[ The source of the infection might be keeping secrets, but Jean's not the type to set aside tried and true treatments, either. It's afternoon when Jean knocks on Neil and Charlie's door, a small box in his hands. There's two containers of homemade chicken soup with rice, and freshly baked bread to go along with it. If bread is too thick, he's helpfully included a sleeve of saltines. Rounding it out he's included some mint tea, Levi's suggestion.
He doesn't know if they are sick, to be fair; he's just delivered enough that he's swapped in a soup order to make it easier for himself, and they get a special delivery. ]
[ Jean's instinct is correct; he and Neil are both sick as dogs, and they sure as hell haven't reached the point of coughing up whatever they're keeping inside just yet.
Charlie doesn't even know what it is for him. He's sad his best friend went and shot himself in the head for no reason? Well, yeah. No shit. That's not exactly a secret, he just doesn't go blabbing about it because it's Neil's business, not his. If Neil weren't here...
He doesn't want to think about it.
When he opens the door for Jean, he's wearing his thick Welton winter coat indoors, dark wool that reaches down to his shins. Despite that, there's a thin sheen of sweat over his pallid face. ]
Hey, Jean. Did Neil put in an order?
[ His voice is rough, rubbed raw from how bad he's been coughing all day. ]
[ Jean quips it lightly - in full knowledge he's generally what people consider nice all the time - as he steps in. He sets the small, re-used cardboard box containing their food down on a nearby surface that looks the least cluttered. When Charlie hesitates over his last word, Jean speaks up, but he keeps his back turned. ]
I know what the disease is, but I'm not here to lecture you about it.
[ He turns, having removed the tea at the very least, and offers it to Charlie. ]
I'm willing to lend an ear if you need it, though.
[ Jean's a good guy in general, Charlie's pretty sure. He takes the tea with a grateful nod, but that offer–
He gives himself the length of time of a long, comforting sip to think it over. When he lowers the cup, his voice at least does come out less cracked and broken, even though the symptoms haven't abated. ]
You really wanna listen to someone you barely know spill his guts? You're a nice guy all the time, Jean.
[ Yeah. Definitely the hero type.
Even if he did want to, though– it's not as if he can talk about anything with Neil only a room away. Charlie presses his hand to his throat as he clears it again, another swig of tea to wash down the petals that want to rise. ]
[ Jean gives him a look at that comment that he's fine, but, as promised, he doesn't press Charlie about it. At least Neil is nearby, so Jean assumes Charlie might talk to him about it.
(He has no reason to assume the secret is about Neil.) ]
Well, I'll be sure to make the same offer to him, too.
If the tea is helping, I can bring some leaves by later. It's a blend from the shop I work at.
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beep beep soup delivery
He doesn't know if they are sick, to be fair; he's just delivered enough that he's swapped in a soup order to make it easier for himself, and they get a special delivery. ]
sigh cw suicide as ever
Charlie doesn't even know what it is for him. He's sad his best friend went and shot himself in the head for no reason? Well, yeah. No shit. That's not exactly a secret, he just doesn't go blabbing about it because it's Neil's business, not his. If Neil weren't here...
He doesn't want to think about it.
When he opens the door for Jean, he's wearing his thick Welton winter coat indoors, dark wool that reaches down to his shins. Despite that, there's a thin sheen of sweat over his pallid face. ]
Hey, Jean. Did Neil put in an order?
[ His voice is rough, rubbed raw from how bad he's been coughing all day. ]
oh them dead poet boys
No - heard there was a cough going around, though, and figured you two wouldn't be opposed to some soup and tea.
[ Even if they ended up healthy, it's free food. It doesn't look like they're doing too great, though. ]
no subject
Well, shit. That's nice of you. Uh, come in–
[ And he actually manages to look a bit genuinely self-conscious as he steps aside, a true rarity. ]
Sorry, it's kinda messy. We've both had that... cough.
[ There's no way Jean doesn't know what the disease is, right? ]
no subject
[ Jean quips it lightly - in full knowledge he's generally what people consider nice all the time - as he steps in. He sets the small, re-used cardboard box containing their food down on a nearby surface that looks the least cluttered. When Charlie hesitates over his last word, Jean speaks up, but he keeps his back turned. ]
I know what the disease is, but I'm not here to lecture you about it.
[ He turns, having removed the tea at the very least, and offers it to Charlie. ]
I'm willing to lend an ear if you need it, though.
no subject
He gives himself the length of time of a long, comforting sip to think it over. When he lowers the cup, his voice at least does come out less cracked and broken, even though the symptoms haven't abated. ]
You really wanna listen to someone you barely know spill his guts? You're a nice guy all the time, Jean.
[ Yeah. Definitely the hero type.
Even if he did want to, though– it's not as if he can talk about anything with Neil only a room away. Charlie presses his hand to his throat as he clears it again, another swig of tea to wash down the petals that want to rise. ]
Neil might take you up on that. I'm fine.
no subject
(He has no reason to assume the secret is about Neil.) ]
Well, I'll be sure to make the same offer to him, too.
If the tea is helping, I can bring some leaves by later. It's a blend from the shop I work at.
no subject
[ Two is more than enough in his book.
The tea is good, though. He hasn't had much in his life, just whatever Keating would share in his office. ]
dis a wrap
[ His lips twitch a bit in amusement.
Once he's sure Charlie will be fine, he leaves him with the soup, taking the portion that's set aside for Neil to deliver to his room. ]