Kevin & Jean-Paul, Late Monday Afternoon

[x-quebecois.livejournal.com]

In an attempt to straighten out what he believes is a mistake on Kevin's part, Jean-Paul has something vaguely resembling an epiphany; conversation ensues.


Jean-Paul paused to look at the piece of paper laying on the floor inside his door. It had obviously been slipped beneath the plain, wood-paneled thing and he was more than a little confused about it. Sure, he'd worked out the signature sometime around the third drawing, but this was the ninth.

Which had him opening said door to check and see if the note he'd left taped to it was still there. It was, reading in all its slanted, messy glory: Merci, for the drawings, but I think you have made a mistake. Whomever you meant for them to go to is no longer here. They are very nice. -JPB

He did not know why Kevin was leaving the pictures, but again - he wasn't one to throw away beautiful things when they were given freely. So he picked up the latest picture and laid it on the counter in the kitchenette. The others were framed simply and arranged on one wall in an artistically disheveled cluster.

Still, he needed to make sure that the younger man understood that the beauty he was giving was, more than likely, going to the wrong person. So he grabbed his jacket and shrugging it on before heading for the door, navigating the hallways to Kevin's suite easily enough before knocking on the door.

Kevin had gotten out of classes early and come back to his suite to shower. He'd ended up half-dressed and flopped over onto his couch watching a movie about San Francisco filmmakers that happened to be on. He wasn't sure why it was on or what he'd been watching on this channel the last time his television was on, but somehow it had drawn him in enough that he'd never bothered with the rest of his clothes. That was the beauty of his suite, it was Kevin-proofed.

The knock didn't faze him much and he wasn't really thinking about it when he got off the couch and padded over to the door. The door was metal to match the handle so he didn't need to worry overmuch about the bare hand that reached out. "Y'know it's not locked," he started to say, assuming it was one of his friends or one of the girls who loved to try to drive him into an early grave. Actually, most of the latter group were part of the former group. That was worrisome. The words were out of his mouth by time he saw who was on the other side, though, and Kevin had the sense to smile as if he knew he'd said something slightly out of place. "Oh, hi. Ah 'ssumed you were someone else."

There was something Jean-Paul intended to say. His mouth might even have been open to say it, whatever it was, but he couldn't remember what it was, not to save his life. Which was awkward. "Uh... oui," he said, blinking. Intelligent - there was something intelligent that he'd come here to say. "I am sorry," he managed to keep his eyes on Kevin's face, at least. That was noteworthy. That was definitely something to be proud of.

There was a short pause before his brain reengaged and Jean-Paul managed to say, "But I think you have been leaving your pieces of art at my room by mistake. If you would like them back to give to whomever you originally intended, I will be more than happy to return them." Though the sketches were quite conspicuously absent at the moment, which might, to a careful observer, have spoken volumes about his willingness to return them.

The absence of the sketches was noted and Kevin figured if Jean-Paul had really thought they were delivered to the wrong person then he would have brought them with him. That was only the right thing to do, after all. Since he hadn't brought them the artist figured the guy knew they were for him and maybe for some reason just wanted to hear it aloud. That was strange. Kevin just shrugged a shoulder. "Ah haven't left 'em anywhere by mistake."

"This makes no sense," Jean-Paul said, his tone quietly confused even as he lost the battle to keep his eyes on the younger man's face. They dropped. They dropped and they lingered and they were very appreciative of the view they found. Which he would feel guilty about later - very guilty. Like a lecherous old man attempting to take advantage of school girls in small skirts. Though Kevin wasn't wearing a skirt and those sweatpants he was wearing weren't doing much to hide... well. Anything.

Jean-Paul wasn't sure whether that was unfortunate or not. Whatever it was, it was thoroughly distracting. "Why are you leaving these pictures for me?" He managed to get his eyes traveling northward again, but only just barely, and they were still more prone to stray than not. Inconvenient, that.

All that straying that was happening with Jean-Paul's eyes was very confusing. Actually, the fact that they wandered wasn't too confusing. People almost never saw Kevin without about three layers on his upper body so he figured the sight of him without so much padding was probably kind of novel. He also figured people assumed he was much bulkier under the clothes than he really was. It was really the expression on Jean-Paul's face that was confusing. That part made no sense to the Southerner at all. He did the only logical thing, avoided addressing it at all.

Shifting his focus to the question at hand, Kevin shrugged and turned to head toward the fridge in his kitchenette. The suite door was left open and he figured Jean-Paul would either take it for the invitation to enter that it was or he'd awkwardly stay in the hallway still. "Thought they might make you smile." It was a very simple answer because it was a very simple motivation. By habit Kevin pulled the refrigerator door open not by the plastic handle but by the metal door itself. He grabbed a can of Sprite and held it up to Jean-Paul with a questioning eyebrow.

Stepping almost hesitantly into the suite, Jean-Paul let his eyes wander over things that weren't attached to Kevin - or falling off of him, like his sweatpants seemed hell-bent on doing. Rather, he took note of the differences between this suite and his own - metal. There was a great deal of it here, replacing things that might otherwise have been made of wood or something that, he supposed now, was organic. Which meant, given Kevin's barefootedness, that the carpet was likely synthetic.

He'd never considered the alterations to life that one would have to make when dealing with Kevin's mutation. "Yes, thank you," he said, moving carefully toward the kitchenette. He waited until the can was on the counter before taking it and popping the tab, though he didn't drink. "That is not... really an answer." He was more confused now than when he'd just thought Kevin was giving him the artwork by accident. Why would the younger man want to make him smile?

Kevin had his own can of Sprite halfway to his lips before it paused and he became completely befuddled looking. "What d'you mean it's not an answer? How's it not an answer if it is the answer?" He leaned against the closed refrigerator door since the walls were still plaster and thus not Kevin-proofed.

"It does not make sense," Jean-Paul answered, eyeing the younger man's hips despite himself. Was he doing that on purpose? No - he couldn't possibly be doing it on purpose. Still, those hips - they were - but no, he wouldn't let himself get that distracted.

