Chapter Text
The city is loud with the streets unclean. Vendors from every corner trying to make you buy their goods made with horse spit and beaver nails. Walking is discouraged and the fares for transportation are ridiculous. Turn a blind eye and may God help that you are not bleeding for your life with money stolen. It is unbelievable this cesspool of Hell has grown this large in this country. Je n'aime pas cet endroit.
An email detailing his experiences—or his torture— in New York City was sent to Julien Beaumont's employers. It was written at his leisure on the damp stairway of an apartment complex. A world of ache and pains made its home on his back; a successor of the past and mark of the present. His main interests for the past year in New York were mostly to leave, but a discrepancy in his contract left him with tied hands. Slowly, the buzzing monitor of Julien's laptop lost its spark and closed in on itself, earning a heaving sigh from him. He stood up and slid the laptop into his bag as he began walking his way down to another apartment complex—the one he called home.
It was a peculiar spectacle, to say the least. A city of opportunity, order, and harmony. The most diverse of communities with warm, open hands to welcome you into its bustling squares. Modest pay, but an experience that would change your psyche and refresh your face with newfound joy. Skepticism was to be considered, but an envelope full of additional notes was enough for the round-trip to the land of Promise. A deal with the devil Himself: four thousand extra Euros in exchange for what was to come. Bribery for him to come here? Surely, they jest in the possibility of cruelty in this divine city.
Julien walked up two steps at a time in the spiraling staircase of his building. The monotone buzz of the electric lamps was his company as he made his ascent, ascending to grace and descending from it as he would walk down the stairs to begin a new day. The carpet underneath his feet shifted against the force of his feet pushing their minuscule strands side by side. No matter the repetition of his schedule, Julien always felt as if he was clambering up a ladder of infinity. It was of necessity that he needed to reaffirm himself the days, quietly, until his deliverance from evil. Boldly, he stepped his foot onto the floor he was meant to be. His eyes were dauntless compared to the endlessness of the hallway. The buzz left as the only companion he was made to be with was his bag, wielding the only communication to the world outside. It reminded him of when he believed the musty hotel room was the worst to come out of this place. Hilarant. Down the carpet and to the sides, then one may find where their door resides. The creator of the rhyme was one of the few friends Julien had: Gabriel Dupont. It was annoyingly catchy with Gabriel constantly reiterating its usefulness when finding your hotel door. When asked to convert it to something more elegant like French, he shook his head. He was, as he said, a "limited bilingual". A legitimate excuse or a stray away from his incompetence was always the question whenever it came back to his head. Whatever the reason, his rhyme had aided him in finding a normal wooden door. It was plated in fake gold, plastering "974" as its identity. Many times he enjoyed its appearance; other times, it was a reminder that this was the place he would sleep. Its lock beckoned for a key, and with it, it slid open in the affirmation that it was indeed its owner calling for it to open. It creaked open in a familiar tune as dim lights flooded Julien's ey-
"Heya, froggy," cracked a faint voice, completely ruining the cinematic theme. There, lounging on an unassuming plush chair, laid Oscar Mayworth. A man full of volition and alcohol, he lazed around in his preferred chair and sometimes read a good book, stopping due to the lack of French understanding required to even read the material Julien left lying around. He had a warm smile to all with no ulterior motive, but often showed people he couldn't pour water out of a boot if the instructions were on the heel. Nonetheless, he dawdled at Julien's tired structure from his seat. The latter arched an unamused eyebrow with his lips following suit. His demeanor earned a patented Nervous Oscar Laugh™ as Julien placed his laptop bag on a nearby round table, disregarding the silverware inhabitants. Oscar diverted his attention to twirling and fiddling with a fancy pen he found laying around, ignoring the blue-and-white elephant in the room.
"Good evening, cheeseburger," retorted Julien. The mood for ridiculous banter had long faded and his thoughts and feelings alike were more for eating and sleeping. In his mind, life had simplified itself into simply survival. For others, however, he believed any opposition to this mindset was there to aggravate him. It came as no surprise that Oscar fit this sacred criteria. He dawdled back, clacking his pen.
