Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Jean Pierre Polnareff is dating a college girl,” came the voice of a young girl with a cherubic face. She sat at the small circular table, wearing a teasing grin.

“Really? Since when?." Kakyoin sat by her in their tiny apartment, in a room that was small, less in the cozy sense and more in the ‘mold in every corner’ sense.

“How old are you now, Jean, like 32?” Jotaro added across from him, arms crossed over his chest. 

“I’m not playing your little games, kids,” Jean said where he stood, the air around his radiating extreme smugness. 

Kakyoin and Jotaro looked at each other knowingly. Jotaro continued, “So you’ve been out of school like 9 years and–” 

“–I’m 26! 26!”

“And the girl you’re seeing still worries about midterms and sororities.”

“What does one even do when dating someone that young?” Kakyoin said, propping his head up with his hand. 

“You’re acting as if there’s a massive gap between us! She’s 20, I think,” Jean tried to defend his honor.

“Have you guys like, ‘done it’ yet?” asked Anne, largely forgotten in the conversation. Most likely she wouldn’t really talk to them were it not for the fact that she, equipped with the money most kids would use to pay for dorms, was splitting the rent with Kakyoin in the apartment. 

“I’m not answering that coming from you.”

“Then I’ll ask. Have you?” Jotaro cut in. 

“How perverse of you. Boys, I’m a gentleman.”

“...So no." 

“...We hold hands on the bus sometimes. She tried to kiss my cheek but got embarrassed.”

Barely restraining a laugh, Kakyoin gathered the will to be polite. “How did you meet her?”

“I believe I mentioned the bus.”

A few nights ago, on the bus the formidable Jean sat, drawing images in the window fog. Formidable images. 

“How about Chaka?” a woman with a faintly Arabic accent said to a girl next to her. 

“Mamaaaa, I’m not interested in that stuff,” a girl beside her whined. A paper bag sat in her lap, clutched so tightly it may as well have ripped from pressure. 

“You’re 20! It’s time to start thinking about boys.” 

“Mama!” she cried out, leading the bag to finally rip. Books spill out, eliciting a groan from her. Going to pick them up, she heard the voice. 

“Hey.”

“Hm?” she looked up. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Who picked up the books? A bass solo that no band would ever add to a song could be heard in the distance. Looking up, she saw a man with a prouder face and taller hair than most. None other than the very formidable Jean Pierre Polnareff! 26 years old. Rating: Awesome. 

“And that’s the story,” Jean finished, now sitting at the circular table. 

“Is that seriously it?” Jotaro deadpanned. “You met on the bus with her mom?”

“Yes.” At least, how he remembered it. 

— — — — — 

Jotaro and Jean trekked side by side in the snow in silence. Until Jean predictably found it too much to bear. “So?”

“So, what?” Jotaro replied, turning the corner to where their shitty shared apartment was.

“Anything to say about my conquest? My first relationship in like, a year?”

The door swung open. “No.” Jotaro hung his coat before walking to his armchair. 

“Come on! I’m putting my heart on the line again. This is the part where you congratulate me." 

“I don’t think riding the bus with a girl constitutes a relationship." 

Polnareff took off his shoes and coats as well, instead flopping down on their floor mattress. “I don’t care what you say. I feel revitalized! Motivated!”

“Motivated to get your own place? Or even your own stuff?" 

“Uhhh…” His gaze moved around the one bedroom that made up their “apartment." Lying around there were many items: the mattress (Jotaro’s), armchair (Jotaro), bookshelf and television (Jotaro), abandoned rapier in the corner (Jean),  computer(Jotaro), and biology textbooks (also Jotaro). “That poster is mine,” he said as he pointed to a lame poster above the bed.

Jotaro said nothing, instead grabbing something small from his pants pocket. 

“Those cigarettes are mine!”

“I paid for them.” He looked out the window at the snowy Toronto sky. “You’re totally my bitch forever, JP." Jotaro Kujo. 24 year old homosexual roommate. Rating: 7.5/10

— — — — —

“You have to promise to be good,” Jean said, now standing beside the girl from the bus. 

“Of course I’ll be good,” she assured him. Her dark brown hair was up in a quick ponytail, framing her golden brown skin. 

“No, really, please be good.” 

“Am I normally not?”

“You promise to be good?"

“I–”

“Why are you standing around outside?” Kakyoin asked, opening the door. 

“Oh, hey.” Jean straightened up. “This is Midler Kamal. Midler, this is Noriaki, he’s the talent. Can we come in? It’s cold.” 

Kakyoin stepped aside to let them. Midler turned to face him. “He made me promise to be good.” 

“He may have been kidding. Are you normally bad?”

“I thought I was okay…” 

Jean continued in. “Jotaro, this is Midler.” 

Midler entered slowly behind him, taking off her coat and waving at the drummer. “Hi, sorry, what was your name?”

“...Jotaro Kujo.” 

“And you play the drums.” 

Jotaro sat at the back of the room, at his drumset. “Yes.” 

Midler sat herself on the couch opposite to the band. “That is so awesome.” 

From the corner, Anne lurked out into where they generally practice. “Hey dude,” Jean addressed, grabbing his bass. “Midler, this is little Annie." 

Anne sat on the couch next to the newcomer, unamused. “Anne Zhou,” she said to the other girl. 

“What do you play?” Midler asked with a smile. 

“Nothing, I just live here." 

“Oh." 

“We should start with Luck n’ Pluck," Jean said to his bandmates. 

“That’s not the actual song title,” Kakyoin addressed their captive audience, strapped into his guitar.

“We are the Stardust Crusaders!” Jotaro yelled, clacking his drum sticks together. “One, two, three, four!”  

With their instruments plugged in and loose concepts of a song, they began to play. Whatever was lacking in technical skill or synchronization, all members made up for in enthusiasm. The beating of the drums pounded through in quick succession, powerful and precise thumps to each hit. On the guitar, each string was plucked with care, Kakyoin’s hands reaching notes from all reaches of the fretboard. The bass was played almost jovially, but with an undeniably quick skill that managed to keep up with the already punishing beat of the drums. 

Once or twice while playing, the excitement had gotten to them and led their stands to manifest. But even when kept in check, the energy was virtually the same, as if they were being channeled into the music. 

The song came to a close quickly. Jean took a deep breath. 

“That was way too fast,” Kakyoin frowned. 

Jotaro grinned slightly. “Boo-hoo, pussy boy.”

Kakyoin rolled his eyes fondly. “Let’s just do it again.”

And they did. Another three times, until they were all basically drained. Anne could not care less, looking down at her sidekick and most likely texting one of her friends; Midler stared at them like they had just shown her the first ever demos for Abbey Road. She seemed to understand the supernatural, soul-drawn energy that had filled the room. Anne on the other hand, had always looked at their practice sessions with apathy, and yet never bothered to leave the house. 

