Work Text:
Honestly, Jean regrets taking so long to kiss Jeremy more and more with each passing day. He, like an idiot, only manages to do it in the spring, when the school year is practically over and Jeremy is collecting offers from various pro exy teams for a spot in the National Exy League.
He ends up deciding on starting striker for a California NEL team, the San Francisco Swans—it is, after all, his best offer, and he wouldn’t have taken anything else from his pool.
He had gotten an offer from the Houston Stars, which he discarded for obvious reasons, and he had gotten an offer from the Chicago Chinchillas for their second line, which would have been okay if San Francisco hadn’t offered him a spot on their first. He also got offers from New York, Boston, Washington, and Colorado. Because Jeremy’s record is incredibly stellar and teams all over the nation are currently fighting like animals for him.
Still, it is all just so far.
Jean watches as Jeremy paces the living room endlessly while still in talks with the Los Angeles Lions. The Lions have already signed Laila as a goalkeeper, but their striker selection is already too robust. They can’t afford Jeremy even if they want him, and Jeremy would better be able to showcase his talent elsewhere. Jean keeps to stony silence as he watches Laila argue with Jeremy about how he should obviously sign with the Swans, how he is worth too damn much to be anything but first string, how this is his first ever professional team and he has more to prove than any of the others.
That night, Jeremy lingers by the end of the bed. His eyes are trained firmly on Jean, who gazes calmly back at him from where he’s leaning against the headboard.
“Jean,” he whispers, stricken.
Jean shakes his head and holds his arms out, and Jeremy’s entire body sinks as he flops down on top of him. Jeremy is warm, because he is always warm. Jean can feel his heart racing through his thin t-shirt—one of Jean’s, actually, because in the full week that they have been officially together, Jeremy has basically decided he would much rather wear Jean’s clothes twenty four-seven than anything he owns himself.
“We just got together,” Jeremy murmurs, his voice muffled by Jean’s shoulder. Jean stares aimlessly up at the ceiling. He runs his fingers up and down the curve of Jeremy’s spine. “I just...I just got you. How am I supposed to be apart from you so soon?”
“This is your career,” says Jean. “Your career is more important.”
“That’s not true,” says Jeremy, raising his head, brown eyes searing into Jean’s gray. “My career is obviously important to me, yes, but you’re important to me too. I don’t want to…I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t think I’d be able to handle it.”
“You will not mess this up,” Jean says seriously, and he means it, because if anyone is to mess up here, wouldn’t it be Jean? “You are still in California, and we still have the summer to be together.”
“California is really big,” Jeremy practically whines. “It’s, like, a six hour drive from San Francisco to LA. Or a short flight. I know it isn’t the end of the world, but I…if I signed with LA I could still live here with you and Cat and Laila. With San Francisco I have to move up north, and we won’t get to see each other as often.”
Jean does not really want to think about it. He had spent the past several days desperately trying to not think about it. He doesn’t want Jeremy to move away either. He doesn’t want him to be so close yet so far away. He doesn’t want them to go from being able to watch each other directly through the plexiglass at the Gold Court to only being able to see Jeremy on his laptop screen or on live broadcasts of the Swans’ games. He doesn’t want any of that. He hugs Jeremy tighter against him, swallowing when he feels Jeremy’s nose pushing against his clavicle.
“I will miss you,” he says, so quiet that he wonders if Jeremy even heard him.
But Jeremy does, and he curls himself inward on Jean’s lap, eyelashes fluttering shut. “Don’t miss me yet, okay? You’re right. We still have the entire summer together.”
But the summer comes and goes in the flash of an eye. The Trojans win spring championships against the Foxes, and Jean watches as Kevin congratulates Jeremy with a hug and tells him that Allison Reynolds is also joining the Swans as their starting dealer. Jeremy goes home with Jean and officially signs his striker contract, and the next day Annalise shows up at their front door with his documents and tells him that he is officially cut off from his family.
No—they are not his family, Jean thinks. They are all worthless cockroaches.
He tells Jeremy as much that night, breathing against his temple as Jeremy lies shaking in his arms.
“I know,” Jeremy says quietly, digging his head further into Jean’s chest. It is the first time he has ever verbally reacted to someone speaking negatively about his mother. “I know.”
The four of them spend the entire summer together and selfishly ignore the ticking bomb floating above their heads. Laila will still be living at the apartment since she can just drive to practice at the Lions’ stadium every morning. Jeremy, however, slowly begins to gather his things when he thinks Jean isn’t looking, and Jean ignores the knife slowly wedging into his heart with every passing second.
He goes with Jeremy to San Francisco when it is time for him to move into his new apartment. It is an objectively nice place, with a lavish bedroom and an attached bathroom and a sprawling kitchen that will go absolutely wasted on Jeremy but one that he points to and says excitedly: For you! You’ll cook for me when you come and visit, won’t you, Jean?
It is a nice place, because it is Jeremy’s place. It is Jeremy’s place, not Cat and Laila’s place. It is Jeremy’s place, not Jean’s place.
Jean helps him move in. He helps him get settled and drives them back and forth from the furniture store and the grocery store. He stays for an entire week before summer practices swing into motion at USC and the Swans need Jeremy on the court every morning.
The night before Jean’s flight back to Los Angeles, he and Jeremy have sex for the first time.
Jean wonders again why he has left yet another part of their relationship to the last minute, why he keeps torturing himself like this. They are not new to intimacy as a whole—they spent the entire first week post-getting together kissing each other against each and every surface of the apartment. Sometimes, it would get heated, and every time that happened, Jeremy would pull back, reign himself in, take deep breaths to calm his desire because he thought that going any further would be pushing one of Jean’s invisible boundaries.
Jean thought it was stupid. He sucked Jeremy off the next night with his head between Jeremy’s quivering thighs. Jean didn’t know what he was doing, but he has always been a fast learner. He saw what made Jeremy’s pupils dilate, his lips part, his chin tilt upward toward the ceiling. He took it all in and pushed and pushed until Jeremy was crying out his name and coming on his tongue.
Now, Jean croaks his I want to be inside you into Jeremy’s mouth and watches as Jeremy’s eyes widen in surprise.
“What?” he whispers, dazed. Jean is still mouthing at his throat, rutting against him, needing more, more. “Jean, look at me. What did you just say?”
Jean stares at him. Then his brain catches up, and he jerks back. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I am sorry, Jeremy, I—”
“No!” says Jeremy quickly, reaching for him, keeping him close. “I just—Jean, are you sure?”
Jean doesn’t think he has ever been more sure of anything in his life. He nods, and Jeremy’s shoulders relax before he nods back. “You want to top?”
Jean freezes. “Is that—”
“It’s okay,” Jeremy interrupts quickly. “I like both ways. I just want you to be comfortable.”
He talks about it so frankly—Jean is quietly relieved. In the Nest, when people were on top of him in bed, they had never asked for Jean’s preferences. They had skirted around the topic even when it was clear what they wanted. Jean does not know what he likes. He does not know if there is anything to like.
He nods again, this time almost imperceptible. “Yes,” he says, swallowing. “This time.”
“Okay,” says Jeremy softly, holding his arms out for him. “Come here.”
Jean opens him with his fingers first, watches Jeremy’s eyes flutter shut in his lap, his head tilting backward as Jean pushes further in. Jean has no idea what he is doing. He has no idea what he is supposed to do. When Jeremy tells him that he is ready, Jean looks at him and says, “I don’t know how…”
“Here,” Jeremy whispers, spreading his legs on the mattress and gesturing for Jean to slot himself in the middle. “Like this. Take your time.”
Jean stares down at him. He nods, then hooks his hands below the curve of Jeremy’s thighs to pull him closer. Jeremy’s eyes go wide with shock at the movement, and for a moment, Jean thinks that he has gone too far.
Jeremy reads his mind quickly. “I’m okay,” he says. His voice is a little airy, breathless in a way Jean has never heard it before. “I’m good, I—” He swallows visibly. Jean stares down at him in obvious confusion. “God, this is so—you’re just really good, Jean. That was really…well, it was extremely hot.”
Jean can feel himself flush, the lines of his cheekbones all the way up to the tips of his ears. Jeremy moves to cover his face with his hands. “Christ,” he mutters again. “I don’t know why I’m so embarrassed with you. I’ve never—it’s never been like this for me.”
“It’s never been like this for me either,” Jean says, and Jeremy presses his lips together before he nods in quiet understanding. They both know that this is significant. It is a big deal for both of them.
The first slide in is hot, and it’s wet, and Jean thinks that he could drown in this. He gathers Jeremy into his arms as Jeremy moans loudly into the empty room, and he swallows down the sound of his own name. His wanting grows teeth as it ties around them like a ribbon, clamping down, locking in place. The heat winds tighter and tighter, and then—and then Jean is panting, and Jeremy is kissing him again, and Jean really does not know how he is supposed to leave him now. He doesn’t know how he is supposed to wake up tomorrow knowing he won’t see Jeremy like this for months. He doesn’t know why the universe can’t ever just let him have one nice thing.
Why must he always lose? Why must he always be made to wait, and wait, and wait? He hoped for freedom but was just sold to a more dangerous master. He hoped for love in an unloveable place and it ran away from him in a rich black car. He hoped for a partner and was instead served damnation. He hoped and hoped and hoped for Jeremy Knox and now…and now—
The next morning, Jeremy drives Jean to the airport in silence.
And Jean has been downright tortured in the Nest. He has been held down and knifed sideways and drowned in the face of his want and his fear. But none of that comes close to this, he thinks as Jeremy pulls into the lot and shifts the gear to park: this quiet, this inevitability hanging like an ornament above them. It is an awful thing, Jeremy looking resolutely ahead through the windshield, his knuckles white as he grips fruitlessly on the steering wheel.
“You’ll text,” he says, hoarse. “Promise me you’ll text.”
“I promise I will text,” says Jean. His heart is pounding against his ribcage. His breath is lodged painfully in the back of his throat. He thinks that if he spends even a second more in this car, he will cleave right into two clean pieces.
But he also can’t leave. He will die before leaving like this.
“And you’ll call,” says Jeremy, and his voice sounds watery now, just a little. He turns to look at Jean. “Promise me you’ll call.”
“I promise I will call,” says Jean, and then it is too much. It is too much. He is reaching over the console and surging forward and capturing Jeremy’s lips between his teeth. He is kissing him like Jeremy is his lifeline, and, maybe he is. Maybe the only reason Jean survived the past year against the cardinal red and the California sun is because of Jeremy Knox. Maybe Jean actually can’t do any of this without him.
Jeremy clutches him breathlessly as Jean kisses him, over and over and over again. Minutes later, Jean breaks away, dropping down and pressing his forehead to Jeremy’s throat, inhaling against his smooth, tan skin. He loves him, he loves him, he loves him, and he can’t tell him. Not here. Not right now. Not when Jean doesn’t even know if this will be their last kiss, if Jeremy will move six hours away and realize that Jean isn’t worth it.
Because Jean has never been worth it. He has never been enough—not for his parents, not for Kevin, not for Neil, and not for Riko.
Now, it’s been a month since Jeremy moved to San Francisco. They’ve spent their nights on video calls when they can and littered text messages scattered throughout the day. Jean still wakes up earlier than Jeremy, so he sends the first good morning text and is quietly pleased every time he receives the responding good morning darling!! with a selfie of a sleepy Jeremy attached approximately an hour later.
It’s good. It’s nice. It’s everything Jean can ask for in these circumstances. He will not be selfish. He will not ask for anything more than he is given.
Jeremy doesn’t need to know about Jean lying awake for hours every night, missing the heat of his body against him in their bed. He doesn’t need to know about the evenings Jean has spent curled on Cat’s shoulder in the living room, staring aimlessly at the television in front of them without absorbing a single thing. He doesn’t need to know that Jean is dying, slowly, inside, a little bit every day. He doesn’t need to know any of that. And he won’t. Not if Jean can help it.
He keeps it together.
Mostly.