"Why doesn't it make sense?" Kevin was pretty sure Jean-Paul was the one not making any sense, but it'd be rude to say that so he stuck to his strategy of asking for clarification. Granted, that strategy was getting him nowhere but face-first into a wall but maybe he'd manage to break the wall with his face one of these times when he faceplanted in it. He was starting to think the wall was brick though and his face was just gonna end up really bruised for his effort.

"Why do you want me to smile?" That seemed like a safe enough question, though it wasn't an answer to the one Kevin had asked. "That - it does not make sense." There, that was the answer. The root of Jean-Paul's confusion. Or at least one of the roots. Confusion could have many, after all, especially when your mind was fragmented and filled with shrapnel. And also very distracted - Jesus, he was going to have to work on that.

Frowning a little, Kevin dropped his eyes a bit. He ended up mostly speaking to Jean-Paul's mouth rather than his eyes. "Ah know it ain't my place none, and it ain't none of my business...but sorta seemed like you needed to. The fire Ah made in the wood?" He wasn't sure calling it an etching was accurate for the things he made with his mutation. "It made you smile so Ah thought maybe other art would, too. And it's all Ah got really." He sounded truly apologetic for bringing up the fact that he thought the Quebecois needed to smile more. It was as close to stating Kevin thought the man was supremely unhappy and having trouble as Kevin would get without being asked more explicit questions.

Jean-Paul took a long sip of Sprite while he tried to work out whether or not Kevin had actually answered his question. People did not do nice things for people just to make them smile. And people did not pay enough attention to him, most of the time, to know whether he was smiling or not. Or when. Or how often.

Or did they?

He had a jarring moment where he couldn't figure out why he was so confused. Part of him was scoffing at all of this, part of him kept thinking that people only did nice things when they wanted something, another part of him was saying he should be suspicious of Kevin's motivations, and yet another part of him was still desperately trying to ignore the younger man's hips.

The silence wasn't encouraging. Kevin got the distinct feeling he had put his nose where it didn't belong and Jean-Paul was none too appreciative of it. He could understand that and respect it. It really wasn't any of his business how happy the man was or wasn't. So why did he seem to care so much that he was going out of his way to try to help the situation? He'd thought about that before and hadn't come up with any reason. He still had none, just a knee-jerk reaction that he wanted Jean-Paul to be happier.

Kevin shifted a little, taking a half-step further away as if he'd crossed a physical line and he was now going back to where he should have been. "Ah can stop," he offered, voice quieter than it usually was. Even Kevin wasn't sure he'd spoken loudly enough to be heard so he spoke again and raised his voice back to his usual volume. "Ah mean, if it bothers you Ah don't have to keep," he floundered for how to phrase it without potentially crossing that figurative line further and eventually settled on, "doing it."

"No," Jean-Paul said, because that wasn't what he wanted. But that left him wondering what he did want and that was such a tangled mess of knotted up confusion that he thought he might need to just take scissors to it eventually. Like when one of his foster siblings had ground his chewing gum into the back of Jean-Paul's head and his foster mother had just chopped it out with no regard for the way his hair would look afterward. "That... I think." He paused again, trying to work things out for himself. "S'il vous plaît, I... simply wished to make sure it was not a mistake."

"Well, it wasn't." Kevin sounded a little like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have been, though. He wondered if maybe he should stop for a while anyway. Jean-Paul didn't exactly seem enthused by the gesture and if the drawings weren't doing what Kevin had intended then there was no point in continuing. The point was to make the man smile, to somehow see if they could contribute to a mass effect of making him happier. He wasn't sure if it was supposed to be the drawings themselves or the fact that someone had put forth effort specifically for the older man that was supposed to make him happier. Maybe it was both. Either way, though, all it had done was confuse Jean-Paul, which might have been better than unhappiness but it wasn't by much. Stopping was definitely the smart thing to do, Kevin thought and finally managed to take a sip of his soda.

Putting the can of Sprite on the counter, Jean-Paul raised his now-cold hand rubbed at the back of his neck, head dropping forward a bit as he tried to straighten out his thoughts. "They are beautiful, the things you have given me. It is, I think, that they are not expected." A small voice in the back of his mind kept telling him that he was getting this wrong, but then it didn't offer any helpful advice on how to do it right, so Jean-Paul just plowed forward. "People... do not often do these things simply to... make someone smile."

Somewhere in that explanation Kevin had taken another half-step and put more distance between himself and the Quebecois. He knew no amount of physical distance would stop him from possibly crossing over a less-physical line, but Kevin sort of hoped it could serve as a reminder not to. Yet what Jean-Paul said stopped the slow inching away because all Kevin could do was stare at him with a small frown pulling the corners of his mouth down. "But Ah do," he defended and thought it sounded like a weak reply. What other reason did Kevin get to have for doing stuff for people? What could he possibly attain beyond a smile? He wasn't the sort to think about the fact that people could be manipulative and use kindness as a means for it. Kevin was a little too honest for his own good, really.

That voice in the back of his mind was trying to remind Jean-Paul that, once upon a time, he had, too. He disregarded it, though. "I cannot remember a time when someone has done such a thing for me, though. This is, maybe, why... I did not understand." He remembered Walter Langkowski pretending to be his friend to get to Jeanne-Marie, he remembered the foster children who would be nice just so you'd let your guard down and then they could pick through your things when you left your room or your bed or your small section of the great room where the foster parents set up a cot for you. He remembered the many places he had been where he was nothing more than an easy means to a governmental check every month. Kindness did not come easily to the human race, he thought - at least not with no strings attached, anyway.

Looking up, Jean-Paul caught Kevin's eye and offered him a rueful smile. "I have made a mess of things, have I not? I am sorry." Apparently graciously accepting gifts was not something he knew how to do. At least not any longer.

"S'ok," Kevin assured him with a small shaking of his head. "It's not your fault." It was his own damned fault for not stopping to think that the gesture he was attempting to spawn a smile with might have the opposite effect. Instead of making the man happier Kevin had reminded him that people didn't do kind things for him. He couldn't really understand that, though. Jean-Paul had friends. Kevin could remember the man being surrounded by people whenever he was about before. Then again, he didn't see the Quebecois with people anymore, did he? Jean-Paul was always alone when Kevin saw him now. He wondered why, what had changed?

