"Always push 'im away. Fucking ridiculous." Christophe grumbles under his breath, now having turned off the water and was now making his way out of the shower. He stepped onto the mat, wincing slightly at the strange feeling. The mat's surface was… fluffy? Fuzzy? He wasn't sure how to describe it, but it was for certain that being wet and stepping onto it was different than what he had been used to. Usually there were no mats at all, or there were regular towels laid out! Just another thing he'll have to get used to if Gregory's going to be letting him stay here.

Though at this rate, it seemed awfully unlikely, but there was a small chance that Gregory would get over it. Hopefully there would be calm after the storm that had just occurred.

Gregory had put a towel somewhere, hadn't he? Oh, yes, there it is. On the floor. Christophe leans down and picks up the baby blue towel, bringing it up to wipe his face clear of water droplets, which was done in vain as a few dripped down from his soaking wet hair.

What had Gregory called him before? A puppy? Mutt? Yes, the British male had compared him to a dog. In an attempt to spite the other and live up to the ridiculous name calling, Christophe lowered the towel and shook his head as fast as he could, as a dog would shaking its coat after getting soaked. Sure, it wouldn't do much, but Christophe had always lived to spite Gregory, no matter the situation or circumstances. It gave him satisfaction knowing he could easily get under the other's skin like some sort of parasite. A parasite. He had always been a parasite throughout their first few years of meeting Gregory, having to rely on him to translate the more complicated sentences people spoke in English to his native tongue. He was appreciative sometimes, sure, but now that he thinks about it, he really never did anything for Gregory. Except for that one time.

Stanley Marsh had said some things, spread a few petty rumours around the school in an attempt to annoy Gregory. Of course this lead to Gregory calling Christophe at around ten in the evening, complaining and cursing Marsh's name to no end. The call had ended with the two coming to an agreement, that Christophe would scare the ever-loving shit out of the raven haired male to get him to take everything he had said back, which seemed impossible at first, until Gregory had given him precise instructions.

Gregory had always been one to plan and think things ahead, and when things would spiral out of control or not go according to plan, he'd often throw a fit and complain until things were fixed for him. He had been so used to his looks and the charm he had helping him get through life, usually others that admired him would go to the end of the world just in an attempt to impress him or get some sort of praise to spill from the Englishman's mouth. Christophe, on the other end, didn't care about the attention from Gregory, whether it came out to be positive or negative. He'd only do things for him if he felt like he owed it to him. Now he was starting to think it was something more- possibly suppressed feelings?
No, no, that's ridiculous. His nose wrinkled at the thought as he brought the towel to his hair, drying it the best to his ability. Why would he suppress any type of feelings for someone? Never before had he suppressed feelings of disgust for various peoples during his years of school, and never did he hide the fact he'd gladly punch them.

Is it an act of denial on his part though? Can he trust himself to think against the idea of having suppressed his thoughts before? With a tsk, he shook his head and stepped over to the sink. His eyes drifted to the reflection in the mirror, blurred by the fog set across the mirror. Nothing a wipe with the towel could fix- now he could clearly see his own reflection. Christophe had to admit, it was strange seeing himself as clean as he was at the moment. No dirt caked his skin, his hair no longer had little bits of dirt… he finally looked like a decent human. The Frenchman cracks a grin and moves a little closer to the mirror to get a better look at himself, his body now pressing up against the sink, and his elbows hold himself up on the counter. After a minute of staring at himself, Christophe realizes something he isn't too pleased with.

The smudges of dirt from before had done a good job of hiding his faded scars, which prominently stood out against his skin since they were a lighter shade. Christophe knew he shouldn't be bothered, other people looked far worse than him… but this just irked him internally. The scars littering his body brought back terrible memories, ones he had done his best to forget about all together. The idea of getting slashed with a weapon made him have an overwhelming feeling of panic, and he'd often resort to surrounding himself in the large coat he had showed up in. Anything to return to the feeling of safety and warmth, something he never quite had when he was a younger child.

A knock on the door rips Christophe from his thoughts and he quickly turns, wrapping the towel around his waist and opening the door. There stood Gregory, a clean pair of clothes folded in his arms.

"I assumed you didn't have any clean clothes… and I had kept some in case you ever showed up again. Here. Get changed into these and come out to the kitchen, and have a seat at the counter. I'm brewing tea in the kettle, so don't be alarmed when you hear it whistle." Gregory is wearing a smile as he holds them out, head tilt to the side slightly. "Blueberry tea. Your favorite."

