Chapter Text
After becoming Realized, it isn't surprising that everyone would all go their separate ways, exploring the world and trying new things. Some of them manage to reconnect with one another, and with the help of Celia and Florance, a network of Realized objects is born. Initially, they talk about their findings or ask questions about what the others have experienced, but the chatter peters out until it's just them checking in, only saying they're still alive. Although many stopped contacting anyone at all, no one left the network.
Jean Loo is one of those who had stopped sending messages.
His human life is...underwhelming. He has his big dream of rising up in the world of music, but the harsh and brutal reality of evershifting trends and cruel words bashed him deep into the ground before he could ever take off. All of the demos he sent out? Flushed and forgotten. No one could understand his genius. They all say that he's "too crass" and that "toilet humor isn't funny anymore." He has even stooped so low to send an audition to that Valdivian reality talent show he had heard Johnny talk about so long ago when they were all still living in the house.
Nothing. Not even an email back.
He remembered hearing him and the homeowner leaning against each other, watching the segment play out. It infuriated Jean Loo how Johnny, Johnny of all people, with his terrible cat-choking-while-being-ran-over “singing” was chosen to feature in the show, even if it was for a joke reel. But HE—LIL' CRAPPER, JEAN LOO PISSOIR—his talent doesn't even deserve a reply?! What did the shower have back then that Jean Loo doesn't have now? Even if his toilet humor doesn't fit with the audience's tastes, surely his execution of the rap alone should have been noteworthy!
But with his funds running low, too much poured into too many takeouts and music production equipment, Jean Loo needs a backup plan.
Before he had stopped responding to the network at all, he reached out to Dolly, as he had last read that she had gone and made a name for herself in the academic world. He hasn't interacted with her much, but he also understands enough that even if sincerity can't get you everywhere, it at least gets you somewhere. He asks her about how he can head into marine biology. If his number one passion cannot be achieved, then surely his number two could. Dolly, a little perturbed by his sudden call, advises him to start studying.
So, study Jean Loo does.
When objects get realized, they don't come into the world with government approved papers (unless you count the certifications branded into their packaging, or the installation manual booklet that comes with their box when they first arrive at the house.) Luckily, their homeowner's new lofty position at Valdivian meant they were able to pull some strings and get the objects actual identities that are passable enough for them to not raise any flags. Jean Loo keeps his close to his chest. He's not sure if it's a good thing or not that he didn't make it big in the music world, for he's sure that his looks are most definitely unique enough to be remembered. Not a lot of people are naturally born with hair that perpetually has blue frosted tips no matter how long it grows.
So he dyes it.
Black. Entirely generic and boring. It helps that his eyebrows are also black. If not for the red beanie he has taken to wearing in place of his old plunger, he would be completely inconspicuous. He's almost tempted to buy fake glasses to wear just so he can see if it really does help others not recognize the wearer. He read that in comics. As soon as the glasses go on or off the face, BAM! A different person! (He doesn't get the glasses.)
Aside from the part-time jobs he now works to keep himself alive, Jean Loo dives into learning about the most basic things he thinks is required for a marine biology major first. He hauls himself up in the public library, reading about the soaken world he now has the autonomy to try and reach for, all the while with headphones covering his ears so he can block out all the unneeded noise hounding at him, both externally and internally (fuck you, Doug. He's gonna kick a dent in that orb head the next time he sees him). The librarian hooks him up with a library card. He thinks she must have assumed that he's one of those college students down on their luck.
Which, honestly, isn't too far off. He's not in college yet, but he's definitely the latter.
The public library's free computers are serviceable enough for him to look up lecture videos. He has his own laptop of course—can't make music without one—but a mishap with a water bottle has rendered it rather...dead. He would take it to Mac, but the realized computer lives with the human, and he doesn't dare to show his face, not after talking all that about his music career then failing. Jean Loo takes the dead laptop as the universe telling him to focus on his studies.
The number of notebooks on the subjects he finds interesting grows everyday (what do you mean he's made up of all these "cells"? And each of them has the "mitochondria" that powers it?! No wonder he's such a powerhouse!) He eventually expands into mathematics. It's not like it's hard. It's just numbers. Jean Loo now understands even less when he hears the children grumbling about their math homework in the library. Sometimes he walks behind them to get a peek at the pages when he goes by, and it's just some baby shit about fractions and geometry. It's preposterous! You just swap the values around, and put it through the mathematical processes until you get one value left. It's easy!
Ugh, this is why he doesn't like babies. Always so whiny.
He looks up videos about the subjects he saw the kid having trouble with and watches them. He goes to sit opposite of them at the studying table the next time they come. When they collapse—no doubt their tiny little baby brain giving out—he reaches out to tap the top of their page with his mechanical pencil, drawing their attention.
Then he teaches them.
It isn't crapping (note: cool rapping), of which he is the test and not the teacher. Tutoring the kid is much easier. They seem grateful for his help. He doesn't do the work for them, just reminds them about how to apply the formula and watches as they work through it by themself.
The "Thank you, Jean!" sent his way when the kid packs up to go home doesn't get a smile out of him. Shut up. Jean Loo denies the allegation and the knowing look the librarian shoots at him when he leaves.
