Jehan fiddled with the wire snaking out from his headphones. He ran his thumb over his teeth. Although he was typically a patient person, able to distract himself with the nervous running of his own mind, the anxiety of the day was eating him whole. It was cold, frigid enough that he could see his own breath, and his thick army jacket wasn't doing much good. His knees shook. There is no reason to be nervous, he tried to convince himself. But there was, and he knew it. It was his first real date with Montparnasse.
Although they had been sleeping together for the better part of two months, they had yet to go out. Surprisingly, it had been Montparnasse who had finally asked him to get dinner. It had been one night, as Parnasse escorted Jehan out to the subway station. He looked around, wary of any shady figures. It was nearing midnight however, and the station was deserted. Wind chill shook their bones and they clung to each other, waiting for the train in silence. Montparnasse cleared his throat; "You should come with me tomorrow night to dinner." He smirked. "I'll pick you up at 7." He didn't give Jehan much of a chance to respond. Instead he kissed him hard on the mouth and turned to walk out of the station.
That's where Jehan was now, at 8:47, splayed across the bench near his apartment. His watch kept ticking, unaware of the importance of the night. He pulled out a pen, and began to write on his wrists. He penned haikus about the importance of time and the dignity of a single second, and about the ache of being forgotten. The words flowed out of him and ran down his arms until black ink was smeared everywhere.
"You have ink on your nose." He heard a gritty voice call out. Jehan looked up and bit his lip, as anger filled his vision. He rose up onto his toes so that he could face Montparnasse's stature. The taller boy kept his calm gaze steady. He licked his finger before pressing it flat against the light spattering of freckles that dotted Jehan's nose. He rubbed gently, his finger staining dark from the ink. His smoky cologne pervaded the air around them. Jehan let out a small gasp and stepped back. Parnasse reached into the inside pocket of his Brioni blazer and pulled out a single red rose.
"You think you can woo me with your gestures of romance and your braided promises? I am not some silly little school miss that you can forget about. I am different. And when you say seven, maybe you should deign me with your presence." A piece of hair fell out of his braid and he brushed it aside. His eyes were alight. Montparnasse raised his eyebrow, seemingly impressed.
"You are no fragile flower, Jehan Prouvaire. You are… interesting. And I apologize for my lack of punctuality. I was held up. Business got in the way. I am here now though. And I still request that you accompany me to dinner." It was not phrased as a question. Montparnasse did not ask questions. Jehan however could hear the enquiry, as well as the sincerity, in his voice. Warmth spread throughout his chest despite the cold. "But are you really wearing that?" Jehan looked down at his oversized floral sweater, army jacket, and light wash skinny jeans.
"Of course I am. There is nothing wrong with a little color." Montparnasse glanced down at his own black ensemble before his pressed lips split into a smile.
He hooked onto Jehan by the elbow and led him down into the subway. They took the train down to a small Indian neighborhood. Jehan clung onto him the whole time and Parnasse barely protested, only once removing the hands that gripped his arm. They walked into a dingy underground shop, and Montparnasse greeted the owner by name. The room was low-lit and smelled of cinnamon and curry.
They were led to a small table in the back. Orange and violet curtains were draped across the wooden beams above them, along with strands of beads. It was unconventional and kitschy, exactly the sort of place that Jehan would frequent on his unplanned forays around the city. He was surprised by the choice. With all of Parnasse's extravagances, he would've expected high class; a fancy restaurant with a wine list. This however, was perfect.
Jehan took the seat against the wall and Montparnasse slid his own lithe body in so that their shoulders were pressed against each other. Their conversation was easy. Well, conversation would not be the right word. Parnasse spoke and Jehan listened. He told tales of the city, of culture, of places he had traveled, and of fashion. The waiter came and went, and he ordered for the two of them.
Although he had an affinity for words, Jehan liked to listen to Parnasse speak. He enjoyed the minutiae that were weaved into the little stories and he inhaled the confidence that Parnasse exuded. Sitting in the tiny restaurant, Jehan could taste the sweet difference between regularity and this new danger. He knew that he was romanticizing the whole thing, but he didn't really care.
Dinner finally came and they continued talking. Jehan preoccupied himself with his water, spinning the ice cubes around with a fork. He took a small bite of the chicken, allowing the spices to envelope his tongue and throat. He swallowed hard, trying to forgo the force that was normally required. This time, it was Jehan's turn to talk. He spoke of his major, of literature, and of the ABC and their current endeavors. He went on about the power of words, all the while cutting the food on his plate into fourths, than eights, and finally sixteenths.
Montparnasse finished his own dish and let Jehan continue speaking as he paid the check. He said nothing of the almost full plate still sitting on the table, covered in a crumpled napkin. Instead, he took the other boy by the arm and led him outside, where the snow powdered the ground. They wandered around, ducking into coffee shops for warmth and coffee occasionally, but otherwise letting the dusting of snow accumulate in their hair.
When they finally made their way back to the apartment, it was past two. The streetlamps cast a dull illumination onto the littered sidewalk. The snow from earlier had already begun to melt, leaving dirty slush everywhere. Jehan was wary; this part of town wasn't really known to be safe at this time of night. Men with thick accents stood at some of the corners, their coats black and heavy, as they completed their business. Once in a while he heard a loud conversation permeating the serenity of pre-dawn New York City. He glanced up to see a few stars peaking through the smog, not many, not even enough to name a constellation, just enough to serve as a small reminder of a greater unknown.
