The holiday season at Isis is a fucking bitch, Julian discovers.
Apparently rich snobs who frequent the club don't have families to rush back to, and Christmas time just makes them drink more and grope at the staff more. They get stingier with their tips, though, which is a goddamn mystery and Julian says so to Ali one day when it's noon and there's only one sad asshole in the room, watching the one stripper Ivan ordered onto the floor just for him.
Ali is a four-armed mutant who pretty much runs Isis from behind the bar when Ivan's not around, and she's tall and rather built and has more tattoos than Julian can count. She almost looks like she shouldn't fit in with the rest of Isis, but she's got dark hair that's always pulled into a high bun and she wears gold lipstick and somehow she's one of the most elegant people Julian has ever met.
"Maybe you should take Ivan up on his offer," she says, probably because she's been ordered to hint at it. She clearly doesn't care however, and lets Julian humor her by saying, as usual, "I'm not going to be one of the strippers,"
"You know patrons tip mutants more," she says calmly, wiping down the bar with one hand and flipping through a receipt book with another.
Julian often thinks that if there's a God, he must think he's pretty hilarious, putting them together like that –a girl with four hands and a boy with none.
"Yeah, and I'm not judging peoples' occupations, but I don't really want to swing around some pole and make my eyes glow green just so some middle-aged lady can get her freak on." Julian makes a face. Isis isn't a mutant bar –no, it's exclusively a bar for rich, non-mutants to gawk at the mutant staff. It's kind of creepy and Julian tries to ignore it most of the time because hey, he's getting paid to use his powers to serve people drinks. At least it means that he doesn't always have to walk across the room pretending to be carrying a platter he doesn't actually have hands to hold.
Ali shrugs because she really doesn't care. "By the way," she says, "You have Christmas Day off, and also the weekend after New Year's. Think you can handle being away for five days?"
Julian makes a face. "I'm here for the money and you know it,"
"Don't I ever," she says, "Look, kid, maybe you haven't been picking up on my hints the last couple of months, but you really need a life outside of work."
"No I don't," Julian protests.
"I'm making an executive decision here," Ali declares, "And saying you're taking the rest of the day off. Go find a hobby, Julian."
He gapes at her, "You can't…"
She pins him with a hard look and crosses her two free arms. "Try me."
Julian opens his mouth and then closes it and he supposes that's how he finds himself out on the streets that evening with nothing to do.
He's not going to go back to his hole-in-the-wall of an apartment where the heating is a fucking joke, but it's Chicago and it's December and he doesn't want to freeze.
He tromps off to the nearest café, arms wrapped around himself in his hilariously thin coat and he orders the cheapest warm drink there is that isn't hot water, and sits down in a booth in the back. He sits there through two refills of coffee and then continues sitting there for as long as his glare can ward off the waitresses, which means he's out in the cold two and a half hours later.
He checks his watch and sees that it's stopped working, but he figures it's late enough that business will be picking up at Isis and he doesn't really want to go back to his apartment, which, frankly, smells like mold and has more than a couple roaches crawling around in the walls.
He heads into the bar beneath Isis that's called something like Clockwork for whatever reason and he takes two steps inside and sees white hair peeking out from under a hat and gold skin and Julian turns right around and goes back outside.
What is he doing here?
Julian glances back, wondering if he hallucinated the whole thing.
It's cold outside and it's started to snow, and he wants to go back into the bar, even though it stinks, but what if it wasn't a hallucination and Josh was there? Christ, is he looking for him?
He immediately admonishes himself for the thought. Don't be stupid, Keller, he's the one that left, remember?
"Julian?"
He freezes right there, in the middle of the sidewalk, with snow coming down all around him.
The street lamps have turned on and he turns and can feel his stomach doing flips. God why is he so nervous? He tells himself he's shivering from the temperature outside, and it's mostly true.
Josh is standing just outside of the bar, far enough that he had to yell to get Julian's attention. He looks disheveled and he's wearing two faded looking sweaters and a hat and jeans and fuck, he's probably just as cold as Julian. There's a lamp light shining down right on top of him and it casts shadows across his skin and makes him shine at the same time and he looks like some sort of messiah, appearing to the people dressed kind of like a hobo.