“I can’t even… like, wow,” Midler gushed, now outside with Jean. “You guys like… rock.” They walked side by side to the bus stop. “Stardust Crusaders… Wow” 

“Yeah," Jean patted her on the back. “I’ll, uh, come get you after class tomorrow, okay?”

She nodded, smiling wide. 

Afterwards, they all sat around in the bedroom, the three of them lounging on Kakyoin’s bed(this one with a bedframe!). “She seems nice.” Kakyoin finally broke the ice. 

“You think so?” Jean said, puffing out his chest slightly in pride. 

“...” Jotaro stared into the distance, seemingly considering something. “Polnareff, are you really happy or really evil?"

“What? Like I have ulterior motives or something?” 

Jotaro said nothing. 

Jean clutched his shirt in offense. “Are you saying I’m a user!?”

“Yeah, okay." The room fell into silence.

“I’m offended, Jo.”

“Wounded, even?” Kakyoin suggested to his left. 

“Hurt, Jojo.” 

“Never mind, okay?” Jotaro tugged his hat downward. 

“What school does she go to?” Anne finally spoke, having been sat at the desk on the only computer in the entire apartment. “I’ve never seen her around.” 

“Uhhh…” Jean tried to grasp the name. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Kakyoin said, smiling softly in amusement. 

“No, I know it! I remember it’s different from Sherry’s… The… community college…?” 

“Which one?” Jotaro asked. 

Jean crossed his arms. “I didn’t come here to be interrogated. I know how to get there, at least…" 

— — — — —

Riiiiiing!

The sound echoed throughout the apartment. 

Riiiiiing!

The phone knew no end, only continuous ringing. 

Riiiiing!

Jean picked up the landline, still half asleep. ."..Hello?”

“Jean? Did I wake you up? It’s 11:34." Sherry Polnareff. 21 years old. Rating: Less cool younger sister.

“Uhh…." 

“Don’t you have a job? At that dojo?”

."..I don’t wanna talk about it." 

“Pfft, okay.” She messed with something that sounded paper-like on her end of the line “What’s this about you dating some barely legal girl?”

“She, she’s 20!! And how did you know!?” Jean sat up so quickly it hurt his sleep-addled brain. 

“Anne told me." 

“That little brat.” 

“Yeah. I called last night but you were at band practice or something. Anyway, scandal!”

“Whatever.” he stood up, rolling his shoulders, still stiff from his wayward sleeping. 

“Don’t ‘whatever’ me. Who is this mystery chick?”

“Her name is Midler." 

“Midler what?”

“...Kamal.”

“Arabic?”

“Egyptian.” 

“Egyptian?? Just wait until maman hears about this.”

“Mama’s in France! I ain’t scared!”

“A 20 year old Egyptian college girl… You’re ridiculous, Jean."

“She apparently belly dances, too…”

“What!? In the skimpy clothes and everything!?”

“I don’t know! I think so? It’s just something she mentioned…” 

“Oh my God. You haven’t…”

“No, no, no. Mon dieu, no. We haven’t even kissed.” 

The other line went silent for a bit. “Jean… Why are you doing this? It’s been over a year since-”

“I’m not doing this again.”

“Shut up, I’m just worried. Is this you genuinely moving on or are you just being insane?” 

“...I’ll let you know when I figure that out,” Jean sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “She’s just… nice. It’s simple.” 

“I get it. I know what college girls are like.” 

“Sher, you are a college girl.” 

“Who dates other college girls. That's 2 points of knowledge to your none.”

“Goodbye, Sherry.” 

“Bye, creep.” 

— — — — —

The snow crunched under the boots of the two siblings as they walked down the Toronto streets. “I shouldn’t have let you come,” Jean grumbled, adjusting his scarf. 

“No, you shouldn’t have said you’d walk me and hang out with her at the same time,” Sherry said, at his side. Her skin was pale and she stood relatively tall and lean, but that pale skin was contrasted by dark waves that framed her face; it in turn was similar to Jean’s in its button nose and sharp cheekbones and different in her dazzling grey eyes, with actual eyebrows above them. “Now I get to reap the rewards." 

“There’s just something nuclear about you two meeting." 

“Nuclear or just shameful?" 

Jean forced himself to look forward and just keep walking to the gate. They stopped just in front, scanning the crowd for Midler. People of various walks of life poured out from the brick walls of one of the many buildings that made up the community college. Everyone from all walks of life attended the school, flunked middle aged hipsters, college kids who ran out of options, mothers fresh out of divorce, and old people trying to keep the hamster wheel of life spinning. 

“Jean!” a college kid out of options called out. She ran over to him and Sherry. “Heyyyy!” 

“Hey, what’s up?” he said, gesturing at Sherry. “This is my younger sister; I’ve told you about her.”

She extended a hand to the taller girl. “Hi, I’m Midler. Do you want to know what girls in my classes I think are gay?”

Sherry took the hand gladly, smirking. “Yes, do any of them wear glasses?”

The mortification of his sister meeting his girlfriend hit Jean like a truck. “Okay, that’s enough, you can go now, Sher…”

“What? You promised to walk me to work!”

He lightly pushed her in the general direction of the street, as if Midler was a new toy he didn’t want to share. “You’ll be okay, just hold on to the pepper spray I bought you." 

“This sucks. You suck.” 

Midler took Jean’s arm, holding him close. “I promise I’ll give you the inside scoop on all the cute girls next time I see you, Sherry.” 

Sherry came close to her, looking into her eyes solemnly. “You’re too good for him. Run.” 

“Okay, thank you Sher, that’s enough!” Jean shooed her. 

“Byeeeee!” She crossed the street, looking unbearably pleased with herself. 

“She’s funny,” Midler commented beside him. “Can we get pizza? I’m starving.” 

They began to walk. “Yeah… Funny,” Jean said, willing himself to relax. 

— — — — —

They walked along the Toronto streets, now both holding matching slices of pizza. Midler often talked about her study group and the situation she had found herself roped into. “So basically, Fugo thinks we’re all gonna fail the next test… and he keeps yelling at everyone but I don’t actually know what he’s saying”. 

“Your friends crack me up”. 

“Hey, I wouldn’t call them friends. I’m only there for the Spanish help… and it’s probably my fault for assuming Italians would be good at Spanish class anyway”. 

Polishing off his pizza, Jean pointed to a store. “Wanna go to Goodwill?”

“Sure!”. 

Goodwill always had that permeating smell of dust and condensation. Like you felt the need to put yourself into a washing machine upon leaving. As they entered, Midler held his arm tightly, tucked into his side. “But, yeah, study group was basically fun today. At least interesting. Their group is kind of suspicious but I guess that’s part of the foreign exchange deal”. 

“It’s like you guys have your own little mafia,” Jean walked up to the clothes hangers, moving some items aside to look at them. He never really thrifted for clothes… with the exception of some coats and t-shirts he would stumble upon. 

“Pretty much”, Midler giggled. She looked around the store, joining him in his perusing. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in one of these”. 