“Hey,” Cat says softly when they get home, tugging his arm before Jean has a chance to make a break for his bedroom. Practice was so ridiculously terrible today. He cannot blame her for being worried about him. “Are you okay, Jean? No offense, but the passes you missed today were absolutely abysmal.”
“I do not know what that word means,” says Jean, but he relents and lingers back with her.
“Hm,” says Cat. “Normally I’d say ask the English major, but I guess he’s not here.”
She studies him carefully. He knows what she’s doing, and he knows that she knows it’s working. Jean has never been the most subtle person on the planet, but even then, this is Cat. Jean has never been able to hide anything from Cat.
He thinks that if she were also not here with him right now, then he would truly die like this.
He goes on the defensive first. “It was not my fault,” he says. “Lucas was being an idiot.”
“Lucas is always being a little bit of an idiot,” says Cat, her eyebrow slowly raising. “You’ve never let it get to you like this.”
“That is just not true,” says Jean, and Cat shrugs.
“Hmm,” she hums, squinting at him. Jean goes very, very still as she looks her full, hands balling into fists in the face of her scrutiny. He does not like being so easy to read. He does not like any of this. “Do you want me to call Jeremy?”
“No,” Jean snaps immediately. “Do not bother him.”
“Jean, he’d love to be bothered if it was something to do with you,” says Cat gently. “Wouldn’t you want to know if he was having a bad time in SF?”
Jean turns slowly so that he is fully looking at her. His heart is racing. “Is he?” he asks. “Having a bad time?”
She huffs. “It’s Jeremy,” Cat says, rolling her eyes. “Even if he was, we would probably never know.”
Jean pulls away from her and makes a beeline for his bedroom door. “Then he is a hypocrite.”
He closes the door behind him and leans back against the wood facing the open space of his room. His room now, he thinks bitterly, because Jeremy has his own in San Francisco and he had said that Jean could visit him. It is not the same. It will never be the same now. The four of them will never live together again, because Jean is graduating next year and who the fuck knows where he is going to go.
He goes to sit down at his desk. He stares up at the littered postcards hung on the wall in front of him.
Kevin will sign with Houston. Jean is positive. He will never play on the same team as Kevin again unless both of them make the national team, which—well.
Jeremy is in San Francisco, but his contract is only for one year. He can stay if the Swans like him, which they obviously will, or he can transfer somewhere else if another team’s salary cap allows for it. Jean is sure that Jeremy will discuss it with him, and will probably crosscheck his options with the offers that Jean receives at the end of the season. That is—if their relationship makes it that far. Jean will not live in vague guarantees, but he will hope. Oh, how he will hope.
His phone buzzes from across the mattress. He flops down onto his back and reaches for it.
soleil
[19:03] soleil: [attachment: 1 image]
[19:03] soleil: Dinneerrrrrrrr
[19:03] you: that looks good. what is it?
[19:03] soleil: Smoked salmon rice bowl!! So yummy
[19:03] soleil: Have you eaten?
[19:04] you: not yet. i will go help cat with dinner in a few minutes.
[19:04] soleil: Oooh okay
[19:04] soleil: Can I call? I miss your voice :(
[19:04] you: yes.
“Hello?” says Jean after pressing the accept call button.
“Hi, darling,” comes Jeremy’s voice. There’s a bit of rustling on the other line, then Jeremy sighs in satisfaction. Jean swallows, looking up at his ceiling. “Sorry, I just wanted to sit in my bed to eat.”
“You should use your dining table,” says Jean. “It is there for a reason.”
“I usually do,” says Jeremy, and Jean just knows he’s shrugging in that signature way of his. “Anyways, how was your day?”
Jean thinks back to practice, thinks back to Lucas’ agitated grimace as Jean missed two passes in a row, thinks back to Rhemann pulling him aside for a second just to make sure he’s okay. He thinks about Cat holding him back just a few minutes ago, asking if she should call Jeremy. He thinks about Jeremy sprawled happily out on his bed right now, munching away at his dinner on the phone.
“It was good,” he says, now staring into space ahead of him. He can hear pots and pans beginning to clang together in the kitchen, and desperately, he stands up to make his way over.
He finds Cat leaning over the stove, and when she quirks an eyebrow at him, he mouths Jeremy. “Cat seems to be under the impression that my skills on the court are faltering.”
“I am not!” Cat argues, shaking her head as Jean lightly pushes her away. “Stop tarnishing my name to your boyfriend, Jean!”
“Your name is already tarnished in my boyfriend’s mind,” says Jean evenly, and on the phone, Jeremy sucks in a breath, then starts laughing.
The sound makes Jean smile helplessly, the corners of his mouth tugging upward toward the sky. He feels lighter than he’s felt all day, like this, on the phone with Jeremy. Jeremy just has a way of always reaching through the maze of Jean’s head and brushing away all of the darkness. It is damning. It is pathetic. Jean thinks it may just become his reason to keep going.
Cat is watching him, her hands paused over where they were clutching the handle of the pan.
Then she turns. “Go and talk dirty to him. I’ll take care of the food tonight, okay?”
Jean frowns. “I can talk to him and help at the same time—”
“Go,” she says again, jerking her head away from the kitchen. “It’s fine. Laila’s eating with her team tonight so it’s just us. Let me wine and dine you, Jean Moreau.”
He hesitates another second, but she seems dead set. So he sighs and nods, and then he makes his way over to the living room, dropping down onto the couch and pulling his designated blanket over his feet. Jabberwocky follows him, flopping over Jean’s legs and huffing as he makes himself comfortable. Jean scowls at him but doesn’t move. If the dog wants to sleep in such an uncomfortable position, then that is not Jean’s problem.
Jeremy has gone quiet on the line, but Jean knows he’s still there, probably munching away at his dinner. Jean settles in on the cushion and leans against it and pushes away the desperate wish that it was Jeremy’s chest instead.
“Cat has banished me from the kitchen,” he says after a moment, then smiles when he hears Cat snort from somewhere behind him. “She said that I should go and talk dirty to you.”
“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Jeremy says, and Jean can hear the smirk in his voice. “Ah…” He trails off for a moment.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” says Jeremy. Another pause. “It’s embarrassing.”
“Now you have to tell me,” says Jean, straightening a little.
“Ugh,” Jeremy groans. “You’re not on speaker, are you?”
“No, I’m not,” says Jean. “Say it.”
“I just…” Another trail off. Jean is beginning to get impatient. “You just called me your boyfriend.”
Jean blinks. Dread fills him like water. “Oh,” he says. “Is that not what we—”
“No, it is!” says Jeremy quickly. “It is, it is. We are both definitely on the same page about that, don’t worry. It’s just…that was the first time you’ve ever actually said the B word. I think I just had a heart attack or something.”
“The B word.”
“Yes. The B word.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” says Jeremy. “You are just not good for my heart, Jean.”
“I am perfect for it,” says Jean, his brows scrunching in a way that makes his forehead almost begin to ache. “Do not say that.”
Jeremy laughs again. Jean wants to swallow the sound of it. He wants to live in it. He wants to breathe with it. He cannot believe he is hearing it from four hundred miles away. He cannot believe that Jeremy is not next to him on the couch right now, their knees pressing together, Jeremy’s smile within reach. He cannot believe that he has to hear his laugh through the crack of a phone line rather than in real life. He cannot believe that he has to do this for the foreseeable future.
“I miss you,” he whispers in French, the words tumbling out of him like a storm.
Immediately, Jeremy stops laughing, and immediately, Jean regrets saying it. Jeremy does not need all of this. He does not need Jean to pile onto him with his stupid emotions when he should be focusing on making his place on his new team. He shouldn’t have to deal with Jean on top of everything else. Jeremy is the one living in a brand new place. Jeremy is the one who does not have anyone there with him, while Jean is surrounded by his friends and all the rest of the Trojans, too.
He waits. He waits. He has spent the entirety of his life waiting. For something. Anything.
“I miss you too,” comes Jeremy’s voice, soft, more gentle than Jean has heard it in weeks. He says it in French, his accent still a little awkward but so much smoother than it was at the beginning of his fifth year at USC. Jean’s knees come up to press into his chest automatically. He makes himself smaller and smaller, fingers clutching onto his phone as if he will die if he lets go.
“Has it been hard?” Jean asks.
“It is all right,” says Jeremy. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”
“Tell me really,” says Jean.
Another pause, this one longer. When Jeremy finally replies, he has switched back to English: “Allison has been really nice. I’d say we’re friends now, I think. We have a lot in common.” Jean isn’t surprised by this—Jeremy has told him a few times about how Allison has taken him out for drinks on the two weekends he’s been in San Francisco for so far, and Allison also cut herself off from her family when she decided she wanted to take exy more seriously in college. “I’d be having a much worse time without her, I think. I just miss you guys too much. You and Cat and Laila. But you the most. Don’t tell them I said that.”
“I am glad that you have her,” says Jean, and he means it.
“And I’m glad that you have Cat and Laila,” says Jeremy.
“You have them too,” says Jean.
“I know,” says Jeremy, “but it’s not the same.”
It isn’t the same. He’s right. And Jean hates it.
“Hey,” says Jeremy suddenly, after a few moments of silence have passed. “I think I can visit. Next next weekend. If that works. We don’t have practice on Monday because of Columbus Day, so I can come on Friday night and we can spend the long weekend together? What do you think?”
His voice is small, hopeful. As if he thinks Jean will say no.
“Yes,” says Jean, and it’s the easiest word of his life. “Please,” he adds, even though he probably shouldn’t.
“Okay,” says Jeremy. “Then I’ll book my flight.”
“Okay,” says Jean, and it’s settled.
Jean devotes himself to using Jeremy’s upcoming visit as his reason to power through the following days. Jeremy tells him that he told Cat and Laila he would be visiting, but he didn’t tell anyone else. They all know the Trojans would not let them have a moment alone if they knew Jeremy was coming—so Jeremy tells Jean that he will allow him to do the honors on the Monday of his flight back up north.
If Jean could have his way, he would keep Jeremy securely inside their bedroom for the entirety of his stay. He would not let Jeremy out of his sight for even one second. He would tell the Trojans that if they wanted to see Jeremy, they should have had the foresight a year ago to room with them.
On Tuesday, Cat and Jean have front row tickets for the Los Angeles Lions’ home opener. Cat screams so loud that Jean thinks his eardrums might break when Laila enters the court for warm ups, but he smiles when he sees her scan the crowd for them, spot them, and wink with a happy wave.
“Oh, god, Jean. Hold me,” says Cat as she dramatically swoons against his shoulder. “I can’t believe my girlfriend is the Lions’ hottest player. Oh my god, wait, does this make me a WAG?” She turns and grins up at Jean. “Does this make us WAGs?”
“It makes you a WAG,” says Jean.
“And you,” she says, elbowing him. “God. It’s so incredibly fucked up that the Swans’ opener is in the middle of the goddamn week.”
“It’s fine,” says Jean as the teams are ushered off the court for the first half to begin. “We will watch the game on the TV tomorrow night.”
And they do. The Lions win their first game of the season, and on Wednesday, Jean, Cat, and Laila gather in the living room to watch the Swans game.
soleil
[18:21] soleil: Wish me luck!!
[18:22] you: you don’t need it.
[18:22] you: but good luck. we are watching on the tv. cat made popcorn
[18:22] you: [attachment: 1 image]
[18:23] soleil: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
[18:23] soleil: :( :( :( :( :( :( :(
[18:23] you: cat also said that i am a wag now
[18:23] you: does it count if i am going to go pro as well?
[18:23] soleil: Oh my god yes it absolutely does count
[18:23] soleil: Jean, you’re MY WAG!
[18:23] you: never say those words to me again
[18:23] soleil: I’m gonna be your WAG next year :)
[18:23] you: don’t you have a game to get ready for?
[18:24] soleil: Shoot you’re right. Can’t let my WAG down!!!
[18:24] you: you are incapable of being serious
Incoming call: soleil
“It is almost time for warm ups,” says Jean as he picks up the phone. Cat and Laila both turn to look at him, and he waves them off. “You shouldn’t be calling me. What are you doing?”
