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Johnny jolts when the front door to the apartment slams open.
He jumps again when it slams shut.
Amir clicks his tongue and centres Johnny back on the stool. He’s cutting his hair, partially under duress, after the bangs got on Johnny’s nerves. It only cost Johnny a hundred bucks and a vow to sing strictly between 9am and 5pm while Amir is conveniently at work.
Speaking of work… Johnny frowns as he considers the culprit of the door slamming. He’s here, and Amir’s here, and there’s only one other person who has keys to their apartment, so it must be Jean. Which is confusing, considering he oughta have two more hours of work left.
“If you break that door, you will pay for it,” Amir calls out, snipping away at the curls around Johnny’s ears. “Again.”
There is only silence as a response.
Johnny chews his lip nervously.
“Honey, you alright?”
There’s a small shuffle, but then… more silence.
Johnny starts to rise from the stool, but Amir growls low in his throat and shoves him back down.
“Johnny, if you move again, I will shave your hair off in your sleep,” he says through gritted teeth. Johnny rolls his eyes; he knows the threat holds no weight as Amir would rather die than inflict such violence towards someone’s beauty.
“Hey, pretty baby, don’t forget,” he retorts irritably, though he keeps still. “I know just where you stash your lotions and potions!”
“Urgh, a stalemate with you of all people,” Amir mutters, “how embarrassing.”
Johnny is about to tease him some more when he’s interrupted by the fourth person in their apartment.
“Hey, dollface!” Tony calls out, strolling into the kitchen with a pleased grin on his face. Johnny had almost forgotten he called Tony over to fix his shower; it had been running cold for three days now, and Tony’s finally found time to sort it out. “Ol’ Tony got your pipes workin’ like new. Now c’mon, what do we say, huh?” He looks at Johnny expectantly, a roguish grin plastered across his handsome face.
“Thank you, Tony!” Johnny recites obediently, rolling his eyes as Tony flexes at him.
“Ay, yo, I’m wonderin’ what else Tony can fix for ya, huh?” Tony asks, but he’s not looking at Johnny. He has his eyes firmly on Amir; it’s not surprising, honestly. Amir is probably one of the prettiest people Johnny has ever met. Plus… Johnny thinks Tony breaks more than he fixes at their apartment, just so he has an excuse to come around and bother Amir.
Either that or it’s Amir breaking things instead.
Johnny’s not sure which one is more likely.
“Oh, don’t you have things to fix for Tina?” Amir answers pointedly, snipping away at the back of Johnny’s hair. Johnny had initially been worried that he would mess his hair up in some embarrassing way, but the mere suggestion had greatly offended Amir, who takes hair and beauty very seriously. “I’m sure Tina has jobs for you.”
“Tina Schmina,” Tony rolls his eyes, placing his toolbox on the counter. “We broke up again, y’know, ‘cause she’s all mad that I got nominated for some fancy award for Fix It Ton’ or whatever. It’s like I always tell my Contractresses: jealousy, it’s like a poison, right? It spices up a relationship... or maybe it ruins it. Eh, who the hell knows? I can’t keep track of these things.”
Johnny feels Amir tense up behind him.
“Contractresses?” Johnny asks, his tongue clumsy with pronunciation.
“It’s his ridiculous name for his ridiculous fan club of bored housewives,” Amir says, running his fingers through Johnny’s hair, ruffling it to dismantle loose locks. It would feel nice, but there’s an anger to his movements that has Johnny wincing whenever Amir snags a knot.
“How do you know that?” Johnny asks.
“Yeah, dollface, how do you know that?” Tony grins.
Amir’s fingers freeze in Johnny’s hair before he snatches them away with a huff.
“I— uh, that is— Bathsheba, obviously!” Amir says forcefully, but even Johnny can taste the lies that fall from his tongue. “She— she is friends with Tina, so obviously she would tell me trivial things like this! That is how I know, obviously.”
“You said obviously three times there, darlin’,” Johnny muses.
“Do not give me reports on how I speak, you tone-deaf hack!”
“You keepin’ tabs on ol’ Tony, Amir? A pretty thing like you would fit right in with my Contractresses,” Tony says, then he bites his lip and glances down at Johnny. “You too, dollface, don’t think I ain’t rememberin’ I got two pretty things in front of me.”