“It isn’t really all that”. 

“Most of this stuff is bad. But like, not in the hilarious way”. 

“Pretty much”. 

They moved on to the CDs, searching for anything salvageable amidst the many abandoned Christmas albums and completely unknown nobodies. “So, your band…” Midler begins, picking up yet another Michael Buble album before putting it back down with a disgusted face. 

“It’s not really my band. It’s mostly a Kakyoin thing”. 

“Is his name Kakyoin or Noriaki because it seems like you guys really call him either one…”

“Uh… both? I don’t know, maybe it’s just a Japanese thing… him and Jotaro call me both names too”. 

“Whoever’s band it is, I really like it”. 

Jean tried his best not to let that go to his head. He failed miserably. “Well, thanks”. 

“I don’t listen to that much music”, she picked up a Metallica album. “I mean, I knew a lot of kids who play piano or whatever but you guys rock”.

“I knew I personally rocked but I never suspected we rocked as a unit. Thank you, Midler”. 

A while of browsing later, they made their way through the city. With the snow crunching under their feet, Midler decided to speak again. “What I meant to say earlier was that I’ve never gone out with anyone so talented”. 

“Have you gone out with a lot of guys?” Jean intertwined their fingers. 

She thought about it then giggled. “No!” 

“Yeah so, whatever, man!”

She lapsed back into silence. It was oddly pretty, the end of winter hopefully nearing and the sun in the sky making the snow slowly melt as it set over the horizon. The familiar streets of Toronto turned from buildings and shops to residential homes. Still empty trees cast shadows on the street that gave you something to look down on, like a maze of darkness on the asphalt. 

“I’ve never even kissed a guy”, she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

He would have said ‘me neither’, but that would have been a lie… “That’s alright”, he said reassuringly, putting an arm around her shoulders. 

— — — — —

Jean saw himself in a large, open desert. He saw peaks and inclines of golden sand all around. Was that a pyramid? “Oh…" he called, stumbling over. He felt a thirst… but not in his throat. His slow steps carried him to what looked like a red tent. “Oh god… I’m so alone," he bemoaned to the great expanse, burying his face in the velvet fabric. 

He felt himself drop to his knees, the phantom sensation of heat beating on his exposed back. His heart constricted with a coil made up of every conflicting feeling he had been subject to for the last 2 years. 

“Oh god," he continued. “I’m so—" 

“Be quiet.” 

“Wha?” Jean looked up. The tent’s entrance flapped slightly open to reveal a table with a man sitting with his back to the opening. 

“You’re not alone, you’re just having an idiotic dream,” the same deep, warm voice said again. 

Jean stood up shakily. He could only see the man from behind, his broad back and parts of his mahogany skin. At the back of the tent, ‘The Magician’ was written in lights. “I’m dreaming?." 

The man turned his head, just enough for Jean to catch a glimpse of his face, big eyes and even bigger eyebrows creating a stern visage. The tent—and all of reality, for that matter—seemed to begin to fade away. 

“If this is a dream, can we make out?” Jean called, just before everything went blank. Opening his eyes, he was still in the same room as he had fallen asleep in. 

— — — — —

“I can’t describe it… It was just bizarre," Jean recounted, struggling with his chopsticks. 

“How is that different from any other dream?” Kakyoin asked, sitting across from him. He reached into the shared sushi boat none of them could afford and grabbed the last piece of salmon nigiri, movements ever graceful. 

“I don’t know. I just don’t think I could have come up with something like that.” 

“Usually when you dream about weird stuff, you kick me,” Jotaro reached over to grab a maki roll, using chopsticks adorned by a cute little helper at the top. 

Kakyoin looked at his boyfriend doubtfully. “You actually agree with him?”

“No. I’m just saying that it is kind of weird." 

“Maybe he’s just started sleeping better." 

Jean finally put the chopsticks down, now wishing he also had a cute chopstick helper. Suddenly, he was struck by a realization. “Shit, I was meant to meet Midler to help her out at the library!” he stood up. 

“What about your part of the bill?” Jotaro demanded. 

“Oh, right… Please? I’ll pay you back.” 

“You don’t even pay rent.” 

Kakyoin lifted a hand. “I’ll cover it.” 

“That just means you’ll goad me into covering it.”

“It’ll be worth your while,” he said, winking at the other. Jotaro just looked down, covering his eyes with his hat as he muttered something to himself. 

“I owe you, Nori!” Jean said before dashing off. Pushing through the doors of the restaurant, he began to run until he saw the familiar sign of the bus stop. Still empty save for a few people waiting around. He sat, sighing in relief. 

Sitting down and sighing in relief, he was now left alone with his thoughts. Yes, logically Kakyoin and Jotaro were right (as always, because they were awful), but he couldn’t shake the fact that there was a sign in his dream. And more importantly, that there was more than just beauty to the glimpse of the Magician’s face he caught. 

When he got off the bus, Midler’s smiling face awaited him. She waved enthusiastically. “You ready?” she asked. 

“Yup." Jean forced a smile. “So ready.” 

— — — — —

Jean imagined the library to be a palace of dust and some ancient tomes he didn’t have to intelligence stat to access. In reality, it was a run down thing with a varying number of useful resources across topics that really had to be divided in half to determine how much of the content was relevant. He had no reason to travel its carpeted halls, and even when he did need a book he just tagged along to abuse Jotaro’s campus library.

“Okay, this should do it,” Midler said, sliding one last volume into Jean’s awaiting arms. 

“This is so weird…” he said to himself. 

“What’s weird?”

“Libraries always remind me of school.” 

They began to descend the stairs together. “That must seem like forever ago.”  

“Ugh… let’s not talk about that.” Jean adjusted the weight of the books in his arms, which he had offered to carry out of some misguided sense of chivalry. Then again, he knew the practical application of having him carry things was about 12% of his appeal to women. It was what made his luck marginally worse with men. 

Turning the corner down the stairs, there was a checkout desk. This in it of itself was not significant. That had likely always been there, in Jean’s limited memory. 

What had definitely not always been there was potentially the most beautiful man in the world who had mysteriously haunted Jean’s sleep. Jean was so entranced by the miracle of his Canadian tax dollars and their manifestation in the form of the man, that he didn’t even notice the fact that they now stood on the other side of said man. 

Midler coughed. “Hello? I need to check out." She elbowed him. 

“Oh, right," Jean squeaked, putting the books on the counter. He forced himself to stop staring at the man due to the amount of brain fog the split in reality was causing him. He couldn’t make out what the mystery man was saying, but the voice was definitely the same. 

The checkout was a blur. Once they were out of the library, Midler addressed him again. “Do you know that guy?” she asked, juvenile jealousy creeping into her tone. 

“No… I… don’t think so,” Jean said as they walked on the asphalt, once again relegated to carrying the books. He hadn’t even noticed. 