“I’m thinking this is my new pre-game ritual,” says Jeremy, his voice crackling through the shitty stadium service. “You know how some people like putting on one of their shoes before the other? Or doing some secret handshake with their racquet? Mine is gonna be hearing my boyfriend’s beautiful voice before the game starts.”
“Rituals like that are only for people who think they are going to lose,” says Jean.
“Maybe I just really want to hear your voice then,” Jeremy says, and Jean doesn’t have to see him to know that he is smiling. “Seriously, though, you’re good at this stuff. Have you been following Vegas at all? What do you think are our chances tonight?”
“Vegas does not have you,” says Jean, and he means it. He knows that Jeremy knows he does.
“Yeah, okay,” says Jeremy, and this time Jean knows that he is shaking his head. “Agh, I’m nervous. I can’t—ugh, this is really not the time.”
Jean glances at Laila and Cat, who are already still looking back at him. Laila makes a dismissive gesture with her hand, and Jean gives her a short nod before rolling off the couch and padding over to his room. He closes the door behind him once he’s inside, then says to Jeremy, “I am alone now. What is it?”
“Oh, Jean,” Jeremy murmurs. “I’m okay, really.”
“You are upset,” says Jean. “It is your first professional game and neither your parents nor your friends are there to support you.”
“It’s all right,” Jeremy presses. “Really. It’s okay. I’m seeing you this weekend, and I already knew my family wouldn’t be here. I haven’t talked to any of them in months. It’s fine.”
It is not fine. They both know it’s not fine. Jean curses himself and then he curses the world for always being so deeply fucking cruel to Jeremy. Jeremy is the last person who deserves any of this. Jean should be there. Cat and Laila and Jean should all be there. Jeremy’s mother should be there. His father should be there. His sister and his brothers and every single person in his life should be there. But they’re not. And they won’t be.
“There’ll be other games,” says Jeremy, softer now. Jean wants to die. He wants to die. He wants to go to the airport and board a flight right now and go to San Francisco and wrap his arms around Jeremy. He wants to march to the Wilshires’ house and scream in Mathilda’s face. He wants to find Bryson again and punch him hard enough to permanently alter the shape of his nose. He wants to look Joshua in the eye and ask him how he could be okay with losing not one, but two brothers that night.
“Go and win,” Jean says, and again, “Go out there and win. You will show all of them. I am so proud of you.”
A long pause. “Jean, I—” There’s some ruckus in the background. “Shit,” Jeremy curses, “sorry. I have to go. Thank you. For everything. Watch for my first goal, okay? It’s for you.”
“You’re welcome,” says Jean. “I will be watching.”
Jeremy scores a hat trick in his first NEL game. Cat is screaming. Laila is crying. Jean watches as Jeremy holds up his three balls at the end of the game, smiling widely at the camera as the interviewers rush toward him. The Swans win nine to six. Jean fumbles his phone between his fingers to send him a text.
soleil
[22:04] you: tu es incroyable. félicitations, mon chéri.
Jean is vaguely aware of the sound of a door clicking open on Thursday, sleep curdling in his bones when suddenly, he feels a sharp weight digging into the edge of the mattress.
A soft “Jean?” breaks the quiet. Jean’s eyes fly open.
Jeremy is hovering over him, the blond of his curls falling over his eyes, a tentative smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. There’s the strap of a duffel swung over his right shoulder, his fingers tightly clutching at the buckle. For one, burning moment, Jean thinks that he is dreaming.
Then he is scrambling to sit up, exhaling “Jeremy” as Jeremy’s bag drops to the floor and he falls into Jean’s arms.
Jeremy’s weight drops on top of Jean like a blanket, his arms coming up to circle around his shoulders as Jean wraps his around Jeremy’s waist and digs his fingers into his back. He breathes in against Jeremy’s blond waves as Jeremy sighs happily against him, reaching up to bury his hands in Jean’s hair, gently scratching his scalp.
“I missed you,” Jeremy whispers. “I missed you so much.”
“Why are you here,” Jean mumbles, clutching him tighter. “I missed you. You’re early. You were not supposed to be here until tomorrow.” He pulls back until he can see Jeremy’s face, then gathers him into his palms and presses their lips together in a slow, long kiss.
Jeremy makes a surprised noise against his mouth as Jean kisses him harder, then sighs against his teeth as he’s pulled impossibly closer. Jean thinks that he is seconds away from exploding. He really thinks that he’s caught in some impossible dream right now, that Jeremy is not currently slotted against him in that perfect way of his that he has missed so much.
“I wanted to surprise you,” says Jeremy, backing away a little, his deep brown eyes softening as he takes Jean in. “I couldn’t spend another day away. I’m sorry for waking you up.”
“Never apologize for waking me up,” says Jean seriously, and Jeremy bites back his smile before nodding. “Are you tired? Do you want to sleep?”
Jeremy kisses his forehead, and Jean shudders against him. “You still have practice tomorrow morning, don’t you? Let’s sleep for now. Come here.”
Jean does. Jeremy plasters himself with his back to the wall, and holds his arms out for Jean to sink into. Jean buries his face into Jeremy’s chest, breathing deeply in when Jeremy’s fingers rub soothing circles into his hair. It is so reminiscent of how it was just a month ago—when Jean could sleep soundly in Jeremy’s arms every night, when they weren’t separated by a chunk of map and state. Not for the first time, Jean wonders how he is supposed to go back to not having this. He wonders how he is supposed to get through the next year not having this.
He wakes a few hours later, bleary, curled on top of something hard. He blinks into the dark night, then exhales when he realizes that it is Jeremy’s body underneath him. He has somehow managed to climb fully on top of Jeremy in his sleep, wrapping around him like a koala.
God. He should move.
But it feels so nice, Jeremy entirely on him like this, touching him everywhere, holding him impossibly close. His legs are looped around the back of Jean’s calves. His hands are still in his hair. Jean would rather drown than extract himself from this.
Then Jeremy is stirring too, his grip on Jean tightening everywhere for a few moments before he blinks awake. Jean lifts his head so that he can look at him. He watches as Jeremy makes sense of his surroundings, then finds Jean’s eyes.
He smiles. Jean stares. They don’t say anything. The night spills in slices through the window curtains, moonlight making Jeremy’s brown eyes gleam prettily. Jean has always thought they are the most beautiful things in the world.
So he leans forward just as Jeremy does too, and then they’re kissing, faster than when Jeremy had just arrived a few hours ago, the slide of their lips hot, wet. Jean nips at Jeremy’s mouth and Jeremy says something that sounds like Jean’s name. Jean can’t be sure right now. Jeremy is here, with him, underneath him, kissing him as if the world starts and ends with Jean’s mouth. Like will die if he stops this. Like he will do anything to keep Jean here.
Jeremy pulls both of their shirts off and gasps up into the open air as Jean presses his mouth over his ribs. They have only had sex once before. They are about to have it again. Jean knows. He wants it. He wants Jeremy so badly he can no longer make sense of it. It has been a month since they have been together like this and Jean thinks that if he does not get his hands all over Jeremy right now, then he will simply combust into hot flame.
Jean’s hips stutter when Jeremy gets his mouth around his cock. He brings the back of his hand up to muffle the sounds spilling helplessly from his throat because the last thing they need is for Cat and Laila to wake up because of them. Cat would never let him live that down. She would actually tease him until the end of time.
Then Jeremy licks a stripe up his length.
Okay. Jean is going to stop thinking about Catalina Alvarez now.
Jeremy does it again when he sees Jean shudder. “Do you like that?” he murmurs, and Jean can feel his lips on him move as he speaks. Jeremy tracks a bit of precome with his tongue before slowly easing his throat open to take him fully into his mouth, and Jean has to bite down on his knuckles to stop himself from doing something stupid, like screaming.
“Jeremy,” he croaks instead, reaching for him, cupping the side of his face with his palm. He is so beautiful. He is so perfect. He is everything. Jean doesn’t know what to do with himself. He could die like this and he would go happily.
He moans quietly when he comes, his eyes screwing shut as his orgasm rocks through him and into Jeremy’s waiting mouth.
Jeremy looks obscene when he climbs up to meet Jean for another kiss. Jean can taste himself on him as Jeremy whispers against his teeth, “Was that good?”
“Mm,” Jean manages.
“Did you like it?”
“Hngh,” Jean says.
Jeremy laughs, kissing his nose. It scrunches as he pulls away. “Do you want to go back to sleep?”
“No,” Jean whispers. “Less time with you.”
Jeremy’s eyes soften. “Yeah, okay,” he says, so earnestly that Jean thinks he could cry. “What do you want?”
Jean knows what he wants. He just doesn’t know how to ask for it.
“You,” he says and hopes it’s enough.
It’s not. Jeremy tilts his head. “How do you want me?”
And, god, it is Jeremy. It is just Jeremy. Jeremy would never hurt him. Jeremy would rather hurt himself than ever hurt Jean.
Jean takes a deep breath. “Inside me.”
He feels Jeremy’s exhale against his skin before he sees it. Jeremy is still propped on his chest, and like this, he runs the knuckle of his index finger down the side of his face, eyes roaming all over as if drinking the sight of him in. Jean lets him look. He looks back. He does not think he has ever wanted another person like this before. He did not know it was possible for him to feel this much for anyone, let alone someone like Jeremy Knox.
Because Jeremy is perfect. Jeremy takes care of him. Jeremy would go to the ends of the world for him, and Jean knows it, because Jean would go to hell itself if it meant salvation for Jeremy.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” says Jeremy, barely above a whisper.
“You could never,” says Jean, “not even if you tried.”
Jeremy shakes his head. “I would never try.”
The lump in Jean’s throat has grown into a heady clot. “I know,” he says.
So they start slow. Jeremy spends a long time kissing him, running his tongue over his teeth, his gums, the top of his mouth. His hands slide over Jean’s chest, his arms, the curve of his spine. As Jean’s arousal begins to flare again, Jeremy finds the lube in the nightstand and Jean watches, half-drunk, as Jeremy coats it over his hands. The first press of Jeremy’s finger inside him has Jean hissing against Jeremy’s shoulder, careful not to bite as Jeremy maneuvers himself and carefully watches Jean’s face for his reaction.
“Jeremy,” Jean moans. His voice is so quiet. Heat is pooling in his stomach and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with it. Jeremy’s free hand is circling his waist gently, drawing patterns, keeping him close against him.
“How does that feel?” Jeremy whispers as Jean swallows and breathes shakily into his open mouth.
“Not enough,” says Jean, and lets out another choked sound as Jeremy adds a second finger.
They’re up to three when Jean grips tightly onto Jeremy’s neck, his hands digging into warm skin, his eyes blown wide on his face as Jeremy pauses his movements and shifts his focus fully back to him. “Jean?”
“I feel…” Jean shakes his head.
“Not good?”
“No,” says Jean. “Good. It is good, it is just—fuck.” The French burbles out of him in a rush, “Fuck. Jeremy. You will be the death of me. Keep going. I need you. I need you—”
Jeremy catches him. He runs his hand over Jean’s face. “I will give it to you,” he murmurs, and Jean’s breath hitches as he looks up into his eyes. Jeremy is hovering over him. He’s looking at Jean as if he is an answer to an impossible question. He is looking at Jean as if they are the last two people on this earth and nothing else will ever matter. It sears into Jean’s brain. He thinks that this will be one of the moments his mind replays during his final breaths.
Jeremy, slowly, carefully, guides Jean’s legs to wrap around his middle. Jean wants to be kissed. He looks up at Jeremy and finds his eyes, and it is as if Jeremy can read his mind, because he immediately drops down and slots their lips together.
Jean makes a muffled sound against Jeremy’s lips as Jeremy’s tongue slips past and roams his mouth. Instantly, the tension fades from Jean’s body, back arching into Jeremy’s chest, chasing the heat of his mouth and his hands as they cradle his jaw like an oath.
