hebeimmortalized | (no subject)

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people: paul schafer

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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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"I think I'll do something decaf," she says. "I already have a hard enough time sleeping at night as it is."

"Decaf," says Paul, nodding, disappearing off to the counter. He's gone for a minute or two and then he returns carrying a tray. "Decaf hazlenut latte for you," he says, putting it down in front of her. "Another coffee for me, and I thought this cake looked too good not to share. Provided you don't hate red velvet."

"Anyone who hates red velvet is living a terrible life," she says, smiling up at him. She accepts the coffee with a happy hum and takes a sip, then watches him. "Thanks."

"It's my pleasure," he says, and means it utterly. He picks up a fork and offers it to her. "Ladies first, obviously." He's smiling when he picks up his own cup, watching her over the rim.

"Be careful," she says, "I could kill an entire real cake of this shit, not just a slice." She grins, but uses the edge of her fork to cut just a bite-sized piece off of the cake.

"Next time I'll buy more then," says Paul, with a grin, using his own fork to break off a bite. He finds that he likes watching Jillie eat, how obviously she enjoys the food put in front of her.

She's had people observing her eating, making sure she's getting proper nutrition, making sure she doesn't force herself to choke, things like that. Not once has she ever felt someone watch her and just . . . see her.

And the cake is good, god dammit.

"I'm sorry," says Paul, taking another bite of his own cake, blushing as he looks away. Absurdly, he wishes he was still holding her hand. "For staring. I wasn't raised to be so rude."

"I didn't find it rude," she assures. She watches him, then rests her left hand on the table. She's right-handed; he's left-handed. They can hold each other's hands without sacrificing their need to eat.

Hesitantly, Paul reaches out and hooks his fingers with her, as he takes another bite of cake.

"Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

She tilts her head, watching him. "In this . . . other place, that you went to," she says, slowly, like she's admitting something about herself by talking about it, "what . . . did you do? Why'd you go?"

He shifts his hand, so he's holding hers more definitely as he thinks about it, preparing to answer.

"Originally, we were just there as a novelty - for a celebration," he says. "A magic trick - travellers from another world."

She stares at their hands rather than his face, because she doesn't want to feel like he's lying to her, or pulling some sick joke on her. She's pretty sure he's not, though. He hasn't shown himself to be like that yet.

"You weren't scared?"

"Like I said, I didn't have anything to lose," he says, aware that she's not looking at him. "Kevin wanted to go and I didn't see why not."

"How, um." She licks her lips nervously. "How long were you there?" she asks. She knows she's treading dangerous ground. It'd be so easy for her to hear something and suddenly, nothing will feel real. She tightens her grip on Paul's hand.

"The first time? A few months," he says. "And then we came home again. I was on my way back there with my friend Jenny when I ended up here." He keeps things as simple as he can, doesn't elaborate or try to make things seem fantastical.

"The one I remind you of," she prompts, because he's said it before, she's certain. "You . . . went, or, were gonna go, more than once? I guess you liked it there, huh?"

"I did," he says, nodding his head, taking another bite of the cake and chewing thoughtfully. "I...figured out a lot while I was there. Figured out how to be myself again."

"That's good," she says sincerely. "That's how the hospital was, for me. People take it for granted, don't they? Being themselves. Being aware, like that."

"Too many of them do," he nods, agreeing. "It's too easy to lose your way back."

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