hebeimmortalized | (no subject)

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people: paul schafer

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Paul is, Jillie is quite certain, some kind of actual living saint. She knows how he'd woken up when they'd shared her bed, and he'd actually excused himself. And, sure, part of Jillie wishes she hadn't — mostly the southern part of her — but she appreciates that he did, anyway.

But this is something entirely new. Jillie hasn't been on a date in . . . years. Even before she'd gotten sick, she hadn't so much dated as she had . . . gotten around. At least a little bit. It's nice to actually get to know the guy. And they are getting to know each other. They talk a lot. Almost as much as she and Jack talk. Almost as much as she and her therapist talk.

And today, they're going on a date. A real date.

It takes her hours to pick out an outfit. She makes Girl help. She sends pictures to Jack to double check. She's nervous and terrified and excited.

But she can do this.

She's got her hair braided up off her neck, and silver jewelry to accent her dress. Her shoes match her makeup and she's got a small clutch with her phone, keys, and cigarettes. Paul is picking her up. She feels like a princess.

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They've been spending a lot of time together and, Paul finds, he's enjoying the process of getting to know someone He doesn't always get it right where Jillie's concerned - sometimes, he misjudges, but he works hard. He hopes that she knows that. He walks up the steps to the house and knocks.

There's a cab waiting.

She answers the door, feeling a little exhilarated. When she sees him, looking smart in his three-piece-suit, she blushes a little.

"Paul," she greets. "You look great."

"Not nearly as good as you," he says, his eyes dropping to take in the full picture. He'd bought the suit especially for tonight, but it doesn't even compare to Jillie in that dress. He offers her his arm. "Shall we?"

She smiles, blushing faintly, and slides her fingers into the crook of his arm. "Let's," she agrees. As they walk to the cab, she says, "Where are we going, anyway? I feel like it's to prom?"

"I know you don't necessarily like to be reminded," he says, leaning past her to open the door so that she can get into the cab, "But I'm a little old for Prom?"

She smiles a little, and she doesn't answer until she's slid into the cab, moving to the opposite seat so he can sit next to her. "Not that old, chronology notwithstanding."

He's already given the driver the name of where they're going, so Paul just slides into the cab next to her and slams the door before they pull away. He settles into the seat, close enough that their arms are touching. It's becoming a habit.

"You're right," he says. "Chronology not withstanding."

"So it's a surprise?" she prompts, letting her elbow press against his. She's sitting properly, ankles and knees together, hands holding her clutch in her lap. The way her thumb rubs against the side of her clutch is the only indication of her nerves.

"It's a surprise," he says and, after a moment, he offers her his hand. He finds himself wanting to touch her all the time, even if he is still working to hold himself a little distant, for both of their sakes. No need to rush this at all.

"Is that okay?"

"As long as it's a good surprise," she says, lacing her fingers with his. She watches the way her skin looks against his, rather than where they're going.

"It's Italian," he says softly, leaning in so that his mouth is close to her ear. "Expensive. On the shore. I'm trying for romantic."

He knows Jillie isn't good with surprises.

She looks up at him from under her lashes. "You know you don't have to woo me with expensive meals, right?" she asks, but she doesn't look displeased.

"I know that," says Paul, with a little nod of his head. He squeezes her hand. "I'm buying dinner because I want to."

She nods, brushing her thumb against his. "Okay," she says. "On the shore, you said?" She hopes they get a window seat. She finds the ocean here mesmerizing, most days.

"Right on the shore," he says. "I thought we could go for a walk after we eat? I'm still getting used to having the ocean right there. I suppose that's not a thing you had to get used to, coming from San Francisco."

"It was just always there," she confirms. A seashore walk after a fancy meal sounds amazing, and Jillie somewhat regrets not bringing a sweater or something. But maybe she can just borrow Paul's blazer. That doesn't sound like a bad compromise.

"It was closer in Brennin, but...I had a lot of other things to do," he says. And he hadn't been in the mood for looking at the ocean. He turns his head, grazing the tip of his nose against her powdered cheek. He catches himself just short of kissing her skin.

Her eyes drift closed and she leans into the touch. With a small smile, she leans back again, watching him. "Tell me one true thing about Brennin?" she asks. She's trying to get better about it. She's trying to get better.

"One true thing," he echoes, thinking it over. "Between Brennin and Catal, there's no border. Just a river in a ravine. I crossed it on a rope."

"Oh my god," she says. "Seriously? On a rope?" She looks at him, a little impressed and a little alarmed. "Why?"

"Because a prince had an idea," he says, huffing a laugh at the expression on her face. "About a girl. And that was the most hidden way in."

"What a dog," she teases. She leans her arm against his, and says, "Tell me something true about Toronto?"

"But a pretty face, so he gets away with it," says Paul, smiling fondly at the thought of Diarmuid. "Something true about Toronto. My favourite place in Toronto is the ROM. I've been going there since I was a kid to see the dinosaurs."

"A museum?" she asks, looking at him. "I can see that about you. The fossils freaked me the fuck out when I was little. I could never bring myself to actually look at them directly. Does that sound stupid?"

"No," he says, smiling. "I was always into the dinosaurs, but the ROM has an Irish Elk skeleton and that thing? Is the stuff of nightmares."

The cab rolls to a stop in front of the restaurant.

"Here we are."