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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He wants to tell her that it would be alright even if she was fishing for compliments, but he doesn't. He looks up.

"Aside from the fact that you're beautiful? Every inch of you?" He includes the scars, the weight he knows she doesn't love carrying, every part of it. "For a long time I've been...terrified of letting anyone close to me. But when its you, I find that I don't think about that at all."

She recalls that he'd told her once that it's easy to be around her. That still baffles her, just a little. She nods, though. "I guess that's a good thing, huh? That I don't scare you."

"I didn't say that," he says. "You terrify me. Just...not in the way that I'd expect." He smiles. "What about you? Why keep coming back to me?"

"There are a lot of reasons," she admits. "Some are more shallow than others. But, I think . . . because you make me feel safe?" She feels vulnerable to even admit it, but it's still the truth.

He smiles at that, feeling it for the high praise that he thinks it is.

"I'm sorry that everything's moving so slowly."

"Don't be," she says, even as a part of her wants to say 'me too.' She knows it's not because of any lack of attraction, and she's pretty sure there's plenty of chemistry. The pace is set for a good reason, for both of them, and she likes it. "I think it's good, like this."

He nods, his cheeks flushed as the waitress arrives at their table. Paul orders and then glances up at Jillie, waiting for her to decide, distracted for a moment how beautiful she is.

She places her order as well, and offers the menu over so they're not in the way. She can feel Paul watching her, and only very slowly brings her eyes to his after the waitress leaves again.

"I am . . . really digging the suit, by the way," she says.

Paul flushes with pleasure, straightening his waistcoat slightly, adjusting the knot in his tie.

"I was hoping you would," he says.

"It's very sharp," she assures. "Where'd you find it?" Clothes are easy, for Jillie. They always have been.

"There's a tailors," he says. "It...wasn't cheap, but I thought it was worth the expense."

She blushes a little. "Don't go broke on my account, okay?" she says, partly teasing.

"I think I can afford one suit," he says, grinning. "Especially if you're going to look at me like that while I'm wearing it."

She smiles warmly, definitely trying not to stare. "It's really, really easy to look at you like this," she admits.

"All the more reason to wear a suit more often," he says. "I'd never have worn one in Toronto and, in Fionavar, the fashion is...somewhat different."

Her eyes cast down when he says that, but she doesn't ask him to stop. She just takes a moment to brace herself, then looks up at him again. "I'm imagining . . . high collars, and slim lines, and not as many layers?" she offers.

She doesn't usually ask about Fionavar, and Paul hesitates, for a moment, before he continues.

"Stockings," he says. "Breeches, boots. Doublets." His nose wrinkles. "It takes some getting used to."

"What's a doublet?" she asks, eyes narrowing as she tries to picture one with no basis for comparison whatsoever.

"Sort of like a jacket? Fitted. Snug. Buttons down here. You wear them over a shirt," he says. "Think sort of...Shakespearean, but without the puffy shorts?"

She nods slowly as the pictures settle into place. She presses her lips into a wan smile, then nods again, a little quicker. "Wow. I managed not to freak out that time. You must be good for me." She tries to keep it light, but she recognizes that this is also very huge for her.

"You're doing really well," he says, nodding, squeezing her hand. "Honestly. I'm happy to never talk about it if you don't want me to, Jillie. It's...whatever you need."

"I'm trying to . . . broaden my mental horizons," she admits. "Just because I can't handle something doesn't mean I get to ignore it. Just because it's weird doesn't mean it's bad. Right?"

"Right," he says, nodding, his hair slipping forward across his forehead. It's probably best not to tell her the depth of everything that happened, the Summer Tree, the God in the grove, but he'll answer any questions that she's got. "Like I said, Jillie - whatever you need."

She takes a breath and squeezes his hand gently. "You're . . . really amazing, you know that?"

He doesn't have an answer for that, not really, so he just blushes and glances away, squeezing her fingers.

"We can go as slowly as you need to," he says. "And I can tell you as much or as little as you want."