#i gave Jian asthma and he clapped right back at mešŸ˜” no mercy
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whumpsical Ā· 2 years ago
Text
Jay
contents: flashback to a minor whumpee, homelessness, discussed homophobia, bio family blues
Some sweet comfort from one the rockiest eras of Jian's past <3 the gays stick together <33
sometime in 2014
taglist!!! @yet-another-heathen @much-ado-about-whumping @minerscanary
šŸŒ²šŸŒ²šŸŒ²šŸŒ²
ā€œCome here, Jay.ā€
Jian bristled.
He was only sixteen at the time. He didnā€™t like nicknames. Heā€™d never liked nicknames. It wasnā€™t anyoneā€™s fault; no one had beaten or bullied him out of a taste for them, and he had no past relationships to any particular nicknames to turn him off to the concept. He just didnā€™t like them.
But at Casanova, one of the many gay bars in Jianā€™s early rotations, the owner liked to call him Jay. And Jian found that it didnā€™t grate on his nerves the way it usually would, not coming from Cal.
Cal first caught Jian sneaking into Casanova on a chilly, rainy night. It wasnā€™t the first time Jian had gotten in. Heā€™d just had a harder time blending with the partygoers that night: waterlogged and shivering, too exhausted to even talk, sitting by himself on a leather couch near the bathrooms. His clothes were damp, leeching all the warmth from his small body, but even shedding his wet jacket didnā€™t feel like an option. He was convinced that the moment he slipped his scrawny, narrow shoulders free, his age would be made even more pathetically obvious than it already was. It was better to keep still and try to pretend that he wasnā€™t there at all.
Cal was on the floor that night, covering for a sick bartender. Heā€™d wondered how heā€™d missed the obviously underaged kidā€™s entrance into his bar. It was a Tuesday night. Not very busy at all. Maybe it was the rain. The patio sat empty, everyone instead gathering inside and cluttering up Calā€™s view of the front door.
Jian flinched when Cal approached him. He was a tall, hefty man, comfortably in his fifties. Though with age his ratio of muscle to fat had shifted, he still had an intensely intimidating power in his stature, especially from where Jian was sitting.
ā€œHey,ā€ Cal said, with just a hint of the stern edge to his voice which he only fully put on for the handsy creeps and mean drunks.
Jian looked up at the man, numb in the face. He had nothing to say, and was too shocked with cold and fear to even try to squeak out a word.
Cal stood tall, unyielding. ā€œYou wanna show me some ID?ā€
Jian looked at his shoes, a lump growing in his throat. His head was too misty to comprehend much, but he understood enough to recognize heā€™d been caught, which meant that he had to find somewhere else to hide from the rain. He already couldnā€™t remember how many times this had happened that night. All he knew was that he didnā€™t want to go back to the shelter, but he was quickly running out of options. With stiff, freezing hands and a weak, trembling effort, he pushed himself off the sticky seat and started on his staggering trek to the exit.
Calā€™s large hands stopped him, butting against his shoulders. Not grabbing. Jian couldnā€™t even muster any awareness of the act, just pushing his empty body against Calā€™s hands like they were an invisible wall in a video game. Cal pushed back a little more firmly, and Jianā€™s feet tripped to a halt. He stood in place, blinking through confused sparks in his eyes, feeling lightheaded.
ā€œHold on, hold on. Hey,ā€ Cal said, stooping down to meet Jianā€™s eyes, and, as twenty-something year old Jian suddenly realized with fondness, to shield him from the activity of the bar around them. ā€œDo you needā€¦ Would you like something hot to drink? A warm meal, maybe? Someplace dry?ā€
Jian had no clue what his face was doing. He remembered his body as a hollow wooden vessel. Still, something must have come across in his silence, because Cal softened even more.
ā€œLook, I donā€™t know your situation,ā€ he said, squeezing Jianā€™s shoulder. ā€œBut I can tell enough that you need help. I have the means. Come on, honey.ā€
Cal started to usher Jian towards the bar, and a volatile switch flipped in Jianā€™s gut, instantly rubbing every inch of his skin raw and sucking the air from his lungs.
