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Finn and Juilliard have a long overdue talk, Finn is an idiot, and things might turn out okay anyway. Set the night after Finn falls asleep on Theirn's couch.
This is a bad idea, Finn reminds himself. It's the second time he's knocked on this door in three days, and he knocks because he has the card key to this room tucked away in a pocket of otherspace, and he doesn't want to use it.
He shouldn't have it.
Juilliard stiffens, as he is not expecting a visitor, and Theirn has left, making it very likely that this is some medic he hasn't gotten around to fending off as yet. He stands in the slippers and makes his way to the door. "Coming," he says, and opens it, smiling at the sight of his guest. "Dear Finn. Do come in."
"Hullo," Finn says. He stares at those ridiculous slippers-- why did he give them pompoms?-- and tries not to feel angry and used. This is Juilliard.
He shuffles inside.
Juilliard stares at his back, puzzled and, he is aware perhaps a little cruelly, amused. "Finn, have I offended you with my moral laxity again, somehow?"
Finn twists around to stare at him. "Actually, yes, Juilliard, you have."
And the amusement mostly drains away, because Finn is looking hideously angry.
"How so, then?" he asks after a moment, seriously.
"When I visited you," Finn said helplessly, "and you kept being-- kept hitting on me... Juilliard, it's bad enough that you do that knowing I have Alden, but why the hell do you go and do that when you have Theirn?"
"Oh," says Juilliard, and turns and closes the door softly behind him. "Is that all?"
"All?" Finn repeats incredulously.
"All," Juilliard echoes, speaking calmly to the door.
"I don't think it's that insignificant, Juilliard," Finn says angrily. He feels used, and knowing that it's Juilliard and Juilliard is like that doesn't help very much.
"Well." Juilliard's voice is very cold. "I suppose the proper thing to do is to treat your points in order and in detail, is it not?"
His back is very straight, and stiff. "I do not, as a matter of fact, 'have' Theirn, despite what you and Mêlée seem to think so charmingly. That is the first thing. The second is that, again despite the firm opinions you no doubt hold, I do not intend to seduce you away from Lord Alden, nor would I survive the experience should I succeed. The third is that very little of this is, in point of fact, your business."
"I should think it's my business when you're hitting on me and snogging Theirn in front of me," Finn snaps. He doesn't like standing, and he doesn't want to sit in those chairs again, so he sinks down to the floor, staring at the carpet.
It's a nice carpet.
"Oh, but my very dear Finn," Juilliard says, to the door, "are those not such very enjoyable activities?"
"But why do you have to do both?" Finn whispers despairingly. "What's the point of hitting on me when I can't do anything about it? Theirn's more than enough, Juilliard."
"Ah, but I am Juilliard Vichy," and there is an entirely audible sneer to his voice on those words. "He of the insatiable appetite. Who are you, darling Finn, to tell me who is enough? How do you know Theirn is not the one I am leading on?"
He turns around, his eyes gone very dark, and begins pacing the carpet, circling Finn, looking entirely too much like a bird of prey. "How do you know the ... hitting on you, as you persist in calling it, is not the truth? What if Theirn is a convenience? What if I stay with him because he is attractive, nothing more, and I cannot have you?"
Finn's fingers curl in the carpet and he swallows very hard. "I don't believe that's true," he whispers. "I don't believe you'd do that to him. You stayed with him when he was dying. You found someone to give him last rights."
"And what if," Juilliard says, and his voice is low and dangerous, "I would have done the same or more for you, had you let me? What if I wanted to? What if I saw you die, and call out to your Englishman, and Theirn was a voice there when I needed one?"
Finn shivers and curls his knees up to his chest. "How coherantly do you think I was being, Juilliard?" he whispers. "Blood all over the floor and all I could remember was promising him I wouldn't die. Told him everything that had happened so someone at least would know and then it was too late to say any other goodbyes and I just tried to keep talking so the blackness would go away--" his voice hitches in a sob and he stops talking.
"Fuck," Juilliard breathes, and sinks down to the floor beside Finn.
"As it happens," he says, after a while, his voice catching a little, "that was not--quite--the truth. I cannot tell if that is what you wanted to hear. Theirn is not a substitute for anything." He stops, and sits back.
Very quietly: "But neither are you."
"What am I, then?" Finn whispers, face hidden in one hand. He hasn't wanted to remember that. He's woke up screaming because of that.
Juilliard reaches out as if to stroke Finn's hair away, and almost does before laughing oddly and standing.
"Alden's."