All too vividly, Kevin remembered seeing the man alone in the boathouse in front of the fire. He'd looked so sad sitting there alone and Kevin hadn't known what to do to help him. He'd stood outside the window for a little while after he'd left and watched Jean-Paul through it, trying to figure out what to do for him and why he felt the need to do something at all. Jean-Paul had reminded him of himself at his lowest, Kevin had realized. He didn't really wish that sort of loneliness on anyone. Kevin was still frowning, more so now, and trying to wipe the mental image away as best he could. That was the problem with being an artist, mental visualizations were so vivid it could be hard for him to ignore them.

"I do not see who's fault it could be, besides my own," Jean-Paul said, fingertips teasing at the soft drink can for a moment before he shook his head. He wasn't sure that it counted as doing something just to be nice if the person you'd started doing it for asked for it, but he couldn't help the way he said, "Please, do not stop leaving the drawings, if you still want to leave them." His voice was quiet on the words, his eyes dropping and drifting over to the shadows flickering on the wall across from the TV. Weakness wasn't something he was used to displaying for others, but he didn't know if this was really weakness or something else. He didn't want to think about it.

There was something about the way Jean-Paul made that request, as if he were hesitant. It seemed like something more than that but Kevin wasn't sure he knew what it was. It was almost like there was a fear in his voice, but of what? The artist put it down to the vast unknowable of human emotions because this entire conversation pretty much had him more confused than just about anything else ever had. Except for maybe Jay, nothing was more confusing than him. "Okay." What was he supposed to say other than that?

A couple half-steps were taken closer to Jean-Paul with the thought that the physical distance decreasing might be seen as indicative of something else. Kevin wasn't exactly sure what that something else was but it seemed important. With the way Jean-Paul had spoken and the way his eyes diverted it seemed important to be closer rather than farther...less like leaving.

"Merci," Jean-Paul said, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket and letting his fingertips curl in against his palms. His shoulders hunched in a bit, but the fact that Kevin had stepped forward again, rather than continuing his slow retreat... it was nice. Jean-Paul refused to think about why that might be. He'd gotten very good at ignoring his own motivations these past few months.

Kevin wasn't really sure what to say now. He wasn't even sure what to do now. He had a man in his suite who looked rather like an abused animal, though he was sure that comparison could have been better. But what did he do with said abused animal man? It'd be rude to kick him out now or even infer that he ought to leave. Kevin wasn't really sure he did want Jean-Paul to leave anyway. He defaulted to changing the topic entirely. "You like documentaries?"

"What kind of documentary?" Jean-Paul asked, letting his eyes rise again.

Eyes drifting over to the television to indicate the program on currently, he said, "Well, it's on filmmakers. In San Francisco. But Ah've got other ones. If you wanna stick 'round for a while and all." He tried to not make it sound like Jean-Paul had to stay. He could take off if he wanted to. "Or actual movies?" Kevin had no idea where that hopeful note in his voice came from, but he figured at least it would get the point across that he didn't necessarily want the man to leave.

"Alright," Jean-Paul said, nodding. "I like historical documentaries, but film making is interesting, also." If he was being honest, Jean-Paul could admit that he liked quite a few documentaries - and competitions. He'd spent most of his Friday evening watching a marathon of cake-making competitions on the Food Network last week. But perhaps it would be wise not to mention that just now.

"Don't own anything historical Ah don't think, but if you can find somethin' on TV go for it." Kevin took a step away from the refrigerator at his back. He'd noticed the way Jean-Paul seemed to relax and while he wasn't sure what had caused it Kevin was glad for it. It helped him relax a little as well. All that awkward could go away now and they could both stop focusing on being confused. "Remote's on the couch, Ah'm gonna," he paused, looking down at himself, "put on more clothes." It was one thing having a conversation with a guy and not bothering with the shirt or gloves, but Kevin wasn't going to risk it with a prolonged period of time. He left his can of soda on the table by the couch as he walked past it and headed off into his room. Three layers wasn't something he was worried about, but a long sleeved hoodie and gloves were. And socks too, he supposed. Just in case.

Taking his own Sprite into the living room area, Jean-Paul pulled his jacket off and laid it over the arm of the couch, then sat down and picked up the remote control. Metal. It was interesting, the way things had been adapted. He noted the fabric on the couch again, then let himself be distracted by the documentary currently on the television. Most of it, he didn't really understand. Film making was not something he'd ever paid very much attention to, in general. He appreciated it, in the way of people who liked to take advantage of the fruits of its labour, but otherwise... he just didn't get it.

The History Channel, though, was showing something about the Anglo-Saxons and their invasion of Britain - and, of course, there was the Food Network and its endless barrage of food making competitions.

When Kevin came back out the hood on his shirt was up and the only skin that was showing was his face and throat. He preferred less clothing to more when he was in his suite because it was the only place he could actually get away with it like a normal person. Still, potential risk, no matter how small, wasn't really worth his preference.

Kevin stopped once he was within sight of the TV and his eyes narrowed. "Are you watching the Food Network? Ah thought only house wives did that." His tone was more amused than malicious or mocking, but he really didn't seem to get the appeal.

"They make cakes for money," Jean-Paul said, flipping back to the History Channel. "And sometimes, the cakes collapse." Then he cast a grin in Kevin's direction and said, "But since I am not a house wife, your thought that only they watched the Food Network was not right."

"You watch the Food Network for collapsing cakes?" Kevin raised an eyebrow and flopped down onto the couch with an impressive level of gracelessness only really possible when one was a male in his early twenties. "Really? Ah mean, lots of people make cakes for money. Y'know, like all those people who make the cakes people buy? Weddin' cakes and birthday cakes and cakes because women got dumped and whatever."

"They make a special cake for women who got... dumped?" Jean-Paul considered that for a moment, then shrugged. "There was a very tall cake, five feet high. It was very impressive, when it collapsed."