Jean watches Jeremy align himself with him, and he thinks briefly that he should be scared. But he’s not. Warmth is a pleasant blanket around him. It cracks like the yolk of an egg and spills all over his naked front.
“Jean, you’re so beautiful.” Jeremy’s voice splits as he pushes inside him, and Jean’s eyes close as he feels Jeremy’s cock filling him completely.
“Jeremy,” Jean hears himself say, guttural, wanting as Jeremy pushes deeper. He has never felt this way before. It has never—he did not know it could be like this. Jeremy lifts his hips and thrusts back in and Jean’s hands scramble to grip Jeremy’s back. It feels so good. It has never felt good before. Jeremy feels so good. Is he magic? How is he so good? Jean doesn’t know. He wants him forever. He wants to keep him until the end of time and then be buried with him as the sun goes out.
When Jean comes, Jeremy talks him through it, his hand wrapped around his length as Jean’s fingers dig helplessly into Jeremy’s hair. They tangle in the blond of his curls as Jeremy circles his thumb over Jean’s slit.
“Let go, sweetheart,” Jeremy mumbles into Jean’s jaw, watching his eyes as he goads him forward. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Jean bites back a cry as he comes, clutching at Jeremy and pulling his hips forward. He feels his orgasm rip through him like a blade. Jeremy’s thrusts match the stuttering of his middle, quick and brutal and almost too fast to catch, and then he’s pulling out and coming over his hand with a punched out moan.
Jean quiets down, going pliant as Jeremy gently eases them apart and flops down next to him, panting up at the ceiling. He looks blissed. He looks so pretty. If Jean does not touch him again right now, then he thinks the world will end as he knows it.
He moves before he knows what he is doing. He uses his arm to pull Jeremy’s back flat against his chest, hooking his leg over Jeremy’s thigh and plastering him fully against him. He hears Jeremy’s happy sigh in his periphery as he buries his face into Jeremy’s warm skin, hugging him tightly close and screwing his eyes shut.
Jeremy. His Jeremy. His partner. His—
Suddenly, Jean is overcome.
“Je t’aime,” he whispers into Jeremy’s neck, so quiet that even he can barely hear himself. I love you.
Jeremy freezes. Jean feels him go entirely still in his arms, and immediately, his stomach drops.
He jerks away from him, stung. “Merde,” he mutters. “I—Jeremy, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He clamps his mouth shut, because that isn’t true. He did mean to say it. Eventually. He’s felt it for months. He loves him. He loves him. He has never loved anyone like he loves him. And Jeremy deserves to know that. Jeremy, who didn’t like it when Cat told him years ago that she loved him because it was the first time he had ever heard those words and they were not from his mother.
But he is Jean’s partner. And Jean loves him. He loves him, and—oh, Jeremy has still not said anything. His back is still to Jean. His back is still to Jean and he still has not said anything and, oh, god, Jean has made a horrible, awful mistake. He never should have—he never should have—
Jeremy turns, suddenly, and he looks up at Jean. Then it is Jean’s turn to go still.
Because there are tears in Jeremy’s eyes.
Jean is going to kill himself.
“You are crying,” he says. The shock grips his throat and threatens to strangle him. He would allow it to choke all the air from his lungs. He deserves every punishment imaginable for this. “You are crying.”
He fumbles backward until no part of him is touching Jeremy. He drops his head and covers his face with his hands.
“No—” Jeremy starts, then stops. The mattress shifts underneath them. Jean can feel that Jeremy is closer now, just a little. “Jean, look at me.” Jean digs the pads of his fingers deeper into his eyes and wonders if it would be enough to pop them right out. “Jean, baby, please look at me.” Jeremy pulls at one of Jean’s fingers, trying to extract them from his face. “Look at me, please?”
Jean does. He opens his eyes and looks at Jeremy and finds that now Jeremy’s tears are painting entirely over his face. Jeremy’s eyes widen, seeming to realize this, and he quickly uses his free hand to wipe the residue off. His other hand stays firmly on Jean’s, squeezing him tightly.
“I love you too,” says Jeremy, and Jean’s head snaps in his direction. Jeremy is smiling, a small, watery thing. “Je t’aime, I love you too. Jean, I love you so much. I didn’t know if—” He cuts himself off to shake his head. “I wanted to tell you. I didn’t know if it would be too much, but I. I love you. I’ve never—I didn’t know what love felt like until I found you. And I’m not just saying that because…because we just had sex, or whatever. I almost told you yesterday on the phone, you know, when you told me that you were proud of me, but then coach called me and we were supposed to go on the court for warm ups and—”
Jean catches Jeremy’s face between his hands and kisses him silent.
When he breaks away, Jeremy looks stunned. “I—Jean—”
Jean kisses him again, longer this time. “I love you, Jeremy,” he says, and then Jeremy’s face burns a brilliant shade of red. “I have loved you for a very long time. I don’t think that it’s possible for me to stop.”
And it is a selfish thing to tell him, but Jean has never been more selfish than when it comes to Jeremy. That is what Jeremy taught him, after all—that it is okay to want. That wanting makes you human.
“Don’t stop, then,” says Jeremy now, the apex of his smile curving into Jean’s palms. “I don’t want you to ever stop.”
“Then stop crying,” says Jean.
“I can’t,” says Jeremy as more tears spill like pearls across his skin. “I just love you too much. And I miss you all the time. And I hate how I have to leave you again so soon. I literally talk every day about how I wish we were still in the same city. Do you know how sick Allison is of me? Because she is so sick of me.”
A faint smile tickles the corners of Jean’s mouth.
Jeremy reaches up too, cradles Jean’s cheeks between his palms in a way that mirrors how Jean is holding him. It sends a flutter up Jean’s spine. “I can’t believe it’s been an entire month since I’ve seen your face like this.” Jeremy pokes his index finger into Jean’s jaw. “You’re so cute. I want you all the time.”
Jean turns away as Jeremy laughs. “You are ridiculous.”
“I’m your ridiculous,” says Jeremy, with an air of triumph.
It is honestly stupid, this warmth like sunlight in Jean’s chest. He went nineteen years without Jeremy Knox in his life. He doesn’t know how one person can change him so irreparably like this. He doesn’t know how he can have Jeremy in his arms and instantly feel so much more alive.
“You were very good yesterday,” Jean murmurs, letting go of him, pulling him closer to press his nose against his throat. Jeremy’s hands fall away from his face too, coming to circle around Jean’s shoulders. He draws unintelligible patterns into Jean’s skin as Jean settles against him with a soft, slow exhale. Jean does not even know what time it is. He doesn’t want to find out—he doesn’t want this moment with Jeremy to ever end.
Jeremy goes quiet. Then, “Do you think they were watching?”
“It does not matter,” says Jean.
Jeremy swallows. Jean feels it bubble in his throat. “It matters to me.”
“I know,” says Jean. “But one day it will matter less.”
“I hope so,” says Jeremy quietly. “I really hope so.”
Jean’s morning alarm ends up going off about an hour later. Jeremy squirms out of his hold to tap it off, then sighs and plops back down into Jean’s arms. “Darling, wake up.” He tugs gently at the ends of Jean’s hair, and Jean makes a groaning sound of protest. “You have to go to practice.”
Outside, Jean can hear the sounds of plates clacking together and the coffee machine whirring. He turns to Jeremy. “Do Cat and Laila know you came a day early?”
Jeremy grins mischievously up at him. “Nope. I didn’t tell anyone.”
Well, then.
They trudge out holding hands, with Jeremy wearing one of Jean’s USC sweatshirts. Cat looks up from where she’s cracking eggs on the stove, and her jaw drops.
“You bitch!” she says, running over, pulling Jeremy into a hug. Laila peeks her head out from her and Cat’s bedroom, her eyes going wide when she sees Jeremy. “When the fuck did you get here?”
“Last night,” says Jeremy, gathering Laila in for a tight hug as well. Jabberwocky, who has definitely woken up now, runs for his life over to Jeremy and starts barking at the top of his lungs. As Jean scowls down at him, Jeremy laughs delightedly, bending down to pet him. “I changed my flight last minute because coach gave us the long weekend off. I let myself in with my key, sorry.”
Laila shakes her head at the display. “Don’t be sorry,” she says. “We’re obviously happy to have you for an extra day. Congratulations on yesterday, Jere.”
Jeremy grins. “Congratulations on day before yesterday, Laila.”
She smirks. “Hopefully you can keep your winning streak up for a bit, because you’ll be sorely losing in November when our teams go against each other.”
“Wrong,” says Jeremy. “You will be the one sorely losing in November when our teams go against each other.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it, pretty boy.”
“You’ll be seeing it in November, pretty girl.”
“Gross. You almost sounded like a straight dude for a second there.”
“God, I know.”
Cat, who has made her way over to where Jean is standing, nudges him in the side. “Missed this, haven’t you?” She points between Jeremy and Laila. “Tweedle dee and tweedle dum.”
“Okay,” says Jeremy, putting his hands up, palms facing outward. “Am I tweedle dee or tweedle dum in this scenario?”
“You are tweedle dumbest,” Cat informs him, and Jeremy fakes a wounded sigh.
Jeremy ends up joining Cat and Jean at the Gold Court for morning practice while Laila heads off to the Lions’ practice. This surprises none of them. Jeremy had been planning on keeping his visit a secret from the rest of the Trojans until a little while later, but there’s also no way he’s going to stay away from the court if Jean and Cat are going to play.
The team this year is vastly different to how it was last year, considering that Jeremy, Laila, Cody, Patrick, Derek, and a few others have all graduated. The new freshmen on the line this year are interesting, bright things, and basically all of them have tacked onto Jean once again in an effort to get in on learning the Raven drills he’s still teaching after practices. Jean truly does not understand why these children are so hell bent on flocking to him.
Cat called him a mother hen once. He did not talk to her for the rest of the day.
Still, Ananya screeches at the sight of Jeremy, and Xavier stops what he’s doing to look over and breaks out into a grin. Jeremy waves back, clearly pleased, and then he’s being swooped into multiple bone-crushing hugs and Jean is forced to shoo everyone away.
“He plays professionally now,” he scolds Ananya, who is practically hanging off of Jeremy’s arm. “Let go of him. He cannot afford any injuries.”
Ananya pouts at him. “You just want him all for yourself.”
Jean will not deny that. He will also not bother responding.
Jeremy spends the practice on the bench with Rhemann, the two of them chatting among themselves as Xavier takes charge of the scrimmage. Jeremy shoots Xavier a thumbs up every now and then, and Jean realizes that this must be strange for them—captain and vice-captain turned alumni and captain. But Xavier is an amazing leader and there is obviously nothing to worry about.
Later, when they’re changing out for class, Jeremy slips under the shower head next to Jean. “Hi,” he says, grinning goofily.
Jean levels him with an unimpressed look. “You didn’t even play.”
“I can’t take a nice shower just because I didn’t play?” Jeremy drawls, and Jean rolls his eyes before shutting off his own water and reaching for his towel. There are still a few people in the room, talking between themselves or simply showering alone, but Jeremy and Jean are far enough away that Jean does not have to scold Jeremy for very obviously checking him out right then.
“Are you done?” he asks instead, and Jeremy smiles.
“You played really well today,” he says. “I was watching you through the glass.”
“I noticed,” says Jean. He lingers against the wall, watching Jeremy quickly lather soap all over his face and arms before washing it off and turning the water stream shut. “Is it strange? For you to be here right now when you’re no longer a student?”
“Nah,” says Jeremy. “USC will always be my home, in a way.” He finds Jean’s eyes, his brown ones softening in that way that has Jean’s heart fluttering without his permission. “Plus, you’re here, and everywhere with you is home to me.”
Jean turns on his heel and walks back to the locker room, not sparing a glance back over his shoulder where Jeremy is laughing and calling out for him.