"And what am I to you?" Finn asks softly, turning his face up to look at him. He might be crying, but he's not sure; his eyes are stinging, at any rate.
"What do you want, Finn?" Juilliard asks, still in that same strange half-laughing voice. "I cannot tell."
"I--" Finn's voice breaks. "I don't want you to be hurt. But I don't think there's anyway you can know me and not be, and I hate that; I hate that I can see what might have been and I hate that I still want to be your friend but I don't hate being your friend, and I hate that you and Alden dislike each other so much, and knowing that being that way works better than if you got along." He turns his face away.
Juilliard does smile, now, helplessly, and stares at the ceiling. "Of course you do."
"What?" There's too much that he could be answering, so Finn looks back up for clarification, but maybe this won't ever be clear.
"Of course you don't want me to be hurt, and so you flinch when I treat you like anyone else, like a friend or an acquaintance, because despite your conviction--" he turns his head down towards Finn--" I do 'do that' to everyone I know, Finnegan. Of course you want to be my friend, but you want me to be yours, as well, or something you think I should be." Juilliard shrugs. "I can't, of course, do all of those. I am fairly convinced I can barely do one."
Finn stares at his hands. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm sorry, Juilliard."
"I know," Juilliard says, and laughs again. "As am I."
Finn rises, finally, though he's a little wobbly on his legs. "I--" he begins, and doesn't know what to say, and can't look at Juilliard.
Juilliard looks at him, though, thoughtfully. Yes, he does not say, I am having it both ways. I am flirting with you--and Christopher, and Marcus, and Mêlée, when it comes down to it, may I add, although that last is more a challenge to myself than anything else. I 'hit on' Dextra, and Lien, and Isaac. I've been known to pass at Hayes, god help me, though I cannot imagine what I was thinking at the time. And then there is Theirn, who is a category to himself, and if you wish to be included in either category, tell me, but as far as I can tell you wish not to be my friend nor my lover but my keeper, and I cannot watch you and not hurt you, Finn.
He does say, "It's late."
"I know." Finn swallows hard and opens the pocket of otherspace, the little card key falling into his hands. "Give this to Theirn," he whispers, holding it out to Juilliard. "I don't deserve it, Juilliard, and he does, and-- and it never hurts to knock." He tries to smile.
Juilliard looks at the key as if bereft. "I shall, then."
It doesn't -- hasn't ever meant what you thought it meant, that I was somehow trying to claim you. I know you are not mine. It was somewhere for you to go. I trusted it in your hands.
"I'm sure he'll take good care of it."
Finn stares at the carpet. "Thank you for giving me a place to stay," he mumbles, then presses his fists against his eyes. "Oh, God, Juilliard, I'm so fucking sorry."
And Juilliard laughs again, because there is nothing else for him to do. "I know, Finn. I know."
"I want to be friends," Finn says softly, aware of how childish this sounds, and looks at Juilliard helplessly anyway. "I want to try that. I know I've been an utter bastard about all of this."
"We can try." Juilliard's voice is very quiet. "And no. Finn. You have just been scrupulously honest at all times."
"Well, I could have been nicer about it," he murmurs, and doesn't say I'm sorry because Juilliard's heard him say it too much. He suddenly wants to take that key back, but it's too late for that now, and it would mean something else, now, and he's not sure what.
"I shall put it down to your fiery Irish temper," Juilliard says, and slips the key card into his pocket. "And dismiss it entirely. It is late."
Finn doesn't want to keep arguing. Juilliard's right and he's always been right, and Finn's tired and Alden might be wondering where he is, but he's probably already asleep, and he never got an answer to what he came here, but he's learned plenty of other things and he's already made enough mistakes for tonight that he can't fix.
He just shrugs.
He has gotten an answer, if he has listened, but Juilliard doesn't expect him to have heard.
"Good night, Finn," Juilliard says, and extends a hand.
Finn takes it, and curls his fingers around Juilliard's for a second, before squeezing tightly and letting go. "Good night, Juilliard."
Juilliard's breath catches, he is sure, audibly, at the extra pressure on his hand.
Finn notices it, but he tries not to. And maybe he's going to have to learn to notice and just let it go, if this is going to work. He backs toward the door, pausing before he reaches it. "I know I gave the key back," he says quietly, "but this is a nice place and... and if I'm still welcome here I'd like to visit more often."
"You are. Always," says Juilliard, and waves the door open with a hand. "As you said. It is not terribly difficult to knock."
"Thank you," Finn says quietly, and again, "Good night."
