I'll Show You Mine If

Sometimes people came into your life like wrecking balls. Not only tearing down your fucking walls, but also mucking up the carpeting and not even giving you a month's notice to move out. Jareth, it seemed, was one of those people. And Sarah was perfectly alright with that because hey, beggars can't be choosers and she was low on friends and human companionship. Hoggle lived on the other side of town and worked so many jobs that Sarah couldn't even keep track of them all, and apart from him she didn't really know anybody else in this city, even after a year of living there. Jareth was a strangely welcome, if unwanted, surprise. After the initial drunken encounter on Saturday and the serenade that morning, their interactions had generally been limited to snarky exchanges in the hallway and some yelling to turn the music down.

Sarah liked Jareth, almost immediately. But who she definitely didn't like was the gremlin standing in front of her.

"So, uh, has my cuz been around here?" the teenager grinned in what he probably thought was a seductive manner and lifted a black duffel bag just a little bit higher.

Sarah gave him a suspicious once over.

First off, the kid was short and rather unfortunate looking, with a strange, green, tint to his skin and ears that would make Dumbo cry with jealousy. Dark greasy hair hung down to his shoulders, and his sleazy smile showed a myriad of crooked, yellowing, teeth. His outfit spoke of fedoras, ironic flannel worn badly, socks and crocks, and cargo shorts. And the little shit thought he was suave.

"You know? My cuz? Tall? Blond? Weird eyes?"

Sarah squinted. She now had a pretty good idea of why her neighbor had called this thing a goblin. This barely constituted as a teenager.

"Hey babe, you a mute? That's ok, I'm into that shit."

Sarah nodded, "Uhuh. JAAAAAARETH."

Something crashed and clanged in the apartment across from Sarah's. Muffled cursing and a fumbled slam was followed by Jareth practically falling out of the door, wearing what looked like a red and orange leotard.

"Yes, love-Oh. Gremlin."

"CUUUZ! That's a damn fine-"

"Gremlin?"

"Yes?"

"You say another thing about Sarah, I will shove your fake driver's license so far up your ass you'll be shitting parking tickets for a month."

"But YOU called her 'love'!"

"I have an accent and can make it sound sarcastic in ways you could never manage."

"Oh. Cuz, why are you wearing th-"

"It's a workout routine," said Sarah sweetly, "Called two neighbors team up to hide someone's body in an alleyway. "

"Scram," said Jareth, "And leave the bag."

The Gremlin scrammed.

Blissful silence filled the hallway, and Sarah finally got a good view of the leotard. A pattern of red and orange trapezoids was sprinkled over a yellow base.

"So sorry about that," said Jareth, bending over to pick up the black bag, "All of my relatives o that side of the family turned out rather unfortunately. "

"So did that leotard," said Sarah.

"Excuse you! This is the height of fashion."

Sarah lifted an eyebrow, "If you're a glam rock star, maybe."

"And whose to say I'm not?"

That earned him an eye roll, "In a parallel universe, maybe."

Jareth chuckled and slung the bag over his shoulder.

"What are you doing in there, anyways?"

"Practicing," said Jareth, "You think going upside down on a pole is easy?"

"Well..."

"Want to come inside and see?"

"That was an innuendo."

"Yes. Yes it was."

"Well, don't mind if I do, Goblin King."

Jareth winced, "Not the most flattering stage name, is it?"

"No, it really isn't."

"Well, come on in then."

"Alright, just a second."

Sarah went back into her apartment, grabbed her keys and the script, and went back out, crossing the hallway and walking through the open door of Jareth's room.

As cliché as it was, the first thing she noticed was the smell. It wasn't entirely pleasant, but not completely disgusting either. It was a still-standing sort of odor, reminiscent of lipstick and scented candles. The second thing she noticed was the utter mess in the apartment itself. The epitome of a bachelor flat. Well. Not exactly.

Clothes spilled out of neatly labeled boxes and onto the carpeted floor. Well, clothes was a bit of a far stretch. The mess on the floor was mainly made up of costumes and lingerie. Elaborate, embroidered, coats that looked like they belonged at a Ren Faire were mixed in with scraps of lacy lingerie, heels, and dresses and skirts of all shapes and sizes. This explosion of glitter and fabric took up most of the floor, with a clear path from the doorway to the pole to the window to the couch.

Oh, yes. The pole. That was quite glaringly obvious. Large, from the floor to the roof, the thing looked pretty securely attached. Or at least securely attached enough to easily hold up the lanky dancer currently on it.

"Lock the door behind you!" the man called from halfway up the pole, "You never know with this part of town."

Sarah did.

"Sorry for the mess," said Jareth, doing a very interesting looking tumble (how he managed to grab onto the pole at the last moment was a definite surprise), "Part of the profession."

"Dresses and lingerie?" asked Sarah, skeptically, eying a particularly... interesting... pair of underwear.

"I do drag two or three days out of the week," he said, "You should come and see me. I'm hilarious."

Sarah arranged herself on the couch, kicking off a slinky red dress, "So not just stripping?"

"That's two to three days of the week as well. It varies. Whenever they want me, I come in. Or out. Depends, really. I have a couple of set slots on Fridays and Tuesdays, and I fill in if someone can't make it. Saturday is drag night. I have a day job, you know. This just helps pay the rent. And it's a fantastic way to meet women."

Sarah snorted, "And have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Met any women lately?"

"Oh," said Jareth, sliding down to the ground, "There's been one. Brunette. Actress. Lives in this building. You might have seen her around."

"Are you flirting with me?"

"Is it working?"

Silence.

"Jareth, that is so cliché I don't know what to do with it."

"I'll try harder next time."

"That would be appreciated."

"Noted."

Jareth lay down and started doing crunches. Sarah focused on her script, slipping into the mutters of memorization. Time creeped by, the hands of the clock next to the couch slid from six to seven, from seven to eight, and from there around to ten. And Sarah and Jareth simply were. They barely talked, just existed in the same space, and neither of them complained about it. Sarah read and reread her script. Jareth finished his work out and sat next to her with a stack of papers (Sarah didn't bother to give them a close look), looking them over and marking one thing or another. At some point, Sarah leaned over the side, and fell over. Jareth laughed at her, she hit him, and the evening continued on.

It was Jareth who broke the vaguely domestic mood, glancing over at the clock and sighing loudly.

"What?" asked Sarah.

"It's ten."

"So?"

"I have to get up at seven."

"You poor bastard."

"Right on both accounts, but that means you should probably leave. I'm sure your bed is much more comfortable than my couch."

"Kicking me out?"

"Not really. You have the key, and you're welcome back any time."

"You too."

"What?"

"Here."

"What?"

"It's my key."

"That's... intimate."

"It's the whole 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours' thing."

"Was that an innuendo?"

"It's a joke. Good night, Jareth."

"Good night, Sarah."