Chapter Text
Constant ringing, the humming of a light fixture above him, the tapping of fingers upon a keyboard and the idle chatter of co-workers. That is the life Jean Loo had gotten used to, his days of trying to be a crapper (Note: Cool rapper) were over. This was the real world, not that itty bitty bathroom with Bathsheba, Rebel, Johnny and Amir. His fingers clacked against his keyboard, bags under his eyes as he rested the phone against his shoulder.
“Yes yes- Jea- I mean- Your finances are doing well Mr. Emanuel” Jean Loo sighed out of his nose as the rather odd man droned on “Yes Mr Emanuel.. I understand.. I'll fax over the details for you immediately.. Yes yes.. Okay, have a good day.” He hung the phone up almost glaring at the thing, he leaned over his desk rubbing his face. He wanted to scream into his hands, but alas if he did so he'd easily be called into the bosses office. He had already caused a bit of trouble around here with his ‘attitude’, the people around here looked down on him. It didn't help that he wasn't exactly jumping to make small talk with anyone, he rarely ever even stood by the water cooler. Mainly because that Mark fellow annoyed him to no end.
He sat back, feeling a couple of his bones pop from having been in that position for so long. He grunts bringing a hand to his shoulder he squeezes and rubs it a bit, he almost missed being a toilet- almost. He leaned back into the same position though, hunched over the desk as he tapped away. Sending the information Mr. Emanuel asked for, once that was done he just.. Sat there. Staring down at his cluttered desk. He tried his best to decorate it so it wouldn't feel so- depressing. A few stickers placed on his keyboard, a mouse pad with some weird design on it, of course his porcelain records set beside him and finally a small bulletin board.
His gaze drifted to it, hands resting crossed atop of the desk droning out the noises around him. Not much was on it, a few post it notes with reminders ‘Call Mr. Emmanuel’ with his number attached, his hand reached to grab it tossing it in the overflowing bin he didn't need it anymore after all. Another post it note with Rebels number on it and a crude message, he wondered for a moment why he even still had that. And a few other reminders ‘Get oil checked’ ‘Tones Pizza 555-7209’ ‘Send report by the end of the week’ ‘Remember freelance gig on Saturday’ ‘Pick up bread, beer, microwave dinner and bodywash’
But one stuck out, one he had to thumbtack on from how old it had gotten. Covered in wrinkles from having attempted to throw it away so many times, the ink slightly worn on the small pink piece of paper was a small message ‘Don't forget to call! 555-4226’ scribbled on somewhat messily he still plays back the memory of getting the piece of paper from time to time.
When he had first become realized, when he had been naive about the real world. Dressed in a golden jacket, a golden hat to match and some baggy pants. He was excited, he could've grabbed MC and kissed them right then and there. Hell he did, his first kiss. In the present his fingers lightly graze his lips, he hadn't kissed anyone since.. Them. He cursed at himself over it, unable to understand why but a part of him knew why the other part just didn't want to accept that.
He rambled on, sitting upon their bed their hands interlocked as he went on and on about his career “Jean Loo can see it now-” a twinkle in his eyes as his hands squeezed theirs “He will have the moderate success with his first few songs.” His cheeks stung a little from just how wide he had been smiling, imagining it all before him. A large crowd, twinkling lights and hundreds- no thousands of people cheering his name “The second album she will be even better!” One of his hands moved away before wrapping around their shoulders, pulling them close “but the third album..!” He paused for dramatic effect, taking in the way they stared at him with the same hope and twinkle “this is the one that will change everything!”
He tried honestly, the day he had walked out with a peck on his cheek, a small photo of MC and a post it note with their number scribbled on it- he immediately went searching for a producer. Having called a couple times for advice, MC led him into freelancing for cash to stay at hotels. Sometimes he'd come back and crash at their place all while on the search for something- anything to start his career off. But when the leaves began to turn from green, to orange to simply falling off the tree back to green again.. It was hard to keep up that hope. Especially when the end of realizing objects came, that took a good year and a half to do. A year and a half and he still hadn't found anyone!
He received advice again ‘maybe you should upload it online?’ They said, almost like a question instead of an answer but- that is what he did he received a small amount of success but it didn't last long. Two porcelain records, a couple trending hashtags, a few people wanting pictures with him while he was out in public then- nothing. It stopped, he became old news. Someone took his place as quickly as he had gained it, he was back to square one. He desperately clung to his crapping (Note: cool rapping) but alas his only responses from that were people calling him ‘cringe’ or ‘fall off’.
