Work Text:
While you had been walking around the house getting S.P.E.C.S. points from various individuals, you had not forgotten what your main goal was: To date that annoyingly difficult toilet.
You climbed the stairs and made your way to the second-floor bathroom, holding a pair of earphones and an old MP3 player. The Dateviators beamed as you pointed toward the toilet. Jean Loo stirred, springing to life with his usual dramatic flair. A smirk was riddled on his face, only to raise a brow when he saw the human sitting cross-legged on the floor with your ancient tech. “He will not ask of you to entertain him with whatever it is you're doing on the floor,” he announced, readying his Ballcock (that floating ball in the cistern of a toilet, that is the literal name of it). “But he will ask if you're finally ready to take Lil’ Crapper on in that crap battle? Or are you just going to sit there sulking looking like a washed-up DJ?”
“Actually, I’m here to use the toilet.” You reply with a completely straight face, looking at Jean like he had done something.
He suddenly flushes, looking at you with a mix of disgust but more-so embarrassment, shame, something opposed to his usual cocky self.
“A-Ah… he- sees… okay—eh...” He scratches the back of his neck, face red. He opened his mouth to say something more, but your sudden burst of laughter caught him off guard. You wiped a tear from your cheek, grinning.
“I’m just twisting your pipes! I’m just here to warm up before we start crapping (note: COOL RAPPING).” You stare at the toilet man, seemingly proud to catch him at a state.
Jean Loo takes a moment, he scoffs and crosses his arms. “Pah! A warmup? For what? If you aren’t here to battle then to get out of his face, he has no time for such as Lil’ Crapper doesn’t need warming up.” He would wave his hand, annoyed and still embarrassed from that previous response. The man would look at you in frustration, albeit a bit curious about what the plan was.
“Oh, come on, it’s just for a short moment. I brought my tunes! Old mixes I had on my player when I was in high school.” You held up the beat-up MP3 player that you got back from the attic a while ago. “You weren’t the only one in the hip hop scene, I used to burn my own mixes.”
The toilet man seems rather unimpressed. “Didn’t Lil’ Crapper tell you already that he does not hang with posers?”
You just shrugged. “Yeah, but trust me. You’ll like this.” You patted the space beside you. “Come on.” Of course, Jean was reluctant, but he rolls his eyes as he does so. “Bien... but this does not mean Lil’ Crapper respects you. You still must defeat him in battle to earn that.” He leaned in as you untangled the earphones, placing one bud into his ear, and the other in your own.
The bathroom was quiet today. Everyone else was off doing their own thing, and Jean Loo? Well, not that he had other plans, he usually likes to sit with himself to make new prompts or beats for his new piece. It was rather sad, you thought.
“I know human music is probably different from…whatever you guys listen to, but it probably has the same components. Have a listen.”
You hit play, starting the mix. You bopped along to the beats as you recalled that sense of nostalgia you had in your younger years. After a minute or two, you can see Jean himself nod his head as he analyzes the lyrics with a concentrated expression. You sat together for nearly an hour, listening in quiet, comfortable peace, which was different from what you were accustomed to in your meetings. Occasionally, you rap along, even slipping in some freestyle verses of your own.
Jean gave you a strange look, not one you could easily place but it didn’t feel like judgment. If anything, it felt like… acceptance… maybe even enjoyment? “Hmm okay okay… okay okay okay, Jean Loo can appreciate your choice in music. Reminiscent of his own playlist with the likes of the Breezie Boys, 4Pac, T.W.A. (Toilets with Attitude) and even Kurtis Flow.”
You nodded. “I figured you’re more into classics. You seem like the type who respects the roots, appreciating the history behind it and all.”
“Well, yes, but the history of rap isn’t just where Jean Loo’s enthusiasm ends. It is more on the self- expression and freedom that comes with it is what he appreciates about it. Being a wordsmith isn’t just knowing words, it is how you use those words to express how one feels or what one thinks while also having swagger and confidence. It is poetry with style!”