— — — — —

“Jean…” Kakyoin began. “You only played one note during that whole song.” 

Jean looked down at his bass. “Oh. Uh, my hand slipped?”

“Is your girlfriend distracting you?”

“I can be quieter…” Midler said, face tinged with embarrassment. He had forgotten she was there. 

“Let’s do that one again," Kakyoin said, sighing. 

Jean nodded, not trusting himself to form words at the moment. 

— — — — —

He was performing. He was not playing in a band, rather doing tricks and maneuvers with his sword. He had not touched his rapier in almost two months. He knew to the day how long, and yet couldn’t make out why. Getting fired probably had something to do with it. 

The details of how he got on stage were hazy. Everything seemed to be covered in slightly yellowed film. 

Someone, maybe a scantily clad assistant, tossed a couple of flaming coins in the air. He moved on instinct, as if he were the Chariot itself. His sword pierced not only the metal but also the flame, wedging itself between the oxygen molecules. 

He heard loud cheering somewhere in the crowd. Amidst the people, she sat, clapping. Upon seeing her face, the cheering suddenly took on a different context. Rather than encouraging, it seemed cruel. A twisted grin made itself known on her elegant features, the default way in which Jean imagined her face these days. 

One other person in the crowd actually had a face. It was Magical Mystery Man. He had a table in front of him, somehow, draped around the square edge with the velvet fabric of his tent. He seemed to be shuffling cards of some sort, looking down at his work without a care for the display. 

“I’m dreaming," Jean said. 

“Good call," the man replied. 

Jean awoke after a soft opening of the eyes. The room was dark. Jotaro snored softly beside him. “Wha…?"

— — — — —

“I’m colddddd,” Jean whined, the night air chilly around him and his friends. 

“It’s like, spring out,” Jotaro said, blowing out both smoke from his cigarette and a cloud of condensation. 

“Where are we goingggg?”

Kakyoin rolled his eyes. “I told you like 50 times already." 

“Well, I forgot, okay?!" 

“Not my problem.”

Jean blinked. “So where-”

“I’m seriously not even telling you anymore." 

“We’re going to that party, dumbass," Jotaro finally revealed. 

“At Devo’s," Anne added, trailing a bit behind all of them. 

“Shit," Jean said to no one in particular. 

The house was a crammed and sweaty place, the party an agonizing affair. Jean’s head was still twisted up from his dreams and waking nightmares, and the lack of alcohol in his system did nothing to aid that. But all he could really do was get a beer to drink, which would not aid him. What he’d do for a shot right about now…

He walked until he found Anne, talking to someone who was either 30 or attending the same college as her and forgetting to shave. “This party sucks. I’m going to pee out of boredom,” he told her. 

She put a hand between them, despite the large distance he had already left. “Don’t talk to me, doofus.”

Jean ignored her, walking in search of a bathroom. Near the stairs, he caught sight of Chaka. The boy was terminally shy, until he got any sort of substance in him. He insisted when sober it was possession. Or he would, if it was possible for one to insist in whispers. 

Alcoholism aside, his unassuming nature allowed him to know most anyone in town. 

“Hey, Chaka,” Jean leaned over the banister. 

“Heyyyy, Johnny,” Chaka slurred, looking up at him. “Wanna fight? I got a new saber. The ghost in me is dying to try out.” The aforementioned ‘ghost’ was probably the bottle of gin he was cradling like a newborn. 

“Not today. Say, this is gonna sound weird, but do you know a guy with earrings like this?” Jean made a gesture like a necklace, only one that began at his ears. It was the most striking feature he could describe (besides the man’s overall imposing aura). 

“You mean Avdol? He doesn’t usually dress like that, I think." 

“Uhhh, I don’t know, maybe?”

“Yeah, man. Mohammed Avdol. Someone — hic — said he was coming tonight. You should look around here." 

Jean straightened up. “You mean he’s here? I gotta look for him.” He took off without a goodbye, not that Chaka was lucid enough to really care. The crowds all looked the same, familiar yet distant. Technically people that ran in the same circles, that he should recognize by now. Through plaster hallways, he weaved. 

Until he saw him.

Leaned up against the wall, he stood. This ‘Avdol’. He was taller than Jean recalled. And he looked different from the dreams. His hair was styled like normal, bantu knots atop his head and a singular, rather long loc at the back of his head. He truly didn’t wear the earring-necklace combo, but instead just large engraved gold earrings and a similar necklace with blue tassels. Rather than flowing robes, he had a white button up with a dark red cardigan over it. 

His face, however, was just the same. Thick eyebrows and doe eyes that seemed to contradict each other in his stern countenance, a flat-bridged nose, and plush lips. Jean had never noticed before, but his face also had two twin markings, squiggling lines on either side that began under his eyes and reached down to his soft jawline. Jean yearned to stick his nose under there, see how far the lines went and plant a kiss on that spot. 

Most of all, the man had the same intoxicating air of mysterious maturity to him that seemed to pull Jean in like he was a gaping fish. 

Which at the moment, he was. Jean forced his mouth to close, garnering the courage to walk and similarly lean on the wall. He cleared his throat. “Hey, what’s up?” he attempted to make his voice sound as smooth and confident as possible. 

Avdol looked at him with a furrowed brow. “Nothing." 

Jean looked around for something to maintain the conversation. “I like your necklace. It reminds me of something, but I can’t remember what…”

“Thank you," Avdol looked down at the necklace in question, a circular piece of gold engraved with something. “I got it in Egypt." 

Saying ‘my college girlfriend is Egyptian’ probably wouldn’t bode well for Jean in this instance. “Oh. You know fencing?”

“The sport? Yes.”

“Well, uh, the earliest records of fencing actually date back to like 12 century BC in egypt… under Ramsy or whatever his name is. There’s a temple with a drawing of guys hitting each other with sticks wearing masks. Which is basically fencing, so…”

“Interesting," Avdol said, although it seemed like it was more out of politeness. 

."..Am I dreaming?”

“What?" 

An incredibly awkward silence fell over them. “I’ll leave you alone forever now," Jean pushed himself off the wall, mortified. 

“Thank you," he heard Avdol say quietly as he left. 

Jean proceeded to stalk him from afar until he left the party.

“Dude, I’m totally not dreaming," he grabbed Anne by the shoulders once he saw the other man leave. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

“He’s totally real!”

“Who?”

“Never mind." Jean released her. “I gotta find Chaka again." Before she could reply, he took off to search for him. He looked around the party, where some people were already slowly leaving. Predictably he found his (sort of) friend slumped over on the staircase. He poked him with his boot. 

“Huh?” Chaka mumbled. 

Jean thrust a Red Bull in his direction, sitting down beside him on the stairs. “Okay, okay, what do you know about him?”

Most of the vigor had been sapped from Chaka, as he began to slowly sip at his Red Bull. “Ok, uhm, I think he moved here from New York. But, he, he’s not from there. I think. I don’t know if he moved here or is just visiting. Maybe you should ask Oingo and Boingo. I saw them talking earlier."