"Who needs a five foot tall cake? Y'know who that cake was for?" Kevin paused to drink some Sprite. "A woman who just got divorce papers 'cause she's bein' left for a younger woman. All cakes are for women who got dumped. No one'd sell cakes if women were happy 'cept for birthdays and weddings." Maybe that wasn't exactly accurate, but cake seemed to be the answer for most things when women were sad, lonely or depressed. Maybe that was too much pop culture.

"I think it was for Miley Cyrus," Jean-Paul said, though he didn't really know who she was. "But you are right, it was for her birthday." He paused again, tipping his head to the side, and then said, "But I like cake. I like carrots more. But they have carrot cake." And now he wanted carrot cake.

There was a logic jump in there that Kevin was sure was perfectly rational to Jean-Paul. He just wasn't sure it had any resemblance to being rational to other people. It left him largely just staring at the Quebecois. "Ah'll get you a carrot cake next time you're left for a younger woman."

Blinking, Jean-Paul said, "I have not been left for a younger woman." Which was true, he thought. There were some fuzzy parts in there, but really. "Mostly, I am left for younger men."

"Alright next time you're left for a younger man, then, you get a carrot cake. With a frosting bunny or somethin'." Kevin made a mental note that Jean-Paul had apparently never turned women gay or men straight. Or maybe he'd never dated a woman, but most gay men had at one point or another, right? There were exceptions to the rule and he guessed one of them was on his couch.

Jean-Paul snorted. "Thank you. The little frosting bunny, it will make everything better." He tipped his head to the side, though, as the documentary demonstrated - through creative reenactment - the many ways in which the Anglo-Saxons savaged the indigenous Celtic peoples when they invaded.

"They need frosting bunnies, too," Kevin decided, pointing a gloved finger at the television. "Bein' a slaughtered people? Always made better by frosting bunnies." There was something horribly wrong with that logic, wasn't there?

"They had real rabbits, I think. That they ate and used for clothing. Frosting, it is... frivolous, oui? They do not want it. Also, it is sticky. And they did not bathe regularly. It would likely make things much worse for them, I think."

Kevin matched the older man's tone of seriousness when he said, "Well someone should teach 'em to bathe more. They'd like frosting bunnies way more'n their dirt and lice and stuff. And really, people're more likely to procreate if you don't smell really bad. You know what makes it harder to wipe you out as a people? Havin' more of you."

"But they did not know they smelled very bad. Au natural, you see? And they thought bathing caused sickness." Jean-Paul wasn't sure how they'd managed to get to this conversation, but he didn't particularly mind. "Also, there was pillaging and things."

"Ah hear some people like bein' pillaged."

"I have heard this, also."

"Not pro-pillage yourself, huh?"

"I do not think I have been pillaged, and so I do not know if I am against it."

"Can't help you there, Ah'm not the pillaging sort." He paused and looked Jean-Paul up and down. "Ah'd've figured you for gettin' pillaged by your age."

"Maybe it is that I have never been pillaged well," Jean-Paul said, his tone contemplative. Then he glanced over at the younger man, gave him another thorough once-over, and then bit his tongue on the question of just how much of a pillaging sort Kevin might or might not be.

"You're gonna have to work on that," Kevin told him and made a tsking noise. He was completely obvious to the once-over he was getting. "D'you want a frosting bunny?"

"Oui, please," Jean-Paul said, though he wasn't sure whether he wanted to snort at this entire situation or not. There was definite pillaging going on in the documentary.

"Ah'll work on that. You'll have runner up frosting bunny to console you 'bout your lack of bein' pillaged right by tonight." Kevin put on a very disappointed face and shook his head. "It just ain't right, a man not gettin' pillaged right."

His tone full of regret, Jean-Paul said, "If only you were the pillaging sort."

Without even thinking about it Kevin replied, "If only you were the invulnerable sort."

Jean-Paul's mouth was open, because he'd intended to say something in reply to the younger man's quip, but then the quip itself registered and he wound up just stopping for a moment to consider Kevin's words. If only he - but then, that meant. But it couldn't, not really. They were joking, anyway.

"How would you pillage me, if I was invulnerable?" That, he was pretty sure, was not what he'd intended to ask.

The look on Kevin's face was a little shifty-eyed and entirely filled with mischief. "We talkin' pre-mediated pillagin' or impromptu pillage?"

"Both."

"Hm..." The Southerner actually stopped to think about it. He probably shouldn't have but given his world of inexperience there was actually some thought that needed to go into pillaging. To pillage inferred force, even appropriating it the way they were it didn't imply gentleness. "Impromptu pillage," he said thoughtfully, eyes not really focused on anything in the room, "outside. Urban area or forested area. In transit interruption. Probably urban area, actually. Against a wall," he considered aloud. "Chest against the wall, not your back. Side street, but not necessarily out of view of the public. Definitely a necessity for sating distraction...and then continuing on with whatever we were already doing." He left the specifics of the act unsaid, because he wasn't that rude.

"Premeditated pillaging," Kevin trailed off to consider that one.

Jean-Paul's eyebrows rose. And then rose a bit more as he watched the younger man considering the various modes and methods of pillaging. There was certainly nothing in that impromptu one that he objected to, in a hypothetical sort of way. "Oui?"

Kevin's brain was stuck on impromptu pillaging because the mental image he had next involved Jean-Paul up against a counter in the middle of trying to cook but that wasn't very premediated. He was silent for a bit before saying, "Ah'm not sure Ah got anything for premediated pillaging. There's impromptu pillaging in the middle of a kitchen up against a counter, or in a shower or a stairwell or up against a window..." Kevin trailed off, a little distracted. He cleared his throat to refocus and looked over at Jean-Paul properly. "Premeditation and pillagin' don't really go together. It's something else not entirely pillage-like if it's premeditated." Actually, Kevin wasn't sure it was anything other than teenage girl fantasies if it planned out. "Ah mean, who plans out that sorta thing?"

"I do not know," Jean-Paul said, distracted all over again. "You are the one who gave me the options." Middle of the kitchen? In a stairwell? Against a window? In a shower? His mind went back to the window one, but he forced himself to let it go. There was a time and a place for everything. Now was not either of those.

