It's important, that's all. Drake smiles fondly at the sentiment, considering his words for a moment as the other man looks over the options.
"Thank you. I'm still not gonna come in uninvited unless we think you're in a coma or something, though. Everybody deserves somewhere they're guaranteed privacy... Ephemera's room doesn't even have a lock but it's his space." He hesitates, not wanting to dredge up any bad memories for Jesus, then figures it's a lost cause considering he was just in a jail cell a few hours ago. "I think all three of us are used to not having anywhere that feels like it's ours, and that's important."
"I think it's safe to say at this point neither of us get jealous. Only protective. So yeah, if something's not working for one of us the other will speak up, but no matter what it doesn't mean you're just out. Okay?"
Honestly, Drake isn't worried about anything coming up that they can't discuss and resolve. He wrote his own obligation to house and support Jesus into the contract just because it's the kind of thing that's good to have there for reassurances, but the odds of the other man intentionally hurting either of them seem... nonexistent. And that's the only reason Drake would want to break a contract. Pretty much anything else, he's sure they could work through or just ride out.
"He likes you, too. In case he was hard to read." A lot of people can't tell at first. Ephemera hides his face, dodges eye contact. He's always tense meeting someone new, and that slowly goes from guarded because they're a stranger to careful that he doesn't make things awkward. It takes awhile for him to warm up, but Drake's familiar with the different kinds of tension in him, what choosing specific words and using certain tones mean when he's talking about someone. "I still think you guys could be friends. He might just need a little encouragement."
"I want to be friends," he agrees. Not just because of their new arrangement, and not just because of Drake. "I thought about asking him to teach me to paint. I have a book for him, when I see him again..."
He hesitates. "I seem nervous, don't I? I am nervous, I'm sorry. I've never been great at coming into new families."
"...he'd love both of those things," Drake tells Jesus, smiling softly. "And nervous is fine. It's probably good, actually? 'Cuz being nervous means a thing matters and I know we all are, I'm just really good at hiding it. Old habits."
It's not a past he's fond of admitting, but it's very relevant to his existence in general. Always needing to be so guarded, to present himself in a very specific way for so long... and it's often useful. He just doesn't want to hide around certain people and sometimes it kicks in regardless.
"Maybe don't emphasize the teaching part, just ask to paint with him then ask questions along the way. Less pressure. What's the book about?"
Drake being nervous is an unexpected comfort. He'd like for them both to be so certain nerves didn't factor in, but like Drake said: maybe it's a good sign.
"Poetry. I mentioned it and he seemed curious about it. It's hard to find any that aren't erotic so I thought I'd save some time and lend him my book."
That makes one of them -- as someone who does things no matter how scared he is, Drake feels like this is the right amount of nerves. On his end, at least. Their existence is a sign this is important enough to him he won't make a careless mistake, but not so present he's doubting his decision. It's a familiar level of nervousness, like before he proposed and when he was standing in front of Hope waiting to be cured. Those weren't choices he'd regretted.
"This might sound lame, but... if it's not too hipster coffee shop to you, offer to read him your favorite. I bet he's never heard one recited in rhythm before." Drake's not an artsy guy himself, more the appreciative type than creative. But this? "I might like to hear a few too, sometime."
Jesus has held off hoards of the undead with nothing but a knife and his own boots, has slipped into enemy headquarters with every person there ready to shoot him through the skull. He does things risky ways to entertain himself.
But put him in a position where emotions are involved, where he's asked to offer part of himself in any intimate way, and he'll balk every single time. It's how he'd ended up in prison before signing with Drake.
He's aware of this part of himself. He doesn't want it to hurt these two men who have risked letting him get close, letting him into their home.
Sharing poetry? That's something he can do happily. He grins at Drake. "Yeah? I could do that. Do you know any poets already?"
"Right now?" Drake glances around as if looking for inspiration, but his gaze settles back on Jesus curiously. "...new beginnings. Can I ask you something?"
"Well I guess it's a couple questions, but they're all about the same thing... why Jesus? Also which came first, the hair or the nickname? And do you want me to keep calling you that? Like, is 'Paul' off limits or only for certain people?"
Whoops that was more questions than he meant to ask all at once. He's mostly just curious, but his expression turns sheepish.
He grins and shakes his head. "Either one. I'm not attached to names, exactly. I'm the same person either way, right? The hair came first; then the way I'd get in the middle of fights." And try to bring peace. "I just don't like to see people fighting. So they started calling me 'Jesus' after the beard came in and after I'd taken a few punches to get people to stop arguing.
"You can call me whatever you want. A lot of people seem to go with 'Paul' here."
"It's a good look on you," Drake says with a grin, reaching up to play with Jesus' hair. "Maybe not the taking punches part, but that'd be kinda pot and kettle of me."
He twirls a lock of hair around his fingers and brushes the end of it down Jesus' cheek before letting go, just looking at him fondly.
"I call people whatever they wanna be called, so if you don't care I guess I'll stick with Jesus for now. That's how you introduced yourself."
Jesus has gone over a decade without anyone looking at him like Drake is. Even in the old world he'd never known anyone quite like Drake anyway, and he basks in it for a little while.
"Not always," he agrees. "I tried to be, most of the time. I've never liked conflict and sometimes I could defuse situations. But mom would fail her home check, or wouldn't make parole, and I'd act out."
"I was an angry kid," Drake admits quietly, "and nobody knew til it was too late."
He doesn't mind talking about it, but glances up at Jesus to make sure he wants to hear more before explaining. When it seems like he does Drake goes on, sounding calm if a little resigned.
"My ma's got the worst taste of anybody I've ever met, but I tried to protect her. Part of that was keeping quiet, not causing more trouble. I didn't act out or anything because I was bottling it all up... then one day I snapped. Really snapped."
