hebeimmortalized | (no subject)

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Something true," she echoes. She sips her water and leans back in her seat.

There are a lot of different truths she could choose for this. Some of them she'll probably take to her grave, no matter how charming Paul proves himself to be. Some of them are trivial, things he'll learn just by being with her and observing her. Others, like now, he'll have to ask her for.

"I am actually bisexual," she decides on.

Paul raises an eyebrow slightly. He has a sense that that admission is more common place now than it ever would have been in his time. He likes that, he thinks - that it's easier now.

"I'd worry more about competition, but you're already here with me," he says.

"I am," she agrees. She smiles a little wryly, then. "Plus, it means that if I ever catch you eyeballing another girl, I can just appreciate the same thing you are." She winks, because she's teasing. Paul is still a man, but in the time they've spent together, not once has she felt like his eyes are anywhere else.

Paul shakes his head, smiling, his cheeks touched with pink under his beard. He doesn't think he's ever blushed as much as he does when he's talking to Jillie.

"I've only got eyes for you."

It's silly, how that simple, six-word sentence has her belly flopping and her cheeks warming, too. He's really good at making her lighthearted remarks into something more serious, and she can't really tell if that's something she admires or sort of envies.

She smiles small and grabs another roll to decimate.

"Is it odd," he says, picking up his drink and sipping it. "That I think I could sit and watch you eat all night?"

"It's a little odd," she admits with a little smile. "But . . . I guess I kind of feel like. I wouldn't mind it, either. Is that odd?"

"Sounds like an ideal arrangement," he says, blushing a little. Thankfully, the waiter choses that moment to deliver their food, offering him a moment to catch his breath.

Jillie tucks her hands close to her body so the waiter has room to put their plates down. She offers a quiet thank you and then puts the half-demolished roll back in the basket so she can instead focus on her plate.

"Looks amazing," she murmurs, still a little bashful from their little exchange.

"It really does. And it smells amazing, too," he says, glancing up at her. "Don't judge me too harshly, Jillie. I don't seem to be able to keep any kind of hold on myself where you're concerned."

She looks at him from under her lashes, still smiling small. "Do I look like I'm judging you?" she points out with a small smile.

"Not yet," he says, smiling as he takes a first bite of his food. He makes a soft sound. "Alright. You're going to have to try this."

The sound makes her shiver a little bit, but she smiles and takes a sip of her drink to clear her mouth. "Yeah? It's good?"

"It's incredibly good." He gets a forkful together and holds it out to her eyebrows slightly raised. He wonders if this is possibly going too far. He hopes not.

She eyes him briefly, then leans forward. She holds one hand under the fork in the air, and the other she wraps around his fingers to steady him. Then she leans a little closer and wraps her lips around the fork, slowly pulling the food off as she leans back again.

She hums softly as she takes in the flavor.

Paul finds himself entirely flustered. He clears his throat and looks away, hoping he's not flushed too dark.

"See?" he says.

She nods. "I see," she agrees. "Really good." She takes another sip of her drink, then gathers a small little forkful for him to try. "To compare," she offers as she holds it towards him.

Paul all but mimics her, leaning in with his hand under hers, his fingers wrapping around hers to guide the fork into his mouth. Dark eyelashes flutter.

"I think that's better than mine."

She grins, but schools it down into a smirk. "Is it? Should we switch plates, then?" She's teasing, and it feels good to do it.

"Oh, no," says Paul, going back to his own food. "Absolutely not. I wouldn't want to deprive you."

"So sweet," she teases with a smile. She tucks into her meal, occasionally glancing at him to make sure he's eating, too. The waiter returns a couple of times to refresh their drinks, and check on the status of their meal. When they take breaks between bites, she asks him about his job, how it's going and if he likes it. Idle small talk that they don't need to invest much time in, so they don't detract from the meal.