Christophe reaches out and takes the pair of clothes, setting them down on the sink and slowly nodding. His smile from before was now gone, replaced with a neutral expression. He didn't want to give Gregory any sort of satisfaction from receiving a smile- not after the small outburst in the shower. Foolish of him to get mad over something so small, and something he could easily prevent if it potentially happened, he knows. "Thanks… it's funny you still remember that."

"I remember many things about you, Christophe. How could I forget them? You were born in Mayenne, your PTSD from various events that have happened, the tattoo under your wrist." Gregory slowly steps in and takes a gentle hold of Christophe's left hand, turning it over and tapping his wrist underside. His index gently taps the tattoo- a pair of scissors seeming to be cutting along a dotted line. "I could never forget when you first showed me this. I was so mad with you, fuming, I just couldn't believe you'd get tattoos at the age of fourteen… then two years later you had went ahead and got a small tattoo of a spade on your ankle. Speaking of tattoos, I actually got one… two… doubt you saw them. Same spot where you got your scissor one, under the wrist," Gregory flips his hand over and smiles to Christophe, "the other is on my thigh- but guess what that date means?"

In no time at all, Christophe finally breaks and smiles, nodding slowly as he chuckles. "Yeah, I remember that date clearly. September second, 1999. Day I met you. I was seven, you were six almost going on seven as well… You were speaking complicated sentences in a quick way, and all I knew in English was 'yes'. Fuck, time flies… I miss when the days were easier."

"Make that two of us, I suppose." Gregory nods and takes a step back. "I'll be in the kitchen as I said. I'll see you in there- get dressed, okay? I'm sorry for what happened a little bit ago."

"It's whatever."

It really wasn't whatever. Christophe knew he should shun the behavior, like a cat knocking over plants off of a side table, but he couldn't bring himself do to it. He didn't want to cause any more arguments, or tension between them. In fact, it was the last thing he wanted to happen. If anything, he wanted to at least make an attempt to patch up their relationship.

"I'll 'urry and get dressed then. I'll see you out there."

Gregory gives a small nod and turns on his heel, quickly taking leave to return back to the kitchen.

What had Gregory kept for him for clothes? Christophe turns and picks up the shirt, unfolding it and holding it up. It was just a solid colour, a navy blue. Could he be one complain? At least it wasn't some ridiculous graphic t-shirt, right? Slipping it over his head, he slides his arms through the holes and then pulled the bottom of the shirt down, fixing it to stay comfortably around his waist. Next was a pair of boxers, and then cargo shorts. Yeah, Gregory knew him a little too well, especially after eight years. He zips the zipper and slides the button through the hole, turning to look at himself in the mirror. The outfit was all right- when it came to clothes, he wasn't too picky on what he wore, as long as it was comfortable and it worked. Hell, he was thankful that Gregory bothered to keep any in case he came back.

But what hurt him was 'in case'. Wasn't it obvious he'd come back to him? Even after big arguments as kids, where Christophe would claim he was never going to talk to him again, he showed up a day or two later, saying nothing as he tried to get attention out of the Brit. Tugging on his sleeve and whining phrases in his mother tongue, his head cocking to the side as he whined and whined and whined... I mean, sure, this time days had turned into years, but at least he came back, as he always did. A sigh slips from Christophe and he opens the door, walking through the bedroom out into the living room-kitchen area.

He saw Gregory leaning on the counter by the stove, holding himself up with his elbows as he eyed the kettle like a hawk watching a rodent. He hadn't seemed to hear Christophe enter or walk closer, until he turned his head to see the Frenchman.

"Oh," he cleared his throat and stood up straight, arms tucking behind his back, "that was awfully quick of you, wasn't it?"

"It doesn't take long for me to dr-"

"I'm glad those clothes still fit you," Gregory cut him off with a small smile, head tilt to the side, "now why don't you have a seat? The kettle is about to whistle."

"... yeah." Christophe slowly nods, turning and making his way to sit at one of the stools. He wasn't used to being cut off by others- he was used to being the one interrupting and getting attention. It felt… bad? No, no, Gregory probably didn't mean it. "So you really, really want to know everything?"

"Why wouldn't I? I want answers, Christophe." Gregory was reaching up into the top cabinets, gently taking out and setting down tea cups. "I've been starving for them."

"I can't tell you absolutely everything under the sun behind why I was gone, though."

