[Paris] Le cœur ouvert à l'inconnu [Prosper]

He woke on the floor in the the apartment he’d stayed in with Prosper and company, nestled in pillows, dry paint on his clothes. The London morning was gray outside the windows. Dean rolled over, looking around. Some of the people had gotten up, tiptoeing over sleeping bodies with dancer’s grace.

And he thought again, I’m going to Paris. Just to see.

When Prosper woke Dean told him this, determined to commit this time, like maybe if he said it to someone the restless ache wouldn’t dull. Prosper offered him a place to stay. He wrote down an address and when he expected to be home, and slipped it to Dean before he left. Expectations in hand that he couldn’t disappoint, he went home to his empty flat and began to pack.

The bag sat in his hallway for a whole day before he could get the portkey business and work stuff settled. He spent the rest of his time anxiously tapping his fingers and flicking through television channels. Actual planning never quite made it through his mind, he was too jittery for that. He would wing it. He’d winged it for months before, he’d be able to do it for a week.

The next morning he woke feeling very much not ready, but he had already made the appointment. He showed up at the Ministry with his backpack and was sent to France.

For most of the day he explored wizarding Paris. The main center was not unlike Diagon Alley, tottering historic buildings and shops with wares spilling out onto the street. He stopped at each one. Didn’t speak to anyone, realizing self-consciously that he’d come here without even attempting to learn French. If he lived here he’d have to. It didn’t seem like such an insurmountable obstacle as he wandered up and down the street, immersed in the lively culture.

He managed to get a sandwich without many words exchanged, and ate it sitting on a building’s front steps. By that time the early winter dusk was beginning to fall. Dean figured he should get to Prosper’s before evening, just in case the man wanted to leave for the night. And maybe he could come with him, let Prosper show him the Paris lights. He was sure there would be no better guide.

He apparated to the specified address, coming out on the doorstep. Glancing quickly at the number to make sure he had the right place, Dean knocked on the door and nervously awaited an answer.

@Prosper Lachapelle

Prosper opened the door, an amused expression on his face as he cocked an eyebrow. He gave Dean a good lookover before nodding once. “Details are a bit fuzzy,” he explained, waving a hand at his own head and smirking to himself as he slid the heavy metal door open to reveal his flat.

Zara and Prosper lived in a small warehouse – everything was one big room. It wasn’t anything like the London one they’d stayed in, though. It was split by big, heavy, ceiling to floor curtains to divide sections into Prosper and Zara’s rooms. The rest of the place was a spacey lounge-room-meets-kitchen and was decorated with many plants, fairy lights and mismatched couches and beanbags. There was a bookshelf to one side, covered in Shakespeare plays and poetry books, as well as magazines from subscriptions such as Enchantment; The modern ballerina witch. The odd pink feather boa was strung over lampshades.

It was very much an artist’s house, he thought. “House tour,” Prosper said, leading Dean in straight to his room. “So this is mine. My desk, bed…” Prosper drew back the curtain sectioning off his part of the house. There were plenty of spells in place to keep sound inside the rooms, which had been pretty handy considering Prosper brought people home quite often… “Unless you have a tent or something, you can sleep on the floor in my room. Zara gets up pretty early and plays music.” Prosper leant in a little, his voice low like he was sharing a secret, “the worst kind of crappy pop,” he said, “and then she does her morning routine to the worst kind of crappy dance music.” His bed was decorated with floral sheets and fairy lights on the elaborate bedhead. Thankfully it wasn’t too messy, and his bed was pressed right up to a giant window with a decent view.

Prosper skipped out of the room, taking Dean to Zara’s room and opening her curtain too to give his new friend a look inside. “This is Zara’s room. Word of advice; don’t take naps in here when she’s not around? Sometimes she just randomly comes home and if she finds you naked in her bed she’ll throw a fit.” Prosper smiled at the memory, noting the fact that they’d gone on a trip to Bali as a result of their fight. Zara had complained about monkeys and the sun the whole time but she’d been happy with her tan by the time they’d gotten back.