Wordlessly, Jean stood up in search of the duo. Predictably, they were standing around some corner. Oingo, an incredibly mischievous-looking guy who seemed perpetually enrolled in university even though Jean was pretty sure they were the same age. He had some misguided ambitions of being a comedian, primarily drawing upon his ability to do impressions of people at roughly 78% accuracy. He was always accompanied by his younger brother, Boingo, someone who probably had no business being at a party like this. The younger boy never said a word to anyone but his brother basically, always scratching away in a sketchbook. Somehow, his prospects were better than his older brother, already on his 2nd year of art school despite being 17. 

“Hey, do you guys know Mohammed Avdol?”

Oingo looked down from where he had been fiddling with an orange. “Devo introduced me to her. All I really paid attention to was his voice, honestly. Way too deep for me." Boingo leaned up and whispered something in his brother’s ear. “Oh! I think he has a boyfriend, so forget about it." 

“Who said my intentions were romantic?!” Jean defended, clutching his chest. 

“He totally has a guy back in New York," came Boingo’s very meek voice. “Give it up." 

Jean huffed, turning on his heel. He had a psycho party host to find. 

He found Devo by a bookshelf, talking to Jotaro. Devo was probably one of the people around Toronto Jean had known the longest, a thought that sickened him. He was a forensics major, so he and Jotaro would often talk about their respective biological interests. There was no getting rid of Devo from Jean’s life. “Hey, Dee, who invited Mohammed Avdol?”

A calm yet unsettling smile grew on Devo’s scarred face. "...Me, Pol." 

“How do you know him? I thought he was from New York?”

“He just moved here," he said. His voice was somehow scarier when it was smooth than when it was directly manic. “He got a job at the library. I saw him a few times when I needed to get books for my–" a mad giggle escaped him, “–research." 

“... And you made friends with him because you make friends with everyone?”

“Pretty much!”

“Didn’t you say he just went through a big break up or something?” Jotaro said, taking a drag of his cigarette. 

“... Yes." Devo’s expression turned deathly serious. “But I didn’t want him to know that, Jotaro." 

“Whoops." Jotaro’s voice held no apology. Wordlessly, he held out his pack of cigarettes to Jean. 

“Did he really?” A smile began to crawl its way onto Jean’s face. He gratefully took and lit one.

“Polnareff, I expressly forbid you from dating him." 

“Why? I’ve been so good!" 

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” Jotaro raised an eyebrow. 

“My point exactly,” Devo said, rubbing one of the scars on his knuckles. “He’s too good for you, Jean. Let’s leave it at that. I’m not even sure if he really did have a big breakup. He’s kind of vague about it, so I had to piece it together intuitively.” 

“I don’t know what it is about that guy," Jean began again, sighing dreamily. “He just–”

“Forget it, Polnareff!”

— — — — —

Jean woke up slowly, rising up from the mattress like a mummy. “Guh… Bacon?”

“Yeah," Jotaro said from the kitchen. “Are you hungover?”

“I don’t get drunk anymore, remember?”

“Oh. Right. Well, I am. So no bacon for you.”

“Come on!” They wind up sitting on the rug, eating their breakfast in silence. Jean chewed his eggs thoughtfully. He stared into the distance, determined. “I’m gonna go to the library today.” 

“Seriously? Over a guy you saw in your dreams?”

“I didn’t just see him, Jotaro. He spoke to me. Whatever magic he does to get in my head, it’s working.”

“Right, well, you’re missing something pretty important if you want to bother him,” Jotaro said, standing up with his plate.

“And what is that?”

“A library card.” 

Jean swallowed the remainder of his food, putting his plate down. He stood up. “I’m going.” 

Despite having gotten ready at a breakneck pace, Jean lost all momentum as soon as he was out the door. What sort of uneducated fool would he seem like if he showed up without a library card to talk to some guy? He’d seem like some pseudointellectual horndog! Turning left on the street instead of carrying forward, he made a quick tweak in his plans. 

The Second Cup was empty enough. “Jean? You know I can’t get you another free muffin when it’s been like two days, right? There’s a cooldown period with these things,” Sherry said, leaning over the display case of goodies. She put down her flip phone. 

“No, I came with cash today. And a hope that I could steal you for a quick chat.” 

“I guess,” she said, but she was already untying her apron. She grabbed a piece of lemon pound cake from the display with a napkin, placing it on a table. She took her own iced coffee with her on the way over.

Jean took the hint and sat down. He grabbed his very cool leather wallet, worth more than the money inside it, and pulled out a 5. “Keep the change.” 

“So. What’s up?” she asked, getting right to the point. 

“I went to a party yesterday.”

“I know. Devo told me.” 

He suddenly realized he was talking about the guy he wasn’t supposed to date at the place of employment of the person who forbade it. “Is he, uhm, working today?”

“Not until like 3.” 

“Okay. So, there I am at the party when I see this guy.” 

“Guy, okay…,” she seemed vaguely spaced out. 

“I think I’ve been having recurring dreams about him. And I saw him at the library too, like, working there? And…”

“Library… Can I pretend this is about a girl? Girls are prettier.”

“So I’m at the party and there he is!”

“There she is…”

“I think fate like brought us together,” Jean concluded. “I’ve never seen anyone like him. Mohammed…”

“...Pretty sure there’s a million of those,” Sherry said, sipping her iced coffee. “So, what now?”

“I was gonna go to the library, but I don’t have a card… Do you?”

“Pft, no. I use the university for that. But I think you can get it delivered to you." 

“Hm… delivered," Jean thought on it for a second. “... He had this necklace on too. It had a symbol engraved. It was… loopy. But I felt like I had seen it before.”

“Descriptive. Can you draw it for me? I don’t want this to be my official break and my manager is lurking.” 

To her frustration, Jean yoinked the pen from her hair. He drew out the symbol as he remembered it, an oblong rounded shape that pinched into a line and a line splitting that line. “There," he turned the paper to show her. 

She stood up, putting her hair back into a ponytail. “... Jean, that’s an ankh. You know it from The Mummy? Remember?”

“Woah, I guess I do,” he looked at his own handiwork, amazed. 

She put a hand on his shoulder, giving it an affectionate squeeze. “Good luck with that, I guess. If you do get a shot with this girl–”

“Guy." 

“Right, guy. My point is, don’t pursue him without dumping your girl, kay?”

“Yeah, yeah," Jean said, already distracted by his lemon cake. 

— — — — —

“Jotaro, what’s the website for the local library?” Jean asked, already sitting at the computer. 

“Did you take your shoes off?” Jotaro asked, walking over with a newspaper to sit on the armchair. 

“Whoops,” Jean kicked his winter boots off, before settling back down on the floor. “What’s the website?”

“It’s all the same. Just search ‘Toronto library card’.” 

“Got it…” he got to typing. 