ā€œNo,ā€ Jian managed in a desperate whisper, shrugging his way out of Calā€™s hands and stumbling backwards a few feet before blinking the blind terror from his eyes and halfway remembering where he was. Calā€™s hands hovered in a deliberately non-threatening airspace, allowing Jian to retreat as far as he needed.
ā€œOkay,ā€ Cal said quickly, in a peaceful, hushed tone. Jianā€™s focus still whipped around the bar, but Cal let that manic vigilance die down in its own time, keeping his own body still and distant. ā€œOkay. You donā€™t have to. But I really donā€™t want to send you back out there, to who knows what, without at least getting you dried off. You can stay here, honey. You donā€™t have to go.ā€
The vividness of Jianā€™s memory drained to an uninviting mist. He knew that at some point heā€™d started to cry, and that Cal had led him with an open hand -- so broad it nearly spanned Jianā€™s entire waistline, at least in those days -- to a more secluded area behind the bar, where both Cal and the small kitchen crew could keep an eye on him while he ravenously devoured a warm plate of various bar staples and a few Casanova specialties. Jian remembered being offered an offensively sugary Shirley Temple in that same spot, but that may have been on another night.
Sometime later, a shift change freed Cal up to drag a second black painted chair over to Jianā€™s, where heā€™d been working on drying himself off with an only slightly ratty towel, having adamantly refused a change of clothes from Calā€™s apartment above the bar.
ā€œHey there, kiddo. You feeling any better?ā€
Jian nodded sheepishly, embarrassed at all the drama heā€™d become the center of tonight, now that the terror had mostly passed. The heat from the crowd and the food had long since stilled his shivering, and an almost contented sleepiness was taking over instead, a feeling so unfamiliar that he was struggling to guard against it, finding himself nodding off every now and then. Heā€™d been focusing his energy on staying upright in the chair, and was glad for Calā€™s interruption.
ā€œIā€™d like to have a little chat with you, if thatā€™s okay,ā€ Cal said, leaning forward in his seat to match Jianā€™s height. Jian visibly tensed, swallowing nervously and breaking eye contact. Calā€™s voice only softened more. ā€œSweetheart, youā€™re not in any trouble with me. Whatā€™s your name, honey?ā€
When Jian only gulped again with considerably more effort, his eyebrows starting to knit with growing anxiety, Cal nodded thoughtfully.
ā€œThatā€™s okay, you donā€™t have to tell me.ā€
A rush of cool air flowed through Jianā€™s chest, relief unclenching his jaw before heā€™d even realized how tight heā€™d been squeezing it shut.
ā€œI would like to know how old you are, though,ā€ Cal continued lightly. ā€œBut donā€™t tell me that either. I want to guess. Flex my skills. Is that something the kids are saying today?ā€
One corner of Jianā€™s mouth lifted a bit.
ā€œSee, Iā€™m out of the loop. Thisļæ½ļæ½ll be fun,ā€ Cal said. ā€œHmm,ā€ he hummed, one hand rubbing his chin as he made a show of scrutinizing Jianā€™s scrappy appearance. ā€œIā€™ve got nieces in the eighth grade, but theyā€™re all shorter than you. They definitely eat better, though.ā€ Jian couldnā€™t help but chuckle silently under the heat of the spotlight, feeling himself becoming invested in the game, despite everything. ā€œFourteen, maybe? No, fifteen.ā€ When Jian shook his head to both, Cal leaned back, worry overtaking his expression. ā€œOh, sweetheart, please donā€™t tell me I started too high. I donā€™t think I could handle it.ā€
Jian shook his head again, an easy smile finding its way onto his face. ā€œSixteen,ā€ he said, his delicate voice all but confirming his answer.
