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It was strange that it had taken this long for them to share a room, but with Mr. Joestar always selfishly taking Muhammad for himself, Jean Pierre hadn’t had much of a chance. It took Jean Pierre nearly begging Mr. Joestar to “please let me share a hotel room with Avdol tonight” before Mr. Joestar allowed it, with a very confused and concerned look on his face as he passed Jean Pierre the key.
But there they were, finally. Jean Pierre should’ve been exhausted, but now, with Muhammad gorgeously lying next to him on the queen-sized bed, Jean Pierre felt wide awake. He talked Muhammad’s ears off for an hour, just so excited to spend this time with him. And Muhammad listened, with that adorable, amused smile that kept making Jean Pierre’s stomach flip flop. He had no right to look so perfect and flawless even now. It wasn’t fair.
Eventually, the strain of the journey caught up to Jean Pierre, and he let out a yawn. “I think we should get some sleep,” Muhammad said with a grin.
Jean Pierre pouted. “Do we have to?”
“Yes. We need to keep our energy up.”
Practical, as always, Jean Pierre thought. “Fine. Don’t kick me in your sleep.”
Muhammad laughed. “I assure you, I won’t.”
With a sigh, Jean Pierre flopped over onto his stomach, nuzzling into the pillow until his head sunk in perfectly. He kept his head turned toward Muhammad as he flipped off the light and lay back down. Muhammad lay flat on his back, his hands folded over his stomach. Even his bonnet was positioned perfectly symmetrically over his hair, not even a bit askew. Jean Pierre held back a snort. Figures that he’d be like this even when he’s sleeping.
“Good night, Jean Pierre,” he mumbled, and Jean Pierre tried not to think about how lovely his name sounded in Muhammad’s voice.
Jean Pierre’s eyelids grew heavier, but he kept his eyes locked on Muhammad. The slow and steady rise and fall of his chest was hypnotic, and he couldn’t look away. After a few more minutes, Muhammad’s breathing slowed a bit more, and he began faintly snoring. He was still just as cute now that he’d finally dropped into sleep.
Maybe Jean Pierre should get some sleep, too. He let his eyes drift shut, and—
Creak.
Jean Pierre’s eyes flew back open to see what had made the bed shake like that. If a Stand user had gotten into their room…
But no. It was just Muhammad. He’d rolled over onto his side—kind of. It was hard to tell what position that was, with both of his legs sprawled out in different directions and an arm stretched out over both pillows. His cheek was smooshed against the pillow, making his lips part slightly.
Jean Pierre blinked. This was…surreal. Unsettling. But also the cutest thing he’d ever seen in his entire life. And as if it wasn’t already strange enough, Muhammad shifted again, his legs abruptly swapping positions and his neck craning around for…something. Jean Pierre had no clue how any of this was comfortable for him, but eventually Muhammad must’ve been satisfied because he stilled with a deep, long sigh and returned to his snoring.
Jean Pierre never thought he’d see Muhammad like this. It didn’t suit him—but also, it did? It was nice to see him relaxed for once, the tension that was eternally etched between his eyebrows finally released. This was Muhammad at his most vulnerable, at his most unintentionally honest. And he was even more captivating than before. A drop of drool hung from the corner of Muhammad’s mouth, and all Jean Pierre could think was how wonderful and peaceful he looked.
Smiling again, Jean Pierre tried to shut his eyes once more—but something heavy smacked into him. Jean Pierre gasped as Muhammad’s leg crashed onto his hips and Muhammad’s arm thwacked him across the face. “Ow!”
Muhammad’s eyes burst open. He looked around in confusion—then drew back in horror. “Oh my god—I’m so sorry,” he said, a hand covering his face in shame. “I don’t know how I…are you hurt?”
“No, no,” Jean Pierre said, lightly touching his own face, but the stinging sensation was already dissipating. “Go back to sleep.”
But Muhammad kept biting his lip. “I apologize. Sometimes I get a bit…unbecoming in my sleep.”
The embarrassment on Muhammad’s face and in his voice hurt Jean Pierre much more than when Muhammad had accidentally hit him. “Oh, shut up,” Jean Pierre said, “it was cute.”
“It was—what?”
Now it was Jean Pierre’s turn to blush. “Cute. You were cute.” He was always cute, but Jean Pierre had already blurted out enough embarrassing information for one night.
“I see.” Muhammad allowed himself to scoot a bit closer. “So, you’re not upset?”
“What? Of course not!”
Muhammad hummed. He glanced down at himself, then started to straighten out the hem of his shirt.
Jean Pierre caught his wrist. “I think we should go back to sleep.”
“You sound like me.”
“That’s a pretty high compliment.”
“What—”
Jean Pierre lowered Muhammad’s hand to the mattress and let his fingertips linger for a moment. “Really. Go back to sleep.”
“If you insist,” Muhammad said with a sigh. He was still a bit tense at first, but after a few minutes, the muscles in his face relaxed. This time, he stayed on his side, his legs curled up and one of his hands lightly grasping the blanket.
When Jean Pierre finally dozed off, the word still on his mind was cute.