"Ah, well, Ah hadn't thought 'bout it properly before Ah gave options." And now he was definitely thinking about it properly. In detail. And all of those details involved Jean-Paul pinned against a surface somewhere. "Does pillaging have a pinned-against-a-surface association for you too or is that just me?" It was all very much an intellectual conversation for Kevin at the moment and he finished off his Sprite while he pondered the act of pillaging.

"Pinning against a surface?" Jean-Paul considered that for a moment. "If it is to be a good pillaging, maybe." Then he paused again before saying, "Of course, pinning someone against something has a purely sexual association for me, also. It does not have to be a pillaging one."

"Pillaging's a sexual association for me, though. Ah'm not sure pinning is. Well, Ah dunno, maybe sexual but not necessarily having to involve sex. Can something be sexual without having sex as an act?" Kevin wasn't entirely sure if something could qualify under those terms. Then again, sex wasn't exactly his realm of expertise either.

"Oui," Jean-Paul said, nodding. "If you are teasing. Or leading up to something later. Building anticipation, maybe? Or all alone - sex itself... it is not always so important, I think." This was, strangely, the most entertaining conversation he'd had in quite some time. Archeologists were pulling bits of pottery, tarnished jewelry, and bones from hills in England. That wasn't nearly as interesting.

"Ah've got skewed perspective. You're probably more in line with what, y'know, the rest of the world thinks." Kevin shrugged, not really that bothered by the division that separated his world experience from that of most other people's. He'd come to terms with it. Sometimes it sucked in a big way, but that was his life and it wasn't going to be changing. "Since people are organic there's not really...lead up to anything that's sex. Ever. Not 'round these parts. These are 'but Ah wanna keep my body parts' parts."

"No, the act itself, the Tab A, Slot B of it - these things. They are not so important," Jean-Paul said. "To some people, they are. But to others - it is just an act. Other things, they are better." He didn't know how to say what he was attempting to say, but for someone as jaded where sexual interaction was concerned as he was, sex itself... was just fucking. And fucking was something that felt good but meant very little, in the grand scheme of things. "Sex - it does not make a relationship, oui?"

"Ah think there are people who'd disagree with you." Sex had been such a focus for Jay that Kevin couldn't believe that it held such a small role in a relationship. It was the crux of Jay's belief that he was loved so often. It was a big reason why he went elsewhere and no matter what Jay had said long after everything that happened sex was a big part of things when they had happened. Or rather the lack of sex. "Actually, Ah think there's a lot of people who'd agree with you but it wouldn't be the truth. Ah think it sounds good to say sex doesn't really make a relationship and maybe doesn't matter, but Ah think if people're honest?" He stood up, empty soda can in hand. "They don't understand how to have a relationship without it after the age of sixteen." Then he turned to go throw out the can. It wasn't a dismissal of the conversation or of Jean-Paul, but Kevin had to get up and do something to distract himself a little from the topic. It was a topic that hit him a little too close to home to ever really be comfortable for him.

"See how these people who would disagree with me - or agree but lie to do so - feel after waking up with a stranger for the fifth, sixth, seventh time." Shaking his head, Jean-Paul put his eyes back on the TV and left them there, though he couldn't honestly have told anyone what was going on with the documentary now. "Maybe... maybe it is better that sex means so much to some. It is a better way of going through life, oui? To have meaning in these things. They are supposed to be important." But they weren't, not really. Not to him, at least. The number of one night stands he'd had far outweighed the number of mornings he'd woken next to the same person.

Fiddling the tab on his can off, Jean-Paul sat it on the table, then turned the can itself around and around in stationary circles on the surface. "Thinking they are not - it says something, yes?"

"Ah guess. But you gotta wonder when people go from finding importance in stuff that's supposed to be important to making things more important than everything else. People rely on stuff. Like sex or words or gifts in a way that it's like...like it validates their whole life. That says somethin' 'bout a person too, doesn't it? Thinkin' your relationship doesn't really mean what it does 'cause you aren't gettin' sex? That says somethin' too. Basing entire relationships on sex like people do? Are those actually relationships? The act of sex and having a relationship are separate things but people sorta seem to think one depends on the other." And that was the exact reason why Kevin didn't anticipate having relationships often, or even maybe ever.

The physical so often seemed to inform everything else or overshadow it. He could only give a person so much physical interaction and if it wasn't enough, if the lack of the rest invalidated all the things he thought actually made a relationship then he'd just always disappoint people.

Kevin tossed his can in the bin and watched Jean-Paul fiddling with his own. The younger man drew nearer but didn't sit back down. Rather he watched the older man from over his shoulder. "It's obvious why Ah don't think sex is as important as everyone makes it out to be, but how come you don't think it's important?" It was there, unsaid, that since Jean-Paul could have normal physical interactions that it was weird for him to not endorse sex the way others did.

"It is... too easy." Jean-Paul considered his words, then frowned. "Too easy to get, too easy to take for granted, too easy to be done with, in the end. Too easy to hang everything on and when it does not work, too easy to throw it away. It is an easy substitute for the things that should be important, I think. It is an easy excuse." He shrugged, fingertip hooking in the opening of his can to hold it still for a moment. "It means everything or it means nothing. It seems, many times, that there is no middle ground."

It was probably a question of experience because Kevin hadn't heard anyone hold that opinion of sex before. Then again, who over the age of twenty-two did he talk to who wasn't his therapist? He could respect Jean-Paul's point of view, but he couldn't help the obvious question. "But do you really think you'd think it's so meaningless if you never had the option of having it? It's easy to say it isn't what matters when you've got it. Or maybe if you're saturated by it. But what if it's not there at all? Do you really think you still wouldn't think it matters or would you start to figure out why it really is important?"

"The act itself - I think I will find it... meaningless, as you say, no matter what the circumstances. You are asking a different question, though - it is intimacy that should be valued. Intimacy does not require sex to be. Sex does not require intimacy. It is when you find them both that they are equal. That they are the same. Alone, though - intimacy is the better of the two. This is my opinion, of course. As you say, others would disagree."

"Maybe people don't know the difference. Or not for a while. 'Cause you don't hear people use words like intimacy until they're sorta well into 'adult' status, y'know? Until then people throw the word 'love' 'round like they know what it means and everything's 'bout sex." Kevin thought maybe he should only ever date people older than himself. Considerably older than himself. Intimacy he was capable of, sex he wasn't. Not without seriously injuring anyone who wasn't invulnerable. He could be attracted to older women...

