After a while, the group finally made their way back to England. When they arrived, it was quite late. It was dark enough to be somewhere around a child's bedtime, though, Jean was no child. He said his goodbyes to the group, politely to Hershel and Luke, not so much to Lando, and headed home.

Walking from the station to his house, he turned a ride from Hershel down to clear his head, he dwelled on the fact that he had just seen his little brother. His little brother he hadn't seen in years was alive and well and loving his life. He was an accomplished artist, making good money on painting after painting, and living off his loving friends who kindly allowed it. He was so accomplished and happy for such a simple life.

Why wasn't Jean satisfied? Why couldn't he accept the fact his baby brother was grown up and well? It was something so beyond him. His own emotions were eluding him. He was so mentally drained all he wanted to do was crawl into bed, with his recent bedmate, Alexander and sleep soundly.

Alexander. Oh damn, he didn't tell him he was leaving for France. He had never just left for a night without explaining where he'd be. Oh well, he'd be okay. Jean would just give him a little story about how he fell asleep at Hershel's. He'd fall for it.

A slight pang of anxiety hit as he reached for the handle on door. He turned the knob and walked in, hauling the briefcase behind. He closed the door behind him and began walking down the hall. He heard something stirring in the house; he figured his bedmate was awake. Well, what better time to explain, then now?

When he approached the living room, he noticed a tall blonde man, leaning against the couch with his arms crossed and he was looking at the floor. It took a while for Descole to notice who it was, and when he did, he dropped the suitcase and clenched his fists worriedly.

"Bradley?" He asked, his eyes widened and his full lips parted. He never let Bradley over without his permission, for he wasn't allowed if Alexander was around. He didn't know about Alexander. "What are you doing here?"

When Bradley looked up at him, a look between anger and incredulous was strewn on his handsome face. An eyebrow was raised and he looked towards his bedroom.

As he did, a slim brunette walked out of the room with a briefcase and a hurt and infuriated expression. Alexander stopped in front of Bradley and Descole and kept the case in his hand. There was a sickening silence that took over the room before Alexander broke it. "You're back." He muttered with apathy.

Descole licked his lips and looked at them. "What's going on?" He mumbled unsure of himself.

"Well, you told me you'd call me days ago and you never did." Bradley told him, his arms still crossed.

"And you didn't tell me where you went." Alexander continued. "So after a couple hours of noticing some of your clothes were gone and your case was gone, I went through the messages on the phone, trying to find out who to call. And I came across a message looking for a 'Claude'."

"And he called me looking for an 'Olivier'." Bradley shook his head. "He was frantic, so I decided to come over after we realized we had either been played or I was looking for a facsimile of a man with a pseudonym."

They both said nothing waiting for a response. Descole looked downward, feeling defeated.

"Who are you?" Alexander mumbled.

Jean looked up, switching back and forth on who to look at. "You know who I am." He mumbled with a slight snicker.

"No, we don't." Bradley said sternly, moving his hands to his sides in anger. "What's your real name? Who are you?" He insisted shaking his head.

Jean Descole didn't know what to say. Who was he? He didn't even know. He couldn't tell him his preferable name, but he hated his real name. He felt obliged to tell them, even though he didn't really have too. He was connected to both of these men in a different way and he felt vulnerable and anxious. "M-my name his Francis Smith." He told them truthfully and looked down. "I'm a scientist and a dancer."

"And a lying prick." Alexander began walking towards the hall, his shoulder violently brushed against Jean's, to show his anger.

"Wait—" Jean for a second tried to reach out to him, but the name and already started out the door.

"You'll never see me again!" Alexander called and slammed the door shut.

Descole turned back around and saw Bradley beginning to walk away. As he passed him, the smaller man quickly grabbed his arm with both hands and held him desperately. "Wait!" He pleaded and watched him turn around. When he saw the angry and hurt expression on his face, he felt like breaking down in tears. Bradley had been in his life for about a year, he couldn't deal with the change of him leaving right now. He needed him. "Please don't go."

Bradley pulled away from him but stood sternly, not moving. "Listen, Francis," he stated with slight poison in his voice. "I don't know who you are. I thought I knew you better than anyone, and it turns out I didn't even know the first thing about you."