Montparnasse gripped Jehan's hand tighter, pulled himself up straight, and held his head up high as they passed the shady figures. He finally reached the apartment and jerked his key hard into the rusted lock until it clicked. He pushed hard to force the door to open, and almost lost his balance when he realized it was slightly ajar.
"Montparnasse, I've been waiting all night for the delivery and—" A balding, rotund man sat on a brown leather couch, much nicer than the grey walls surrounding it. He glanced over at the two men standing in the doorway, and raked his eyes over Jehan. "Who the fuck is this?" He rose from the chair, swaying a bit to keep steady. His eyes were blood shot. "I expected you to come alone, not bring your little girlfriend." Jehan looked down, his mangled hair covering his features. He could feel a presence behind him, and glanced back to see a brawny man towering over him. He skidded forward a bit, to allow the man to pass by him, all the while hiding his face.
"Jehan…get behind me." Montparnasse whispered almost inaudibly. He faced the two men, "I have your money and the goods. The delivery went smoothly." He offered them a smooth smile before pulling a black checkbook from his pocket, but the stout man swiped it out of his hands as soon as it appeared.
"You've been working on credit for a while now boy, you need to deliver. " He handed the checkbook to the brute behind him, who promptly ripped it in half. Montparnasse raised his eyebrow slightly, his only physical reaction thus far. The man continued, stepping closer. "No more bounced checks. We need some…compensation. Something to hold us over until you can get us the money." He glanced back towards Jehan, who was trembling behind Montparnasse.
"She is very pretty." The other man wrapped his thick fingers firmly around Jehan's wrist. "No tits though." He jerked the boy close and bent down to his ear. "Why don't you let us see what we're working with girlie…" His breath was sour, and Jehan tried to move his face away. The thug dragged a grubby fingernail across Jehan's cheek, leaving a thin white line, and swiped the dirty blond hair out of his eyes. He squinted hard, taking in the sharp jawline and slight stubble on the boy's face. "Oh my god Alex, I never took you for a fag." He gave a hearty laugh and shoved Jehan to the floor.
Everything whirled into a blur, and before Jehan had even hit the ground, Montparnasse was holding a switchblade against the man's neck. A thin trail of blood ran down from where he was pressing.
"If you so much as touch him, I will slit your throat right here and now." A grin was plastered on his face. Although the man was broader and taller, Montparnasse possessed a frightening presence, and when combined with his deadly tone, it was clear that he was dangerous.
The stout man lumbered over and swung a fist at Montparnasse, but the lanky man was faster and jerked his foot out, landing it with a sharp crack on the thug's kneecap. He crumpled down. Montparnasse held a firm grip on the larger man as he attempted to wriggle out of his grasp. Finally, he swung himself loose. The two wrestled for a few minutes, trying to get control over each other. With a swift jab, Montparnasse knocked the other man backwards towards the table. He pulled himself up and stood steady. Both men had blood on their faces, and both had dull red welts peppering their skin, sure to fade to blue-gray by morning. They stood a few feet apart, eyes deadly, looking for any weakness.
Jehan had propped himself up on to his elbows and took a deep breath. He hiked himself off the floor. He could see the fat man, now somewhat recovered from the blow to his knee, getting up off the ground at the same time and preparing to lunge towards Parnasse. He shot up and jumped between the two. This put him directly into the line of impact of the man's fist, and he was flung backwards on to the ground. The two men then ran directly into each other, a move almost straight out of an old cartoon, and ended up sprawled out on the floor as well.
"Don't fucking move." The men gasped a bit as they stood back up and tried to look tough, despite the gun being pointed at them. Montparnasse leaned against a dresser, his sly grin returning, as the men realized who had the upper hand. "You can't play in my house if you don't play by my rules. You tell your boss that I get three days to get the money. End of story. And if I ever see the two of you around here again, I will send him the money inside your carved out skulls." With anyone else, this threat may have seemed unrealistic, but the devilish glint in Montparnasse's eyes that proved he meant business.
The men glared at him but didn't protest. Instead, they hobbled out, one holding his knee and the other rubbing his neck. It was only after the door slammed shut behind them that Jehan let out a short gasp. He still lay crumpled in the corner where he had been thrown, and now began to sit up. He looked straight ahead, eyes completely out of focus, staring at nothing.
"Jehan." Montparnasse called softly. When this didn't elicit a response, he called again, slightly louder, "Jehan, look at me." he bent down to his level and grasped him firmly. "That is why I don't want you involved in my work." Jehan glanced up, still thoroughly overwhelmed. Montparnasse took the silent boy from the floor and helped him to the leather couch. His lip was split and a bruise was beginning to blossom around his right eye, which was bloodshot and bleary.
Jehan lay there while Montparnasse got him an ice pack from the kitchen. He stared at the ceiling and sorted his words and found he couldn't think of any. The disoriented silence drove into his mind as he tried to string together phrases. He finally resigned himself to the numb feeling, and attempted to focus on the physical. He squinted from the burning feeling emanated from his eye. He listened while Parnasse made a hushed phone call in the other room. The man returned and kissed him lightly on the forehead, before leaving through the front door. The worst part though was the emptiness he felt encroaching him, the loneliness and the physical pain that kept him pinned to his sort-of boyfriend's couch. By the time his mind stopped running, dull light was beginning to leak through the drawn curtains.