"Good night," says Juilliard, and stands there, staring at the closed door, for a long while after Finn leaves.
This is a bad idea, Finn reminds himself. It's the second time he's knocked on this door in three days, and he knocks because he has the card key to this room tucked away in a pocket of otherspace, and he doesn't want to use it.
He shouldn't have it.
Juilliard stiffens, as he is not expecting a visitor, and Theirn has left, making it very likely that this is some medic he hasn't gotten around to fending off as yet. He stands in the slippers and makes his way to the door. "Coming," he says, and opens it, smiling at the sight of his guest. "Dear Finn. Do come in."
"Hullo," Finn says. He stares at those ridiculous slippers-- why did he give them pompoms?-- and tries not to feel angry and used. This is Juilliard.
He shuffles inside.
Juilliard stares at his back, puzzled and, he is aware perhaps a little cruelly, amused. "Finn, have I offended you with my moral laxity again, somehow?"
Finn twists around to stare at him. "Actually, yes, Juilliard, you have."
And the amusement mostly drains away, because Finn is looking hideously angry.
"How so, then?" he asks after a moment, seriously.
"When I visited you," Finn said helplessly, "and you kept being-- kept hitting on me... Juilliard, it's bad enough that you do that knowing I have Alden, but why the hell do you go and do that when you have Theirn?"
"Oh," says Juilliard, and turns and closes the door softly behind him. "Is that all?"
"All?" Finn repeats incredulously.
"All," Juilliard echoes, speaking calmly to the door.
"I don't think it's that insignificant, Juilliard," Finn says angrily. He feels used, and knowing that it's Juilliard and Juilliard is like that doesn't help very much.
"Well." Juilliard's voice is very cold. "I suppose the proper thing to do is to treat your points in order and in detail, is it not?"
His back is very straight, and stiff. "I do not, as a matter of fact, 'have' Theirn, despite what you and Mêlée seem to think so charmingly. That is the first thing. The second is that, again despite the firm opinions you no doubt hold, I do not intend to seduce you away from Lord Alden, nor would I survive the experience should I succeed. The third is that very little of this is, in point of fact, your business."
"I should think it's my business when you're hitting on me and snogging Theirn in front of me," Finn snaps. He doesn't like standing, and he doesn't want to sit in those chairs again, so he sinks down to the floor, staring at the carpet.
It's a nice carpet.
"Oh, but my very dear Finn," Juilliard says, to the door, "are those not such very enjoyable activities?"
"But why do you have to do both?" Finn whispers despairingly. "What's the point of hitting on me when I can't do anything about it? Theirn's more than enough, Juilliard."
"Ah, but I am Juilliard Vichy," and there is an entirely audible sneer to his voice on those words. "He of the insatiable appetite. Who are you, darling Finn, to tell me who is enough? How do you know Theirn is not the one I am leading on?"
He turns around, his eyes gone very dark, and begins pacing the carpet, circling Finn, looking entirely too much like a bird of prey. "How do you know the ... hitting on you, as you persist in calling it, is not the truth? What if Theirn is a convenience? What if I stay with him because he is attractive, nothing more, and I cannot have you?"
Finn's fingers curl in the carpet and he swallows very hard. "I don't believe that's true," he whispers. "I don't believe you'd do that to him. You stayed with him when he was dying. You found someone to give him last rights."
"And what if," Juilliard says, and his voice is low and dangerous, "I would have done the same or more for you, had you let me? What if I wanted to? What if I saw you die, and call out to your Englishman, and Theirn was a voice there when I needed one?"
Finn shivers and curls his knees up to his chest. "How coherantly do you think I was being, Juilliard?" he whispers. "Blood all over the floor and all I could remember was promising him I wouldn't die. Told him everything that had happened so someone at least would know and then it was too late to say any other goodbyes and I just tried to keep talking so the blackness would go away--" his voice hitches in a sob and he stops talking.
"Fuck," Juilliard breathes, and sinks down to the floor beside Finn.
"As it happens," he says, after a while, his voice catching a little, "that was not--quite--the truth. I cannot tell if that is what you wanted to hear. Theirn is not a substitute for anything." He stops, and sits back.
Very quietly: "But neither are you."
"What am I, then?" Finn whispers, face hidden in one hand. He hasn't wanted to remember that. He's woke up screaming because of that.
Juilliard reaches out as if to stroke Finn's hair away, and almost does before laughing oddly and standing.
"Alden's."
"And what am I to you?" Finn asks softly, turning his face up to look at him. He might be crying, but he's not sure; his eyes are stinging, at any rate.