They spend the entire weekend together. On Saturday, they sleep in and have morning sex, and then Jeremy pulls Jean into the shower to help him clean up. He sits in the empty tub with Jean leaning up against it and he gently massages shampoo into Jean’s hair. Then they take Jabberwocky for a long walk and join Cat and Laila for breakfast, and the four of them spend the day in the living room, Cat and Jean cooking their meals while Laila and Jeremy set up board games and pick out movies to play on the television.
On Sunday, Jean takes Jeremy to a mediterranean place for lunch that Cody had taken him to when they visited USC a few weeks ago. Jeremy tells Jean about the Swans, and Jean tells Jeremy about the new Trojan freshmen. They hook ankles under the table as they talk and eat. It may just be the best meal of Jean’s life.
On Monday, Jean tries to ignore the ache in his chest as he watches Jeremy pack his things back into his suitcase. He knew that this trip was going to be short lived, that Jeremy would leave for San Francisco tonight and they’d go another who-knows-how-long without seeing each other. The past three days were the most alive Jean has felt in over a month. He does not know how he is supposed to go back to life without Jeremy constantly orbiting him.
Jean drives Jeremy to the airport, and it is so reminiscent of just last month when Jean was the one leaving Jeremy behind in San Francisco that Jean spends most of the ride not saying anything.
Jeremy tries for small talk, but Jean knows he too isn’t feeling very good about any of this. He gives up after a few minutes, instead reaching for Jean’s hand and holding it tightly over the console. Jean hates driving one-handed, but he hates not touching Jeremy even more. He will deal with it. The last thing he wants is for Jeremy to let go right now.
When the car comes to a stop, Jean twists halfway to look at Jeremy. Jeremy holds tighter to Jean’s hand.
“Do you want me to come inside with you?” Jean asks.
Jeremy shakes his head. “No, it’s okay,” he says quietly. When he looks up, his eyes are sad. “I’ll miss you.”
“I will miss you too,” says Jean.
They lean in at the same time, their hands tangling in each other’s hair as they meet in the middle for a long, lingering kiss. Jean tries to burn every part of it to memory: Jeremy’s mouth, Jeremy’s hands, Jeremy’s nose, Jeremy’s skin. He swallows it all down to keep himself upright. He cannot break in front of Jeremy like this.
After he pulls away, Jeremy takes a deep breath, nodding to himself before turning to climb out of the car. Jean helps him with his luggage, then reaches over to squeeze his hand.
Jeremy smiles up at him. “I love you,” he says.
“I love you too,” Jean says back. “Text me when you board.”
Jeremy salutes. “You’ve got it, darling.”
soleil
[20:20] soleil: I’m on the plane!!
[20:20] soleil: [attachment: 1 image]
[20:20] you: you look tired. you should sleep.
[20:20] soleil: I will! Don’t worry :)
[20:20] soleil: I already miss you so much
[20:21] soleil: I’m pouting at my phone right now because I’m thinking about how much I miss you :(
[20:21] you: i already miss you too
[20:21] you: i just got back home. cat says she misses you as well
[20:21] you: “tell your boy that he needs to visit again soon”
[20:21] soleil: Hahaha I miss her too
[20:21] soleil: Omg Jean… I’m your boy <3
[20:21] soleil: This is so much better than “starting striker for the San Francisco Swans”
[20:22] you: you think you are very funny
[20:22] soleil: Because I am :3
It becomes harder after that.
Jean does not like being alone. He is not used to it. In the Nest, there was Zane. Briefly, there was Neil. With the Trojans, there was Jeremy. Now he sleeps in his room alone.
If Laila were not still living with them, Jean might honestly have asked Cat if they could figure something out. But he isn’t going to come in the way of their relationship like that. He will just have to deal with this like he’s dealt with everything else.
And then, of course, Kevin Day calls him.
“Why are you calling me?” he says in French in lieu of hello.
“Hello, Jean,” says Kevin, also in French. “Do you have a minute?”
“I would not have picked up if I did not have a minute,” says Jean. He had just been finishing up dinner with Cat, and he shoots her a look that he hopes comes off as sorry, a prick just called me. She seems to get the message, because she ushers him away from the island to go and take his call in the living room.
Jean relents with a sigh, waddling over to the coach and taking a seat in his usual spot. “Okay, talk,” he says as Jabberwocky jumps onto his legs.
“Do you have any pro teams you’re looking at?”
Jean pulls a face. “Not yet.”
“You should get on that,” says Kevin. “We had scouts from the Boston Bears come to our game last Friday. And Florida the game before that.”
“Every professional team should want to offer for you,” says Jean. “You will simply take your pick.”
“It’s the same for you,” says Kevin. “You’re the NCAA’s best backliner and perfect Court. You can go wherever you want to as long as they can afford you.”
“You will go to Texas,” says Jean.
A moment’s pause. Then, “Probably, yes. Will you stay in California?”
“Well I’m not going to Texas,” says Jean. “Now there is another reason.”
“Jeremy,” Kevin concludes with startling speed. Honestly, Jean should not be surprised. “Right. He wouldn’t want to sign in Texas because his grandfather—”
“Not his grandfather,” Jean interrupts.
Kevin recovers quickly. “That’s fair,” he says. “Then are you going to sign with the Swans?”
Kevin Day is the absolute last person Jean wants to be having this conversation with. He hasn’t even had this conversation with Jeremy yet. He hasn’t knocked up the courage. Of course he has been thinking about the draft. Of course he has been endlessly researching his prospects. He hasn’t told anyone yet, and he doesn’t exactly want Kevin to be the first.
“The Swans have to offer me a contract in order for me to sign with them,” says Jean.
“They will,” says Kevin. “If you want them to, they will. Jeremy will put in a good word for you, and so will I. They have the bandwidth to sign you. Go to the Swans. They are going to make the playoffs this year, and with you on the line next year, they’ll have a good shot at the cup.”
“If I sign with the Swans, we will play in the same conference,” says Jean. “Don’t think I’ll go easy on you when we meet on the court.”
“I never thought you would,” says Kevin, and then he hangs up without saying goodbye, though Jean has come to expect that at this point.
As soon as Jean lowers his phone from his ear, Cat seats herself down next to him on the couch. He shoots her a startled look as she stares him down. Then she says, “Was that Kevin or Neil?”
“Kevin,” says Jean, a little annoyed that he is such an easy read. Then again, it is Cat.
She nods. “You were talking about pro teams, right? I heard the Swans’ name through all the French.”
“Yes,” says Jean, holding back a sigh. So he will be talking to both Kevin and Cat about this before he breaches this topic with Jeremy. Great.
She’s grinning. “So?” she asks, leaning forward a little. “What are you thinking?”
“Did you just come here to gossip?”
“Yes,” she says. “But I’ve also been wondering for a while now, what you’re going to do after you graduate and leave me here all alone.”
“You will not be alone,” Jean frowns. “Laila still plays in LA.”
“Yeah, but you’re my best friend,” she says, rolling her eyes. Jean blinks at her, and after a moment, she says, “Seriously? Jean, you know you’re my best friend.”
Well. Jean knows now that he is her best friend. He just never thought it was something he should assume. He also never thought it was something he could have.
“Okay,” he says with a small nod. “You are my best friend too.”
“Damn right I am,” Cat grins, pushing his shoulder as he shakes his head, fond and warm. “But really, does the fact that the Swans came up, like, twice in your convo with Kevin have anything to do with you potentially signing with them?” She wiggles her eyebrows, then her fingers out in front of her.
“They have to offer me a contract first,” he says warily. “I cannot assume that Jeremy wants me on the team with him without talking to him about it first, but…” His lips twist. “Yes. San Francisco would be ideal.”
“Jeremy will raise his own personal hell if you are not playing on the same team next year,” says Cat.
“I don’t think it’s that deep.”
“I think it’s even deeper.”
She is right, of course. Though Jean does not particularly want to admit that to her. She cackles as if she knows his silence is an answer anyway—which, obviously she does—then flops her head down onto Jean’s shoulder. He sighs as his hand comes up to wind fingers into her deep brown curls.
“I know it’s too early to say this,” she says, and her voice is a little quieter now. Jean vaguely thinks that he might be forming a knot in her hair, but he can’t be too sure. “But I seriously don’t know what I’m going to do when you move to SF. I’ve only had you for a year but I need to keep you forever.”
“It is too early to say that,” says Jean. An ache is blooming to life in his chest. He does not know what he is going to do without her either. “I don’t have a single offer yet, let alone one from the Swans.”
“Please,” she snorts. “You’re Jean Moreau. Perfect Court extraordinaire and the league’s best backliner to date. And I can say that, as the league’s second best backliner to date.”
She tilts her head back to grin up at him. Her smile is one of Jean’s favorite things in the world, he thinks. He is so glad that he has her here with him. “Yes, you can,” he says, “as long as you keep trying to improve your footwork.”
She swats his chest. “Hey! I’m working on it.”
“Then that is all that matters,” he says, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead and smiling into her hair.
“The Lions are playing the Swans this weekend,” says Laila, accepting the cup of coffee Cat hands to her with a quick kiss against her jaw. “Thanks, babe. Anyways, you both are coming, right? Jean, is Jeremy already giving you one of his tickets?”
“Yes,” says Jean. It is November now, and he is wearing a brown sweatshirt that Laila bought for him last year. The four of them have a matching set—brown for Jean, blue for Jeremy, pink for Cat, and purple for Laila. “He sent me the tickets in the mail a few days ago.”
“Right, that’s what that envelope was,” Cat nods, snapping her fingers. Then she grins. “He’s staying the night after the game, isn’t he? Do you want us to fuck off? Leave you guys alone?”
“Yes,” says Jean as Cat launches into sputters of laughter.
“Yeah, okay, fair enough,” she says. “I guess you two have LDR rights.”
Jean stares at her. “LDR?”
“Long distance relationship,” Laila explains, smiling, and Jean once again feels that icy shard digging into his chest. Long distance relationship. Not just a relationship. A long distance one.
It has only been two months without Jeremy in the apartment but it feels more like two years. He knows that Cat and Laila feel the same way. He knows that Jeremy’s visit after the game will launch them back into a semblance of normalcy, however brief it may be. Jeremy can only stay for one night, after all—he has to go back to San Francisco the next day to make it in time for practice.
Jean misses him so much he thinks his want is a tangible thing. He has been counting down the days to this game since the moment he dropped Jeremy off at the airport last month. He goes to sleep every night imagining Jeremy laying with him in the bed, his arms wrapped around him, his head buried in his chest. He wakes up in the mornings to Jeremy’s sleepy selfies and feels so sad that he can only see him like this through a screen.
He’s started sending selfies back. The first time he does it, Jean thinks he breaks Jeremy.
soleil
[05:45] soleil: Good morning darling!!
[05:45] soleil: [attachment: 1 image]
[06:01] you: good morning, mon chéri.
[06:03] you: [attachment: 1 image]
[06:03] soleil: h
[06:03] you: ?
[06:09] you: jeremy?
[06:10] soleil: Darling I think you just killed me
[06:10] soleil: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
[06:10] soleil: My pretty morning baby
[06:10] soleil: You are so beautiful
[06:10] soleil: My sweetheart
[06:10] soleil: I love you so much
[06:11] you: i love you too
[06:11] you: this is an extreme reaction to a picture of me half asleep.
[06:11] soleil: I actually think it’s not extreme enough
[06:11] soleil: You rarely send me pictures of yourself
[06:11] soleil: I feel like the most deprived part of me has been satiated
[06:14] you: [attachment: 1 image]
[06:15] soleil: Ok now you are actively trying to kill me
[06:15] soleil: Sjfkhdskjdfhskdj
[06:15] soleil: Wow I am the luckiest man in the world
[06:15] you: go to practice
[06:15] soleil: I’m going!!!
[06:15] soleil: As soon as I can stop staring at these pictures
[06:16] you: i will send you more pictures if you go to practice and focus on exy
[06:16] soleil: OK I AM GOING FOR REAL
[06:16] soleil: [attachment: 1 image]
[06:16] soleil: Ok see!!!