“So what exactly is your plan here?” Jotaro opened his newspaper, eyes scanning the paper apathetically. “Have you been struck with the sudden urge to read?”

Jean ignored him, trying to make sense of the website. 

“Polnareff.” 

“Huh? Sorry, I didn’t hear you. Hey, I can just use your ID info that’s already in here.” 

The look in Jotaro’s eyes is withering. “Sure.” He lit himself a cigarette. 

‘You’ve got mail!’ a little electronic voice called to Jean once he was done with the bureaucracy of the library. He turned excitedly to Jotaro. “Dude, this thing says I’ve got mail!”

“Whatever." 

“Dude, now I’m reading it!”

Jotaro grumbled something that sounded awfully familiar, but Jean never really understood. 

“‘Dear Mr Polnareff, it has come to my attention that we will be fighting soon. My name is Dan of…’ Hm… This is…”

“What?”

“This is… really boring. Delete!" Jean clicked off his email and stood up, walking over and sitting in front of the door, legs crossed. A few minutes passed.

“Jean?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you waiting for your library card that you just ordered?”

“No. Maybe." Like a sign from god, the doorbell rang. “Woohoo!” 

Upon opening the door, he was greeted with the last person he wanted to see. “Hey!” Midler said, clad in a large jacket. 

“Oh, hey-”

“Attack hug! Remember we’re hanging out today?” she tackled him into an embrace. “Hi, Jotaro." 

Jotaro grunted in acknowledgement. 

Jean’s arms reluctantly patted her back. “Remember… How could I forget?” he forced out. 

They wound up doing the same things they always did. But the appeal had been essentially stripped for Jean. Listening to her talk about her now juvenile seeming escapades over pizza: 

“I guess Mista likes this girl now. She’s named Sabrina. Another Italian, can you believe it? Our foreign exchange program is so shady”.

“Yeah, sounds pretty… uh, weird”.  

And later while walking to the shops:

“Trish went on a date with someone the other day but apparently she was like so totally boring? I don’t know. You would think dating girls would be easier but I guess it’s not”

“I tell ya”. 

And eventually at the thrift store:

“My mom will not stop with the endless parade of Muslim boys from respectable families… She's not even religious. This is cute, isn’t it?” Midler spun in front of the mirror, a too-big fluffy coat adorning her.

“It’s, uh… yeah, it’s cute,” Jean replied, staring out the window. 

Eventually, it finally began to wind down as they walked in the dark back to the bus station. The entire time around Midler, his brain had felt weighed down by a fog. There was just something cumbersome about her company, cruel as it sounded. His mind was preoccupied by thoughts of anything but her. 

“So, your sister goes to U of T? That’s so cool," Midler said happily at his side. “What’s your mom doing galavanting in France?”

“I dunno. Spending euros and things. Visiting my grandparents.” 

They came to a stop. She turned and looked up at him. “I’ll walk to the bus stop myself. You live in the opposite direction anyway.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah." She leaned in to hug him. 

He returned it, “Okay, then. Thanks.” 

Midler seemed to contemplate something for a moment, before leaning up and planting a kiss on his lips. 

In his surprise, he pulled back. “Hah,” he released her quickly, “I’ll, uh, see you at band practice, bye." With that, he took off in a speed walk back to his apartment. He soon reached his destination, huffing as he opened the door. “Did my card arrive??”

“I hate to break it to you but you have to pick it up in person," Jotaro was reclining on the mattress, reading some book about science. 

“What!?”

“I checked after you left. You need to bring your ID to actually get it.” 

“Noooo! This is what I wanted to avoid. I’m gonna look like a poser,” Jean began to put his coat back on. 

“Library’s closed.” 

“Shit," he threw his coat onto the arm chair. Taking off his shoes at last, Jean got into bed beside Jotaro. 

“Why are you so damn eager about this anyway?”

“I can’t answer that question right now. I’m gonna sleep for the next 16 hours.” 

— — — — —

“So,” Kakyoin began at practice the next day. “I got us a show.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Jean asked, tuning his bass. 

“We in the industry call them ‘gigs’, Noriaki,” Jotaro said from where he was sitting. 

“Oh my gosh, when!?” Midler exclaimed, hopping up from her seat. 

“It’s at Smokey’s Bar on Wednesday,” Kakyoin said. 

Jotaro looked up from the ground. “Smokey’s…” he muttered to himself, tensing slightly. 

“Wednesday night? Damn, I have a test Thursday morning.” 

Jean placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Don’t sweat it if you can’t make it. We might bomb.” 

“But she’s our biggest fan,” Jotaro said, standing up. “Other than Annie.”

“I am not a fan of you guys,” she said, despite having been sat on the couch the entire rehearsal. Granted, she had been texting. 

“I’ll find a way. I’ll bring a friend too,” Midler said, determination shining in her eyes. 

“Just cram the day before,” Kakyoin suggested helpfully. 

“So who are we playing with?” Jean asked, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. 

“Cameo and the Wishes.” 

“The guy who scammed me!?”

“We have to take what we can get.” 

“But, but…” Jean began. Midler giggled at his side. 

“Suck it up," Jotaro stood up. “It’s your fault for believing him.” 

— — — — —

The email had come to him early the next day. A manic grin had taken over Jean’s face as he got dressed in a hurry. Jotaro sat up, exhausted. “It’s 9:32 on a Monday. Why are you awake?”

“It’s here!” 

“Oh," Jotaro said, before flopping back down. 

“I just gotta go pick it up… say, do you know where I left my ID?”

Jotaro buried his head in his pillow, saying something to himself in an exasperated tone. 

“What was that?”

“Just… check the bookshelf." 

It took two seconds of feeling around before Jean procured the small card in question. “Yes! Ok, bye, gotta go.” He rushed out the door, making his way to the bus stop with an enthusiasm he hadn’t felt in months. 

By the time he was on the bus, his early wake up had caught up to him. His eyelids grew heavy and his head began to droop until…

It was an empty hallway that rang as familiar to Jean. He walked down its tile laid paths until reaching a classroom. The unsettling feeling of being in a school building alone manifested into his bones. As he passed classrooms, he registered how most of the words around him were French. He walked down the halls until he reached the library. 

There he was, sat at a small wooden table. Avdol, staring down at what looked like cards arranged in a spread before him. He seemed somehow aware of Jean, despite not looking up to confirm it. 

Just as Jean was opening his mouth to say something, a light came over him. 

Jean awoke with a start. He looked outside as the bus slowed down. Moving frantically, Jean ran to get off and rush into the library right before him. There he was, once again. At the front counter, reading a book on the table. He looked up, not seeming surprised to see Jean. 

“Hello,” Avdol said, voice as intoxicating as Jean remembered. “You’re here for this, right?” He held up a little plastic card. 

“Do you want to go out with me sometime?” the words tumbled out of Jean before he could help it. “I think we should date." 