"People know the difference, I think," Jean-Paul said, freeing his fingertip from the opening of his can and then pushing himself to his feet. He picked the can up and headed for the kitchen, finishing it off before disposing of it. Rolling his shoulders, he tried to get himself back to a semi-social state of mind, since he'd been entirely derailed by this conversation. It was less amusing now and far more personal than he would have liked. "They just... cannot see the value in one - is the act itself, initially, not very intimate? It should be, I think. There is a trust there that wanes with age."

Shaking his head, Jean-Paul said, "Or maybe you are right in this and my own perception of it is warped by my experiences. I do not know."

"Ah dunno either." Kevin shrugged. What he was he going to say? He'd never had sex, he couldn't argue for or against the intimacy of the act. "You're probably right, 'bout it bein' intimate in the beginning and that goin' away." Girls were always on about how they wanted their first time to be special in movies, right? Did they do that in real life? Kevin had chosen to not have sex during the one window of time during which he could have because he didn't see the point of doing it and not having it mean something when he'd never get to do it again.

He scratched the back of his neck and the cloth on cloth on skin sensation caused a discontent expression. Kevin pulled the cloth off and his hand went under the hood that was still on his head to replicate the gesture. "Ah don't really think people should do stuff if it doesn't mean anything, though. Ah don't just mean sex. Just...life in general, Ah guess."

Jean-Paul felt a little bit like he'd had several layers of skin peeled back, exposing the inner workings of some part of himself that he preferred to ignore most of the time. "What do your drawings mean, then? The ones you have given me?"

Kevin blinked, not expecting the conversation to turn that way. He'd forgotten the topic that had originally brought Jean-Paul here. "The drawings themselves?" Or did Jean-Paul mean the act of giving them? If he hadn't thought of that Kevin wasn't going to bring it up and plant the idea in his head.

"Non," Jean-Paul said, then muttered, "Que tu me les a donnés." This was a ridiculous conversation to be having, though, which was part of why he'd spoken in French instead of a language that the younger man could understand. "Never mind," he said, running his hands over his close-cropped hair for a moment before shaking his head. "Je suis désolé - I am sorry." Reaching for his jacket, he paused, unsure what he was doing or why - God knew he was good at running away from things, but he didn't know why he was running away from Kevin.

The lack of French was obviously working against Kevin because he had no idea what most of what Jean-Paul had said meant. He understood the brush off, or maybe it was side stepping, that happened in English. He understood that Jean-Paul was definitely on his way out, jacket in hand and all. Kevin just wasn't sure why. He put himself between the man and the door and there was that unwillingness to back down. Kevin's problem was never finishing something, it was starting it. The conversation had started and he didn't see the point in starting it if you didn't see it through to the end. "Why'd you ask if you didn't want the answer?"

Jean-Paul looked at the younger man, then the door, and finally answered, "Because I am tired of not getting the answers I want when I ask these questions."

"Ah don't even know what question you want an answer for. 'Cause Ah don't even know more'n half of what you just said before you decided to bail. And since you weren't goin' anywhere until Ah asked what you meant 'bout the drawings then it's gotta have somethin' to do with that." He hated it when people ran out, when they avoided instead of dealing with something. Mostly he hated it when they ran out on him, because it was rude. It was disrespectful. Mostly it was a rejection of a person because they didn't matter enough for you to stick around.

Kevin took a step closer to Jean-Paul and he just started talking. He still wasn't sure what answer the man wanted, or what the question really was but maybe he'd find it by accident. "The drawings are accidental moments. All of them. They're happiness. Serendipity. They're all moments or events or circumstances and they'll never be replicated. They'll never happen just like they did ever again. You'd never see them but they all made me smile so I put them down in ink or charcoal 'cause maybe they'd make you smile, too. 'Cause you don't smile. Ever. Sometimes you laugh. Sometimes you smirk. You don't smile unless it's small. Small 'nuff that it's like it's not there. And Ah just thought...that something should. Make you smile, Ah mean. 'Cause people, they go crazy when they never smile, when they got nothin' that can make 'em smile. And it ain't no way to live. And Ah dunno if anyone else is tryin' to fix it, but Ah knew Ah could try. So Ah started leavin' you the drawings 'cause in the boathouse..." Kevin frowned, but his eyes didn't leave Jean-Paul's face. "You looked like someone went and scooped out everything from inside you. And you looked like it hurt to be empty like that. And Ah didn't want you to have to look like that. The drawings, they were a stupid, small thing and Ah know they can't do all that much 'gainst somethin' like that...but art's all Ah got. It's all Ah can give so Ah figured at least it's a try, right?"

"You see too much," Jean-Paul said, his voice very soft. "Too much and too clearly." He was cracked, he was broken, but he usually managed to hide it better than this. There was a rawness to him that he couldn't hide in that moment because this was not superficial. This was unnerving and incomprehensible, but certainly not superficial. It was easier to keep things hidden when no one tried to see behind the facade.

Stepping in closer to Kevin, Jean-Paul tried to think of something else to say, anything else. But nothing would come. Nothing made sense. He was tired and vulnerable - one misstep and he'd fall. He didn't know what to do.

"Artist," Kevin reminded him in a whisper. "Seein', it's what Ah'm supposed to do. Art is how you see the world. It's seein' stuff people don't notice." He was speaking in generalities but he supposed that it applied to Jean-Paul as well.

There was tension between them now. There'd been none before but now it had appeared and Kevin was left wondering when it had gotten there. He recognized it, but he wasn't sure when it'd happened. A lot of things started to make a bit more sense to him, though, like his crusade to get the man in front of him to smile. A small, shuffled step closer and Kevin said, "It's not safe gettin' close to me." He understood how hypocritical it was to say that when he'd just closed more distance, but eventually he'd convince himself to be a lot more rational than he was feeling at the moment.

This was a dance Jean-Paul knew. Suddenly, it had shifted into territory that he was very familiar with, but it had a different flavour now. Kevin's warning wasn't disregarded - far from it. But instead of stepping away, he tipped his head to the side, eyes on the younger man as he considered him.