Gregory pauses, his breath hitching as he slowly turns his head to look over to him. "And why is that? Do you not trust me?"

"I do trust you. I've trusted you all my life with stupid shit, stupid secrets and fuck knows what else, but I'm serious. I can't tell you everything, because it's not stupid like the

other things I'd used to tell you. It's serious. Very, very serious." Christophe's arms rest on the counter and he leans forward, a sigh leaving him as he hung his head. "You know everything under the sun about me, and you're going to know more once we 'ave tea in front of us… but for reasons I'm not going to say or hint at, I can not tell you all of it. I'm sorry, but it's terrible shit."

"I'm sure you know what my profession is, don't you, Christophe?"
"Lawyer, more specifically criminal defense."

"Exactly. I'm sure you can imagine the types of things I've had to deal with and see while defending those types of people?"

"Many terrible things."

"Exactly, Christophe! So why can't you tell me everything, even if they're as terrible as you claim?"

With his brow furrowing, he slowly shook and raised his head to give Gregory a look, a warning. "I'm serious, Gregory… it's beyond terrible. You aren't going to weasel anything out of me like you tend to do."

The blonde sports a pout and crosses his arms. "Are you really being serious right now?"

"Yes, Gregory. I am so very serious about this. Stop being such a bitch over me not being able to tell you something, please."

He chokes on his words for a moment, before turning at the sound of the loud hissing of the kettle. He moves to turn the heat off, removes the kettle from the elements, and pours water into the cups with tea bags. "Twat…"

"Con."

The blonde turns his head to Christophe, nose wrinkling in disgust of what he just heard. "What the hell did you just call me, Christophe?"

"Must I repeat myself?" Christophe sports a smirk, rolling his eyes. "Con."

"Very, very mature of you."
"Speak for yourself, black sheep."

"Funny, I suppose we're one in the same?"

"Bite me."
"Would if I could, love. Would if I could." Gregory carefully picks up the cups of tea, having set them on two small plates that had similar designs to the cups. Golden grape vines with brilliantly coloured green leaves on the brims of the cups were matched with vines on the edges of the plates. Expensive, Christophe guessed, as had been Gregory's lifestyle for years. He gently sets one down before Christophe and walks around to the other side of the counter, setting his own down so he can pull out a stool. "Now… Tea is out, get to talking."

Christophe carefully picks up his cup with both hands, bringing it to his lips and taking a sip. If he had to be honest, he wasn't sure how long it had been since he had had a hot beverage. Coffee wasn't something he was a fan of, and with how busy he was and how dangerous his work had been, he never was able to go out and order a hot chocolate because of the risks. The liquid soothed his throat, and the taste was absolutely unbelievable. Just like when they were children. Memories flooded his mind and he found his chest flooded with a sense of warmth, causing a small smile to tug his lips upwards. Childhood arguments, playful fighting as they tackle each other in the mud… the good and simple times before he was dragged away by the coming adult world. A strange and mysterious place that was dar and unknown.

"Get to talking, Christophe."
"Right, right." The Frenchman slowly and carefully sets his cup back down onto the little saucer, turning his head to look at Gregory. "I left 'igh School a few months before graduation. As usual, I wasn't really thinking straight… I was being a complete dumbass. I packed my things and ran away, not even bothering to let anyone know where I went. I wanted to pursue a dangerous career and make myself happy. I wanted to find 'appiness that I thought I didn't have before. But you know what? I fell into some sort of depression and felt like utter shit. The only thing that ever gave me a feeling similar to 'appiness was… being a mercenary and doing…. things. When I realized I left behind all that made me happy, it was too late to go back. I got into a dangerous profession as a mercenary." Again, Christophe picks up the tea cup and sips some, sighing softly once he swallows.

"Continue."
"A year later, I ran into a boy you most likely remember from 'igh School. The weed dealer kid who was found to have plans to shoot up the school- the one they sent away for a while? Vincent… Rudge. Yeah. Came across 'im and 'e asked me what I was doing, didn't reply, and then I 'eard 'e was doing the same kind of shit I was doing Then we decided to partner up. A year or two later we 'ave some falling out, and then I get into contact with someone from China. She's some big boss of a gang-type thing up there. Worked with them for a while and some guy name Valentino, and then another falling out 'appened. Skip a few more years and 'ere I am with someone I missed far too much."