"Fancy meeting you here," Julian says, as casual as he can manage.
Josh draws closer, staring at Julian like he's a ghost. He blinks and clears his throat and opens and closes his mouth. "I've… I've been looking for you." he says eventually.
His breath frosts in the air and his words hang there.
Julian's heart speeds up, God knows why. You were? He wants to say. "Okay," he says instead. He doesn't remember it being so difficult to talk to Josh.
"Um, I felt your… cells here," Josh says.
Julian coughs. "My cells?" he repeats, wrinkling his nose.
Josh cringes, "Okay, so that sounded kind of creepy," he admits and oh God, there it is, and it's like nothing ever happened.
"'Kind of'," Julian scoffs. He fights back a grin. "So," he says, "came all the way to Chicago looking for me, huh? Is the world in danger or something? Here to recruit me?" He peers around in the dark, where he can really only see lights in the distance and snow flurries flying around on the wind.
"No," Josh says, "I took a bike here but… it's, uh, winter and all, so I sold it. It was Scott's."
"He's going to murder your if he ever finds out,"
"He's going to murder Logan," Josh corrects, "For letting me take it and ride without a helmet."
"You didn't wear a helmet?" Julian gasps mockingly, "You dare devil,"
Josh grins and then he shivers.
"I live close by," Julian says after a moment, "I mean, if you don't have a place to stay?" He leaves it as a question and honestly, he should be saying something rude at this point about how Josh obviously doesn't want to board with him, but he doesn't want to ruin it just yet. Whatever 'it' is.
Josh just nods and they end up walking to Julian's place in mutual silence, all the way up to the fourth floor door.
Julian opens the door and motions Josh inside and Josh breaks the silence with "Holy shit, is this a closet or an apartment?"
Julian snorts. "Somewhere in between, I'm sure,"
"I liked the old place better," Josh says absently, taking a couple of steps forward and looking around as he takes off his hat. It leaves his white hair sticking up on one side. "But I guess I can't really complain. At least you know where the stains are from if it's your own place. Beats motel rooms, is what I'm trying to say…" he's rambling and yeah, that's new.
"The bed is in the wall," Julian says, "I can take the floor,"
Josh turns and raises his eyebrows, "Generous," he says, "But, ah, I'm used to the floor," His lips twitch a little and he looks around and says, "I hope you sold the mini fridge and didn't just leave it behind. Please don't tell me you've gone back to eating potato chips,"
Julian snorts, "Where I work? I'd probably get fired if I started putting on the wrong kind of weight,"
That makes Josh whirl around and he looks so fucking alarmed and –oh.
"I'm a waiter," Julian says quickly, "It's just, the uniform… and the patrons are super into… aesthetic." He clears his throat and walks by Josh to open the doors to the closet the cot comes out of, "So, how've you been? I mean, tired of the superhero business already?"
Josh looks guilty when Julian glances up. He makes a face when he sees Julian watching him, and he's still hovering near the door like he's ready to leave. "Yeah, I didn't really stay at Graymalkin that long," he says.
They've gotten to it and so Julian figures he's allowed to ask, "Why'd you leave?" and all he hopes is that he doesn't sound too butthurt about it.
Josh stares at the ceiling. "Uh,"
"I mean, a note would've been cool," Julian says, "Or you, know, you could've waited for a couple more hours? I get that all crashing with me got you was a bunch of trouble, and look, I'm sorry you got tangled up with the stuff I chose to do"
"-I followed you," Josh says, meeting Julian's gaze, "Remember? I signed up for it. It wasn't even that bad, okay, but I freaked out,"
"I could've helped," Julian finds himself saying. Is he shouting already? Shit. "I'm not a total asshole, okay, and I know how to deal with –with the bad stuff that happens to you."