Ah don't really think people should do stuff if it doesn't mean anything, though.

So what did that make this?

There were superficial things here - Jean-Paul recognised them, knew he could let himself slip into them, let this moment go. He could focus on the sweatpants, Kevin's hips, remember the skin he knew lay beneath the cloth of his hoodie, make a blase comment - something, anything. Anything was easier than allowing himself to think.

What he did instead was, very slowly, very carefully, he moved his left hand until his fingertips were just barely brushing the waistband of Kevin's sweatpants where it lay beneath the fabric of his hoodie and he said, "I know."

Kevin's eyes dropped to watch the hand at his hip. His heart was somewhere in his throat and he wasn't really sure speaking was the best choice, but he knew he had to. He had to explain. He couldn't just close his eyes and jump off this cliff because people could be hurt that way. Swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, the Southerner raised his eyes back up to find Jean-Paul's still watching him as they had been all the while. Kevin licked his lips and tried to figure out how to say what he needed understood. "It's not worth the risk for something you don't want tomorrow. It's just not."

"Oui," Jean-Paul said. "I know this, also." His thumb shifted against the fabric in a slow arch over the muscles of Kevin's lower stomach. He was going to have to stop that. Stop it and then think. Think about things. Many things. There were lots of things he had to consider and weigh and possibly talk over with someone not himself or the voices in his head that didn't really exist most of the time but liked to pop up at inconvenient moments to offer commentary on his life choices.

He'd get right on that. In a minute or two.

"It's never letting go," Kevin continued the warning. He was convinced that Jean-Paul could not understand what it meant to be with him. He was convinced that the man did not grasp that Kevin could not justify being even this close for something that had no intention of continuing. "It's always thinking and always being aware or being physically controlled if you let your guard down. It's a lot of trust that Ah know where all the lines are and that Ah'm not gonna cross any of them. It's never having skin under your hands and never gettin' to be reckless physically. It's always measured movements and breaking almost every habit you probably got when it comes to dealing with touch. It's relearnin' your entire life worth of interaction. And it's understandin' that there's a point nothin' can go past and that it's gonna be darn frustratin' most of the time." He stopped talking so he could breathe.

Speaking helped him not focus on the feeling of his shirt moving over his abdomen. It let him ignore the touch that caused that movement but with the silence Kevin became all too aware. He forced his brain around it. "It's irreparable damage if we mess it up."

"I understand," Jean-Paul said, letting his palm flatten against Kevin's hip. He was old enough to actually get what Kevin meant. And he knew he needed to think. Really think about the impact this would have on his life if he let himself do it - the problem was... he was having trouble thinking in general. Which meant he should remove his hand and excuse himself so he could figure things out. The risk factor versus the possible rewards. And other things. But he didn't want to be the one that pulled away because that sent a signal, didn't it? That sent a signal he didn't want to send.

"Ah'm not worth the risk," he whispered back. Kevin really didn't think he was, but he couldn't help wanting to be worth it to someone. He didn't think Jean-Paul was the someone who'd decide he was, but the hands clenched into fists at his side still had to stop themselves from reaching for the man. It was there in his eyes, raw and naked and full of want. Not need, Kevin wasn't stupid enough to think he needed Jean-Paul or whatever this could be but he sure as hell wanted it. He really wished he had figured that out before he'd ended up in this position. He could have avoided this entire conversation if he had just figured it out sooner.

Kevin forced his eyes away from Jean-Paul's. They went down and ended up focused on the hand at his hip and the bare one of his own not far away that had knuckles turning white. "You should find someone that's worth the risk instead."

"Ne dis pas des choses comme ça," Jean-Paul said, voice very quiet again as his eyes followed Kevin's downward. Don't say things like that. French was easier, an escape in and of itself. His other hand shifted upward, fingers tracing the seam of the hoodie near Kevin's collar, then drifting backward until he could palm the nape of the younger man's neck. "Do you kiss, Kevin?"

Again Kevin was lost for a translation. The only part he recognized the sound of was comme ça, but he didn't know what it meant. He didn't know what any of it meant and maybe it was better that way. Maybe he should never know what Jean-Paul was saying and just think of it all like it was classical music. Notes and sounds but never words.

The tensing of muscles was immediate upon contact. The constriction pulled Kevin's neck away from Jean-Paul's hand at first, but the hand had continued and adjusted until it was wrapped around the back of all that tightly wound muscle. His eyes refused to move upward when he answered the Quebecois in a voice barely audible. "Yes."

His thumb now moving gently over Kevin's neck, Jean-Paul asked, "May I?"

"No." It cost him something to not say yes, but Kevin was going to choose the right answer over the one he wanted.

Catching the joint of Kevin's jaw, Jean-Paul used just enough pressure to raise the younger man's eyes so he could see them. "Alright," he said, nodding slowly. There were many replies he could have given, many words he might have used, but intruding wasn't something he wanted to do. There were lines here that he didn't understand, courses of action that he wanted to take without knowing where they would lead.

No one had ever found a way to raise Kevin's face without gloves on. He hadn't been expecting Jean-Paul to figure it out so when the pressure tilted his head back Kevin was too surprised to fight it. Looking up reminded him how close Jean-Paul was, though. So close and it made so many things so easy if he'd let himself. If he'd let the other man. But it was all selfish. It was selfish and it was stupid and it would bite him in the ass in the end. Kevin knew all that.

"You're gonna figure out it's a bad idea once Ah'm not in front of you anymore." He wasn't going to hold it against Jean-Paul either. It was just a fact of life. "Sooner you go the sooner you'll figure it out." Kevin wouldn't tell him to go. Kevin didn't want him to go. But he thought it was probably a very bad plan for Jean-Paul to keep standing there with his hands on Kevin as if it were totally natural for him. Kevin wasn't sure his own self-control was up to it.