You let him talk, admiring how his bravado melted into genuine passion when he spoke about the art he loved. “You’ve been in the crapping (note: COOL RAPPING) scene for long?”
“As long as Lil’ Crapper can remember.” he answered proudly. “Since he was a little crapper, to say.”
You let out a chuckle. The two of you would then continue with your little music session, as you shared facts about the songs and the artists while he listens to the flow of the song, giving his own take on the beat and what he’d rap with it.
And the more he talked, the more that you understood that he is really is beyond than a toilet with bravado. There was more beneath that porcelain and pride. Getting to learn what is behind that thick ego of his after seeing bits and pieces of that softness he presents ever so rarely. That passion, that softness beneath the ego, was exactly what had drawn you in.
And to him, it was more than he can admit but he was delighted for a time such as this. No other object in the house would give him a time of day just to sit next to him to listen and break down beats. Nobody else ever, really, had curiosity as he did when it came to this art. Somebody willing to listen, past through his being as a pottymouth.
After finishing a verse of his own over one of the beats, you broke the silence with a gentle, curious question. “You don’t suppose you listen to other artists?”
He leaned back a bit. “Old school beats like these are what Lil’ Crapper prefers, but yes. He appreciates some of the new voices too, Marshall Splashers… or Streaminem, as he calls himself. Kendrill Lamar. Earl Wetsh—”
He paused.
The man notices your stare, a small, smug but warm smile at the end of each lip. He then furrows his brows, feeling a bit of red on his ears. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Jean Loo is seeing a strange look in your eyes. He is not comfortable when you look at him like that.”
“But I’m not doing anything. I’m just amazed by your passion for rap is all.”
That seemed to make the man freeze, he then realizes what has been happening. He pondered a moment before he stands quickly, scrambling to put his usual armor back on. “Ahah! He sees what this is now, you are making Lil’ Crapper yap, buttering him up so you can beat him in the final crap! (note: COOL RAP) Well, too bad! Jean Loo will not share further.” He got up almost defensively, face red as he scowls. “Tu es stupide…” He mumbled, and it wasn’t even at you, the scowling, it seemed it was more to himself as if he had thought of himself that he was stupid for falling for that.
You blinked. “Ah—but—”
“No buts!” He snaps, refusing to look at you. “Non, Lil’ Crapper has had enough with the emotional fluff or whatever this is. If you are only here to waste his time, then he might as well cut you off right now.” Jean Loo is as now as red as his plunger, dismissing you easy with a swat of a hand.
You quickly stand, though feeling a shake on your knees from nervousness. “Hey, wait! That’s a bit unfair! You said we’d settle this in the final battle, why are you disqualifying me?!”
He stayed quiet for a moment, back still turned. Then he sighed. He couldn’t actually bring himself to hate you as he believes in you though just a very tiny, small, pushed down version of him thinks so. “Alright, time is up! Come back tomorrow.”
You blink, matching it with a tilt of the head. “We we’re just having a small break, a warm-up! Are we not battling now?”
He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Whatever! This whole situation has ruined Lil’ Crapper’s mood to partake in any battle. Not that he is cowering like a puss, more like you had exhausted all his time to fully enjoy a fulfilling fight. Now go! Lil’ Crapper has some other important things to do, that doesn’t include wasting minutes loitering with you.”
You stood there for a moment before taking in a long breath with a defeated exhale following. “If you say so, I will see you then. And just so you know…” You stood by the door, hand by the frame, “I enjoyed getting to know you.” You gave him one last glance as you left, that warm smile still lingering on your face.
And Jean Loo?
He stood there long after the door closed, arms crossed, but his expression conflicted. Frustrated, flustered, and… maybe just a little bit pleased. After a moment, he glanced down and noticed you'd left the MP3 player behind. He bent to pick it up, hesitating as the screen lit up with the paused track. He scoffed quietly, but there was no malice in it, just a quiet, reluctant fondness. He then tucked the device beside him as he sat back down alone. But this time, he didn’t feel quite as alone as he would press play.