"...No, that’s okay,” Avdol said, slipping a piece of paper across the counter. “All I need is for you to sign this." 

“Hey, look, I was just asleep on the bus and I had been dreaming of you. Not in a creepy way. But I dreamed I saw you in a library. Isn’t that weird?”

“Ah, I recognize you now.” 

“Uh, wait, no, I’m not crazy if that’s what you’re getting at." 

Avdol shook his head, closing the book. “No, there’s just a convenient subspace district with some places in your head. It harnesses the natural psychic energy of–”

“Subspace district?”

“Do they not explain fundamental psychokinetic law in Canada?”

“Can you elaborate?”

“It’s like a room within the third and a half dimension where your soul is strengthened.” 

"...”

“It strengthens spiritual energies and stands.” 

“Like a power-up?”

They sat in silence for a few seconds. Avdol slowly shook his head. “No, not at all. Can you sign this?”

“But if I sign, I’ll have to leave,” Jean frowned at the offending piece of paper. 

“Well, I do have work to do," Avdol looked up at him with amusement. 

“Can we go out sometime? Or just hang out? You’re new here, I’ve been here forever! That’s a good enough reason to spend time together.” 

“...If I say yes, will you leave me alone?”

“Yes!”

“Alright. How about tonight?” 

Jean nodded eagerly. “Sounds perfect.”

— — — — —

And so, Jean found himself walking up the stairs to the nearest park. Atop the stairs was a silhouette that was growing more familiar by the minute. 

“Why are you just standing there?” Jean said as he approached. 

Avdol turned around. “Waiting for you,” he said, an unfamiliar smile on his face. 

“You’re so punctual,” Jean said, grinning as they began to walk along the path. “It’s nice out, eh? Almost didn’t need to wear a parka.” 

“Is this considered nice in Canada?” Avdol looked around sceptically. The ground, while not piled in snow exactly, still had white slush covering the grass. During the day it had been overcast and an occasional gust of freezing wind would fall over them. 

“Better than a blizzard. And you don’t seem too bothered.” 

Avdol looked down at himself. He was clad in just a sweater, not a particularly thick one either. “I’m naturally warm. What’s that?” he pointed at Jean’s sleeve. 

“Oh? Well, clearly one of us understands the value of the HEMA alliance and the other doesn’t," Jean puffed his chest out proudly. The small patch on his jacket was one of his great prides, awarded to him at some workshop that had come through town a while back. One that he had, of course, kicked ass in. “I won it.” 

“‘Anubis Dojo’?” Avdol read out loud, beginning to smile slightly at the little dog design on the patch. 

Jean covered it with his hand. “Let’s just… find the swings or something.” They made their way over to a lone swingset. “So, how did you end up in Toronto?”

“I had been traveling for some time and wanted to make use of my skills in one place for once. The libraries here had a vacancy… and Joseph had recommended the city." 

“Who’s Joseph? Your boyfriend?” Jean recalled his earlier conversations with Devo and the brothers. He really hoped it was a friend or an ex. 

Avdol sat on one of the swings. “No, definitely not," he said quickly. “He’s a friend. He owns property here… What do you do?”

Jean took a seat next to him, beginning the push himself into a swing. “I’m… between jobs.” 

“Between what and what?”

“Well… my last job was a really long story filled with sighs. Maybe we can get into it in a later chapter.” 

“My last job was… fulfilling,” Avdol seemed to choose his words carefully. He pushed himself lightly, for the most part only rocking back and forth slowly. “I wanted to slow down for a bit.” 

“Maybe chapter 7 for that one." 

“How long have you been in Toronto?” 

“Uh, my family moved here when I was 17. We lived in Quebec before that.”

“I see. I had assumed you were French”

“Hey, I am," Jean defended, his swinging now reaching higher than before. “I just forgot everything from before…”

“Hm. And your roommate?”

“Oh, Jotaro? I met him in high school. Sort of a long story.” 

“Devo said so," Avdol slowed, halting his movement. He turned to Jean. “You sleep together, right?”

“Wha–?” the question caught Jean so off guard that his boot dragged on the ground, destabilizing his rhythm and leading him to almost fall off his swing. 

A boisterous laugh came from Avdol as he stood up. “I was joking, but I suppose you do.” 

“It’s not like that! We’re just broke. Or, he’s not but he refuses to borrow money from his rich ass family for some reason,” Jean stood up once he was finally still. “We’re not gay… for each other, at least.”

“I believe you, heh.”

They began walking again. The air around them turned damper and colder as rain began to fall from the sky. The streets of Toronto and small park was something Jean had known for nearly 10 years. Only now, walking alongside his newfound companion, they looked completely different. 

“I should have checked the weather,” Avdol stuck out a hand, feeling the raindrops on his skin. 

“Was it this cold when we left?”

“I think it’s starting to snow.”

They made their way onto the pavement. “Is the weather this lame where you’re from?”

“It’s not the same, exactly. But yes, I’d say it’s ‘lame’.” 

“And where is that?”

Avdol said nothing, looking at a stone wall intently as they walked. “Where are you from?” he deflected. 

“I told you! Quebec!”

“You’re used to this, then.” 

“Yeah. Are you?”

“I’m from the desert. This is… unfamiliar to me.”

“Woah." 

The snow picked up. “Isn’t it meant to be spring?”

“That’s just what Canada’s like. Gotta get used to it.” Jean squinted. “God, I can’t see anything.” 

A warm hand clasped his. “I know a way around here." Avdol began to feel at the wall before finding a door. Suddenly, they were essentially in a void, drifting quickly into another door. On the other side was a cozy looking apartment. 

Jean took off his coat, awestruck. “Is that subspace too?” He took off his snow covered coat, shaking the snow off of it. 

“Yes,” Avdol similarly took off his sweater, revealing a long sleeve cream colored undershirt

Looking down at his own soaked tshirt, Jean laughed. “This whole thing is an unmitigated disaster.” 

Avdol hung up his coat, turning to walk up the stairs. “I think ‘act of God’ is a decent excuse for a bad date,” he said, smirking slightly. 

A flare lit up in Jean’s heart. “So this is a date, huh?”

“Did I say date?” Avdol began to walk up the stairs. “Slip of the tongue.”

That left Jean at the bottom of the stairs, trying desperately not to scream, ‘I wish you would slip me YOUR tongue!!!!’.  He chose to stay silent, following up the stairs. Once he was up, standing around in a small kitchen, he was about to say something when a noise began. 

‘Ruff, ruff ruff, ruff!’ angry barks came from a small dog on the floor. It was a small Boston terrier, currently growling at Jean and pawing at his feet. 

“Iggy!” Avdol exclaimed, reaching down to pick up the dog. The dog resisted, barking at his owner but backing down overall. Avdol stared down at him before meeting Jean’s confused gaze. “I’m sorry about him. He usually doesn’t care much about other people.” 

“You… have a dog?” Jean looked down at the creature in question. 