Gregory is silent, obviously trying his best to process this as easily as he could. Left. Depression. Happiness. Mercenary. Vincent. China. Valentino. So much to process at once. Sucking in a breath, he shifts in his seat and slowly nods, leaning forward onto the counter, his elbows holding him up. "Christophe… did you kill people?"

"That and other things."

"Why?..."

"Thought I needed to. There's…. Something else though, Gregory. Er- I 'ave two jobs left. In this city."

"... two jobs left? And you thought it would be nice to potentially drag me into this mess-up?"

Christophe snorts. "No, no, no- I mean, unless you'd like to do me a favour and 'elp out. There's a charity dance in two days downtown. Richest of the rich will be there. I've been 'ired for a job… to take out a certain someone going there. No details as to why they want 'im dead, but 'ere's what I do know- a Russian drug lord of sorts who runs an underground human trafficking ring or whatever. Demyan Ivanov. I also need to take out 'is younger sister who will also be in attendance."

"... The Ivanov family? Christophe, I've worked on cases involving those people for sure… can you really be sure you'll be able to deal with th-"

"Gregory. I've been doing this shit for eight years. Those eight years are coming to an end after the job after this one. Then I can… 'retire'. Be 'appy. Maybe…

settle down with you, you know?"

Gregory raises a brow and takes his cup into his hands. "Settle down with me? What do you exactly mean when you say that, Christophe?"

"Are you that dumb?"
"Christophe, I'm just- you've always said you've hated me. You've always said that you'd never want to be… like that… with me. Why have you just changed your mind all of a sudden?"
"You're the one person who puts up with my shit and tolerates my sour behaviour. You were the thing I left behind, you know- the one thing that 'ad made me 'appy."

"I made you, Christophe Maxence DeLorne, happy? I feel like this is a lie. You always cursed me out and called me names. Sometimes you even got under my skin and managed to lower my self-esteem. And God knows it's difficult for someone who isn't you to do that."

"Difficult to believe, I know… but I guess I am just attracted to you, Canary."

"Canary?"

"What can I say? I love canaries. Your 'air is the same colour as one. Your singing 'as always been as good as one… but you did tend to rat me out many times in elementary over stupid things I said. Anyways, unfortunately I don't think you 'ave a thing for Moles." Slowly, Christophe slides off the stool and walks over to the balcony doors. "I need a cigarette."

"No, hold on just a damn minute, Christophe-"

"We can talk after I 'ave a cigarette."

"You're not coming in smelling like a damn cigarette and ruining how my apartment smells. Come sit down right this very fucking instant."

A sigh slips from his lips and Christophe slowly turns to look over to Gregory, rolling his eyes with a playful grin. "Yes, mother."

"Don't 'mother' me either. If anything, out of the two of us, you'd end up being the motherly fig-"

"You sound an awful lot like your mother,"

"Step-Mother is what I'm going to assume you meant. You know how much I hate that dense woman. She's simply unbearable. You know how many times I came up with ridiculous over-the-top plots to end her."

"Just shut up about the witch, all right? Your Step-mother and your father both 'ated me, and I don't 'ave the fondest memories involving them." Christophe makes his way back over to Gregory, leaning on the counter. He didn't seem to plan to sit back down. Just… stand there. He took a hold of his tea cup and brought it close. "They wanted to call the cops on me and 'ave me sent to juvenile detention center."

"I… suppose they got that wish one way or another when you were sent off to the private school." Gregory quietly watched as Christophe brought the cup to his lips, taking another sip of the blueberry tea. "Anyways… back to the whole… canary nickname and the statement you said- you like me in that way, Christophe?"

The brunette holds up his index as he downs the tea, signaling for the Brit to hold on just a moment. A few seconds pass and Christophe sets down the cup, now empty since he had downed the rest. "I mean, maybe I do, maybe I don't, but it's not like you care. Surely you've gotten a 'old of some beautiful but dumb broad who only loves you for your looks and money. Probably looks past your manipulative behaviour because she just knows as soon as you get married, she can divorce you with claims you were abusive- say she was too scared at the time to turn down your proposal. Ruin your life, even, and take 'alf of everything you own and 'old dear." Christophe sets the cup back down on the saucer. "We both know I'm one of few people who acknowledge your manipulative behaviour, the other few being Thorn, Pocket, and Pirrup. We know your games too well. 'owever, Pirrup is the one out of us four who is a damn people pleaser. What 'appened to that lot, anyways? 'opefully Thorn hasn't gone down a spiral of some sorts… I worry about 'im."

