It's tempting.

It's even more tempting to let the debt hang in the air, unspecified, Damocletian.

Jean sits in the car and watches.

He's going to make him ask, isn't he.

"Did you — want to come up?"

If he'd said would you like, maybe.

But for did you want to -- no. He'll wait to be begged.

"That's quite all right."

"...good night, then. And thank you again."

He disappears up the stairs of his apartment.

Jean sits there, watching him, promising himself that if Valentine passes out on the stairs he will have him while he's unconscious.

When Valentine is out of sight, he drives home.

Valentine gets a text the next day, and another two days later.

...what? What???

(He keeps looking at that first image, through that first day, and trying not to laugh. Or want wonton soup.)

The second one is slightly more complicated.

(He could tell him he's changed his mind. He isn't likely to be fed, at the theater...)

He arrives on the specified day, early, looking much less faint and very carefully groomed (though in the same suit of clothes as always).

There's no sign of Jean at the theater.

The ticket desk has a ticket for him, though.

Maybe he's already in. (Or maybe he's going to be fashionably late, as usual.)

He takes his ticket, finds his seat, waits.

The lights go down.

The curtain goes up.

The debonair Lord Goring, it transpires, is very familiar.

...Oh.

That answers that.

(It really is something else, to see him live on stage.)

He's brilliant -- transformative -- when he smiles the shower of sparks lights up the stage.

Every witticism is flawlessly deft. Every social debacle is an utter cascade of horror. He's far and away the best actor on stage, and when he comes out to see Valentine, after the last bow, he's shirtless and toweling off sweat and laughing with delight.

He can't decide whether these feelings are convenient or extremely problematic.

"...I had no idea," he says, because he can't think of anything else to say.  

"Yes, it was a bit of a surprise. The gentleman who plays the part had a family event, and I've acted it before, so I asked if I could step in for the night."

"You're incredible."

"I am," he agrees, beaming. "I am very, very good. Where would you like to go for dinner?"

...he can pick.

"Is — anywhere all right?"

"My treat. Opening night, for me, we're celebrating."

"...Soleil?" he says, tentatively.

"Allons-y!"

He has a shirt in the car. He puts it on while driving.

That is not a driving experience he likes!

Well then maybe Valentine should get his own car.

Jean smiles at the hostess and they have a reservation at Soleil, somehow. If any money changed hands, it wasn't visible.

...impressive.

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

He doesn't really seem to expect an answer. His bare feet are up on the chair next to him, and he's putting on the shoes that were tossed over his shoulder with their laces tied together, wiggling his toes with delight.