He fell into the dumps after that, crashing at MCs place, almost wanting to pull his hair out whenever they talked about how oh so successful everyone else was. He should've seen it coming from then, that was the beginning of the end for them. He became snappy, distant, and just in his own feelings. Freelancing was hardly paying the bills, eventually he went searching for a job and well that's how he ended up here.
He chews the inside of his cheek, finally snapped away from the memory replaying again. He doesn't like thinking of the ending, of what occurred a year ago. Shaking his head he looks back at his computer, tapping away once more before he hears a small knock on his cubicle. He jumps, eyes going wide for a second before a rather annoyed look appears on his face already having a feeling as to who it is “Yes?”
He turns in his swivel chair, propping a leg up on his knee as the other one taps against the floor. There Mark stood with that smile he's sure even Dishy couldn't compete with “hey there champ!” The man says with a small laugh “just wanted to check up on ya, was wondering if you wanted to-” he cuts the man's words off, putting a hand up “non. I have much work to get through.” He states as he places his leg back on the floor, turning his chair back to facing the computer. Mark tsks with an “aww geez really?” The man asks as he runs a hand through his perfectly combed hair “that's a shame, maybe next time yeah Gene?” He asks pointing finger guns at him, getting his name wrong once again for the 40th time. As Mark walks off Jean Loo grumbles “it's Jean Loo, Bâtard stupide.”
Soon enough everyone is leaving, something he's used too. Few say goodbye, others pay him no mind. He always stays late, he could use the extra cash and honestly nothing is waiting for him back home. Well maybe except a cold beer sitting in his empty fridge, or the elderly woman living next door to him that always gives him a wave as she waters her plants. Besides that he has nothing, not even the TV seems to pull him away from work.
He can feel his eyes stinging a little, tapping away as he works on a few reports he had been meaning to fill out and sending a few messages out to his clients. He decides to finally look away, taking a break from staring at the screen to rubbing his eyes. He sits back in his chair, moving himself slightly side to side as he glances down at his shoes. Then to the overflowing trashcan, full of post it notes, wrappers from the burger joint down the street and some empty energy boosters. Then once more his eyes glance at the bulletin board.
Instead of reading over the small words, his eyes drift to the center of it. Small photos were set up. A couple from a few parties MC had hosted, in one he and Johnny were creating a duet together, Freddy, Mitchell and Bodhi in the back, Bodhi covered his ears as the other two seemed engrossed in something else. The other was a [Holiday of choice] party, his arm wrapped around MCs shoulders having been photographed by Memoria in the middle of a kiss between the two. Snow covering the window behind them and a festive display shown around the room.
Then next to those two were scattered photos, one MC had taken as he held his first porcelain record a big old grin on his face he's sure he was jumping in that photo, another of him and Rebel unsure why he even had the photo still. It was just one Rebel had taken, a selfie of the two while Rebel made an obscene gesture. The others were all photos either he or someone else took of his journey so far, for some reason he wanted to document it, maybe to prove he existed, maybe to show the world he's alive, he's experiencing life, he lives, he hurts.. He loves.
Finally in the center sat one picture, one he had snatched from Skylar (more like begged to have) of MC. She had been annoyed but she gave in deciding she could just take another picture to keep close. He's sure most of them have a picture of MC, something to remind them of the person who had been there for them, who had lifted them up, who had been their friend.. Or lover in one case. The photo held the same look as the post it note with their number, crinkled slightly a piece of tape holding one of the corner pieces together and a couple of small tears at the bottom.
He had considered the small photo a good luck charm, he always had it with him panicking whenever he thought he had lost it. At first he kept it in his pocket, his thumb tracing over the image whenever he felt home sick or nervous, then it dangled from a small chain he had placed onto the rearview mirror of his car. Sometimes talking to it idly whenever he was excited, he wasn't crazy just- passing comments or small jokes he knew they wouldn't encourage if he had told them. And now finally it hung on the bulletin board in his small suffocating cubicle. A few times it had almost made its home in the small trashcan under his desk, but every time he'd fish it right back out and pin it back up.
He isn't even too sure about what happened, one day the two talked just about everyday. MC always asking about his day, what he was up to and offering for him to come have dinner or to hang out. Then his dreams began failing, he was forced to become a shitty accountant and all of a sudden everything pissed him off. He was always on edge, always zoning out, always annoyed by the endless droves of clients begging for help and almost as if it had been some shitty joke MC was one of them. Sure it wasn't like they had asked him personally, it was just automatic something out of both of their control. He tried his best to fix their finances, coping with his life by a quick trip to a bar or by a small conversation with MC. But soon those conversations annoyed him, soon the bar became like a second home and eventually everything just boiled over.
