John & Jean-Paul, Monday Night

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"Sex is better than talk... talk is what you suffer through so you can get to sex." - Woody Allen


It was late and considering John had very little sleep last night, he shouldn't be up here. He should be heading back to his suite, maybe pop a few pills and get some much needed rest.

Or he could apologize to Bobby and make amends.

No.

Scratch that thought.

John let his legs dangle as he sat on the edge of the roof and quenched his thirst with a bottle of beer. One of these days, he was going to slip, fall and crack his head on the ground and his epitaph would say: You had it commin', you had it commin'. -Ghost Machine-

Very apt.

Pulling his jacket off as he approached the roof, Jean-Paul let his feet touch first and kept the movement constant so he could minimise the sound of impact. A moment later and he was on his way, walking over the peak toward the spot where he could see the northern side of the estate best - until he caught sight of someone else.

He tipped his head to the side and considered walking back the way he'd come. It was entirely possible that he could just fly to the flying platform as well. But unless this person was a flier, it was more likely than not that they'd hurt themselves.

Still, he was frustrated after everything else that had happened and not particularly interested in attempting to make someone feel better. The thought alone had him rolling his eyes.

The glint of a glass bottle caught his attention, though, and Jean-Paul suppressed a sigh.

"Heights and drinking, they are not the best combination," he said, circling around the other person to the right.

John recognized the voice and shrugged. It seemed almost impossible to avoid people these days. Finding time alone was like chasing slippery balls of mercury. "Spare me the lecture and sing me another tune, huh?" He nodded toward the extra bottle on the ground. "Help yourself." He was not in the mood to talk but if Jean-Paul wanted to drink, then by all means the man could stay.

"I do not sing," Jean-Paul said, settling on the edge of the roof and letting his own feet dangle over the gutter, "Unless it is in the shower and there is no one else there to hear." Reaching for the bottle, he popped the cap by bracing it on the edge of a brick on his right, then watched the cap itself tumble toward the ground four storeys below. "And I am in no position to lecture anyone about drinking."

"Good thing you took a sabbatical from teaching then or this might tarnish your good record." There was a strict no drinking rule established at the mansion - there were other places for that but he wasn't the only one breaking the rules. John was pretty sure half the mansion's residents disobeyed the regulation on a weekly basis.

"As for the singing, I didn't mean that literally." John smirked, amused. "But that's an interesting tidbit."

"Interesting?" Jean-Paul asked, taking a sip of beer. "Non, not interesting. Not if you must hear me. I am like a crow. It is not interesting - more frightening." Having said that, he laid back against the shingles elbow propped against the chimney rising on his right. If he squinted, he could make out the chip his move with the bottle cap had left on the brick. "And my record? It is not so good, anyway." There was a reason, after all, that he'd asked the Professor to keep him off of the staff.

John raised his brows. "And I here I thought I was negative." And he drank, if only to avoid giving in to his curiosity of the other. The man seemed to be shrouded in mystery. And that whole 'I'm fine' thing was pure bullshit. John didn't think he needed to be an empath to figure that one out. But it was no business of his. He knew that.

"They think you are negative?" Jean-Paul asked, feeling the chill from the shingles seeping through the fabric of his shirt. He considered putting his jacket back on, but the cold didn't bother him. "I think I would win, if this were a competition."

"Really?" Somehow John didn't think so. "You know what they call me here? Mister Grumpy Pants. What have you got?" He raised his chin up and looked at the other. "All you got are a bunch of different colored girls thinking you're the next best thing since chocolate or Brad Pitt or something. I've seen them around you."

"O Surly One," Jean-Paul answered. "The blue one from my rainbow, as you call it, has given me this name. But I do not think yours is so bad. It is probably that they are trying to bother you or make you not be grumpy, oui?" Tilting his head to look at the younger man, he smirked just a bit. "I do not think they are succeeding."

John finished his drink and had to stop himself from throwing the bottle to the ground as per his usual habit. Best not to do that with someone else here. Instead, he placed it in the gutter.

"Surly." He shook his head. "Never seen you being surly. But you've got that whole man of mystery thing going - complete with skeletons in your closet, I bet.

"Man of mystery?" Jean-Paul asked, brows rising a bit. He offered his still mostly-full bottle to the younger man. "It does me no good, truthfully. My metabolism, it is too high. Make good use of it, oui?" Then he laid back against the shingles again and shook his head. "For a man who sees me with the rainbow girls, as you call them, you do not see much. It is best this way."

John shrugged. "That's fine with me. Makes it a lot less complicated when we don't really know each other." He took another sip and stood up. "Wanna go someplace else?" Judging by the look in his eyes, it wasn't an invitation for drinks at a bar.

So John was a tad drunk. But he was also looking for an outlet and Jean-Paul just happened to be there. He'd made it a rule not to mess with people at the mansion but since he'd broken every other rule ever made, what was one more? As for his much rumored interest in men, the truth was he didn't have much of a preference for either.

Jean-Paul considered the other man as best he could given the shadows and darkness around them. One form of oblivion was denied him, thanks to his body's excessive use of energy... and yet another appeared to be presenting itself in a timely fashion. "And things... they will stay uncomplicated?"

The answer to that was easy.

"Tomorrow's a brand new day, right?"

"Oui," Jean-Paul said, pushing himself up by his elbows before taking hold of the chimney to pull himself to his feet. "Lead the way."

His suite was out of the question and so that left Jean-Paul's. But John didn't want to go there. It was too personal a place. So a room in District X would have to do. They could get up in the morning, head back to the mansion and it would be as if nothing had happened.