Cal nodded, solemnity gently wafting away the air of humor that had eased them to this point. He leaned forward again, hands clasped in front of him, and looked into Jianā€™s eyes as he spoke. ā€œIt was a long time ago, but it was tough for me when I was that age, too. I canā€™t speak for your experience, honey, but I know what itā€™s like to feel alone in the world.ā€
His defenses down, Jian felt the words hit him square in his chest. Fear and apprehension prickled at the edges of the impact, but the crater was deep enough that genuine empathy was what struck Jian the most. He felt breathless and fragile as he listened, but he didnā€™t look away.
ā€œIā€™ve seen some very good friends go down dark paths because of that feeling. And itā€™s hard to find your way back out. Itā€™s hard out there, baby, I know. But no matter how lost you feel, you will never be unworthy of love, and safety, and peace. Do you understand me?ā€
Jian wasnā€™t sure that he did, but Cal spoke with such an urgency that Jian felt he should at least nod, though unease was building in his stomach again. Cal watched him with earnest conviction as he waited for Jian to answer, but Jian shied away from the intensity of it, breaking off eye contact and betraying the gnawing guilt he suddenly felt. Cal sighed, too softly to hear beneath the noise of the bar.
ā€œI know that look, sweetheart. Your family?ā€
Jian hadnā€™t realized how obvious it could be. His stomach dropped and a flash of heat pushed tears behind his eyes as fresh wounds burst through their haphazard stitches. He could feel the metaphorical slam of the door all over again, the pain of his fatherā€™s violent and consummate rejection only compounded by the past year heā€™d spent trying to stitch himself back together without him. Failing miserably. He bit his cheek to keep the rest from spilling, and locked eyes with Cal to silently implore him to continue.
Cal didnā€™t falter. He wrapped Jianā€™s restlessly clenching fists between his warm hands and leaned in.
ā€œThereā€™s not a lot I can do to change the truly fucking awful things that happen in this world,ā€ Cal said. ā€œBut what I can do is help lift some of the burdens that fall on us. You are welcome here, honey.ā€ He accented this with a squeeze of Jianā€™s hands, then paused, blinked a few times, and made an undecided gesture with a tilt of his head. ā€œNot in the bar, mind you.ā€
At the gentle chiding, Jian found himself laughing with him, vaguely relieved to be acknowledged as something other than a novelty or a criminal. Cal looked at him without hunger. Being the object of someoneā€™s worry instead of their hatred or desire had faded to a memory from another world, and Jian didnā€™t know what to do with or even how to identify the bubbly feeling which sat high in his chest. The release of pressure set free a cold crop of tears that he had been clinging to. With grace, Cal let them fall without address.
ā€œBut any time itā€™s getting too heavy,ā€ Cal continued, holding Jianā€™s hands tight, ā€œif youā€™re ever hungry, tired, need someone to talk to, anything, you come to Casanova and you ask for Cal, okay? I mean it. We make our own families here.ā€
Jian nodded, with emphatic gratitude this time. His head felt too fuzzy and exhausted to really comprehend the mess of emotions that writhed and tangled inside him, like a ratā€™s nest of colorful yarn choking his heart, but the mess itself was colorful and soft, and that had to be enough for now. He took a steadying breath.
ā€œMy nameā€™s Jian,ā€ he said, feeling shy under the usually anonymizing glow of the blacklights. But Cal beamed.
ā€œItā€™s very nice to meet you, Jian,ā€ he said. ā€œNow, the big questions: Do you have a place to stay tonight? Is there someone I can help you call, to let them know where you are?ā€
ā€œNo,ā€ Jian said simply, and the scalding, mortified blush that wouldā€™ve normally flooded Jianā€™s entire face and neck just wasnā€™t there. Instead, Calā€™s hands landed on his shoulders, blanketing him in steadiness and warmth without suffocating.
ā€œNow you do, Jay. Now you do.ā€™
From somewhere in the comfortable fog of Jianā€™s distant memory, Dickass Leeā€™s voice wormed back into his ears.
ā€œCome here, Jay.ā€
Jian bristled.
ā€œUgh, yeah, no. No. I get it,ā€ Dickass Lee said with a comically exaggerated shudder, mimicking the tension in his captiveā€™s shoulders. ā€œIā€™ll stick to ā€˜Jian.ā€™ā€
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