"I was born in France and grew up in England. I've been dancing since I was four years old and professionally dancing since I was about six." He started, trying anything to console him. "My father left my mother when I was a baby, and when I was six my mother married an abusive man, who spared her from any abuse and treated her like a queen, but took it all out on me. I have a half-brother who's seven years younger than me, and I hadn't seen him for about fifteen years, which is where I went yesterday. To France. To find him."

Bradley's anger had subsided into confusion. Neither of them said anything for a couple of seconds, so Jean went on.

"He was well, but I also found that abusive man, who my mother finally divorced when I was fourteen. When I was fifteen or sixteen, my mother married again, but this time a good man who she's still married to, and he's never met my baby brother." What else could he include about his life in this jam-packed craziness? "I've been having horrible nightmares about my first stepfather for the last couple of months, and I haven't been sleeping at all. I…I don't know what else to say."

Bradley looked slightly worried at him but said nothing for a couple seconds. Though, it was quickly broken. "You need to sleep or something." He mumbled and shook his head. "Why did you lie to me?"

Descole breathed outward, slightly relieved that he said anything at all. "I don't know." He said truthfully. "I guess I just don't like who I am."

The blonde shook his head and crossed his arms again. "I can't deal with this right now." He began to walk towards the door.

"No please don't go!" Jean begged and grabbed him again, but this time Bradley pulled his arm back. "Please, I need you!"

"You don't seem to need anything." Bradley muttered angrily and walked out the door, slamming it shut.

For the first time, in a while, Descole felt helpless over love. Love? It wasn't love. He was just used to Bradley, and he needed the familiarity. He couldn't call it love. He didn't think he had ever even told Bradley he loved him. He just needed the bedmate, he was sure.

He walked into his bedroom and lied on his bed, feeling defeated. How could he let himself get found out? He felt so lost, he wanted to cry. He couldn't let himself though. He needed to just sleep and get on with his life. So he'd never see either one of them again? Who cares?

Well, Alexander worked in the same lab as him, and he still promised Bradley he'd try out for the ballet. So unless they both quit what they loved doing, he'd still see them. But who cares about that either? He didn't need them, they were just bed warmers.

Jean stood up out of his bed anxiously. He felt tired but he couldn't even fathom the idea of sleeping. Instead he stood up and walked over to his drawers. He grabbed a pair of sweat pants, a sleeveless tank shirt, and his ace bandages and his flexible ballet shoes. He'd go practice.

He threw his clothes on and began wrapping his feet in bandages. He did this for the muscles in his feet pulled easily. Probably because he never ate the best, and he knew this, but he knew it wouldn't stop him. He wrapped his feet up and laced the shoes and before he knew it, he found himself gracefully stretching in front of his wall to wall mirror.

He watched all of his muscles tense as he reached his right arm towards the ceiling. He must have been tired; it never took so much strength to lift an arm. He decided to ignore it and keep going. He lifted his second arm slowly and then equally as slowly lowered them. Maybe this would make him tired.

After zoning out into music and dancing, he found himself staring at the floor sweating and panting. He must have been dancing for hours. All of his muscles hurt and his head hurt. His eyes were heavy and his chest burned. He knew he needed to rest before he hurt himself. So he headed off to bed.

Laying down in his sweaty dancing clothes, his ballet shoes on his floor, but the bandages wrapped around his feet, he grabbed a pillow and cuddled into it. His half his face pressed into the feathery warmth with his eyes closed. He needed to sleep. He needed to drift off into sleep. But his mind wouldn't let him. Every thought was racing. He couldn't help but think about Alexander, even though he had only had a tryst with him for three months, the way he hurt him dwelled on his mind. He just wanted a steady relationship and Jean and ruined that. Then Bradley. Bradley who he'd known for a year, and who he'd been with for a year, had just walked out on him for the first time. Bradley had never done such a thing. He'd never walked out on Jean, ever.

What was he doing? He was the evil villain, Jean Descole. He wasn't supposed to feel guilty. He wasn't supposed to feel pity for anyone. He was a villain.

With that thought fresh in his mind, the view finally changed. He may have been in the standards of a "villain" but he wasn't a psychopath. He had emotions for other people as well, and that was what was holding him back.