The young man spun around again and went back out to the lounge room. “Bathroom over there…” he pointed, “Kitchen over there…” Prosper trailed off, then gave Dean a meaningful lookover again. “I hope you weren’t kidding when you said that you and Pierce are fine,” he said, sincerity in his tone. “I can’t be inviting the boy who broke my brother’s heart into my bedroom, can I?” Prosper smirked again, all seriousness dropped from his tone as he fell backward into a plush, red couch.

The house was dreadfully bohemian, easy and free within a hard space. Dean wouldn’t be surprised if people slept on the floor here on a regular basis. The thought of himself as another wandering friend felt satisfyingly romantic. Living in Paris would be an indulgence, he thought, of his dreamy side. But what was so bad about indulging?

He followed Prosper, taking in all the partitioned areas, nodding. “I haven’t met Zara, right?” he asked. He hoped she would be okay with his presence. But he was distracted from worrying too much by the view from Prosper’s window. Dean took a long moment to stare outside.

“Forgive me,” he said with a small laugh, “I’m a tourist.”

They meandered over to Zara’s room, where he snorted at Prosper’s anecdote and vowed not to repeat the incident. The bathroom and kitchen were pointed out, and then Prosper’s eyes raked over him. Dean shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably.

“We were never really anything, Pierce and I,” he said. “And I don’t think I did the heartbreaking.” He regretted saying so immediately; it sounded horrifically petty and jealous. Clearing his throat, Dean gestured to Prosper’s curtained area, changing the subject. “Shall I get settled, then? Have you got blankets?” He dropped his backpack from his shoulder and held it by one strap. “I can try and transfigure something if I need to, but I’m not that good—never took my seventh year.”

“Ah, No you haven’t. Sheeee… doesn’t exactly know you’re here, I haven’t seen her since you got back. But it should be fine,” Prosper waved a hand dismissively, reassuring his English friend. Things almost certainly wouldn’t be fine, at first, but after a bit of explaining and apologising and ass-kissing they probably would be. Prosper always asked for forgiveness rather than permission with Zara. They were very different people.

“Ouch,” Prosper replied, raising his eyebrows inquisitively. Dean didn’t elaborate. “There are blankets in the cupboard at the end of my bed,” he said, before adding, “don’t worry too much it stays pretty warm in there.” Thank you, magical heating system. Prosper had no idea how muggles did it, really. Everything was just so convenient with magic. “Oh yeah? Did you drop out to be an artist?” he asked over his shoulder, waiting for Dean to return to the living room.

Prosper had had many moments of wanting to drop out over the course of his upperclassman years. He knew the name and postal address of every ballet company, theatre company and travelling circus of note in the wizarding world by now. Hours of research did that. But he’d stayed in school longer than he’d wanted to, because he couldn’t walk away from his social life. How could he leave Diederik, Emil or Casper? How could he let Nala, Maria, Zara, Hasina, or Zoé have their final year without him? Prosper couldn’t miss out, so he’d stayed through exams and NEWTs and all the rest.

“So I’m staying with the boy whose heart was broken by my brother,” he said after a moment, before snorting to himself. “I hope he wasn’t mean,” he said, knowing his brother to be anything but. Prosper hopped up, unable to sit still for too long, and followed Dean into his room. The Frenchman hopped onto his bed and sat there cross-legged as he watched Dean set up his new bed. “You know, we could give you your own curtains if you wanted some privacy.”

“Oh, well, brilliant,” said Dean, snorting softly. At least it wasn’t his fault if she had an issue.

He tried not to react to Prosper’s assessment of the Pierce situation and went instead to go lay blankets on the floor. “Er, no, not really,” he called back toward the living room. “It was to do with the war, in Britain. A couple of years ago.” He didn’t know how much Prosper knew about Voldemort. England wasn’t the center of the world, after all, no matter how much they might like to think it sometimes. “They were rounding up muggleborns so I had to run for it.” It was surprisingly easy to tell this near-stranger about the most harrowing time of his life. Unless he were to ask more. Hopefully Prosper was prudent enough not to pry. “Anyway, I never went back.” He hadn’t even considered it. His wizarding education hadn’t meant that much to him for a while before leaving Hogwarts. Learning magic was okay, but he had never envisioned himself with a magical occupation, a fully magical life. It still didn’t feel real. Even though he was a part of this world undeniably, had friends in it, had fought for it, it wasn’t his world.