[06:16] soleil: Omw to the stadium :))
[06:16] you: [attachment: 1 image]
[06:17] you: me too
[06:17] soleil: INSTANT KO
The Lions beat the Swans by one point. For a solid five minutes of the second half, the game was entirely between Jeremy and Laila: Jeremy launching ball after ball at her and Laila defending each and every shot but one. Cat spent the entire time screaming at the top of her lungs. Jean thinks he may very well be deaf now.
Still, Jeremy gets two goals under his belt, and when the final buzzer rings, he’s bounding across the court and scooping Laila up into his arms to twirl her in the air and crush her against him in a hug.
They go out for drinks to celebrate. They invite Allison to join them too, and she is currently nursing a vodka tonic to her chest and giggling with Cat and Laila about something or the other. Jean is sober. Jeremy is one drink in, and like the lightweight he is, he is almost completely leaning into Jean’s side.
“I honestly don’t even care that we lost,” he murmurs, just loud enough for Jean to be able to hear him talking by his ear. “It’s Laila. She’s an insane goalie, as we all know. I should just be glad I got past her twice.” He sighs and takes another sip of his drink, and Jean carefully reaches out to wipe the lingering wetness by the corner of his mouth. “It’s all just so crazy, isn’t it? This was the first time in my life I’ve played a game against her instead of with her. It was so much fun. God, I want to do it again.”
“You will most definitely get to play against her again,” says Jean.
Jeremy grins. “Yeah, I will, and I’m so excited. It’s just another thrill, you know, playing against someone you know so well. Like, you know all of their tricks. All of their tells. But they’re still so good that it barely even matters during the actual game.” He looks off a little, eyes hazy, a little glassy. “I wonder how it’ll feel if I ever have to play a game against you.”
Immediately, Jean goes still.
“You’re such an incredible player,” Jeremy continues, blissfully unaware of the growing tension in Jean’s shoulders. “You’re so good, Jean. Even before you joined our line last year, I used to watch the Ravens’ games and my eyes would always find you first. You were so…” He makes a nebulous gesticulation. “Quiet and mysterious. And so fucking hot. The way you handle the ball, and the way you carry yourself on the court. I have never been able to look away from you. Not once in my entire life.”
“Jeremy,” says Jean quietly.
“And obviously I’ve been wondering,” says Jeremy, leaning against the table now, his foot coming up to hook around Jean’s calf. It makes Jean want to pull him closer. “You know, where you’re going to go next year. What you’re going to do. I know you have to sign with a team. I’ve been trying so hard to not think about where you’ll go.” He pauses to shrug, tilting his chin onto his palm. “I know you care about exy a lot. I don’t want to be a distraction to you, and I don’t know if you want to sign with my team—”
“I do,” Jean interrupts, because he can’t take this anymore. “I do want to sign with your team, Jeremy.”
Jeremy’s eyes go wide on his face. His lips part a little. The gleam in his eyes sparkle against the dim bar lighting. “Really?”
“Yes,” says Jean. “I have already talked to Kevin about it. And Cat.”
Jeremy stares at him.
“Not by choice,” Jean adds quickly. “Kevin cornered me on the phone, and Cat was there while I was talking to him. I did not want to talk to either of them about it before I talked to you, but I…I couldn’t do anything about it. I am sorry.”
Jeremy snaps out of it. He quickly shakes his head. “No, no, don’t be sorry, that’s not what I—” He swallows, then says, “What did you tell Kevin?”
“That the Swans would be the ideal team to sign with,” says Jean. “He said he would help me. I don’t know what sort of help he is talking about, but I know better than to try to get him to stop whatever it is he is doing. He gains some sort of pleasure from helping the people in his life, and I am, unfortunately, one of the people he feels like he needs to save.”
They are harsh words, but they are true words. Jeremy nods slowly, as if parsing them out.
“I’ve already been wanting to talk my coach’s ear off about you, but I’ve been holding back since I didn’t know your stance on all of this,” he says. “Coach doesn’t have much direct say, but he can talk to someone who does have direct say. Not that you weren’t already going to be an obvious pick, but knowing we’re your first choice would help a lot. The entire league is going to be fighting tooth and nail for the chance to sign you.”
“And they don’t stand a chance,” says Jean. “I will only sign with the team that has you.”
Jeremy is staring at him again, and this time he doesn’t say anything. Jean is about to ask him if he is okay, but then Jeremy is abruptly standing up, reaching for Jean’s wrist and squeezing it between his fingers. He looks over at Cat, Laila, and Allison and says, “We’re leaving.”
Allison whoops. Laila smiles into the rim of her glass. Cat grins and winks at Jean, who ignores her.
They stumble into the apartment, and this time they are alone, and they can make all the noise they want.
“Fuck,” Jeremy gasps as Jean presses him firmly into the mattress of the bed. Their bed. As it always should be. “Fuck, Jean, I missed you so much. I love you. Please fuck me now.”
“I missed you too,” Jean murmurs messily into Jeremy’s mouth. “I love you too. I will fuck you now.”
Jeremy cries out as Jean prepares him, panting up into the air as Jean smothers kisses all over his collarbones and his chest. He is so pretty like this, open and naked and wanting. His skin is golden and his freckles shine beneath the heat, his brown eyes dark as they burn right into Jean’s very soul. Jean fucks him slowly at first, their noses brushing as Jean swallows every sound Jeremy makes in time with his thrusts. When he pulls out and comes over Jeremy’s thighs, Jeremy pulls him down on top of him and licks fervently into his mouth.
Jeremy shudders as Jean wraps his hand around him and jerks him off. When he comes, it is as if Jean is the one who is seeing stars.
“Jean,” Jeremy mumbles sleepily after Jean is finished cleaning them both up with a wet towel he procured from the bathroom. Jeremy’s arms come up to make grabby hands in Jean’s direction. It is so cute that Jean thinks he is going to die.
He does not, but it’s a close thing. Instead he drops down so he is lying on top of Jeremy’s frontside like a blanket, and Jeremy is bringing his legs up to wrap around his waist. Jean inhales against the valley between his shoulder and his neck. He almost can’t believe that Jeremy is here right now. He doesn’t want to ever be apart from him again.
“Just a few more months,” Jeremy is whispering as if he can read Jean’s mind. Sometimes Jean thinks he really can. “Just a few more months and then we can have this all the time.”
“It is a lot more than just a few months,” Jean mutters. His voice vibrates against Jeremy, and Jeremy’s grip around him just tightens even further.
“You know what they say,” he says. “Distance makes the heart grow fonder, or something like that.”
“That is a stupid thing to say.”
“Yeah?”
“My heart is already fond,” says Jean, looking up, kissing Jeremy’s jaw. Jeremy sighs happily underneath him. “It was fond before you moved and it is still fond now.”
“Me too,” says Jeremy. One of his hands slides up Jean’s back, tangling in his hair, gently massaging Jean’s scalp. It is not a sensation Jean has ever thought he would enjoy, nor is it something he’s ever liked—people touching his hair. People getting so close to him. Whenever Riko touched his hair like this, it was only to rip it out. Now, Jeremy handles him with so much care it is hard to breathe.
He exhales shakily. He tips his forehead onto Jeremy’s chin. “I am so in love with you.”
Jeremy’s head turns to kiss his temple. “I am so in love with you too,” he whispers. “I never thought I’d have this. I really didn’t. Every day with you is another surprise, Jean Moreau.”
Jean frowns. “What do you mean?”
Jeremy laughs, but this time it’s tinged with something adjacent to humor instead. “I am not a person people fall in love with,” he says, and before Jean can open his mouth to respond, he is continuing: “I never have been. I didn’t think…I didn’t think it was possible. If even my own mother could never love me, how could anyone else?”
“I do,” Jean whispers. “I love you.”
“I know,” says Jeremy. His smile is easier now. His eyes are pearly. “I think I knew, even before you told me, but I was afraid to be wrong. That’s why I…god.” He closes his eyes, presses his lips tightly together. “That’s why I made such a fool of myself when you told me.”
“You did not make a fool of yourself.”
“Jean, I started crying.”
“You could never make a fool of yourself to me,” says Jean, shaking his head now. “You are my partner. I will stand with you against all of them. None of them deserve you, and they never have. You have always told me that I should not bottle things up either. Crying makes you human, and you make me human.”
Tears are pricking at Jeremy’s eyes again. If this were before, Jean would be frightened. But now he reaches over and gently thumbs under Jeremy’s eyes and wonders once again how someone so loving as Jeremy could beam all of that to Jean.
“You’re probably sick of hearing it by now, but I really do love you,” says Jeremy, watery, like a sunken stone.
“I will never be sick of hearing you say that you love me,” says Jean seriously. “You can say it all the time if you want to.”
“I do want to,” says Jeremy. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” says Jean, and now it is his turn to press a kiss to Jeremy’s forehead. “Sleep now. You have to wake up early for your flight. I will drive you to the airport.”
“Don’t talk about me leaving so soon,” Jeremy says with a small groan, screwing his eyes tightly shut. “I wish I didn’t have to leave.”
“Just a few more months, like you said,” says Jean, and Jeremy nods and holds him close against his heart, rubbing gentle circles into Jean’s skin until sleep pulls both of them under.
In December, Jean has a nightmare.
He shouldn’t. It’s been two years since Neil was with him in the Nest. Two years since Grayson. Two years since Zane turned his back on Jean. Yet he still wakes up in a cold sweat, searching idly around with his hand, chest sinking when there is no one in his room except himself. It is getting hard to breathe. He can’t do this. He can’t—
He reaches for his phone without meaning to and dials out.
“Jean?” The line cuts on almost immediately. “Jean, are you okay?”
Jeremy’s voice is wrong. It’s wrong because it’s coming through a phone. It’s wrong because Jeremy is not next to him in bed right now. It is all wrong. The air drops out of his lungs, and his head is slowly spinning faster and faster. His hand comes up to grip his neck. His fingers come dangerously close to scratching his skin.
“Jeremy,” he manages to choke out.
There’s some rustling on the other end of the line. Then, “Jean, baby, breathe.”
“I can’t,” says Jean. His throat is so fucking dry. He can’t stop seeing Grayson’s face hovering above him. He can’t stop seeing Neil’s scars and his distant expression and the chill of his blue eyes. “Jeremy.”
“Breathe with me,” says Jeremy. “Like this. In. Out.” Jean tries to focus. He tries to focus on the sound of Jeremy’s voice. “Good. Okay. Again. Are you with me?”
“Yes,” Jean whispers. “I am with you.”
He wants to touch him. He wants to dig a hole in the floor and never climb out of it again. His vision is slowly beginning to clear, his breaths coming out a little more evenly, but now it is just…empty. It is so empty. Jean does not know what to do. Every time he woke up from one of his dreams his first year in California, Jeremy was there on the other end of the chasm between their beds. Eventually, they subsided completely. He doesn’t know why they are back. He doesn’t know why this time of the year always affects him so much.
“Sweetheart,” says Jeremy softly. “Are you okay?”
“I am okay now,” Jean mumbles. God. “What time is it?”
“Two a.m.,” says Jeremy, and, fuck.
Jean’s knees come up to press into his chest. He cradles himself, rocking back and forth. “I am sorry for waking you up.
“Never be sorry for something like this, Jean,” says Jeremy. “It’s okay. I’m so glad you called me. I’m so proud of you.”
The backs of Jean’s eyes are beginning to burn. “You have practice tomorrow. You should go back to sleep.”
“You have practice tomorrow too,” says Jeremy softly. “Can I stay on the line? We can both go back to sleep like that. Plug in your phone so it doesn’t die.”
That is a good idea. Jean nods even though he knows Jeremy can’t see him. “Okay.”
“Okay,” says Jeremy.
So Jean lies like that, on his bed, his phone perched at the end of the mattress with Jeremy’s contact name like a beam of sunlight through the dark. Jeremy is quiet on the other end as he settles in as well, and like that, Jean closes his eyes. He thinks, briefly, before sleep pulls him under, that Jeremy is the best thing that has ever happened to him. He wants to be with him until the end of time.