He hates thinking about it, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly messing up the collar of his shirt. He could remember their argument, it was after hours he was just a tad bit tipsy sitting by a shitty bar as a football game played on a cheap little flat screen. MC was rambling on and on about their life, everyone else's lives, how oh so successful everyone else had been, how it seemed like everyone else had achieved some form of their dreams but him. Then came the finances talk, they had just asked ‘oh hey, before I forget.. How's my finances looking?’ It was a basic question but for some reason it made his eye twitch and his hands shake a bit. Pure anger, envy even, he spoke in his native tongue his words ever so slightly slurred ‘Vous êtes si ennuyeux.’ Then he hung up.
The next day at work he transferred MC to someone else, removed them as a client and attempted to throw away the little things they still held of them. But he couldn't, after just a few minutes of thinking, tapping on that keyboard and having his eyes go from the screen to the trashcan he sighed, putting the items back up and mentally beating himself up over what he had done. Sure maybe MC would've forgiven him if he had just hung up that night and apologized in the morning, they didn't know much french anyways and even if they did he could've explained himself.. Talked it out instead of jumping the gun like he did. Now he felt so alone, having grown distant from everyone he once considered a friend. He hadn't meant to originally, at first he was just so cocky and arrogant ‘Jean Loo is far too important for people like you’ he would say with a small smug look to the caller ID of Rebel, or Amir whoever before just declining the call and going back to what he was doing. Then too much time had passed, he sometimes wasn't able to attend the gatherings MC hosted and even then he wasn't usually talkative as much as he used to be. Accounting is a draining job.
He doesn't know how long he was staring at that photo, imagining a life with MC he could've had if he just pushed his arrogant attitude aside and actually spoke to them. Maybe he'd be sleeping in the same bed as them, waking up to their face scrunched up against the pillow and drool coming from their mouth. Maybe they'd be having weekly dates at various places, clubs, bars, the local park. Maybe.. Maybe they'd be married, he told himself he wasn't one for kids that they did nothing but annoy him but right now just thinking about it he could've been fine with one if it was with them. Leaning back in his swivel chair he thinks about it, MC there to greet him when he came home, a little bebe calling him ‘papa’ an-
His thoughts get interrupted as the phone rings, almost sounding like the equivalent to a horn being blasted in his ear. He almost falls out of his chair, gripping the small file cabinet he can feel his damn heart beating out of his chest. He takes a couple breaths before looking at the caller ID ‘Mrs Sharon’, ah. He should've guessed, she always calls late for some odd reason. He answers it pressing the phone against his ear “Bonjour Mrs. Sharon” he answers as the elderly voice on the other line fills his ears, the tired worrisome restaurant owner was once again complaining about how her business was failing, her finances looked like shit he'd argue even worse than MCs and of course her partially blaming him. His automatic voice rings in with ‘yes's, I understands and mhms’ all while he taps away on his keyboard.
His mind is truly elsewhere though, entrapped in the past, in what could've been if he had just stopped and thought about what he was doing for a second. His eyes kept glancing over at the photo, the post it note, a tightness in his chest began to form and his adams apple bobbed a bit. Oh god he knows what's happening, he can feel his throat restricting, his eyes getting a little watery and his hands shaking. He's making spelling errors, having to backspace multiple times and re-type what he was trying to put in. He wants to get a grip on himself but he feels he's finally reached his breaking point, two years he had been human and only for three and a quarter months had he achieved his dream. Two years and he had spent a good chunk of it as a damn accountant with co-workers and clients he couldn't even stand. Two years and for half of it he hadn't talked to MC, a whole year he had gone no contact thinking it was best if he just-.. Moved on. He was so stupid.
He can hear the woman on the other side of the phone trying to see if he was still there, he had gone quiet, his automatic responses dying out as his hands stilled on the keyboard. Biting the inside of his cheek as he felt a tear trace down his face until landing on one of the many papers he had on his desk. He didn't give her an answer, hell he would probably be fired but he didn't care. He slammed the phone back down without so much as a ‘goodbye’ or an apology. Quickly standing up he nearly tripped over himself as the chair behind him moved back. He grabbed his coat, his eyes and his wallet and nothing else, he didn't care at the moment he just- he needed to see MC.
He dashed out the cubicle, his shoes hard against the wooden flooring. He opened the double doors, no one in the vicinity to see him in such a state. He jogged to his car, being somewhat careful of the pot holes the company had yet to fix in the parking lot. Throwing his car door open he tossed his jacket and wallet in, his wallet falling to the floor of his car as he hopped in. The car door squeaked a bit from how old it was getting, he hadn't had it long just bought it off some guy so he'd have a ride. He grabbed his keys from his pocket, igniting the car once he had them, watching it come to life before he drove out driving over a pothole just as he turned onto the road and sped down it.