Carefully, Dean folded the fluffiest comforter in half lengthwise and lay it a little away from Prosper’s bed. He spread a fleece blanket on top and placed a pillow at the head of his makeshift bed. Prosper reappeared at the entrance to his room prying more about Pierce, and Dean internally sighed. It was his brother, of course he wanted to know. But it was getting a little intrusive. “Not mean at all,” said Dean. “He just fell in love with someone else.” He shrugged as Prosper asked whether he wanted curtains. “Up to you,” he said. “If you don’t want to be sharing your room with the boy whose heart your brother broke.”

“Oh, you’re a muggleborn?” That explained the phone thing, he thought vaguely. Prosper didn’t have any muggleborn friends. He wondered what weird and whacky muggle things Dean could introduce him to… And then he wondered if that was wrong for some reason. “We had a bunch of Hogwarts kids at our school that year,” he added with a nod. Prosper wanted to ask more about the war and Dean being on the run, but he figured he could save it for another time. A time when they knew each other better, he thought, or maybe when they were drunker.

It was always strange to spend time with someone you met while intoxicated. Prosper had made a joke about not remembering what Dean looked like when he’d opened the door, but it was a little bit true. When Prosper drank he was just a more exaggerated version of himself, but the difference between drunk-Dean and sober-Dean seemed a little more wide; Dean seemed like the kind of person who lost his inhibitions when he drank. Prosper just didn’t have them in the first place.

The eighteen year old uncrossed his legs and recrossed them the other way. He had a hard time sitting still, especially when interesting things were going on. Prosper was intrigued. Pierce was in love? He wasn’t just seeing some English girl, he was in love with her? Prosper wanted to ask more questions, poke and prod until he knew everything that Dean knew, but a part of him figured he really should just ask Pierce. His older brother might be uncomfortable to hear that Prosper had found everything out from an ex lover. Maybe if he told me anything, I wouldn’t have to, he thought, but the thought was squashed down very quickly.

Dean seemed uncomfortable, and Prosper noticed. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, just teasing. No more questions,” he said, raising his palms up in a retreat. He couldn’t keep serious for long, however, and after a moment he cracked a crooked smile. Prosper watched as Dean finished setting up his bed and then his attention wandered to his own window. The sun was almost set now; it was very dusky outside. He was a picture of blasé, looking over his shoulder at the sky outside. “Did you want to do your own thing tonight, or did you want to see my Paris?”

“Yeah,” said Dean. “Or they’ve got me down as one, anyway. We always wondered about my dad—he’s dead—turned out he was a wizard, though. But I’d never looked into it and didn’t have proof, so…” He said it all nonchalantly. Over the last few years he’d become accustomed to oversharing. There were just so many bits of him that needed explanation. And sometimes it felt good, with all the time he spent around muggles, to be able to talk about his life.

He glanced up at Prosper on the bed, who looked deeply interested in Pierce’s romantic endeavors. But he didn’t ask any more, he backed off instead. “Oh, don’t worry about it,” said Dean. He offered a lopsided smile in return as he sat back on his knees. “You’re giving me a place to stay, the least I can do is answer questions.” He laughed. “You might want to know who you’ve got sleeping next to you, I figure.”

Prosper was looking out at the darkening sky. “If you’re willing, you could show me around,” Dean said. He supposed if there was anything this guy was good for, it would be showing him a night in Paris. He pushed himself to his feet and stretched. “It’d be good to know where to go.”

Prosper nodded, more interested than he was allowing himself to express. Dean’s detached tone as he spoke about it all told Prosper that he’d talked about it a lot, and Prosper didn’t want to be the kind of person to make him uncomfortable or irritated. The Frenchman didn’t ask questions this time. Best case scenario here was that he and Dean would at least be friends after his little stay in Paris.