"It's fine," Josh says, sounding frustrated, "I'm over it, I swear, and I've been looking for you, okay, because I wish I didn't leave and by the time I realized that, you were gone, and all of your cellphones are prepaid disposables and I couldn't find a way to contact you."
Julian's thoughts shudder to a halt and his head spins. "You went back?" he says dumbly.
Josh bites his lower lip, like he wishes he hadn't said so much. They're standing on opposite sides of the apartment and the space feels like miles.
"You know I wondered why," Josh begins and clears his throat, "Uh, when I first arrived at Xavier's, we were friends, right? And then I guess we hated each other for a while, but eventually everyone kind of forgot the whole Reavers thing, and we still just… never became friends again. Why's that?"
Julian had forgotten about that and now he remembers because, oh yeah, they were friends for a couple of months back then. They'd both been righteous douchebags and with Santo and Cessily, they'd been quite the gang of freshmen jerks. "Shit," Julian laughs, feeling somewhat hysterical, "I dunno, we were teenagers."
"We're not… bad at being friends," Josh says.
"No, I guess not," Julian doesn't think about it too hard. "So is that what you came all across the country for? To ask if we could be friends?" He smirks.
"No," Josh says, "Honestly, I don't know why I came all the way across the damn country. I thought I'd know when I got here,"
"I'm sorry your epiphany didn't happen," Julian says, mock solemn.
There's a twitch at the corner of Josh's lips. "So d'you have anything to eat around here? I need proof you aren't living off junk food,"
Julian sits down on his bed, "D'you want to go back outside? I usually eat across from the bar –there's a diner there that's pretty cheap."
"Is it heated?" Josh says, perking up.
"Obviously,"
Which is how, at eight-thirty, they end up sitting in a booth across from each other at Jerry's Diner, which is actually one of the few diners Julian has come across that isn't trying to sell itself as one of Chicago's 'finest' and doesn't sell pizza.
"When'd you get here?" Julian says conversationally when their food arrives.
"Two weeks ago," Josh says mildly.
"Two…" Julian begins to repeat because Christ, they've been in the same city for two weeks? Then again, it's not like Julian really ventures out of the couple of blocks between work and home.
"It's not a big deal," Josh says, "I've been on the road for a couple of months. I'm nomadic now, I guess."
"Homeless," Julian says flatly, "The word you're looking for is homeless."
Josh makes a show of staring up at the ceiling, muttering something about semantics. "I'm not homeless," he says, "Where do you think my things are?"
"In a shopping cart somewhere," Julian shoots back, "Probably never to be seen again,"
"Ha-ha,"
They finish their late dinner with trivial conversations –the news, the weather, people in Chicago –and a refreshing amount of insults thrown at each other and when they get up to leave, Josh throws a twenty on the table before Julian can reach for his pocket and gives him a look that challenges him to even try to protest.
It's fucking cold when they go outside again, and Josh follows Julian back to his apartment.
He stops Julian in the doorway and cups the side of his face in one hand.
Julian has a split second to think that he was, for some reason, expecting Josh's touch to be cold and metallic, and not at all like flesh, before instinct catches up with him and he says, "What the hell?" as he jerks away.
Josh shrugs, unapologetic, "You had the beginning of the flu," he says, "And I know you haven't seen a doctor in over a year, so that would have been disastrous for you. You're welcome," he adds, and flicks on the light of the room.
It flickers on, casting the room in a yellowish light, before it flickers out again.
Julian snorts. "Figures," he mutters. And great, that means the heat's probably off, too, not that he could really afford to leave it on all night, anyway. "Floors to cold," he decides, "If you're staying, take the bed,"
"I can regulate my body temperature," Josh says, "And I don't work, so I can afford to freeze a little, anyway,"
"You can't regulate your body temperature when you're asleep," Julian points out, "Take the fucking bed, Foley,"
They glare at each other and Josh says, "What are you, five? We can share the goddamn bed,"
Julian opens his mouth for automatic protest, but Josh is shooting him an infuriatingly challenging look and he ends up just opening and closing his mouth furiously. "Fine," he says stiffly, "But if you hog the covers or kick, I'll murder you in your sleep, I swear to God," Christ, he thinks when he turns away to the cramped bathroom, dazed, I'm so fucked.