"I came home one night and found Ma in the kitchen beat to hell. Bloody, crying, her asshole boyfriend in front of the tv yelling for another beer... his name was Frank. And I guess I'd just had enough of it? When I confronted him he pulled out a switchblade, tried to get me through the eye, but like. He was drunk, as always."
He turns his head to the side slightly, pointing to a deep scar on his right temple. When he'd made the deal with Hope for a new body he'd specifically asked to keep it, because it was an important reminder.
"Thing was even once he went down I couldn't stop. Eighteen years of jerks like him beating on us and I just kept--" Drake cuts himself off, looking back at Jesus. "They did go pretty easy on me, but the judge said I went overboard and he was right. So I pled guilty and swore I'd never let anger control me like that again."
Yeah he can imagine this. Not that he sees Drake as violent, but he does see him as protective.
It's the sort of crime a good lawyer could have got him off of, but good lawyers were never available for people like them. "How long did you have to serve?"
"It wound up being about twenty two months. Model prisoner, early release, blah blah." He shrugs. "Funny thing? I was never popular in school but everybody loved me on the inside. Most friends I've ever had in my life."
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"Thank you. I'm still not gonna come in uninvited unless we think you're in a coma or something, though. Everybody deserves somewhere they're guaranteed privacy... Ephemera's room doesn't even have a lock but it's his space." He hesitates, not wanting to dredge up any bad memories for Jesus, then figures it's a lost cause considering he was just in a jail cell a few hours ago. "I think all three of us are used to not having anywhere that feels like it's ours, and that's important."
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It's just hard to fully get his head around it.
"I like him. Ephemera. He seemed okay with all of this, but you'll tell me if I cause problems, won't you?"
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Honestly, Drake isn't worried about anything coming up that they can't discuss and resolve. He wrote his own obligation to house and support Jesus into the contract just because it's the kind of thing that's good to have there for reassurances, but the odds of the other man intentionally hurting either of them seem... nonexistent. And that's the only reason Drake would want to break a contract. Pretty much anything else, he's sure they could work through or just ride out.
"He likes you, too. In case he was hard to read." A lot of people can't tell at first. Ephemera hides his face, dodges eye contact. He's always tense meeting someone new, and that slowly goes from guarded because they're a stranger to careful that he doesn't make things awkward. It takes awhile for him to warm up, but Drake's familiar with the different kinds of tension in him, what choosing specific words and using certain tones mean when he's talking about someone. "I still think you guys could be friends. He might just need a little encouragement."
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He hesitates. "I seem nervous, don't I? I am nervous, I'm sorry. I've never been great at coming into new families."
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It's not a past he's fond of admitting, but it's very relevant to his existence in general. Always needing to be so guarded, to present himself in a very specific way for so long... and it's often useful. He just doesn't want to hide around certain people and sometimes it kicks in regardless.
"Maybe don't emphasize the teaching part, just ask to paint with him then ask questions along the way. Less pressure. What's the book about?"
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"Poetry. I mentioned it and he seemed curious about it. It's hard to find any that aren't erotic so I thought I'd save some time and lend him my book."
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"This might sound lame, but... if it's not too hipster coffee shop to you, offer to read him your favorite. I bet he's never heard one recited in rhythm before." Drake's not an artsy guy himself, more the appreciative type than creative. But this? "I might like to hear a few too, sometime."
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But put him in a position where emotions are involved, where he's asked to offer part of himself in any intimate way, and he'll balk every single time. It's how he'd ended up in prison before signing with Drake.
He's aware of this part of himself. He doesn't want it to hurt these two men who have risked letting him get close, letting him into their home.
Sharing poetry? That's something he can do happily. He grins at Drake. "Yeah? I could do that. Do you know any poets already?"
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No, he does not know any poets. Jesus gets a sheepish look that confirms it wasn't a joke, he's genuinely clueless.
"I haven't read any since high school."
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"Of course. Anything."
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Whoops that was more questions than he meant to ask all at once. He's mostly just curious, but his expression turns sheepish.
"Sorry. Sometimes names are important."
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"You can call me whatever you want. A lot of people seem to go with 'Paul' here."
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He twirls a lock of hair around his fingers and brushes the end of it down Jesus' cheek before letting go, just looking at him fondly.
"I call people whatever they wanna be called, so if you don't care I guess I'll stick with Jesus for now. That's how you introduced yourself."
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"How long have you been taking punches?"
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"My whole life. Not always for the same reasons, is all."
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"Yeah, me, too."
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It's obviously Drake's attempt to lighten the mood a little, but he also isn't quite joking. The overlap in their life experiences is getting uncanny.
"Let me guess... you weren't always the peacekeeper type, either?"
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He looks up at him. "What about you?"
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He doesn't mind talking about it, but glances up at Jesus to make sure he wants to hear more before explaining. When it seems like he does Drake goes on, sounding calm if a little resigned.
"My ma's got the worst taste of anybody I've ever met, but I tried to protect her. Part of that was keeping quiet, not causing more trouble. I didn't act out or anything because I was bottling it all up... then one day I snapped. Really snapped."
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It's not hard to imagine, though.
"What happened?"
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He turns his head to the side slightly, pointing to a deep scar on his right temple. When he'd made the deal with Hope for a new body he'd specifically asked to keep it, because it was an important reminder.
"Thing was even once he went down I couldn't stop. Eighteen years of jerks like him beating on us and I just kept--" Drake cuts himself off, looking back at Jesus. "They did go pretty easy on me, but the judge said I went overboard and he was right. So I pled guilty and swore I'd never let anger control me like that again."
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It's the sort of crime a good lawyer could have got him off of, but good lawyers were never available for people like them. "How long did you have to serve?"
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