hebeimmortalized | (no subject)

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people: paul schafer

(no subject)

Jillie fiddles with her phone, tempted to text Paul. She's been tempted to text Paul since all but ditching him in that little cafe. She'd panicked. She couldn't help it, at the time. He'd admitted to losing someone and all she could think was what she'd done to herself. The scars on her arms. The scar on her neck.

She's not good for him, not as a friend and not as anything more than that.

So she'd panicked. Distanced herself a little it, and had felt like it was the right move when he'd done it right back.

But she misses talking to him. And looking at him. And listening to his voice.

God, she's pathetic.

She stares down at her phone and types out half a message before deleting it. Then she starts a different message. She deletes that, too. Then she shakes her head and finally types, How'd the job hunt go? Tell me over coffee? and sends it before she can change her mind.

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She narrows her eyes at him, but smiles. "I've noticed," she admits. She sheds her coat so she can settle a little more comfortably in the seat. The shirt she's wearing today has a sort of peekaboo neckline that shows off her cleavage.

"I'm better than i used to be," he says, glancing down before he focuses on her face again. "I'm trying, at least."

She's so tempted to assure him that he can look at her tits, so much that she has to literally bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself. She's slowly understanding that Paul isn't that kind of guy. And that's okay.

"You're allowed to be serious," she assures instead. "As long as you have fun every now and then. 'All work and no play,' right?"

"That is what they say," he says, reaching for a menu. "You do seem to make it easier."

"I do?" she asks, a little surprised. Then she blushes faintly and looks down at her own menu. "That . . . is good to know, I think."

"Being around you is easy," he says and be can't help but notice how beautiful her blush is, how much it suits her. "I appreciate that."

". . . Literally no one has ever said that about me," she admits. Her voice is softer this time, quieter and almost shyer. It's only ever been hard to be around Jillian Vincent. She's too athletic, too popular, too much of a bitch, too crazy, too schizo. The reasons changed as often as the seasons but one thing stayed the same: she was a hard person to be around. For anyone to say otherwise is a big deal, but for Paul especially to say so has her feeling warm.

"People used to be the same about me," he says, with a tight little smile. "So maybe it just takes one to know one."

"Maybe," she murmurs. She looks up at him, briefly, then back down at her fingers where they fiddle with her menu. "Anyway, um. I think I'll do something hazelnutty."

"Hazelnutty," he echoes, nodding as he looks over the menu. "I'm not used to all of these choices. Mostly, when I'm from, it's just "coffee"." He sighs. "How old did i just make myself sound?"

She grins. "Barely old," she assures. Then she amends, "A little old, but, maybe you're just from an old-fashioned town, where all coffee is one flavor and you can still get it at a gas station and it won't be burnt to shit."

"Sounds exactly like Toronto," he says, and he actually laughs. He's sure that he hasn't laughed this much in years.

Jillie grins, glad that they're not weird after the last time they'd hung out. She ends up deciding on a hazelnut latte and a bottled water on the side, so she's not mainlining caffeine.

"So, the job hunt," she says. "Yea or nay?"

"Part-time in the film archive at the museum and I'm applying to Barton to complete my senior year in the Fall," he says. "What about you? Still running?"

"Still running," she confirms. "And also considering the Barton thing, but I'll be just an infant freshman there." She shrugs. "I need to decide if I think it's something I can handle, on top of everything. My therapist is helping."

"What do you think you'd like to study?" He says, eyebrows raised. "Theoretically speaking?"

"Something to do with the arts," she says. "But I don't know if I want to take art classes, if that makes sense."

Paul nods.

"I feel like that might be a lot of pressure, even if you're someone with talent?" He says, sipping his coffee. "What about something like history of art?"

"Probably," she says. "I'd like to take only one or two classes, but I don't even know if that's possible." She's willing to try, anyway, and maybe even fight for it, if she needs to. She knows she can't load herself up with too much burden, but she does want to at least try to get back into schooling.

"There's always the community college," says Paul, idly reaching across the table to fiddle with her bottle of water, turning it against the tabletop as he sips his college. "If you just want to get back into the swing of things?"

"Maybe," she says. "I guess I worry that'll seem like . . . giving up. Like I'm better than that."

"I don't think there'd be any shame in starting slow," says Paul. "Right before I...went travelling, I'd dropped down to the bare minimum classes I could take, and nobody thought any less of me. Nobody that mattered, anyway."

"That's good," she says. "Maybe people won't be as harsh as I think, but . . . I guess we'll see."

"If anyone ever gives you trouble, Lady, I'm happy to step in," he says, glancing at get through her eyelashes.

That has her looking a little shyly down at her coffee. "I appreciate that," she murmurs, then clears her throat.