Layla & Jean-Phillipe | BACKDATED

[x-mandelbrot.livejournal.com]

After failing to come to any sort of conclusion on her own about the evolution of things with Sarah, Layla turns to the most likely source for help. And she brings copious amounts of cookies.

The cookies did not fit on the plate. They kept sliding off the top and off the sides. That wouldn't do. After a good long stare with her hands on her hips Layla went searching for a tin or like a container or something. Not a bowl. Bowls were...wrong. Eventually a large, rectangular gladware container was located. And it fit all the cookies! Which was awesome, because by time she got upstairs and knocked on her RA's door they were still warm. There were chocolate chip cookies and peanut butter cookies and chocolate chocolate chip cookies and sugar cookies and snickerdoodles and gingerbead cookies and even some with macademia nuts. Because, well, Layla didn't actually know what sort of cookies Jean-Phillipe liked so she figured give him some of everything! Variety was totally the answer.

"Yes, yes, I am coming, already!" Jean-Phillipe yelled at the insistent knocking on his door. He supposed this was the one downside to being an RA, the unpredictable interruptions of whatever he might be doing. But all things considered, that was rather minor. He pulled the door open, and managed to look as little annoyed as he generally tended to be. "Ah, bonjour, Layla," he greeted the girl who was standing on the other side with a very large container. "That is...quite a number of cookies," he observed.

Layla beamed the moment the door had begun to open. She only looked more pleased with herself given his observation. "Yes, yes it is. I come bearing gifts!" She held the container out to her RA without any further explanation about why she had made him an obscene quantity of cookies. "I didn't know what kind you liked so I made like some of everything I could think of. I'm totally channeling my inner Jewish mom even though I'm totally not Jewish. Can I come in?" The request came on the heels of the rest in her usual rapid fire manner of speaking. And par for the course she didn't actually wait for him to say yes, just slid in between Jean-Phillipe and the doorframe. He was her RA, how was he gonna explain saying no, right?

"Of course you may." Part of being an RA was having a more or less open door for the younger residents of the mansion. There were times when he was not available, but Jean-Phillipe did his best to make those times infrequent and not abuse them, despite his occasional bout of 'cranky'. "I think that perhaps even a Jewish mother could learn something about baking a truly astonishing number of cookies from you, Layla," he observed as she wandered into the common area of his suite.

"I've got mad skills," she told him by way of agreement. "You need to feed the world and uh, nourish the soul. Or something. Or maybe that's just soul food. Maybe I should learn to make that. Does schnitzel count as soul food? It's sorta like fried veal and soul food's all about frying shit, right?" The blonde perched on the back of the couch in the suite's common area and waited for Jean-Phillipe to close the door so people walking by wouldn't hear her. Well, hopefully.

"So I've got a...thing. Sorta like a problem. Only not a problem. Actually, I'm pretty sure it's kind of like the dead opposite of a problem. But maybe a problem anyway," she rambled without stopping for air. "Okay, so, um, you're like the only person I can even think of to talk to about this. And I like you better than Yvette because, um, you're cranky and saucy and like a real person and Yvette is really nice but kinda too cheerful and perky and wow so not gonna get the point. But anyway, the point! The point is I've had this...thing. For this person. For, like, ever. Like since I met them. And then last night I sorta...kissed them. Only I think I might fuck it up and I don't want to fuck it up 'cause they're really awesome and wow how much would I fail at life then, right?"

That was quite the meandering journey to something like the point, Jean-Phillipe noted as the young blonde continued chattering. He recognized her nervous need to fill the empty space up with words, and was content to let her go on until she finally reached something approaching an endpoint. Or at least a point where she needed to take a breath. "Kissing does seem like the opposite of a problem, yes," he replied. "But you are worried about doing the wrong thing, that is understandable. Everyone worries that way when a relationship is new and unknown."

"It's not actually a relationship. Um, yet? I dunno. There was this attempt to like figure shit out and I totally did the avoidy thing and the 'can we not talk about this right now?' thing. And, um, okay, that might sorta be a mess waiting to happen. Because, hi, that is totally going to come back to bite me in the ass hardcore eventually and I don't really have enough ass to lose a chunk of it for something like that, you know? But, um, the problem is..." She wasn't exactly sure how to put this. How the hell did you explain this? Suddenly Layla was quiet and when she spoke she was speaking much more slowly. Almost as slow as normal people spoke all the time. "I'm kinda worried that I'm...not...gay enough. To, like, maintain it. 'Cause, I mean, I like her. Like, really like her. But what if it's some fucked up phase or something? Or some really fucked up way my brain thinks is like safer because girls are super clingy and dudes bail and, hi, orphan foster kid here. 'Cause orphans and foster kids who've been to that many homes totally have those issues, don't they? And she is awesome. Like insanely awesome to an unfair degree. And if I just wake up and go 'wow that was like a coping mechanism but I'm chillin' now...and all sorts of hetero' that is like burning in purgatory forever levels of fucked up, isn't it?"