Because the power is out, Julian doesn't bother spending too much time in the bathroom; he washes his face and brushes his teeth in the dark, all the while still wearing his jacket.
When he returns to the main room, which, of course, is also the bedroom, Josh a lump on one side of the bed under Julian's threadbare blankets. "Bathroom's open," Julian says.
He gets no response and he leans over to check on Josh. His gold skin is visible in the dark, as is his hair, but he's totally out, and it can't be more than nine-thirty.
Julian hasn't gone to bed at nine-thirty since he was a kid, and even then, he got away with staying up later but his parents never checked and his nanny couldn't quite be bothered.
Julian sends his gauntlets to the ground and lifts the edge of the blankets telekinetically. The familiar green glow lights up the room and fades away when Julian is under the covers. It's uncomfortable to sleep with his jacket on, as well as the rest of his clothes, but it is cold and there's no heating. Still, Julian shrugs off the jacket and flings it onto the ground with his gauntlets.
It's not yet warm under the covers and they're somewhat of a tight fit. Julian's arm is pressed against Josh's back, and he can feel heat radiating off of him even through their clothes.
Julian closes his eyes and wills sleep to come.
Because Julian is used to working strange and at times ungodly hours, he wakes up at six and thinks fuck, I have a shift at the café this morning.
The next thing he thinks is that he's been attacked by an octopus because when he tries to move to sit up, he's stopped by a dead weight on top of him.
"Well isn't this just the shittiest of all clichés," Julian mumbles.
He's startled, however, when there's a mumbled, "Shut up,"in response.
Josh is awake and he's –he's cuddling against Julian. "S'too early to be awake," Josh says, "An' stop smoking,"
Julian sputters and Josh tilts his head up to look blearily at him with those creepy white eyes. Of course, and this distance, Julian can see the faint outline of gray eyes.
"You're not genetically suited for long-term smoking. The likelihood of smoking-related complications arising in you is eight-seven percent. Your lungs hate you, but luckily I'm here and they love me," Josh says, then he puts his head dead and goes back to sleep.
Julian lies there, staring at the ceiling, and wonders what he ever did to deserve this. His face is freezing, even if the rest of his body, still under the blankets and pressed against Josh, is comfortably warm. "We need more fucking money," he decides.
Josh sighs and rolls away, taking the covers with him, much to Julian's hissed protest. "Go to work," he mumbles, "Or whatever you do,"
It takes all of Julian's willpower not to stick his tongue out, and it's only later, when Julian's rushing out the door, pulling his jacket on and stealing Josh's hat to make sure his sink-washed hair doesn't freeze –it's only then that he realizes how bizarre the morning exchange was.
It's seven o'clock on the dot when Julian arrives at the café for work, and he's grinning like a maniac.
Ali squints at Julian when he comes out onto the floor after stowing his things in the back room for the evening. "You don't look pissed," she says with suspicion.
He scowls, "Don't I?"
She shrugs, "Okay, so I guess I was wrong. You actually do have hobbies. Tell me what you did yesterday,"
"Nothing," he says flatly, picking up the gold tray she's placed a couple of shot glasses onto. "Where to?"
"Table five,"
Julian glances across the floor, which beginning to fill up with the usual, carefully bored looking patrons, and flies the tray over their heads to a booth in one of the corners of the room where seven people are seated at the half-circle seat.
He lets the tray hover above the table as the shots are taken with a cheer and then zooms the tray back to the bar.
Ali looks unimpressed. "You know, as lovely as your tricks are," she says, mixing a cocktail with two hands and taking out some wineglasses with another, "You do actually have to walk around and mingle with the patrons –customer service and all that. People want to see the smile behind the green, mysteriously floating drinks."
Julian continues to frown, but Ali's attention is drawn away as some of the patrons approach the bar to speak with her.
Sighing, Julian forces on a pleasant smile and makes his way across the floor.