Johnny flushes, opening his mouth to retort that he ain’t anyone’s pretty thing but Jean’s, when he’s cut off by a blur storming through the kitchen. It’s a blur of white and blue, with a frustrated aura rolling off them.
It’s Jean.
He ignores them all in favour of opening the fridge to grab an energy drink. Then, without a single word uttered, he stalks out, his face pink and his mouth twisted with anger. Johnny didn’t get much of a chance to take in his expression, but he knows he saw a suspiciously wet gleam in Jean’s eyes, too.
There’s a beat of silence.
Amir clicks his tongue loudly, but Johnny is already slipping from his stool before he can pass verbal judgment. He thinks Amir is finished with his hair anyway, and even if not, Johnny can always style it out later. As he walks out of the kitchen, it becomes clear quickly that Johnny has ceased to exist anyway.
“So, you sure you ain’t got anythin you need Tony for, pretty boy?” he hears Tony purr at Amir.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, you amusing boor,” Amir remarks, and okay, Johnny isn’t going back into the kitchen for a good hour or so.
He quickens his step as he walks down the hallway towards Jean’s room. The door is shut, and Johnny chews his lip as he holds up his hand to knock. He pauses, however, eyes scanning the grooves in the wood and the chips in the paint. Leaning forwards, Johnny tries to hear any sign of life behind the door; he wrinkles his nose when all he hears are the dulcet tones of Tony and Amir flirting in the kitchen.
With a heavy sigh, Johnny knocks on the door.
“You alright there, angel?”
He’s answered with silence.
Worry simmers in his stomach, and he considers leaving Jean to it… but Johnny knows him better than that. He’s hurting, and though he will probably never admit it, he needs Johnny.
Swallowing down his nerves, Johnny slowly opens the door.
“I’m comin’ in,” he says, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.
Johnny frowns when he walks into a dark room; the curtains are closed, and there’s an odd musky scent that tells him the window hasn’t been opened for a while. The source of the sad scent lies in the middle of the bed, curled up and quivering slightly. The energy drink sits unopened on his bedside table.
“Oh, gorgeous,” he murmurs, padding over to sit on the edge of the bed. Jean’s face is buried in his arms. His hair looks oily and limp, and his blue nail varnish is chipped, nails bitten down to the quick. His fingers also appear red and slightly swollen. Johnny frowns and inwardly plans a little pampering session for his sad honey. Slowly, he lies down next to Jean and begins stroking a firm hand down his back.
“Had a bad day, darlin’?” he asks lightly.
Jean sniffs.
“Why are you here?” he asks, voice muffled against his arms.
Johnny blinks. “Where else would I be?” he says.
“With Tony,” Jean replies bitterly.
“Oh, I ain’t goin’ back in there for a while,” Johnny says, shaking his head before awful mental images begin forming. “I don’t wanna know what he’s doin’ to Amir.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Amir?”
“Yeah, you couldn’t tell? He’s been real sweet on Amir for a long time,” Johnny says, before he smirks to himself. “You know, I think Amir has a thang for him, too.”
Jean snorts out a wet, little laugh, his whole body shaking.
“You don’t say, chaton,” Jean murmurs, tilting his head to the side. Johnny’s heart aches at the sight of his face. Swollen eyes, chapped lips and cheeks damp with tears. He reaches across and gently wipes some of them away, feeling something burn in his chest.
Johnny ain’t a violent man… but he could be.
For Jean.
“What happened, angel?” he says, as soft as a whisper. “You tell Johnny what made his pretty baby so sad.”
Jean huffs and moves closer, his words coming out in a rasp.
“Stacks on Jean Loo’s desk, got no time to breathe / drowning in receipts, can’t find no reprieve / crunchin’ all these numbers, lost in the grind / but his soul’s on empty, peace hard to find,” he raps, the words stunted and empty. Johnny chews his lip, unsure of what Jean might want from him; he’s never seen him this small. He’s always known Jean was struggling with his job, but he didn’t realise it was this bad.
For a second, Jean’s expression looks lost and unsure, then it twists to anger as he shows Johnny his hand. “They also told Jean Loo to get rid of his nail polish, as if Jean Loo should be some empty canvas, vacant of, uh, expression !” Which explains the state of his hands and nails. Johnny frowns and leans over to press a kiss to them, his nose wrinkling as he tastes acetone. He pulls back and sees Jean glaring at his own hands, his eyes drier but no less red. “They try to break Jean Loo down, chip away at him and force him to become some, some, some fantôme insipide!”