“I don’t need to know,” Prosper insisted, waving a hand. “It’s not like I haven’t slept next to strangers before.” All kinds of strangers, in the past six months. Probably too many strangers – at least according to Zara, who had expressed her annoyance at finding random girls in the bathroom when she wanted to have showers. Prosper didn’t think he was doing anything wrong. He was always a gentleman, always clear about his intentions if he saw someone a few times. He hadn’t had a girlfriend since Luciana in school, though, and Prosper thought it would be a nice time to have an adult relationship. 

“Of course,” he said. “Did you want to go the artsy coffee place way or the dancey party way? I guess we could do both.” Prosper paused for a moment. “Maybe Zara will come too.” Prosper glanced up at the ornate wall clock above his desk. “If she comes home in say… the next half hour?” He smiled, hoping that she’d be okay with their new houseguest. Maybe if he pitched Dean as a family friend instead of a random stranger he met on his trip to London it would go down more easily?

"Ah, of course.” Dean had never really thought about the level of trust it took to sleep in front of someone, to give yourself over into unconsciousness in the presence of a stranger. The thought of it made him shiver, remember all the people who had shared his bed, how many of them could have murdered him in his sleep. He looked at Prosper thoughtfully. Hopefully his intentions were as innocent as they seemed.

He smiled, putting it out of his mind. “I’d have to say both,” he said. “Or one tonight, one tomorrow. Don’t want to miss a thing.” Part of him was hoping for something to particularly grab him, inspire him, make him decide definitively, this is where I want to be. A place, a person, an experience. The more things he did, the greater chance there was.

“Should we wait, then?” he asked. He looked out into the living room, then wandered out to sit on one of the couches. The room was full of things, but Dean didn’t know how he was supposed to kill time here. What did people do without televisions? He looked to Prosper. “What were you doing before I got here?”

Dean gave him a thoughtful look and Prosper just smiled in return, raising one eyebrow slightly higher than the other. “You’ve got time,” he said, before amending with, “I think? How long are you staying for? I don’t really have plans outside of, you know, work and stuff…” He shrugged. He was friends with his various bosses and had dated one of them, so everything was very flexible for him. “Although I wasn’t kidding about that circus thing. That could happen any day now.” Prosper grinned, but he really wasn’t joking and it was evident in the spark in his eyes. The young man ran a hand through his curls casually.

“Yeah we’ll just wait a little. Are you hungry? Have you eaten?” Prosper followed Dean back out, moving to the little kitchenette as Dean took a seat on the couch. It was all one big room, so they weren’t too far away from each other to hear. “Do you want a drink? Tea? Wine? We’ve only got… red.” Prosper paused in between words, working hard to keep conversation flowing so smoothly. “I’ll teach you some French,” he added as an afterthought, pouring himself a glass of red wine. Prosper hadn’t liked wine very much before, but now that he was out of school he’d forced himself to taste it enough that the flavour was no longer bad. He’d never be a wine connoisseur, but now he could drink the stuff without screwing up his face.

Dean shrugged. “Maybe a couple days,” he said. “I’d like to see muggle Paris. I’ll stay out of your hair.” He still wasn’t sure what he really planned to do. Part of him wanted to see all the tourist things, the museums, the Eiffel Tower. But the other part wanted to just wander around, city blocks and residential streets, absorbing Paris, the feel of it. That was what he really needed to know.

Though of course, no matter what he did he still couldn’t miss the Louvre.

“I know the feeling,” said Dean. Not the exact feeling—he’d be dreadful in a circus—but the urge to drop everything and do something spontaneous and wild and romantic. He wondered whether Prosper was more likely to give in to urges like that than he, but then figured he was in the midst of giving in right now. Paris was no circus, but it was his circus.

He waved a hand. “No, I’m alright, thank you.” He supposed he’d have enough to drink if Prosper took him out tonight. Cringing at Prosper’s fumble over the words, Dean felt all of a sudden like a burden. “Sorry,” he said. “I’ll try to learn.” He wondered if Fleur would give private lessons.

Leaning over the back of the couch and resting his chin on his arms, Dean watched Prosper drink. “So,” he said, awkwardly, “nice place you’ve got. It suits you.” Maybe if he lived here his place would suit him.