He needed to sleep. He was thinking too far into everything to just relax. What was he to do? Usually dance worked just fine into distracting him and exhausting him. Lately, he hadn't relied on dance to help him fall asleep though, he had relied on his bedmates that he had just lost. Everyone is gone. With the people who kept him safe when he slept weren't there, he was alone and he couldn't be alone. Bad things happened when he was alone.

With that, he checked the time, only midnight. He hopped into the shower quickly, then got dressed and raced out the house.

..

Only about an hour later, he found himself lip locked outside in the back alley of his usual bar, with a handsome brunette named Oliver. Though of course, names couldn't be more irrelevant at the time. Jean just wanted to get him into his bed so he wasn't alone.

"We can go to my house." Jean mumbled after he pulled away to let the man kiss his neck. "You can seek asylum there if you want." He let out a small giggle and then moved his face back to his lips.

Before he knew it, the both of them were unraveling from being entangled in his bed sheets. Strangely enough, Jean found himself pulled into the man's grasp more then he usually would. He was lying on his chest, and his head was resting in the crook of his neck. He wouldn't be alone tonight. He couldn't.

When he woke up, he was still in the arms of the man he met last night. What was his name? Oliver. Right, he remembered because it sounded like his old alias. The alias he used for the man who would usually be lying next to him. Of course, he didn't love Alexander, but change was hard. Maybe Oliver would fill that gap.

The brunette woke up next to Descole and smiled at him. "Oh, hey." He greeted at the man on his chest. "How long have you been up?"

Jean shrugged and kissed his chest. "Just a few seconds." He kissed his lips and caught the man off guard, though he didn't seem to mind. Still wrapped in sheets, the villain sat up on the man's torso and stretched gracefully. After he placed his arms down he looked at the man. "I need to take a shower." He raised an eyebrow. "Want to join?"

Oliver's dark eyes moved to the clock and then back up at him, playful and prowl-like. "I have to be a work in two hours, but sure."

And with that single sentence, Descole grabbed his hand, pulling him up out of bed and kissed his lips passionately. His bedroom's bathroom door was already wide open as they slipped inside it quickly. Jean turned the water on and let both of them jump into the shower.

They were both locked at the lips when Descole heard something from what seemed to be the hall, or the living room. Oliver's hearing was obviously not as sharp as the hosts were, but of course, he lived there and knew what to expect and what not to. The noise must have been from his servant, though he knew better than to intrude into his living quarters without a knock. Ramon was the only one of his servants who was allowed in his house at all.

He let that not bother him as he felt the man's lips migrate to his neck. He let the passion of sex distract him once more as the water on the shower pounded against his lean back. He loved the feeling of being needed too much to get distracted. He let the handsome man do whatever he wanted to him.

After a while, the water was turned off and the two were drying and getting clothes on his Jean's room. Jean was combing his wet hair when the man stood up and walked over to him to peck his cheek. "Hmm," a slight happy noise escaped the villain's mouth throat as he let a smile cross his full lips. "Why, thank you."

"You are very welcome." Oliver stated and breathed outwards. "Well, I have to go." He grabbed a pen from his pocket and reached at a pad of white paper on Jean's desk table. He left a number written down and left with a passionate kiss and a smile.

Of course, Jean didn't know if he'd call him. Actually, he figured he wouldn't. He could tell the man wanted more than just sex and he wasn't sure if would be able to handle that at the time. Well that was something to think about on a later date.

He walked out of his room and sat on his couch, noticing a book on his seated next to him. He must have forgotten to put it away. He tended to do that with small items. He picked it up and opened to the last page he was on, and let himself get sucked in. Anything to forget about how depressed he was. He couldn't deny it, he knew he was upset about his brother and about his life in general, but he didn't want to think about it.

As he was sucked into the words, he heard a knock at the door across from the living room. It was one of his servants in the other part of the house. He hadn't been watching over them in a while. He wondered if they were wondering where he was.

"C'min." Jean called and watched the door start to open. He looked down at the book to mark the page and then set it down to see the person at his door. As he suspected, the pondering face of Ramon was in the door frame. "Ah, hello."

Ramon was one of the only people who knew his real identity as well as Jean Descole, and he was the only person allowed in the living quarters of the house. He also was able to talk to Descole without having him blow up at him.

