[lil author's note: title is from the mitski song! sad and dramatic jules and greg times, right at the end of their situationship. jules had always been attracted to greg, eventually to the point of something obsessive-possessive, but was also always too insecure and his environment was always just a little too hostile around him to ever fully admit his feelings for greg. so things stayed bottled up, and greg was none the wiser. until...]
Julian was 3 beers and 2 glasses of wine in and in a foul mood. He had so much pent up in his brain all the time that it was bound to come gushing out at some point, and a part of him knew that alcohol was the perfect dam break. That part of him, of course, would never admit the intentionality behind any of this-- not even to the rest of him. He was at the perfect point of drunkenness now, where anything said or done could easily be excused by it, yet he was still mostly aware of his surroundings and could tell that all of the band had shipped off already besides one man-- the man who was sitting next to him, entire body tensed, nursing a single glass of ale. Greg. Keyboardist, sturdily built, tall, with deep-set green eyes, loose brown curls, and a jaw that was currently more taut than a piano string. Not the top target of female groupies and fans (that was shared by Julian and Nate, respectively), especially not now that he was engaged, yet something about him had drawn Julian to him near instantly when they first met.
A couple things, really. His looks were one of them, despite not being handsome in a classic sense (he was tall but perpetually slouched as if in apology for his height, his cheeks a little jowly, his teeth hopelessly crooked-- but all of that had simply added to his charm). The other was that he, even more than Nate, had been skeptical of Julian's then-potential place within the band. The day they met, Greg had been almost as standoffish and terse as he was currently. They only spoke a few words to each other, all out of a cautious sense of decorum, and yet at the end of the day Julian was determined to make Greg like him. He viewed most people as challenges in that way: no dislike was strong enough to overcome a protracted charm offensive, given that said offensive was tailored meticulously to each person and played out as close to perfectly as possible.
Julian was proven correct that time, and in a shorter time frame than he'd expected: he'd given himself two months to win Greg over, and by the end of the first month, he'd blown Greg on his couch. For the following two years, they'd continue to have sex when they could find the time, as long as they were on the road. More than that, though, they grew close. Jules began to trust him. Greg would share such intimate thoughts with him-- or at least, far more intimate than Jules would ever dream of sharing himself-- and seemed to truly value his personal input alongside the professional. It made him feel surprisingly comfortable. Almost… relaxed. Almost enough to tell him--
He waited too long, though. Like usual. And no one ever wanted to wait for him. --And what even was it? Fascination? Envy? Love? More and more he was convinced it HAD to have been love. No matter what Greg said or didn't say. You hold a guy on stage every night like that during the raunchiest encore, you sing with him like that elsewhere in that sweet smooth velvety voice, sing TO him, you could SWEAR (and of course you sang to him back, looked into his green eyes and sang to him), and those fucking words: "are you feeling that way, too? Or am I just a fool?"
Apparently he only wanted to make sure JULES was the fool. What the fuck else was new?
So Julian whipped his head towards Greg with a narrow-eyed glare. "Why're you even still here?", he snapped, "Don'tchu have a girlfriend to go home to?" Greg let out a loud sigh and finished the rest of his drink in one gulp. "A fiancee, actually, as I know you know. And I also have an asshole next to me that's probably in no shape to drive himself home, so what can I do?"
Julian scoffed. "Awwwww, he's pretending to care, now.", He said in sing-song before turning back to dramatic hostility, "—Come the fuck on, I KNOW you wouldn't mind seeing my car wrapped around a tree 'r my HEAD gone through a windshield 'r my larynx sliced open like a bled out PIG, Gregory, you don't need to fucking LIE to me."
Greg's body tensed even further in response. "Julian." A one-word warning that wasn't heeded. Jules leaned in closer. "Julian what. Julian WHAT?" Greg finally turned to him. "Jesus CHRIST, man, what's gotten into you? I thought everything was okay, now."