“Yes. His name is Iggy… he was running around New York and I helped catch him. They were going to put him down, despite his ‘ability’. Troublesome as he may be, I couldn’t let him be killed.”

“How… cute.” Iggy’s bright blue eyes stared up at him. 

Avdol went down to pick him up again. This time, Iggy complied. “Just give me one second, I can put him downstairs.” With that, he left. 

Jean took the time to take in the space upstairs. For a librarian, it was a nice place. The kitchen was crammed into a corner but a hallway led to more rooms. Everything was soft and carpeted, a few books on a shelf that hung above the two person dining table. He sat down, awaiting the other’s return. 

“Alright," Avdol said, sighing, “He has been bribed. Would you like some tea?”

“Do you have coffee?”

“I have tea." 

"...Sounds good. What kind?”

He began to look around in a cabinet. “I have blueberry, raspberry, sleepytime, green tea, green tea with ginger, ripple-infused, squid ink, green tea with honey, liver disaster, iced but powdered tea, vanilla, blueberry chamomile, yellow temperance, vanilla walnut, constant comment, and earl grey.” 

“I… What are you having?”

Avdol grabbed a box of tea bags, walking over to the table. “I think I’ll make sleepytime.” 

“Sounds good to me.” 

“You look cold. I can get you a blanket.”

“That would be amazing.” Once again left alone, Jean’s eyes explored the kitchen. Once there was no more kitchen to be seen, his shivering body stood up and began to walk down the hallway. Most of the wall decor was seemingly from travels, historical and cultural pieces from different parts of the globe. He made his way to a door at the end of the hallway. 

He was greeted by the sight of Avdol, now devoid of a shirt, back turned to him but looking his way. “You should really knock.” 

“Ah! Sorry, I’m just really cold…” Jean flicked the lights off. 

Some shuffling was heard before he felt a sudden presence of warmth… warmth and softness. “Does this help?” Avdol’s voice suddenly sounded much closer. 

“Yeah, actually… It’s very warm. What is that?”

The lights are turned on again. 

“Oh." Jean registered the proximity, their noses almost touching. Subconsciously, he had found himself putting his hands on the other’s waist, the mix of dense muscle balanced out by softer adipose deposits further near his hips.

“I’m cold too,” Avdol’s gaze met his, very serious but heated. Their faces came together, meeting in a kiss. For a split second, there was an awkward clashing of their lips and teeth as Jean tried to reel in nerves. But soon the muscle memory returned and the feeling turned just as pleasant as ever, if not more. He pulled back to breath. “Were you… going to bring the blanket from your bed?”

“I suppose so.”

“We should… get under it. Since we’re so cold.”

“What about the tea?”

“What about it?” 

They moved languidly, separating from one another in order to strip away their layers. Jean watched carefully as he removed his shirt. He hadn’t realized until now how often the clothes Avdol wore sat on his body in a way that made it impossible to get a grasp on what was under them. He couldn’t fathom why; seeing it now, it was just as beautiful as the rest of him. His chest was strong and enticing, although not as beefy as Jean’s own carefully curated muscles. The real beauty, however, began in his legs. Beyond the obvious assets, his thighs immediately drew the eye as something that looked like they were soft to the touch and yet firm to squeeze. 

He was so distracted by his perversions, he almost didn’t notice the wandering lust in Avdol’s own dark eyes. 

Almost. 

They fell into bed together, Jean straddled by those heavenly thighs as he brought his hands to Avdol’s hips. He trailed his hands down, squeezing gently. To his pleasant surprise, they were plusher than expected, with some muscle laying under still. Avdol pulled back, breathing deeply. His gaze went down not to Jean’s eyes… or lips…

“Ah, you like my abs? Can’t blame you,” Jean smirked, contracting one pec slightly. 

“Hush,” Avdol said sternly, although he brought a hand up to feel. He hummed contemplatively, before diving back in for a kiss. The kissing itself was divine, unrushed and savored. While there was an eagerness in Jean’s heart and groin, he was doing a good job of remembering his manners and following Avdol’s lead. Rather than sloppy, the kiss had been following the motions of something sensual and romantic, only a teasing amount of tongue without an overwhelming onslaught. 

Jean felt his back hit the mattress, pinned under the other. He brought his hands back to Avdol’s hips, holding on a bit tighter. “I, I’m not sure if…”

Avdol rolled over, laying down next to Jean. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“Changed it to what?” Jean turned his head to look at him. 

“I don’t want to have sex with you, Polnareff. Not right now.” 

“That’s okay," Jean smiled softly as he felt the other come closer. 

“I won’t send you home in a snowstorm, of course. You can sleep here,” Avdol continued, settling his head on Jean’s collarbone. 

“This is cool. Just this. I don’t have a problem with… y’know. This.” 

“It’s pleasant," he brought his arm up to Jean’s shoulder, bringing their bodies flush. 

“I think you’re awesome. I can’t believe I’m in your bed.” 

A soft chuckle that tickled Jean’s neck. “Really?”

“Yeah and I mean… I think I didn’t want to have sex anyway. Or maybe I’d just regret it. It’s been a while but this is- I think I just needed whatever this is.” 

“I’m glad I could help, in that case.” 

— — — — —

The next morning, the world seemed to have fully changed its tune from the snow storm. The sun shone brightly, only reflected by the fresh sheet of snow. Birds tweeted outside somehow, despite the freezing cold. 

And there was a dog next to Jean’s face, accompanied by a bad smell. 

He was quick to sit up. The smell dissipated. Looking back at Iggy, he was met with those unfeeling blue eyes once more. The bastard. 

“You’re awake?” Avdol peered into the room from the bathroom where stood in his undershirt now. 

"...Your dog woke me up. With a fart.” 

“Ah, he has been known to do that.” Avdol returned to brushing his teeth. 

Jean yawned. “What time is it?”

“Almost 8 am.” 

“Agh… I wish I could turn into a ball and just roll away… instead of walking. Like sonic.” 

“I used to know someone who could do that. He was… a displeasure of a human being” 

“You’re ruining all my delusions!”

“Just get up normally,” Avdol went searching in his closet. “I have work, so you need to go." He picked out a yellow sweater. 

“Librarian…” 

“I need to make the bed, get up.” 

Eventually, they both stood outside together. Jean stuck his hands in his parka, trying to find the right words to say. “...Can this not be a one night stand? For one, I didn’t actually get any…” he trailed off, “...That was a joke.”

“What did you have in mind?” Avdol adjusted his satchel around his shoulders. 

“Uhm… My band has this thing on Wednesday at Smokey’s bar. 9 pm”

“You have a band." There was a healthy helping of judgement in his tone.  

“Yeah. We’re terrible. Please say you’ll come.” 

."..Alright. 9 pm tomorrow. I’ll be there,” he began to make his journey, soon disappearing into one of those subspace doors. 

Jean began his journey home with a wide grin on his face.