When he falls back asleep, his rest is dreamless.
Really, Jean thinks he does a pretty good job at keeping himself together after that. He thinks that, in the grand scheme of things, the people around him can’t see how he is slowly dying with every passing day he’s not with Jeremy. He is used to hiding his hurt, after all—broken fingers and cracked jaws and bloodied, torn ribs. But this pain isn’t like anything he’s ever felt before. This pain is not as easily hidden.
Then, in February, Rhemann sounds his whistle at practice and calls for Jean to come off of the court for a second.
Jean goes, confusion weighing down his every step. Rhemann’s expression is grim, his fingers curling into fists at his side, and one of his hands is clutching his phone like a lifeline. Immediately, fear envelopes Jean, stabbing like a sharp silver knife right into his gut. Something has happened. Jeremy is supposed to be playing a game right now. He knows that something has happened before Rhemann even opens his mouth.
“Is he okay?” he cuts in, spine straight. He can’t move. He thinks he might not be breathing. Cat has followed him off the court, and she leans into his side as she looks sternly at Rhemann.
Rhemann closes his eyes and sighs, shaking his head. “I’m not sure,” he says. “Someone checked him pretty hard, and he fell.” He holds out his phone, and Jean snatches it right out of his grasp. If he were in a better state of mind, he would whack himself for being so disrespectful to his coach. But right now there is a video of Jeremy playing on the small screen in front of him: Jeremy is being passed the ball by the other Swan striker, and he’s bounding up the length of the court at top speed. Then, a defenseman from the other team cuts across the sea of players and slams straight into him, and Jeremy goes practically flying against the plexiglass.
It’s a hard hit. Jean can tell he goes immediately unconscious before his body loses its weight and he slides down to the floor. The game immediately stops play, and paramedics are rushing onto the court to help him up.
Jean thinks his hand is going to break with how hard he is clutching Rhemann’s phone. He can barely hear anything over the ringing in his ears.
He turns to Cat. “What is his name?”
She’s peering down at the screen as well, her lips pinched together. When she looks up and meets Jean’s eyes, her expression is grave. “It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. Fuck. Shit—”
“Cat,” says Jean, harder. “What is his name?”
Her shoulders drop. “I don’t know. I don’t follow the Capitals. His jersey said Smith, or something. Jean, I…”
Jean scans the inner court, looking for Davis, but Davis is already speed walking up to him. “I just saw what happened,” he starts as the fear in Jean’s chest begins to spike upward and upward. “The doctors will take care of him, Jean. He was taken away immediately.”
“How bad is it?” Jean asks.
“He probably has a concussion,” says Davis, and then, a little softer, “He’s going to be well taken care of. He’s going to be okay.”
Jean nods, but he can barely feel himself move against the lump in his throat, the ache in his chest. He can’t stop seeing Jeremy’s body going limp like that, his eyes shuttering closed, his arms loose as the doctors tried to get him up onto his feet. He wants to scream. He wants to hit something. He wants to be there, right now, in San Francisco where he can fucking do something. He doesn’t want to be in LA. Jeremy is out there right now, and he’s hurt, and Jean—
“I’m sorry, coach, I have to go,” Jean mutters, already taking off in the direction of the locker rooms.
He grabs his phone first and dials out. Voicemail. He tries again. Voicemail. He knows Jeremy won’t pick up. Jeremy is probably in an ambulance right now, but still Jean tries again. Voicemail. He is going to throw his phone at the wall.
A hand lands on his shoulder, and Jean flinches so hard he almost strikes whoever it is.
“Woah,” says Xavier, and immediately, Jean shutters. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you okay, Jean?”
“Jeremy is a six hour drive away,” is all Jean can think about saying.
Xavier nods tightly. “Or an hour and a half by flight,” he says. His face softens. “Go.”
Jean stares at him. “It is Thursday. We have practice—”
“Fuck practice,” says Xavier. “I already talked to coach about it. Go and see him, Jean.”
Jean does not know what he has done in his life to deserve teammates like these. Friends like these. He nods at Xavier and begins to make his way back to his locker. “Thank you, captain.”
Xavier smiles. Jean gathers his things and leaves.
Jeremy has still not picked up any of Jean’s calls, but Rhemann texts Jean to tell him that he got in touch with the Swans’ coach and he said that he was currently being monitored. Jean buys a ticket for the first flight out of LAX, then texts Laila quickly with the update. If Jeremy contacts them while Jean is out of service on the plane, then either she or Cat will tell him that he is on his way.
It is the worst flight of Jean’s life.
It is cold on the plane, and cramped, and all Jean can think about is Jeremy. What if it is not just a concussion? What if it is more serious than that? God, what if Jeremy doesn’t remember Jean? Is Jean overstepping by traveling to see him? Does Jeremy even want him there? He thinks about it. If he were injured, he would want Jeremy to be with him, though he doesn’t know how he would feel about Jeremy skipping two days of practice for him. Is it the same for Jeremy? He told Jean that he loves him. For now, Jean just has to assume Jeremy wants to see him.
After the plane lands, he instantly turns his phone back on and ignores every single notification in favor of calling Jeremy again.
This time, the line rings only once before it beeps to life and Jeremy’s voice is filling Jean’s ears.
“Jean,” Jeremy breathes, and an ache shaped like relief crushes against every one of Jean’s senses. “Jean, Cat told me you’re coming to San Francisco. Where are you? What are you—”
“Are you okay?” Jean demands, because nothing else matters right now.
“Yeah,” says Jeremy, his voice a little slow, “I’m okay. The doctors monitored me for a few hours. I have a mild concussion, but they sent me home to get some rest. I tried to call you but it wouldn’t go through, so I called Cat and she said you’re flying out to SF. Jean, my darling, where are you?”
“I am at the airport,” says Jean stiffly. “SFO.”
“Jesus,” says Jeremy, “okay. I’d pick you up but I don’t really think I’m allowed to do that right now.”
“Do not even think about it,” says Jean seriously, and Jeremy laughs a little at that. “I will come to you. Are you at home?”
“Yeah,” says Jeremy. “God, I—okay. This is really not the way I thought we’d see each other again after so long, but it’s okay. At least I get to see you. Come soon. I love you.”
“I love you too,” says Jean.
The cab ride to Jeremy’s place is almost worse than the plane, but at least he knows that Jeremy is safe now, that he remembers Jean, that he still loves him despite it all.
He gets to the front door of Jeremy’s apartment and silently curses the fact that he does not have a key. He doesn’t want to bother Jeremy to get up from where he’s probably resting. With a frustrated sigh, he knocks.
But Jeremy must have been waiting for him, because the door opens within seconds. Jean’s eyes go wide, and then he’s being pulled inside, the door closing behind him as Jeremy sinks his arms around him in a tight hug.
“I missed you,” he murmurs. Jean drops his bag to the floor in one smooth motion and drops his head down onto Jeremy’s shoulder. “Jean, I’m so—you didn’t have to come, but I’m so happy you’re here. I can’t believe you’re here.”
Jean lets go of him to lean back, squinting down at him. “Are you okay, Jeremy?”
“Yeah,” Jeremy nods. “Just a bit of a headache, and I get bouts of dizziness. But I’m okay. I promise. I just took some medicine before you got here.”
Jean grabs his shoulders and turns him around. “Sit down. I will make us something to eat.”
Jeremy goes without much protest, which is honestly more of an indicator that he is not perfectly fine than anything else is. Jean helps him lay down on the couch, then tucks him in with the blanket draped over the back cushion. Jeremy sighs contentedly as he closes his eyes, and before Jean leaves, he reaches for his wrist to keep him there.
“Thank you for coming,” Jeremy says softly. “I know you’re missing practice for this.”
“I will miss ten more practices as long as it means that you are okay.”
Jeremy smiles, his eyes still closed. “Really? I must be magic, to be able to do that to you.”
Jean leans down and presses two kisses to Jeremy’s forehead. “Rest. I will bring you something to eat in a little while.”
“Mm, okaaaay.”
Jeremy, unsurprisingly, has basically nothing worth eating in his kitchen. Jean spends a good fifteen minutes throwing out the boxes of processed garbage in his freezer, then gathers enough ingredients to make a passable chicken soup. He knows the recipe Cat uses by heart considering the amount of times she has fed their group when one of them gets sick. He gets to work and makes a mental note to stop by the grocery store at some point during his stay.
“My hero,” Jeremy croons as Jean emerges from the kitchen with a hot bowl of soup a little while later. He’s sitting up on the couch now, flicking through the first pages of a book in his lap. He puts it aside as Jean takes a seat next to him, holding up a spoonful to his lips. Jeremy opens his mouth and happily allows Jean to deposit the soup onto his tongue. “Oh, yum. That tastes like home.”
Jean’s heart tugs in his chest at that. He feeds Jeremy another bite, and then another. “Is it too hot?”
“It’s perfect,” says Jeremy. “You’re perfect. I can hold the bowl though, you know. My head is hurt, not my hands.”
Jean does not bother deigning that with a response. Jeremy finishes up the soup, and Jean sets the empty bowl down on the coffee table. “You have no food here,” he says.
Jeremy frowns. “Why did I literally know you were going to say that?”
“Because it’s true,” says Jean. “I will go to the store and make you some things before I leave. Eat them, and when you’re done with them, look into a meal service subscription.”
Jeremy nods slowly. “I mostly eat at the stadium anyway, but yeah, okay. Also you don’t have to cook for me, Jean. You didn’t come all the way here just to take care of me.”
“That is quite literally why I came all the way here,” says Jean.
Jeremy’s nose scrunches. “You are just so…” He shakes his head, then throws his arms out to hug him again. Jean goes down willingly, then maneuvers them until Jeremy is laying on his back across the couch with his head pillowed in Jean’s lap. Jeremy looks up at him, smiling widely, and Jean brings his fingers up to tangle in Jeremy’s hair. Jeremy’s eyes flutter shut involuntarily as he sighs.
“Tired from the flight?” he murmurs, quieter now, his voice gentle. There is a bit of a slur, and he’s talking a little slower than usual, but he seems like himself for the most part. “I know what you’re going to say, but you really didn’t have to do any of this.”
“I know I didn’t,” says Jean. “I did it because I wanted to.”
“I’m out of practice for at least a week,” Jeremy says. “The team nurse said to take care of myself and we can circle back next weekend.”
“And you will actually take care of yourself,” says Jean with a flat look.
Jeremy squirms a little. “I don’t like your tone.”
“And I don’t like seeing you pass out cold in the middle of a game when I am three hundred miles away and cannot do anything,” says Jean, and immediately he regrets it.
Jeremy’s eyes open, and his face falls. Jean hates it when Jeremy loses his smile. He hates it more when he is the cause of it slipping away. He wants to take it back. He is so close to taking it back. He opens his mouth as he watches Jeremy stare at him, then says in a voice so quiet that he can barely hear himself, “I am sorry. I did not mean for it to come out like that. I know it isn’t your fault. It’s stupid Smith’s fault.”
“Scott, actually,” says Jeremy. “But close enough.”
“I will kill him,” says Jean.
“Don’t,” says Jeremy, his lips twitching. “He doesn’t deserve you touching him.”
That is also true. But these people should know better than to touch Jean Moreau’s people. They should know better than to touch Jean Moreau’s partner. They won’t, though, because it isn’t like anyone outside of the Trojans knows about their relationship, and for now that is okay with both of them.
“I know,” says Jeremy, because like always he can read right into Jean’s mind. “I hate this too. I just need it to be summer so you can sign here and move in with me again.” A pause. Jeremy looks thoughtful. “Hey, while you’re here, you should talk to my coach. I know they’re going to start sending scouts to university games soon, but there’s nothing in the exy rulebook that says you can’t just talk to a pro team while you’re still looking at your options. I’m sure he’d love to meet you. I’ve already been telling him so much about you.”
Jean stares at him. The prospect of talking to Jeremy’s coach is suddenly making everything so much more real, even though it is February and Jean will have to sign with an NEL team in just a few more months.