When Julian exits the bar, there's some sort of police thing going on in the alleyway outside. By 'police thing', he means that one of the sad bums that hang around outside is dead, and not in the 'congestion of the brain', or 'froze to death' kind of way –from what Julian glimpses, it's a homicide investigation.
"Hey," one of the officers yells at him, "Get out of here, Christ, I thought we cleared the area,"
Julian puts his hands up, "I work in the building," he explains, moving around the police to exit the alley.
The red and blue flashing lights of the cruisers parked on the street light up the dark and hurt Julian's eyes.
"You usually exit out this way?" the cop who yelled at him asks.
"Yes," Julian says flatly, "If I got out front, I have to go around anyway. My apartment is that way," he points down the street.
"That back door, is it"
"Employee access only," Julian says, "It's locked from the outside and enters onto a stairwell whose doors need an access code,"
The officer nods impatiently like he knows this, "Do you normally see anyone around when you leave?"
Julian sighs and it frosts in the air. "No, Christ, it's two A.M. Look, I have a shift at eight
later today, so if I could get home…?"
"Right," the officer says, "Can I have your name and number to get in contact with you if necessary,"
"Name's Julian," he says, "And I don't have a number, sorry," he turns away and trudges toward his apartment and thankfully, no one follows. He'll probably ask around about the death later, but for the time being, he's got one focus only.
The apartment is dark when he gets in, and he nearly trips over a backpack on the ground that certainly isn't his on his way toward the bed.
Great, he thinks, he's already moved in.
He drops his jacket and Josh's hat on the floor and kicks off his shoes. He hesitates a moment, but the lump that is Josh on the right side of the bed is clearly asleep, so he lifts the covers (noting that two more blankets appear to have been added to the bunch) and lies down to close his eyes.
There's a noise of protest at the shift in blankets and Julian whispers into the dark, "I'm tired and I had to get questioned over some dead guy outside of work, so shut up and let me sleep," and that seems to do the trick.
Julian wakes up with Josh curled around him and he tells himself that it's still pretty weird, but he really can't bring himself to complain about the warmth, and his face is still cold, what the hell.
It's seven-thirty and after a couple of gratuitous minutes lying awake in bed, Julian kicks the covers back and Josh wakes up with a stream of curses, namely, "Fuck!"
"Rise and shine, Foley," Julian says, pushing Josh away as he sits up, "I've got work, and if you don't have a job yet, you should get going and look for one,"
Josh is not a morning person, and Julian isn't either, but he's learned to get with the program for the sake of keeping his jobs, and so he's used to waking up early.
"Tomorrow's Christmas," Josh complains, "Don't you have, like, a break?"
"Not today," Julian says, making his way to the bathroom, "Get dressed and, I dunno, sit in the train station and ask for change or something."
He can pretty much feel Josh's eye roll from the other room and Julian brushes his teeth and considers ducking his head under the sink again. There's no heat, though, and he got a headache from the wet hair yesterday, so he supposes he'll just endure another day without a proper shower, and he heads back into the main room.
Josh is pulling his worn-out boots on, painfully slow, eyes half shut, and watching him, Julian thinks he might have fallen asleep again in the middle of lacing up his left shoe. But no, Josh sniffs and continues tying the shoe and then reaches for the other.
Julian's already put his jacket back on and he grabs his backpack, making sure he has the right uniforms for today's shifts, and announces, "I'm leaving now, okay? I'll be back around, like nine. Don't wait up."
There's a disinterested noise of acknowledgment from Josh as he steps out into the hall, and Julian zips up his jacket to go.
It's later, watching the news at the diner he works at on Wednesdays that Julian sees the local report on the second body found in the area that fits the M.O of a new serial killing.
The victims are all strangled and mutilated, their hair bleached and their walls they're found sitting against painted with a golden halo above their heads.
Julian gets an uneasy feeling of déjà vu, but he tells himself he's being an idiot because homicides happen all the time and besides –these aren't mutants. He repeats this to himself as he turns away. Let the cops handle it, he tells himself, and tries to forget about it.