"How was your... uhh... shooting? The camera kind?"
"To be eloquently put: horrible."
"Wanna hear about my day?"
"Did you do something aside from job searching and sleeping in between?"
"Yeah, actually. I learned some French to finally read those damn books you constantly bring back."
"Ah, très bien. Which one did you decide to read?"
"Think it was something called 'L'univers de la Lingerie Française', or something like that," he answered with a butchering on the pronunciation. Alas, it was still enough to send a cold shiver up the back of Julien, who turned back slowly with a worried half-smile.
"HOWMUCHDIDYOUREAD?" sputtered Julien quickly. The outburst caused Oscar to mildly jump from his seat. He opened the drawer to the table beside him, revealing the book. Julien scooted himself over to the drawer awkwardly before snatching the book and tossing it behind him. It made a bang on the wall as the pages went flying, plopping on the carpet floor.
"Lots of BIG words not made for Mr. Cheeseburger, froggy. Didn't understand much, but it was just some weird catalog for clothes," elaborated Oscar disappointedly. Julien heaved a sigh, letting down his shoulders. He didn't know if his blood pressure was getting higher or beginning to boil as he looked back at Oscar. It was beyond him that he was making a very weird expression: a mix of disdain, discomfort, confusion, humor, and joy all at once. Oscar was the first to take notice of this. It was the snickering that made him get caught red-handed by Julien's pearly whites.
"As I was saying," he coughed, catching Oscar's attention once more. "-today was disappointing. We have made no progress and I'm still binded by contract to be here."
"At least you still got me!"
"My standards aren't that low."
"Pfft, yeah, but I know what you are."
"Aside from reading one of the only books I didn't want you to read, did you do something today?"
"I went grocery shopping."
"Where'd you get the money?"
"Everything is free if you're sneaky enough!" exclaimed Oscar, cracking a smile and pointing at Julien. He looked in dumbfoundment.
"Oh, goodness. What did you take this time?"
"Some $225 dollar wine from that cellar place! They told me the experience was like going to heaven!"
"...You stole wine?" said Julien curiously. Oscar stood up from his seat and dusted himself off as he looked at him with a smile.
"Yeah! Figured that since you hate New York so much, I'd get you something to... relax." Oscar replied, moving his way to the small kitchen. "It's in the fridge."
"I could've paid for it..."
"Well, I couldn't, soooooo..." shrugged Oscar as he pulled out the frigid bottle. "Here it is!"
"Hold on, hold on. Red or white?"
"Why? You got favorite colors?"
"That is too cold. Red and white wines have different serving temperatures. We have no tumblers as well," explained Julien politely, taking the bottle and examining its label. "It would be nice, but improper drinking is the key to a ruined experience."
"Ooooh, you're a wine snob."
"I've had more than enough of this during this trip, thank you very much. There is the difference of feeling like a truck is on your chest the next morning or feeling like you're ready for another week or two."
"Well, lucky for you, I also stole those silly fancy wine glasses you were asking for," proclaimed Oscar triumphantly, opening a cabinet to reveal two perfectly sized tumblers. Julien looked in disbelief, putting down the wine bottle on the dining table. "Oh yeah, it's also red wine."
"Hm. Well, good job then. You've done something right for once."
"Merci!"
"You weren't even close that time."
"I know, but you always look so happy when you're correcting me."
"...It's merci."
It was a normal night like any other, for any other. Quieter at night, the city still gloomed its life on all of its inhabitants. Creatures stirred amongst them all, scurrying to their destinations. So happy to say that in the Light of Julien, he was no longer one of these men. He was as free as one could be, with the taste of an eternally fermenting grape on his mind. To say the same for Oscar? Not so. But what of him would be concerning to Julien, the true victor of this elegant prize? He drank from his teat and had his fill before placing it back down. A groan to tremor them all was let out from his throat.
"La nuit est encore jeune, mon ami," sputtered out Julien. Oscar gagged and dribbled a line of the wine as he lazed over a drunk eye. "Comment pouvez-vous déjà arrêter?"
