t r o u b l e

     “What am I to you?” Ugh, Julian hates how pathetic that just sounded. He always manages to make himself feel like this when it comes to them; small, somehow more naive and desperate than he’s probably ever felt or sounded before. Rather than wait for a response, he tries again. “I just -- I mean, does this mean something to you, or are you just gonna disappear on me when something better comes along?”

     “What the fuck’re you lookin’ at?” He’s irritable. Irritable and tired of sitting in this overly crowded room with a bunch of drunk people who wanna keep giving him judgemental looks and the side-eye. “Can I fuckin’ help you?” He’s practically asking for a fight right now. 

        “Who’s there?” Oh god, could he be any more cliche? Apparently so, because as soon as the question leaves his mouth, the brunette takes another step forward, squinting into the darkness. It’s basically an invitation; his fear is written all over his face. No matter how tough he might usually try to act, it’s not something that’s coming easily right now. It’s bad enough that he’s alone, in the dark, in an unfamiliar part of the city. But now, now he feels like he should take off in the other direction before his luck runs out and he has to deal with something really bad.  "I have a gun." Lies.

    “That’s true, I guess.” He mumbles, folding his arms across his chest and lifting his gaze from the floor. Rather than keep his place against the door frame any longer, Julian shuffles into the room and drops into the nearest chair. “It’s--it’s enough. Being here, with you, it’s enough. I just thought it was time we talked about whatever this is.”

      It isn’t often that a customer keeps Julian’s attention for more than a few seconds. Why would they? Most of the time they’re drunk and obnoxious, or drunk and flirtatious. Or a horrible mixture of the three. It’s easier to just give them their overly priced drinks and send them on their way again. But this one, the one with the fear in his eyes who’s been sitting at the bar all night, he has the brunette’s attention. Mostly because he looks like someone’s big, brown eyed puppy that's wandered from the front yard and gotten lost. It’s precious, is what it is. Because he just can’t help himself, Julian leans across the bar and talks near the strange boy’s ear. “You know, you’re gonna become a part of that stool if you sit there any longer, kid.”

     Julian scowls. He’s got him there. But he hadn’t come to this crappy bar to be analyzed by some stranger, and now that he knows he’s been being watched, the brunette suddenly feels a bit more uncomfortable than angry. The anger still lurks, but he tries to stamp it down for now. “How long have you been watching me, anyway? Why am I of any interest at all to you?” Well, maybe it’s a little harder to hide his annoyance than he thought. Whatever. “I’m not going to punch someone, i’m not an animal. I’m just tired of -- everyone.” He takes another sip from his glass and does what the other man just claimed he’s been doing all night; he avoids eye contact. “I’m not asking you to move away. Just curious as to why it is you care at all.”

      Julian raises an eyebrow. Well, that’s a first. He’d expected some sort of shitty remark in response, or maybe even for the blonde to just ignore him. He hadn’t been being that obvious, had he? “Right. And how is it you came to that conclusion then? What is it about my body language that makes you think I'm so close to losing it, hm?” There he goes again; always a delight. “Are you sure you wanna sit so close? Seeing as I’m so close to blowing and all?”

      Despite Julian throwing himself to the ground, and following said fall with a string of expletives, the brunette somehow still holds onto hope that maybe, just maybe, Lev hadn’t heard any of it. Of course it was a stupid thing to hope for, so it’s no surprise when he hears the other boy’s sleepy voice a few seconds later. There’s a moment of panic at first; he really hadn’t intended on doing this tonight. Fortunately, Lev’s touch to his shoulder, though soft, grounds him enough that he feels he can speak without tripping over his words. It brings him back to his body a bit. “I’ll be--I’m fine. I just tripped over some shoes or something. Come on, let’s just go back to bed. I’m alright.”

      Julian can feel himself grimacing before he can stop himself. What, is he twelve? Did he really just need to hear Dane explain that no, Julian, we are not boyfriends? Fuck, he knows that. He’s never even let himself think about the word before just now, not even when things are going especially great and it’d be easy to let himself think about the future. Their future. “Not ever?” He’s having trouble with his brain-to-mouth filter tonight; the words practically rip from his throat without any sort of permission at all. “I, uh. Why stick around at all then? What’s keeping you here?”

     Julian doesn’t bother responding. In fact, he hardly gives Grayson any reaction at all as he drops his bag by the door. Under normal circumstances, the sight of the dark haired boy curled up with a cat would be almost cute, but the look of contempt currently stretched across his face is just the opposite. “And why does any of this concern your father again?” He asks, barely awaiting a response before breezing past the boy on the couch to get himself a drink from the fridge. It’s easier for him to treat confrontation this way; like he couldn’t care any less. He does, of course he does, but he’s never been good at admitting he’s wrong -- and he doesn’t intend on starting now as he drops down onto the other end of the couch. “I was fine. You know that sometimes I just -- need to go.” He starts, fiddling with the cap to his bottle of water. “What’s it going to take this time? Do you want me to meet your dad, is that it?”