Layla took in a much needed breath and upon exhale deflated entirely. She even flopped over, falling off the back of the couch and onto the couch proper, legs still up over the back of it. "So what the fuck am I supposed to do?"

Jean-Phillipe raised an eyebrow, amused at Layla's worries. But then, she was of an age where she was beginning to explore what it was she wanted from life, and was finally in a place where she might feel safe enough to actually do so. So while he was amused, he certainly did not laugh at her. After all, his own worried questionings had not been so long ago that he had forgotten how it felt to wonder if you were normal. "There is no such thing as 'not gay enough', Layla. The world likes to put labels on everything. But labels are not important. Gay, straight, bisexual, what matters is what you feel." He waved a hand. "Oh, I am very proud of being gay, and I wear the label so that all can see it. But that is what I have decided for myself, that this is who I am, and anyone who looks down on me..." He made a rude spitting noise. "Allez en enfer, I say to them."

He smiled at Layla. "But I have had much more time than you to make these decisions. For now, it is enough that you like this girl." He did not ask who it was, Layla would tell him if she wanted, otherwise it didn't really matter. "And if things do not work out, and after you decide that some boy is who you like, then so what? Anyone who questions you for it, you spit in their eye and tell them allez en enfer, too."

Layla's feet swung around onto the couch and a moment later her head popped up over the back. Arms folding over the top of the couch, she propped her chin atop them. "What's...allez en enfer mean?" She butchered the pronunciation a bit, but she figured that was totally allowed since she was so not French. "Cause, dude, I take German. And that's like, not even in the same language family as French. And even if it was, I can like talk to a five year old. Me and some little mini German can have a rockin' conversation. And me and a little mini Frenchman would look at each other funny and like play with Play Doh."

"It means 'go to hell'," Jean-Phillipe translated. He forgot that she was learning some German, and had developed nicknames for Kurt and possibly also Marie-Ange's coworker. "You should know how to swear in as many languages as possible," he told the girl, chuckling to himself at giving what might be considered poor role model advice. "It is very useful to know how to curse people in their native tongue."

The blonde girl grinned suddenly, like Jean-Phillipe was the most amazing person in the world. "Do you know how to swear in any other languages or just French? Will you teach me to swear in French? I wonder if Amanda or Meggan or der Fremde would teach me to swear in German." She stroked her chin, trying her best to look like a calculating, scheming mastermind. And failing. "Allez en enfer," she repeated more slowly, trying to get the pronunciation correct but falling short once again. "So, basically, other than swearing in lots of languages which is like the best advice ever and now I need to find people to teach me more swearing because, dude, I so have English covered already...I should basically spit in people's eye and say 'fuck it'? You know, after I figure out how to tell them to go to hell in French without sounding like a total idiot since, wow do I totally not speak French. But, I don't actually like care about the other people. See, that's the whole problem. Other people can totally fuck off. They already don't like my skirts or my tights or me grinding down their stairs railing and shit. They can not like me bein' into girls, too. Fuck them, right? But...what about her? I mean, it's fine to tell everyone else to fuck off but what if it's all 'wow, I think I'm way hetero and vag grosses me out' and then I need to tell Sarah that? 'Cause have you ever seen her eyes? They are huge? Have you ever seen her cry? It's like the saddest thing ever even when it's just because of some stupid chick flick she's making me watch and wow, I am so the guy here, aren't I? Anyway, not the point. The point is, what if I'm not gay enough but she is and then I like accidentally rip her heart out and shove it in a blender and Daisy the Moose ends up drinking it for funsies? 'Cause, dude, fucked up."

Ah. Well that at least answered the question of who the other young lady in question was. "Breaking up happens for many reasons," Jean-Phillipe told her, sadly remembering how things had ended between him and Mark. "As long as you do not mean to be cruel, that is mostly what matters. The breakup will always hurt, but being cruel is something else. So if things should hypothetically end between you and Sarah, and you decided you wanted to date a boy, so long as you do not rub it in her face..." He shrugged, then shook his head. "But you should not be planning for the breakup, Layla. You should be planning for enjoying your time with her."

"Who would be an asshat on top of dumping you? What sort of douchecanoe are you for that?" Layla wrinkled her nose in what, in her mind, was a most disapproving manner and shook her head. "Will you be like my break up reference if I'm accidentally an asshat without meaning it? You can be all rockin' the suave French accent and all, 'Layla, she did not mean to be an idiot, she is just a tiny idiot who does not know better to do these things.'" She laughably tried to imitate his accent. To say it was something like a drunk Irishman trying to be a French-Swiss hybrid barely touched the ridiculousness of it.

"Certainment." Jean-Phillipe winked. "But how about we plan like you will not need it, hm?"