"Good morning, where have you been, Sir?" The shorter man greeted formally and shut the door behind him.

"Morning, Ramon. I've been…in France." Jean sighed at his answer and crossed his legs on the couch. "Sorry, I've been distant."

Ramon shook his head. "No need to be sorry. You have a life." He snickered lightly and placed his hands behind his back. "Well, I heard that tall brunette man, who you had here panicking to Bradley while you were away. He even knocked on my door asking if I'd seen you." He seemed uneasy

That's right, Alexander thought that part of his house was a different apartment and Ramon was the owner. Bradley knew it was his research studio, he had even brought him there before. He never thought Alexander would knock on the door. Ramon had known about the both of his bedmates, and he had met Bradley on several occasions. Though, he also knew that it wasn't a good thing to have both of those men in the same room.

"Well, you don't have to deal with them anymore." Jean mumbled bitterly and sighed. He noticed Ramon's quizzical face. "They both left when they found out about the other. "

"Oh," Ramon mustered and looked down. Not sure what to say, he placed a hand on the back of his head. "I'm sorry."

Descole shrugged. "They were expendable." He let the poison out with that sentence and looked down, narrowing his eyes.

"Even Bradley?"

"Yes, even Bradley, now can we drop it?" He asked cuttingly. Why was he so bent up about that? He wasn't sure, but he wouldn't let it get in the way of his life. He didn't need anyone. He was strong enough to be on his own and the last thing he needed was someone to pity him. Servants were just there for convenience.

After a second, Ramon cocked his head to the side puzzled. "You don't look so good, Master. Do you need something?" He inquired and began walking to the kitchen. "Let me make you some tea."

Descole sighed and shook his head. "I'm fine." He called to him, and watched walk back. "I need to go to the store though. We're out of apples, black tea and, um, peanut butter, I think." He looked down thinking. Few foods he could stomach on an anxious or depressed diet.

"I'll be on my way in a moment, Sir."

"No, I think I should come with you." He snickered. "I need to get out of the house."

Doing just that, the two went to the store and picked up the few items Jean needed. He even broadened his horizons and bought tomatoes. They looked like apples and he felt he hadn't eaten anything else in weeks. What did tomatoes even taste like? He couldn't remember.

Ending up back at his house, he helped Ramon put the few groceries away and watched Ramon begin to make him tea, even though he didn't ask. "I'm alright, you don't have too." He referred to the tea.

Ramon shook his head. "You don't look well. You should have some." He advised and seeped the tea anyways.

The hardy aroma was enough to make Jean agree, since he did love his tea, and it usually did find a way to fix his mental state. His vision kept at the seeping water as Ramon stood waiting next to him. Before long, it wandered to the kitchen phone, were he had placed the card with his little brother's number on it. He felt a sharp pain in his chest.

The idea his brother didn't want to come back home with him, hurt his pride and his heart to several levels. The fact that he was so happy with that horrible man, and without him, hurt him the worst. He wanted to see him again though. He couldn't help but feel they left off at a weird note.

What time was it in France? Did it matter? It was only a couple of hours. Right then, he decided to pick up the phone and call his brother, as he watched Ramon pour the both of them a cup of tea in his peripheral vision.

A few beeps continued before a feeble, almost anxious voice answered, "Hello?"

Was this his little brother? The pitch of the voice was similar but the tone was someone he didn't remember. What was going on? "Simon?"

"Francis?" The same voice recognized the caller, and that was enough for Jean to know it was his little brother. "W-what's going on?"

"What's going on over there? You sound terrified." Jean said hastily, waiting eagerly for the true response. He hoped nothing serious, but if it was, he was ready to hop and train and run to France to save his baby brother.

On the other end, seemed a sobbing noise and then a sniffle. "Nothing," was all he stated.

"Simon, what's going on?" He repeated with a little more vigor, and grabbed the end of the kitchen counter in worry. Ramon looked at him interested.

"N-nothing. It's just…" His voice trailed off seemingly thinking about what to say.

When nothing happened for a couple of moments, Descole spoke up. "Just what, Simon?"

"C-can you come get me?"

And with that, he agreed and quickly hung up. He looked at Ramon and took a sip of his tea. "Will you come with me to France?"