don't have to do it alone, right?"
Warren nodded, wide-eyed. He hadn't expected... that. But it felt good, kind of unknotting the tightness in his chest... a little. "I'm sorry," was all he could think to say. Because he was.
"You'd better be." Jean-Paul folded his arms over his chest. "I don't like being used, Warren. If you want to tell your mother to fuck off, I can teach you some interesting ways to say it. But I'm not your weapon."
Warren winced like he'd been hit, and he knew he deserved it. He took a step forward, but stopped himself, forcing his hands to slide into his pockets instead of reach out. God, JP had been through so much, seen so many shitty people, and he trusted Warren, and this was how he treated him. Awesome. You're a real fuckin' Prince Charming, Worthington.
So, in a way, his mother had been right.
Except she wasn't. At all.
He nodded again, a muscle in his jaw working, and then said quietly. "You're right, and I'm so sorry, seriously. She was more pissed off about me being out at all, I think, but then she started pretending she was worried about me breaking hearts with some typical schoolboy phase or something and I... lost my shit." His feathers rustled with embarrassment again. His face felt like it might burst into flames as he realized the worst of it: "She was using you and I did the same thing right back at her. Fuck."
"So it doesn't happen again. Right?" Jean-Paul held his gaze.
Warren shook his head vehemently. "I swear. If I'd thought for even, like, half a second--" He wouldn't have even picked up the phone, let alone been so goddamn stupid when he did... Ugh why was he like this.
"Because if it does, I will pluck you bald." Jean-Paul took two strides over and gave Warren a hug that was warm enough to be affection, but hard enough to be a warning. He could and would kick his ass. "Got it?"
"Got it." Warren felt like his knees were about to give out, he was so relieved. His hands were out of his pockets and his arms around Jean-Paul so fast, holy shit. He hung on tight, but not as tight, since yeah--he got the message. He buried his face in Jean-Paul's hair. "Fair. Totally fair.
"I know the timing was shit, too..." I'm all gung ho make out with your roommate and now I'm using you like a sword to duel my mother... "... but I really--I really like you. I mean, I know we said we're just enjoying things, and I am but that doesn't mean I'm not. You know. Serious."
The last word stuck in his throat a little. Warren separated from the hug, wings twitching slightly, and looked Jean-Paul in the eye. His heart was beating so fast he could hardly hear. It wasn't that he was trying to say--you know, that they should be boyfriends. But he felt like he should say something, because it wasn't like it was just a joke or a bomb to lob at his mother, either.
And suddenly, things were awkward again. Just because he was willing to forgive the gorgeous idiot for fucking up didn't mean the whole thing didn't still sting.
"Yes?" Jean-Paul didn't look away. "Is serious something you want?"
"Yes," Warren said, throat tight, blood pounding in his ears. But he held Jean-Paul's gaze. "I'm--I know we've both got stuff to deal with, and I'm not saying it should be today. But that's the point of dating, right? Hooking up with people is easy but this--this is more complicated for a reason. It's like, if I wasn't considering serious, why bother?"
He wasn't articulating it right, but what was new? Dating was a test, though, to see if you wanted to... attach yourself to someone. To be partners.
Honestly, Warren wasn't sure he was ready for that, in a general sense. But he absolutely was trying to figure it out, and, he had to admit now, he was trying to figure it out with Jean-Paul. Because maybe. Maybe with very good odds.
"It shouldn't be today," Jean-Paul agreed. "But... you're worth considering. I think so, anyway." He finally looked away. "You're kind of an ass when you're not thinking, but when you do... you're kind of special."
Warren huffed out a small laugh, both continually embarrassed and freshly flattered. Jean-Paul said absolutely nothing lightly. And definitely not something that made him look like he cared. It was the biggest relief to Warren yet. "It's a constant struggle not to become my parents, but I'm not used to it actually fucking with anyone but me." He stepped closer and tried to catch Jean-Paul's eye again. Because he meant it as a promise: "I'll do better."
Jean-Paul finally turned back toward him.
"I believe you'll try," he said. "That's worth a lot, believe it or not. So we'll see how it goes. I don't plan to ditch you."
Warren swallowed his disappointment that it wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement--but there was hope, still. Lots. The only part of him he didn't manage to school into absolute understanding and acceptance were his wings, which drooped sadly. It was a better result than he had any reason to expect, so Warren wasn't about to argue.
He'd make it up to Jean-Paul. Somehow. "Thank you," Warren said quietly. Silently, he added, I'll deserve the second chance. Promise.