Julian laughed-- more loudly than he'd intended. "FUCK, you're so fuckin' clueless. Greg--" his expression was still hostile, but his eyes had started to water, "Greg, you broke my fucking HEART. You broke my fuckin' heart without even thinking, 'cause you're almost as big of a moron as Nathan is. You have just one more bit of brain in there than he does and that's IT." "What the fuck are you even--""--We could've made each other so fuckin' PERFECT. We WERE making each other perfect; we were so CLOSE! You opened the door for me and then you just pushed me out and slammed it in my fuckin FACE, for HER??? What the fuck can SHE give you that I can't?!? And I mean IMPORTANT things, Greg, shit that MATTERS, not a white picket fucking fence, I mean true fucking LOVE!!!!"
There was barely anyone in the bar, and it was a good thing, because Julian didn't give any thought to how loud his proclamation-slash-rant was. Greg, who was far more worried about the volume of the statement at that point than the statement itself, repeatedly attempted to hush him with his hands. Tried to meet the eye of the bartender, who continued to avoid the both of them diligently, all attention fixated on getting a real-or-imagined speck out of the side of a glass with a worn dishrag.
Julian let out another panicked laugh, shook his head. Looked back at him with a stark desperation in his wide eyes. "A-and I hate that I do, but I STILL love you.", His voice became strained and trembling as he looked away, "-An' you don't give two SHITS about me and you NEVER did."
Greg sighed, tried-- even though he knew the futility of it by then, even though his frustration was making it difficult-- to get through to him. "Julian, you're drunk and pissed and emotional; what, you think I have to stay superglued to you forever or I don't care about you??""You're fucking LEAVING ME, don't treat me like a MORON, Greg, run off to her! It's what you always fucking wanted to do. I was just in the way once she came around an' before that I was just something fun to do. Right? Fucking GO! Fuck OFF!!" He shoved Greg's chest in full frustrated anger, but Greg was sturdy enough that it barely moved him an inch backwards. That was still enough, though. Greg's patience, which Jules had been picking at the entire year, had worn completely out.
He ran his tongue over his teeth, closed his eyes, and sighed for a moment before speaking again. "...You know how Walt sometimes likes to wax poetic, Jules?"
Julian paused mid-angry-thought as if Greg's words had pulled him back to something closer to a non-emotional reality, blinked, and nodded wordlessly.
"I was talking with him about you recently. About the way you are. And what he thought you were. And he told me that you were like a fire. If you nurture it and keep an eye on it, it warms you up and does what you need it to do. If you take your eye off it, if you forget to throw a log on or whatever, it either begins to die and burn out or, if the conditions are right for it, it can spark a forest fire and burn everything for miles around to the ground."
"Get to the fuckin' POINT.", Julian spat out, eyes narrowed.
Greg let out a tired laugh. "He thinks you're a fuckin basketcase. Just a talented one, so worth keeping around. But I don't have to stay around with you anymore. So I'm not."
Greg was getting out of his chair and walking away. He was walking away. He was leaving. It was like it was happening in slow motion yet Jules still couldn't stop it. When the fuck could he ever stop it, with anyone?? He tried to follow him, he begged him more and more abjectly to stay, he was sorry, they could figure something out, he could work something out, he knew he was crazy but he could figure something out he swore PLEASE, just please don't leave--
But it was too late. Greg had been on this emotional rollercoaster with Jules one too many times already and he wanted off. For good. He had to make that as damn clear as possible or else Jules would keep clinging to him, shoving him away, clinging to him, shoving him away, and he was DONE with it, he'd been done with it for a year at least and now he was utterly exhausted by it--
Greg pulled Julian close by the collar. Looked him directly in the eye. For a moment, it was as if both of them had forgotten everything that happened between them that night. That year. Both of their gazes softened; Julian's lips parted as if by instinct. They were nice lips. Full, curved into an upward bow that gave him a slight resting smile. They'd always been so good to kiss. But it didn't matter anymore. "Y'know Jules", Greg started-- low but threatening-- "I think Walt was being nice. I wouldn't have called you anything poetic like he did. It gives you too much credit; you already think you're so special. Nah. You're just a neurotic little freak." He shoved Julian away, who stumbled ungracefully into another bar chair. That was the last sight of him for Greg. He turned and walked away. Didn't look back-- he knew the story. He wasn't about to become a pillar of salt.