"H-yeah? Man, honestly? This is-*hic*! This...? Waaaaaay too strong. Think I'll stick to....... the place. The... uhm. The uhm... Hmm... The bar. Yeah," he monologued, groggily stirring the last of his glass. He followed Julien and placed his glass next to his carefully as to not shatter it. His hands shook with a clouded mind. A queer feeling of hostility and discomfort with others came over him, drowning his psyche. Any attempts to re-orient himself were faced with bouts of nausea strong enough to knock out an elephant.
"C'est ton sixième verre, Oscar. Tu as bu trop vite," explained Julien. "Please, drink less and slower."
Oscar nodded without understanding much. The action was nothing short of regrettable as he realized that his eyes had lost track of where the world was and began spinning around. Colors blurred themselves as sounds slurred into incomprehensible garble. His body attempted to move itself without the aid of its most helpful senses, successfully getting itself onto its feet. It was short-lived, and a one-way trip the floor later, he found himself a new home on the carpet.
"...Julieeeeen?" Oscar groaned lowly. The man of mint corrected his sitting position before looking at Oscar. "Be a pal and... I dunno.... I need to fucking nap."
He looked back at him and with judgemental eyes, he looked back down. Julien's mind came to a small train of thought: Oscar never heeded his warnings of drinking slowly, and now he was the victim of his own actions. Letting him soil away at his own arrogance would've been a sweet treat to pair along with his glass. It would teach an invaluable lesson of slow enjoyment. He might've even stopped calling him unsavory nicknames, which piled on into something similar to the infinity of the hotel staircase. But, alas, cruelty was unlike Julien Beaumont, for his pride amounted to more than ruthlessness. He reached down a lone hand to his one-and-only's face. He looked back up at Julien, who wore a mild smile.
"Before I change my mind," he said with a hint of sarcasm. Oscar was more than willing to not test his patience and grasped his hand, pulling himself up to where Julien was sitting. It was a successful struggle for he heaved a great sigh, relieved that he wasn't going to be sleeping on the floor that night. He used a single arm to prop himself up on the arm of the chair before Julien coughed to catch his attention.
"Mmm... hhhhh-yeah?" asked Oscar slowly, his head turning along.
"Lay on my lap," offered Julien. Steadily, Oscar gave a groggy grin.
"Pfffffftt... I'm fiiiiiiiiine. Alllll the guys want me, so you know that's true."
"Non?"
"I'd love to."
"Relax, then," hushed Julien, beckoning the other to do as such. His eyes followed Oscar's figure, who placed a hand on his lap shortly before letting his head also lay on it. The feeling was cold and clammy in his left leg, however minimal compared to his affections towards Oscar. He felt his back bend inwards from the grasp Oscar had, which was surprisingly strong considering his inebriated state. He sat there in silence as the two felt each other's warmth. Some time down, chuckles could be heard coming from below, but his ears were never able to confirm whether it was a figment of his imagination or of reality.
"Heeeey, froggy," suddenly spouted Oscar, lifting his head up. Julien widened his eyes and looked at him as he pointed to his display. In mathematic gibberish, it read "π €^0_ | !". Julien winced in ultimate disappointment.
"Hm?"
"Soooo cool...."
"I don't follow."
"Read it upside down!" explained Oscar in a surprising moment of sobriety, off-setting the confusion in Julien's face. He crooked his head to see it from a new perspective, which slowly brought him to smile. He took a left hand and mildly rubbed the back of Oscar's head, bringing it back down to his lap.
"Je t’aime pour toujours," muttered Julien in response. "Pour toujours."
He looked to the grey wall that encompassed his home. Betwixt it was his belongings and a TV, the both of which stayed in their rightful places. He prepared to stand up to put away the tumblers before hearing a snore come from his lap, backing him down. Drool dribbled out of his lips and onto his leg where Julien did not look in disgust, but rather in endearment. He put his head back and looked at the room once more, reminiscing on key memories. He sighed, yawned, and his eyelids went droopy.
Then, the world went dark.