"What do you want, Finn?" Juilliard asks, still in that same strange half-laughing voice. "I cannot tell."
"I--" Finn's voice breaks. "I don't want you to be hurt. But I don't think there's anyway you can know me and not be, and I hate that; I hate that I can see what might have been and I hate that I still want to be your friend but I don't hate being your friend, and I hate that you and Alden dislike each other so much, and knowing that being that way works better than if you got along." He turns his face away.
Juilliard does smile, now, helplessly, and stares at the ceiling. "Of course you do."
"What?" There's too much that he could be answering, so Finn looks back up for clarification, but maybe this won't ever be clear.
"Of course you don't want me to be hurt, and so you flinch when I treat you like anyone else, like a friend or an acquaintance, because despite your conviction--" he turns his head down towards Finn--" I do 'do that' to everyone I know, Finnegan. Of course you want to be my friend, but you want me to be yours, as well, or something you think I should be." Juilliard shrugs. "I can't, of course, do all of those. I am fairly convinced I can barely do one."
Finn stares at his hands. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm sorry, Juilliard."
"I know," Juilliard says, and laughs again. "As am I."
Finn rises, finally, though he's a little wobbly on his legs. "I--" he begins, and doesn't know what to say, and can't look at Juilliard.
Juilliard looks at him, though, thoughtfully. Yes, he does not say, I am having it both ways. I am flirting with you--and Christopher, and Marcus, and Mêlée, when it comes down to it, may I add, although that last is more a challenge to myself than anything else. I 'hit on' Dextra, and Lien, and Isaac. I've been known to pass at Hayes, god help me, though I cannot imagine what I was thinking at the time. And then there is Theirn, who is a category to himself, and if you wish to be included in either category, tell me, but as far as I can tell you wish not to be my friend nor my lover but my keeper, and I cannot watch you and not hurt you, Finn.
He does say, "It's late."
"I know." Finn swallows hard and opens the pocket of otherspace, the little card key falling into his hands. "Give this to Theirn," he whispers, holding it out to Juilliard. "I don't deserve it, Juilliard, and he does, and-- and it never hurts to knock." He tries to smile.
Juilliard looks at the key as if bereft. "I shall, then."
It doesn't -- hasn't ever meant what you thought it meant, that I was somehow trying to claim you. I know you are not mine. It was somewhere for you to go. I trusted it in your hands.
"I'm sure he'll take good care of it."
Finn stares at the carpet. "Thank you for giving me a place to stay," he mumbles, then presses his fists against his eyes. "Oh, God, Juilliard, I'm so fucking sorry."
And Juilliard laughs again, because there is nothing else for him to do. "I know, Finn. I know."
"I want to be friends," Finn says softly, aware of how childish this sounds, and looks at Juilliard helplessly anyway. "I want to try that. I know I've been an utter bastard about all of this."
"We can try." Juilliard's voice is very quiet. "And no. Finn. You have just been scrupulously honest at all times."
"Well, I could have been nicer about it," he murmurs, and doesn't say I'm sorry because Juilliard's heard him say it too much. He suddenly wants to take that key back, but it's too late for that now, and it would mean something else, now, and he's not sure what.
"I shall put it down to your fiery Irish temper," Juilliard says, and slips the key card into his pocket. "And dismiss it entirely. It is late."
Finn doesn't want to keep arguing. Juilliard's right and he's always been right, and Finn's tired and Alden might be wondering where he is, but he's probably already asleep, and he never got an answer to what he came here, but he's learned plenty of other things and he's already made enough mistakes for tonight that he can't fix.
He just shrugs.
He has gotten an answer, if he has listened, but Juilliard doesn't expect him to have heard.
"Good night, Finn," Juilliard says, and extends a hand.
Finn takes it, and curls his fingers around Juilliard's for a second, before squeezing tightly and letting go. "Good night, Juilliard."
Juilliard's breath catches, he is sure, audibly, at the extra pressure on his hand.
Finn notices it, but he tries not to. And maybe he's going to have to learn to notice and just let it go, if this is going to work. He backs toward the door, pausing before he reaches it. "I know I gave the key back," he says quietly, "but this is a nice place and... and if I'm still welcome here I'd like to visit more often."
"You are. Always," says Juilliard, and waves the door open with a hand. "As you said. It is not terribly difficult to knock."
"Thank you," Finn says quietly, and again, "Good night."
"Good night," says Juilliard, and stands there, staring at the closed door, for a long while after Finn leaves.