"Or," Jean-Paul said, still watching Kevin's expression as his thumb shifted down from the joint of his jaw, "I will spend the rest of the day and night trying to find a way to convince you to say 'yes.'" He could feel the shift of fabric beneath his skin, the give of muscle beneath that, and it took a great deal of willpower to make the motion stop. "But we will see, non?" Jean-Paul managed to take his hands back, though it was a reluctant move on his part. Kevin did not want him here, he supposed - perhaps because it made things difficult, perhaps for another reason. Whatever it was, he would go now. He would go and he would think. And once he had thought, he might be able to properly process this entire situation.

Once his hands were off of him Kevin seemed to be able to breathe again. The air he drew in was enough to move his chest as he inhaled and then exhaled. He'd been so still, trying so hard to not move and dislodge one of Jean-Paul's hands because he could get hurt if that happened. Kevin's eyes dropped again because it was easier that way. Contact being broken helped him trust himself to move as well and the Southerner took a step away from the Quebecois so there was space between them again. "Don't. 'Cause Ah say yes and all that happens is it takes you longer to figure out. Maybe months or maybe more'n a year. Maybe just weeks. And you'll bail. 'Cause ain't no one wanna live the way you gotta with me. Can't no one stand it. Even when they think they love you. It's a lot better if you just stick with the 'no.'"

Kevin didn't think he could take someone leaving again because of what he was. It had hurt so badly when Jay did. Then he'd come back and he'd left again. Kevin had cared too much and gotten too attached and it'd felt like something had been ripped out of him when that'd all happened. That old pain that he'd thought was gone and dealt with surged to the fore and it hurt all over again. He'd be good enough for someone if he just wasn't him, that's what he'd learned. Kevin didn't want to learn it all over again.

There was such pain there - more pain than one person should have to bear, let alone someone as young as Kevin, someone as good as Kevin was. Jean-Paul didn't know what to do with it, he didn't know what to do with himself. That expression was his fault - and he felt, in that moment, like he might understand the Southerner's drive to make people smile. No one should look like this, not ever. But what could he do? He had less to offer than Kevin did - and this. This seemed far more immediate a need than whatever might have driven the younger man to draw.

Danger was danger, so far as Jean-Paul was concerned. Some was worse, some was better. It all amounted to the same thing, though. And this was his fault.

Reaching out, Jean-Paul set his fingers against the side of Kevin's wrist, watched his white knuckles where they clenched the glove he hadn't put back on, and then stepped to the side. He never broke the contact, but drew his hand with him as he shifted until he stood behind the younger man - so Kevin would always know where he was as he moved. And then he bent his head, nose brushing the back of the Southerner's hood, and began murmuring very softly in French. He knew that Kevin wouldn't understand and most of what he was saying held no real meaning, anyway. But the words, the tone, they were gentle in a way that Jean-Paul almost never allowed himself to be. Because through gentleness, there was weakness. To be kind to someone else required that you display your vulnerability - he'd done that this evening, though.

And so he felt less exposed now than he might have as he raised his head, began speaking against the shell of Kevin's ear, words half in English now. Jean-Paul allowed his hand to move to Kevin's waist, though his touch was very light. He didn't even know if this would help, but it was all he had to offer.

Kevin didn't know why Jean-Paul was still here. He didn't know why he was doing this. He had no idea what the man was saying even when there were English words coming from his lips. He didn't know why the Quebecois kept touching him. The nose against his neck had caused Kevin's head to fall forward and it hadn't raised. His muscles had all tensed again and he had once more grown very still. Kevin wasn't sure what to do. Jean-Paul wouldn't go but Kevin was convinced he wouldn't stay once he'd really thought about this. Once reality had set in he'd flee. He'd see the massive pain in the ass this would all be and he'd find something simpler. Maybe something meaningless because Lord knew people were terrified of meaning, both having it and losing it. Maybe they were terrified of maintaining it as well.

"You don't listen none, do you?" Maybe that wasn't the thing to say but Kevin didn't have anything else. He was so confused by current circumstance. He was frustrated with himself for not seeing the forest for the trees. He was irritated that his obliviousness had caused this situation. And he was so preoccupied with not letting himself do any of the things he wanted to that Kevin was sure he might go mad any moment now.

"I will not give up because things are difficult," Jean-Paul said, thinking over the bits of his life that he knew - at least fairly reliably - he could remember accurately. "I do not make hasty decisions." He'd given up his medals, he'd stayed with Alpha Flight, he'd come out as being gay. He'd sought help. Jean-Paul did not have it in him to take the easy routes, not when it counted.

Kevin had laid it out for him plainly. Jean-Paul understood the repercussions of this decision in its most basic form. The impact - that was still in question, but the immediate cause and effect. He could understand that very well. And the possibilities stretched out before him, easy roads, roads fraught with danger and pitfalls, impassible roads. "Do you trust me in that, at least?"

"It weren't ever a question of trusting you." Fate he didn't trust. Time. Build up. Patience. Love. Those things he didn't trust. Those things Kevin thought would fail him. Those things would contribute to being left, for being too much burden. God he didn't trust to give him something he could keep.

Lips still brushing the shell of Kevin's ear as he spoke, the cloth dragging with every word, Jean-Paul said, "Breathe." And then, just as softly, he whispered, "Trust me. Please."

Was he going to say no? Was he going to claim to trust him even though the belief that Jean-Paul would inevitably leave if this became anything spoke directly against that? Kevin nodded, slowly, and drew in a deep breath. He held the air for several moments and then let it go just as slowly. The exhale took some of the tension from his muscles and a little more seeped away with every subsequent exhale. Part of him wondered how much of a bad idea this was. Another part wondered how much worse of an idea it would be to keep trying to get the man to leave.

Jean-Paul let his hand slide around Kevin's waist then, smoothing the fabric of the younger man's shirt as he did, before closing the last bit of distance that separated them so he stood pressed along Kevin's back with his face tucked in against the Southerner's neck.

Kevin's weight shifted back against the man behind him as he relaxed into him. He wasn't sure what this meant and that drove him a little crazy, but Kevin also thought maybe it was time for him to shut up already and just be for a bit. He could figure out what this was and what it meant later, right? Until then he just had to remember to not get too attached to the idea of anything. Until Jean-Paul said what he wanted Kevin had to let himself not assume one thing or another. But he was glad the man was still here.