He controlled himself for the moment, his emotions all bashing together but he had some sense to not drive like a maniac down the road. Last thing he needed was to get arrested, if he did he honestly feels he won't have this chance again this ‘courage’ if you can call it that to finally reconnect with MC. There's hardly anyone out, it almost feels dead all around him. Then again it's so late, as he reaches a red light he glances at the clock on his digital radio ‘1:24 AM’ it reads with a station name right above it, just to focus on something else he grabs the small knob and turns it up just as the light turns green.
He continues on as the station plays, a late night talk show playing idly in the background. One he's unable to focus on as his hands grip the wheel, almost zoning out a couple times before snapping himself back into reality. His jaw is tense, he's grinding his teeth and his shoulders are practically up to his goddamn ears. He turns down the familiar road, thankfully able to remember from how many times he's had to crash at MCs place, how many gatherings he was begged by MC to attend. He slows his car down, his headlights slowly hitting the mail boxes as he reads the numbers on them.
A horrible thought crosses his mind.. ‘What if they've left’, it could easily be possible. They had so many other friends, friends who could easily turn into lovers. He wasn't jealous- well maybe a little but he could remember Hectors honeyed words or Fantinas constant fangirling- hell he wouldn't be surprised if MC had ran off to be with Tony even! The more he thinks about it the more he gnaws at the inside of his cheek, a nervous habit he picked up when he thinks too much. Just about everyone else would've treated them better, Skylar, Stepson, Freddy, The Hanks, Parker, Volt and Eddie hell- fucking Amir would've treated them like some etheral god. He's doing it again, he catches himself beating his own self up over his stupid mistakes. Finally his lights flash on the numbers that are ingrained in his mind, MCs address. He turns the wheel parking in the driveway, he sits, thinking, prodding at what the outcome of this would be.
When he walks up on that porch and rings the bell.. What will happen, will a new family open the door claiming the original owner moved away months ago with no idea as to where they went? Will MC open the door with nothing but anger and sorrow, curse him and scream at him to never show his face? Honestly he'd deserve it for being gone so long. Will one of the other objects open the door, claiming to be their new lover the one he couldn't be? Or.. Will MC open the door with the same twinkle in her eye as all his other visits, nothing having changed except for time? He wouldn't deserve that but he selfishly hopes for it.
He takes a deep breath in, unclenching his jaw and relaxing his shoulders. He opens his car door with a creak, stepping out his body feels like jello his legs shake so much he's sure he's about to fall. He steadies himself taking another breath before he walks up onto their porch, some of the lights are on from what he can see. He almost feels he should've brought some sort of peace offering, like flowers or a plushie of some sort. But it's too late now, he brings his hand up to the door and knocks. Standing there for a moment before he knocks again followed by a ringing bell, He's growing nervous he knows it's late but-
Before he could spiral any further the door opens, the light inside basks him making him blink a couple times before his eyes finally land on them. MC stares at him, shock written all over their face before confusion. They're dressed in pajamas, he feels a tiny bit of guilt knowing he most likely woke them up “Jean?” They ask tilting their head to the side, looking him up and down. He almost wants to smile hearing them utter his name, but he doesn't, he's frozen in fact. He doesn't know what to say what to do- he had come here on a whim during a panic attack he's sure just desperate to see their face again but.. Now that he's here what does he say? ‘Jean Loo is sorry for being a dick and ignoring you for the past year, please love him again?’
They stand there for a bit before MC moves, he thinks for a split second they're about to close the door on him- forget he even came here but instead the door remains open, their hand gesturing inside as they hold the door with the other “you.. Wanna come in?” Their voice is almost hesitant and soft, as if trying to invite a frail animal inside. He looks to them, then back inside contemplating for a solid second before his foot meets with the wooden floors of MCs home- his old home. He nods as he steps in, muttering an apology. “Jean Loo is.. Désolé” he sees confusion on their face as they move to close the door, he clears his throat before he speaks up again facing them this time “Jean Loo is sorry for not answering your calls” MC can only nod slowly, looking down at the floor as their arms cross over their chest. Then they perk up a bit “It's.. Alright, I'm just glad to have you back” a small smile forms on MCs lips before they speak up again “are you wanting to stay the night?” He thinks about it for a moment before nodding “yes.. Please Ma chérie”
MC helped him settle on the couch that was once Koa, it still feels odd to not have the man there anymore but he's thankful no one's here to really judge him. MC had given him a pillow and a blanket bidding him goodnight before leaving him with his thoughts, tomorrow he'd fix all of this.. Tomorrow he'd be a new man.