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All you feel are ice cold tiles pressed against your face, with you tracing the rough grout in between in a failed attempt to calm yourself down. You cant even remember how you got here. It’s honestly just been a bad day from the start: job hunting was a massive pain; lux was starting drama yet again; you figured you’d stay on top of chores but while doing the dishes the soap caused them to positively fly out of your hands and smash into pieces, much to Daisuke’s chagrin. You remember briefly chatting to Beverly and then reaching into her cart to take out a cheeky bottle of voddy to unwind - “just a shot or two” you told her - but obviously it ended up being much more than that, the rest is a blank…
And now you’re a wailing mess looking like a puddle on the bathroom floor. Dateviators still on and all.
You briefly manage to open your eyes and try your best to move your body but its almost like you’ve been completely encased in lead. Try as you might, you can’t even budge from the manmade lake you’ve created next to the toilet.
You’ve worked yourself up so much that you can barely breathe at this point, gasping between tears, and yet despite your blurry vision - from the combination of WAY too much alcohol and a rivers’ worth of tears casually pooling in your eyes - the Dateviators buzz to life. Not that you notice obviously, you’re too busy staring at the surprisingly spotless porcelain bowl and contemplating every mistake that you’ve ever made in your entire life and oh my god you’re such a fuck up literally everyone hates you what if they’re just pretending to be nice to you and to like you because they just want to get realised and they’ll leave you quick as a flash once they’re human and all you ever do is make shit worse you can’t do anything right and you cant even get a job for fucks sake and and and-
“well well well, if it isn’t the wannabe crapper! back for-” Jean-Loo trails off as he realises that the state you’re in doesn’t exactly warrant his brash attitude. Not really having a guide or any kind of previous experience to go off of, - as, lets be real, none of the other objects in the house can stand him let alone be vulnerable around him - he does the first thing he can think of and sits down next to you, gently brushing away the damp locks of hair stuck to your cheek. He doesn’t say anything except for a tender “ah mon coeur.” You manage to think to yourself between small sobs and whines that if not for your face already being hot to the touch due to the alcohol coursing through your veins then the touch of his cool - and surprisingly soft - fingers caressing your cheek would no doubt make you blush. Your fingers curl and grab onto his sleeve, desperate for any sort of distraction. His hand stills momentarily as you nuzzle into his naturally cold palm but then the thumb caressing your skin is back. Slower, softer, more deliberate. You’re still lying on the floor facing away from him but gradually the repetitive motion and comforting touch cause both your breathing and flow of tears to start to slow, bit by bit, while his fingers move from tracing the delicate planes of your face to carding through your hair, gently untangling the knots that had formed until you’re neither gasping for breath nor wailing anymore. Not one of you say anything for no words are necessary, you simply enjoy this feeling while it lasts. A warmth slowly blooming in your chest, yet not from the alcohol.
Once Jean-Loo notices that your breathing’s evened out he gingerly lifts your head into his lap. “The floor is cold and hard, non mon amour?” You barely register his murmured words replying with a soft hum as the only thing you’re focusing on is his delicate touch and the soft feeling of your leaden head resting on his plush thighs. You curl into him, craving his warmth and he huffs a laugh almost imperceptibly, gazing at you softly.
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You don’t know how long you lie there for. Your eyes are long dry and its getting harder and harder to stay awake, all the while Jean-Loo is still gently carding his hands through your hair. You just barely open your eyes as he shifts lightly, accidentally jostling your head and you somehow manage to find the energy to sit up yet you still lean on him, not bearing to part even for a second. His warmth is better than anything you’ve felt. “lets get you to bed ma chérie” You finally look at him, deep blue eyes meeting yours as you catalogue his face almost like you’re searching for something, or drinking up as much of this as you can since you’re sure such a rare moment to see your usually crass and arrogant toilet man be so soft and tender with you like this will never happen again. You nod slightly and slump back, resting your head against his chest, not finding the energy to be able to haul yourself up. To your surprise a gentle hand makes its way around your waist while the other appears under your knees and before you know it you’re being lifted up and carried out of the bathroom. You never would’ve realised he was this strong, it’s nice. With your head still snuggled into his chest he takes you to your bedroom and sits you down on your plush duvet, you whine at the loss of touch while he goes to rummage about in your closet and pulls out a pair of your favourite pyjamas. “Jean-Loo trusts you can change on your own oui?” You nod lightly and take them from him, already taking off your shirt. His eyes widen and he clears his throat and quickly spins around to face the wall. “ahem, w-well tell Jean-Loo when you’re done” If it wasn’t dark and you weren’t still drunk you almost would’ve thought that there was a light blush dusting his cheeks and ears. You slip out of your uncomfortable and sweaty clothes and don the ones he gave you just barely managing to stay awake, then tug on Jean-Loo’s sleeve to let him know he can turn around. You expect him to just leave you and go back to the bathroom but to your surprise he tucks you into bed, making sure you’re comfortable before perching on the edge and intertwining his slightly larger hand with your own. Boy you sure could get used to this.
A good while passes and you’re borderline asleep when Jean-Loo carefully starts to stand trying his best not to disturb you, although not before gently smoothing a few stray locks away from your face and placing a tender kiss on your forehead. He begins to move away before you manage to catch his shirt and plead for him not to leave. You don’t want to be left alone. You don’t want him to go. Not now. He lets out a light chuckle “don’t worry mon amour, I’m not going anywhere.” He makes sure to get changed quickly and goes around to the other side of the bed, quietly slipping under the duvet next to you and opening his arms, motioning for you to come closer.
That night, you don’t dream.