"Of course you worry about Damien and not me," Gregory mutters under his breath, shaking his head just slightly. "Keep on trying to avoid my question of whether or not you fancy me, why don't you, Christophe?"

"I believe knowing the wellbeing of people I somewhat care about is more important than who I want to fuck and marry, asswipe."

"Fine. Damien owns a club with McCormick- Kenneth, you know him obviously. Herb and Philip got together a little while after Herb came out to people, and they're now engaged. Even adopted a lovely little girl and an older boy. An angel, she is, but the older brother is a teenager, about fourteen, and he's… different. Truly. While I was talking about the wedding with them, she made it awfully clear she wanted to bear the rings- not be some flower girl. The boy was against that idea and whined that he wanted to be the ring bearer. We should visit them sometime soon… they only live a few hours drive away- wait a minute, now you've got me rambling!" Gregory's face goes a light shade of pink and he huffs, shaking his head. "Christophe, please, I beg of you to answer my question- do you love me or not?"

"I told you I'm not sure. Do you 'ave a girlfriend or something?"
"I haven't seen anyone since I hooked up with Bebe Stevens… before I left for college… no, Christophe. I'm not seeing any man or woman. I've been waiting for you to get your ass back here."

"Alright. So we 'ave mutual feelings when it comes to each other."

"... so that means you are attracted to me?"
"Are you attracted to me?"

"I… believe so? I've never sat down and thought about it. You might have to give me a while to think of the pros and cons. Pros… a frenchie, nice looks and somewhat tolerable personality, likes me for who I am, doesn't smoke cannabis… cons… has killed people who were most likely innocent for money paid by anonymous folks, smokes cigarettes. Well, I suppose the pros outweigh the cons a good bit…"Gregory slowly nods and sends a small smile up to Christophe. "I guess I could have a thing for you, huh?"

"Are you sure you don't want to re-think that."

"I mean, I've always had a funny warm feeling when I hung around you sometimes before you left… give me a chance, Christophe."

"I don't know… you called me a rat and other awful names earlier."

"It was in the moment, I was angry. You know that. I truly, truly did not mean anything I said, and I am deeply sorry. I love you. You know that, right? Come here…" Gregory slowly stands up from the stool and steps in front of Christophe, reaching up and cupping his cheeks. "I need you, Christophe, and you need me… I know you do… you need me to be there to make you happy as you said, and I need you to make me happy. Hold on, lean down just a little so our faces are parallel…"

Christophe does as asked of him, leaning down just slightly. He listened to the slight shuffle of feet as Gregory moved a little closer, pressing his forehead to the Frenchman's with a small grin.

"I know I can be toxic. I know I can be manipulative to get what I want, just as much as I hate admitting it… but we all have our flaws, don't we? We all make mistakes… you make mistakes, too, Christophe, and I can be the one to forgive each and every one of them if you just love me back. Please?"

There's many mixed feelings running through Christophe right now. Guilt, regret, a feeling of anxiousness, and even happiness had managed its way into the mix. What did he have to lose if he admitted he liked him back in that way? In had been eight years. Gregory might be hiding some things from him. Surely, he must be… but he had the right to if he wanted to. Christophe was hiding things as well, things he probably wouldn't even tell him about while on his deathbed. With a wavering sigh, he presses a light peck to the freckled bridge of Gregory's nose, moving his arms up to wrap them around the other's neck. "Oui. D'accord. Je suppose que je t'aime…"

"Merveilleux~..." A purr rumbles in Gregory's throat and he moves a hand from one of Christophe's cheeks to his shoulder, rubbing small circles against the fabric of the shirt. "Perhaps we should settle down… it's almost going on sev- oh, baby girl!" Gregory quickly pulls away from Christophe with a grin, turning and moving down towards the ground to sit on his knees. "C'mere, Raffles!"
Slowly Christophe's gaze moves to the floor to see a rather long rodent making its quick way along towards Gregory, stopping before him and flopping onto its side. "What… is that? A ferret?"

"Only the best ferret baby ever! My little Raffles…~ my sweet little prince!" He carefully lifts up the long furry noodle and holds it to his chest, slowly standing back up. "I suppose he's just woken up… poor baby, daddy can't play tonight… I'll be right back, Christophe, just head off to the bedroom. I need to put him back in his cage for the night…"

"... Right." That was all he said as Christophe watched the blonde hurry off to another room, letting a long and drawn out sigh leave him.

A ferret.

A ferret had seemed to take his place while he was gone.