Johnny swallows uselessly, unable to find the words that could make this all better.
“Want some alone time, angel?” he asks.
Jean’s hands whip out quickly, his fingers curling around Johnny’s shirt, desperate and clinging. Johnny glances across to see large, wet eyes and feels his heart shatter.
“Don’t go.”
“Oh, darlin’,” Johnny sighs, before he moves to lie next to Jean on the bed. Though their dynamics tend to lead with him being the one following Jean’s instruction, Johnny finds himself taking control quite easily here. “Come here.” Jean audibly swallows and then presses in close, tucking his head under Johnny’s chin as his hands curl around Johnny’s back, holding tight onto his shirt. “Want me to tell you about the time my darned dog Duke got into the pantry and ruined Mama’s Thanksgiving dinner? She really flipped her lid, and I mean that literally. Mama took that lid and flipped the whole goshdarned table with it, I ain’t ever seen her that mad—!”
He continues to speak as he strokes Jean’s back. Johnny doesn’t mention the lingering dampness on his collarbone, nor does he bring up the slowing quiver in Jean’s body. He just speaks, aimlessly, sharing stories of life on a farm in Nashville and growing up in a large, traditional family. Jean has never talked about his childhood, and sometimes Johnny wants to prod and get to know him better.
Most times, he knows better not to.
“—and I think that’s why Duke couldn’t eat no good no more,” he continues blithely, keeping up a soothing stroke along Jean’s spine. “He had this thang where we had to order this super fancy organic stuff, Mama was ragin’ up a storm where she saw how expensive it wa—”
A slender finger presses against Johnny’s lips softly, quietening the words on his tongue.
“Honey?” he prompts, muffled. He resists the urge to suck Jean’s finger into his mouth, especially when Jean looks up at him with wide, vulnerable eyes.
“Jean Loo is ready to reveal his sad backstory,” he says, before he pauses, pursing his lips. “His sad backstory of today, that is.”
Johnny nods encouragingly.
“Jean Loo gets called into his manager’s office. C'est un tyran de bureau! He berates Jean Loo for not reaching his targets, like he cares about such nothingness! He blames Jean Loo for his image, says he is not un professionnel sérieux, as if he even wants that! Then, he gets an email from Pipe Dreams Production who tell him his album does not fit their vision, when that is not the point! Jean Loo exceeds visions; he does not match them like some baby game of snapping the cards!” Jean rants, moving his hands to hold onto Johnny’s shirt again, fingers curling tighter as every spiteful, pained word leaves his mouth. “And then, Jean Loo comes home to see another man calling his chaton pretty?”
“Tony?” Johnny wrinkles his nose. “I don’t think he was really hittin’ on me—”
“And then Jean Loo finds out the abruti was not even flirting with his Johnny, but Amir!” Jean spits out. “Which is even more embarrassing, so now he is contemplating throwing himself out of the window from shame.”
“Well,” Johnny utters, “don’t do that.”
“Of course he will not do that,” Jean scoffs, rolling his eyes. “He has four more albums to release and three awards to eventually win before his inevitable death. Then, he shall win seven more posthumous awards and probably have a whole new awards category named after him.”
Johnny can’t stop himself; Jean is just being too sweet.
He gathers Jean up into his arms and presses kiss after kiss on his face, peppering his nose and cheeks with pecks of utter adoration.
“Ack, Jean Loo is under attack from chaton’s lips,” Jean says, batting at Johnny with sweet snickers. “Who will come and rescue this handsome rapper?”
“No one is coming to save you,” Johnny murmurs, capturing Jean’s lips in a deep kiss. Jean’s tongue slides in deep, tangling with his in a manner which has Johnny sighing dreamily. He sucks on it softly before pulling away. Jean’s eyes have cleared of sadness, and Johnny is relieved to see the familiar sparkle has returned to them. “Feel better, angel? Need me to do anythin' else?”
“Non, this is enough,” Jean says, shifting closer and throwing an arm around Johnny’s waist. Johnny hums and slides his arm tighter against Jean’s back, pulling him in to press a final kiss to his forehead.