Their little sessions after school continue for a week. Then another kid appears. Apparently, the two children are friends, and they also have trouble with their math homework. Jean Loo reluctantly lets them join in and tutors both. The new kid isn't as receptive to his teachings as the first, so he has to give them a break every few questions or so. He distracts them during that time by telling them about aquatic animal facts he learned while he was studying on his own in the morning. The kid's friend starts rambling about their own pet goldfish, which they flushed down the toilet to "free" it from the tiny fishbowl their mom had put them in. Jean Loo snaps at them. He tells them that the fish doesn't go to the ocean like how the dumb fish movie showed them. If they want to give the fish true happiness, they should have gotten it a bigger tank with proper oxygen, food, and environment instead.
His lecture on proper fish care brings down the mood too much. Jean Loo sees that the kid's friend is nearly in tears from guilt alone, so he changes the subject. He gives a funny fact about the little pink octopus from the movie, then about the coral reef. He talks about how cool it would be to ride on a ray's back and go on a tour of the ocean. The first kid blurts out how they're kind of like that right now. Jean is their teacher, and they're like the...the...
"Guppies?"
The child nods enthusiastically at his suggested word and claims that they are his guppies. It is so unbearably cute that Jean Loo fails to restrain the smile and light blush that surfaces at the insinuation. He supposes that he doesn't mind it. He did bring this upon himself by deciding to start tutoring kids.
He won't ever say that out loud though.
After a month, the "guppies" group grows. Jean Loo has four little guppies following him now. They put little goldfish stickers on their notebooks, and even gave him one to put on his pencil case, along with a little crown to show that he is the leader of the group. The librarian lets him use one of the meeting rooms for their sessions and happily helps him locate the books they need. It is so gratifying to be surrounded by people who admire and want him for...well, him. Even if they're kids and not fans of his music like he had initially hoped. Perhaps, maybe it feels even better because they are kids. They're honest.
Eventually, the kids' parents find out about him.
It's entirely by accident. It's the weekend and Jean Loo is just out at the supermarket, browsing frozen meals, when he feels a tug at his jacket. He turns to find one of his guppies looking up at him with a bright smile.
The child's mother rushes over with an apology. Jean Loo reassures her that it's alright and kneels down to chat with the kid. They tell him happily about a recent math quiz they aced. They wanted to show him the quiz paper when they metmeet again on Monday. He congratulates them sincerely (though of course he praises himself more for being such a good teacher), and they puff out their chest adorably at his words. The mother asks him then, about his relations with her child. His guppy chirps about how he's been tutoring them and their group of friends at the library, after school. The mother gasps and thanks him profusely. She asks if he works there, but at his refusal, it unleashes a deluge of even more apologies from her, clearly her maternal instincts turn up to eleven. A kind, tired, young man, busy with his own studies, takes on the role of teacher for her struggling child every single weekday afternoon for free eats frozen, microwaved meals?! This cannot stand!!
The next time they gather for a session, the mother is waiting for him outside the library. She hands him a tupperware of food, saying he can return the container tomorrow. It is still warm.
It's just simple spaghetti bolognese. It's the first homecooked meal he has had in months.
Jean Loo may or may not have cried. There is no evidence.
The pasta is a little too salty and wet for his taste.
The other kids see him giving the empty and clean box back. (The least he can do is wash it before he returns it.) They ask their friend what it is for, and the next day they all bring him their own tupperware of food, all saying they are gifts from their parents. He tells them that he cannot finish all of the food overnight and comments on how they're all dinner foods. He thanks them all the same and accepts the offered meals. He can portion these out over the course of the week.
A month later, Jean Loo has worked out a system of some sort with the kids. Or rather, the parents have worked out a system for him. He doesn't know how they do it, but each guppy would bring him more varied dishes, and even ingredients! It's hilarious to see a child pull out a bundle of bananas out of their backpack out of nowhere, and hand it to him with the most innocent smile on their face, chirping that it's for breakfast. One kid gives him a loaf of bread and cheese, while another gives him a pack of ham and a bunch of sauce packets. The two having coordinated to give him ingredients to make a sandwich. The librarian allows him to use the employee's breakroom to heat up the food he gets and eat there when he doesn't have any shifts at his part-time job, and can stay at the library all day. Every Friday evening, one of the guppies' parents would invite him over for dinner. They say that it's so they can get to know their child's tutor a bit more and to ask about the learning progress. By the time he takes his leave, a tote bag full of containers of food labeled "leftovers" would be waiting on the kitchen counter (though there would always seem to be equal if not more food in them than the dinner he just had), the parents urging him to take them home and enjoy it over the weekend. By Monday, they would get the clean containers back, and the children would excitedly ask him what he did over the weekend before they begin the session, and later tell them about what they all did.
The tote bag eventually switches from a plain beige one to a dark blue one, the same shade as deep waters, with a sloppily-painted orange goldfish swimming along; One big goldfish in the lead, and four smaller ones following behind.
They gifted it to him along with an acrylic keychain of a little, semi-translucent golden crown, to hang on the straps.
He actually does cry at that, standing with his face downturned, one hand gripping the bag's fabric hard enough that his knuckles go white and the other pressing down on his eyes in a physical effort to staunch the tears. The kids all hug him and laugh at how his ugly crying face is so like the baby he teased them to be so much. Jean Loo tells them to shut up and leave him alone, but they're stubborn, nasty children. They hug him tighter and laugh even louder.
They may be his guppies, but he has never felt more like the one being taken care of than this moment.
And Jean Loo finds himself...not minding it as much as he first thought.