“Are you sure?” he asks. “‘Cause listen, baby, I can’t twist a producer’s arm to take your music, but I can tell Amir to keep his little boy toy on a shorter leash. Your job, though…”
“Oui, it is tricky, eh?” Jean says, before he taps out a short beat on Johnny’s collarbones. “Stuck in this job, but his mind’s on the bleu / dreamin’ of the ocean, where he could start nouveau / clock keeps tickin’, but his heart’s loin d’ici / marine biology, that is where he longs to be, chaton chéri.” His voice grows quieter, but his little admission has Johnny’s brows rising in surprise.
“Marine biology?” he prompts, as Jean has never expressed an interest in such a thing before. He wonders what else is lurkin’ under Jean’s pretty exterior.
“Oui, it was his passion growing up. La mer, so beautiful,” Jean sighs longingly. “Jean Loo used to go down to the beach every day after school; he wrote his first raps about the waves and how he would crush his enemies by drowning them all in the deep.”
“Why didn’t you go for it?” Johnny asks.
There’s a small beat of silence when Jean ducks his head and hides it against Johnny’s collarbone.
“…Jean Loo, he is not smart enough,” he says, which has that familiar burning ire bubbling in Johnny’s gut again; Johnny takes a sharp intake of breath, but breathes it out steadily when he feels Jean freeze in his arms. He doesn’t want Jean to think he’s angry at him, but gosh… Johnny is angry at someone.
“Now hey, who the heck told you that, darlin’?” he asks, drumming a mindless beat along Jean’s spine.
“Doesn’t matter,” Jean shrugs.
“But… you’re an accountant?” Johnny says, his mind bogglin’ with the idea that anyone thinks Jean ain’t smart or good enough to anythin’ he wants. “Ain’t you gotta be clever to do that job?”
“Jean Loo supposes,” he says, “but Jean Loo’s charlatan of a manager would say otherwise.”
“Listen,” Johnny says, already halfway through writing a cutting email for Jean’s manager in his mind. “I ain’t failed med school twice to not know what a clever fella looks like!” Jean Loo breathes out a bitter laugh.
“It is more respectable than being a marine biologist.”
“Gorgeous, since when have you ever cared about being reh-speck-tah-bluh?” Johnny asks, stressing the terrible pronunciation on purpose, with a small smile in his voice.
“Oh, you make Jean Loo so mad when you butcher his beautiful language so and—” Jean pauses and glances up at Johnny, visibly recognising what Johnny is trying to do. It takes a moment, but then a grin spreads on his face as he laughs. “Oh! Oh, hoh, hoh! You are right! Jean Loo has allowed himself to wallow in self-misery for too long! Well, not anymore! He will quit his job in the morning; he will no longer be held back by amateurs en costume-cravate! He is going to be the world’s greatest marine biologist rapper ever!”
“Probably the first, too,” Johnny adds, dropping all his worries in the light of Jean’s joy.
“He is to be the first and the best?” Jean asks, his eyes glimmering with excitement. “They will have to create new awards, just for this trailblazer!”
Johnny smiles warmly as Jean kneels up to straddle him, holding an imaginary microphone to his mouth. “Yo, yo! Yo, yo, yo, Jean Loo dives in the ocean, he’s the king of the sea / les poissons be flexin’, swimmin’ wild and free / riffs glow like jewels, he studies the deep / marine life’s his game, better know he won’t sleep!”
Jean looks beautiful atop him, face alight with life once more. His eyes are bright with joy, and Johnny wishes to take a photo of this moment. He also thinks about their next steps; they’ll have to find some colleges nearby, probably scholarships too, although Johnny does have some money saved up from the past few weddings he officiated. It will be hard, ‘cause marine biology doesn’t sound like it’ll be a breeze, but Johnny will be there for him.
Through sleepless nights.
Through studying for exams.
Through the inevitable anger and tears and frustration.
Through the excitement and the joy.
Through the failures and the successes.
Johnny will be there for him.
“Jean Loo will ace marine bio, while that connard files taxes / he’ll tell his boss ‘va te faire’, keep your blah blah blah and your stats!”
He watches Jean Loo dance and perform on his lap and idly wonders—
“He’s takin’ home trophies, “le roi ” of the tide / champion of la mer, récompenses on the ride!”
—if Jean has ever visited an aquarium.