He nods before he knows what he is doing. “We will go before I go back.”
“Good,” says Jeremy with a small smile. Then, “I was going to tell you this in person, but I guess that’s now.” He looks nervous, all of a sudden. Jean feels his brows pinch together. “The Swans want me to sign a longer contract with them. No trade clause. When you get your contract we can negotiate the same terms, and then we can properly begin our careers together…what do you think?”
The significance of what Jeremy is saying does not sink in immediately. Instead, it floats around Jean’s head for several moments before he’s looking down at Jeremy in his lap, his deep brown eyes wide and hopeful, his lips pressed together to stop himself from saying anything further.
But then Jean gets it. Jeremy wants a life with him. Jeremy wants to play on the same team with him for the same amount of time, and he doesn’t even want to risk the possibility that one of them could be traded elsewhere. He doesn’t want their relationship to be long distance for a single second longer than Jean’s final year at USC. He wants to play with him until they are forced to retire.
“Yes” tumbles out of Jean like a prayer. It’s a yes to all of it—yes Jeremy should renew his contract with a no trade clause, yes they will negotiate Jean’s contract if and when he gets one, yes they can begin their careers together, yes they can build their careers together. “I want to play exy with you until my bones cannot help me stand anymore, Jeremy.”
Jeremy reaches up, ghosts the back of his hand across Jean’s face. “Me too,” he says. “We will. I promise we will.”
A promise.
For the first time in his life, someone is making a promise to Jean. Someone is promising to stay.
The San Francisco Swans make the NEL playoffs in early April. The Los Angeles Lions do as well. When the Swans are in Anaheim for an away game, Jeremy gets a rental and drives up to LA for celebratory drinks in the apartment living room. Jabberwocky, who has probably missed Jeremy almost as much as Jean has, claims his spot right on Jeremy’s lap, snuggling in as Jeremy laughs and scratches behind his ears and Jean rolls his eyes at the display.
“And we have semifinals against Penn State next week,” Cat exclaims, raising her glass and clinking it against Jean’s water. She squints at it, then leans sideways to knock their shoulders together. “Hey, Jean, I have an idea.”
“I don’t want to know,” says Jean.
Cat holds out her glass and lightly shakes her wrist in front of him. “Drink?”
Jean deadpans her a look. “Absolutely not.”
“Come on!” she says. “Semifinals aren’t for days and we don’t have practice tomorrow morning. You can be comfortably hungover. Plus, Jeremy’s here! And Jeremy is drunk.”
“I am nooooot drunk,” says a very drunk Jeremy, lolling against Jean’s other side.
Jean looks helplessly to Laila, who is watching the display with a gently raised brow. “I have nothing to say,” she says, shaking her head. She glances to Jeremy. “Except that he is the lightest weight I have ever met in my life.”
“I just don’t drink very often!” Jeremy says defensively. He spins to face Cat. He points his index finger at her. “Stop trying to peer pressure my boyfriend. Darling, don’t listen to her. You don’t have to drink anything if you don’t want to. But if you do, I’m here, okay!” He spreads his arms out in front of him, almost knocking Jean in the face. “I’ll take care of you, I promise!”
“Take care of yourself first,” says Jean, forcing his hands back down. Jeremy pouts. Jean tries his very hardest to not be endeared and fails pretty miserably about a second in.
The three of them go back to shouting over each other about something or the other. Jean stares at the open cans of beer and the half-empty bottles of vodka and tequila, and his mind involuntarily roams. He thinks of Kevin, who had taken up alcohol as his personal antidote when in reality it only could make everything worse.
He thinks of Neil, who had surfaced from Riko slicing him open with a knife and had asked Jean for a cigarette because the smell reminded him of his mother. You can’t smoke here, Jean had told him in vicious French. Do you want to get yourself killed?
I miss her, Neil had blubbered out, his already disgusting Québécois accent even more stilted by the pain slathered over his body. I miss him.
Jean reaches for his phone almost without meaning to. He has to scroll a bit to find the message thread he’s looking for.
neil
[20:38] you: cat is trying to get me to drink with her.
[20:28] you: jeremy and laila are here too.
[20:29] neil: ?
[20:29] you: do you drink?
[20:29] neil: smtimes
[20:29] neil: not a lot
[20:29] neil: only w andrew
[20:29] neil: smtimes kevin
[20:29] you: but you smoke.
[20:30] neil: not rly since andrew quit
[20:31] neil: it’s k
[20:31] neil: j drink
[20:31] neil: they don’t hv control over us anymore
[20:32] neil: j live ur life
[20:35] you: your texting style is atrocious.
[20:35] neil: y?
[20:35] neil: nicky taught me
[20:35] neil: saves time
[20:36] you: do you think this is allowed?
[20:36] neil: do wtv u want
[20:36] neil: wait
[20:37] neil: andrew says it’s ok too
[20:38] you: since when is andrew a part of this conversation
[20:38] neil: gtg
“Who’re you texting?” Cat asks, leaning over Jean’s shoulder and squinting down at his phone. “Oh, Neil!”
Jean clicks his phone off and throws it to the side. “Hand me a glass.”
Immediately, three pairs of eyes freeze on him.
He waits it out. When nothing happens for several seconds, Jean says, “What?”
“Your conversation with Neil was that bad?” Cat says, gaping at him.
“All of my conversations with that insufferable child are bad.”
“Aren’t you guys the same age?” Jeremy asks, cocking his head.
“Do not remind me,” Jean mutters just as Laila hands him a glass. There is some sand-colored liquid in it. He peers up at her.
“It’s beer,” she says. “I thought it might be a better introduction to alcohol than just straight up vodka.”
“I think beer is just as bad of an introduction, actually,” says Jeremy, pulling a face. “Do we have any juice? Maybe we can mix something up for Jean. Wait here, sweetheart. I’ll make you something good.”
He moves to stand up just as his legs wobble uncontrollably. Then he falls back down to the floor.
“Oh,” says Jeremy, staring down at his legs. “Wow.”
“Wow,” Cat repeats. “Just. Wow.”
“I will just drink the beer,” says Jean, propping the glass up to his lips. He only hesitates for half a second—if he waits any longer he knows there is a higher possibility of him chickening out, and if he is being honest with himself, he is tired of all of this. He knows Neil is right. He’s been working towards all of this for almost two years now.
So he downs the bit of beer in one go, and the taste is so bad he almost gags a second later.
“Putain,” he curses.
Jeremy pats his back gently. “I told you.”
“All you did was fall on your butt,” says Cat.
“Is okay,” Jean says, pinching his forehead between his fingers. “Disgusting.”
“I can’t believe you broke your alcohol virginity with beer,” says Cat to Jean.
“Maybe you should have said that to your girlfriend,” says Jean to Cat.
Laila holds up her hands. “Listen. I guarantee you whatever reaction he’d have to the vodka is infinitely worse than what just happened.”
“Let’s see,” says Jean, holding out his now-empty class.
Cat cackles openly into the air. Laila grins and reaches for the bottle of clear liquid. Jeremy is looking at Jean, their thighs pressed tightly together, and when Jean meets his eyes, a soft, fond smile overtakes Jeremy’s features.
Jeremy leans closer and murmurs in French, “Are you sure about this?”
Jean glances at him as Laila is cracking open the bottle and starting to pour. “I am sure,” he says quietly, then nods his thanks to Laila before taking the shot.
It burns like acid as it slides down his throat, the taste filling his mouth like cotton and sputtering a cough out of him. Jeremy is patting his back again, gently holding onto his hand as Jean’s vision begins to smudge. He has never been drunk before—he doesn’t know what it is supposed to feel like. But there is a ringing growing in his head, crowding around him like a faint buzz, and the feeling is so utterly foreign he almost tips over into panic.
He searches almost desperately for Jeremy’s face, and when he finds it, the tension that had been pulling his shoulders taut instantly releases its heavy grip. Jeremy is so close to him, his touch a grounding thing, and like this, the freckles lightly splattered under his eyes somehow begin to glow.
His lips part. The French tumbles out, “My favorite color.”
Jeremy blinks. “Ah?”
Jean stares heavily into his eyes. “It is brown.”
Jeremy seems to understand what he is trying to say, because immediately, his entire face bursts the color of a pretty red rose. His ears tinge pink. Jean wonders why he has never told Jeremy this before, because his reaction is quite pleasing. It makes him suddenly want to tell him more.
“Jesus Christ, Jean,” says Cat, looking between them, “what the fuck did you say to him? Actually, scratch that. I don’t want to know.”
Laila snorts. Jean ignores them.
“Your smile,” he says to Jeremy instead, “reminds me of the sun.”
“Oh my god,” says Jeremy in English, covering his face with his hands.
Jean reaches for them with a frown, trying to peel them away so he can look at him. Why is Jeremy trying to obstruct himself? Jean doesn’t think he should ever hide his face. He is so beautiful that sometimes Jean does not know what to do with himself. “Let me see you. I want to see you.”
Jeremy relents, but the scarlet tinge doesn’t fade.
Jean says very seriously, “You are the most beautiful person on this planet.” His accent sounds wrong to his own ears, a little bit slurred, wonky in the wrong places. But Jeremy is very obviously understanding every single word that is coming out of his mouth, judging by the way he is squirming in place and evidently trying very hard to not cover his face again. Jean catalogues this to the back of his mind. He will find use for this new piece of information later.
For now, he tips forward, his head landing on Jeremy’s shoulder. Then he passes out cold.
Later turns out to be in just a few hours, when Jean wakes up in the middle of the night to the feeling of Jeremy gently stroking fingers through his hair. They have migrated back to their room, tucked under the blankets of their bed. When Jean opens his eyes, he finds Jeremy propped up on his elbow, staring down at him.
“Oh,” Jeremy whispers, his hands freezing against Jean’s scalp. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”
Jean shakes his head. The alcohol has long drained out of his system. “Why are you not asleep?”
“The drinks,” says Jeremy. He readjusts, laying back down next to Jean and pulling him a little closer against him. “I don’t know why, but alcohol wakes me up instead of making me sleepy. It’s honestly a little messed up.”
“It seems to have the opposite effect on me,” says Jean, and Jeremy laughs.
“You’re so cute,” Jeremy murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the shell of his ear. “You are also somehow even lighter of a weight than I am.”
“Perhaps that has something to do with the fact that I have never drank before.”
“Mm. Maybe. I’m still going to take this as a win, though.”
“Of course you are.”
“Of course I am.”
Jean rolls over. Like this, he is hovering over Jeremy, and Jeremy blinks up at him in surprise.
“Jean?”
“Congratulations,” says Jean, dropping down to kiss him. Jeremy leans back into the kiss immediately, and Jean nips at his lips before pulling away. “Making the playoffs in your first NEL year is no joke.”
Jeremy is grinning now. “It is pretty cool, isn’t it?” He surges upward to kiss Jean again, and they linger in it for longer this time. Jean tilts his chin down to kiss him better, opening his lips, then closing them again.
“Also,” says Jean, breaking away again. “Whatever I said before I fell asleep. I still mean it.”
Jeremy’s eyes go slightly wide. “Oh.”
“My favorite color is brown because it reminds me of you,” says Jean, and he watches as Jeremy visibly swallows. “It is also because…coach’s garden. The soil is that color, too. And the sand on the beach in California. And the roads that Cat and I drive on.” He pauses, looking off somewhere next to Jeremy’s shoulder for a moment. “But mostly, it is because of you, Jeremy. I do not think I would have survived this place without you, and Cat, and Laila. I have said it before, and I will say it again. I will always choose you.”
“Jean,” Jeremy breathes.
“You are my first choice,” says Jean, looking back down at him, the ache in his chest tugging them impossibly closer together. “You will always be my first choice.”
Jeremy’s hands come around to the back of Jean’s neck, pulling him down to slot their lips together. They kiss until they are doing nothing more than panting into each other’s mouths, and then their clothes come off in a rush and land in a heap by the foot of the bed. When Jeremy enters Jean, Jean tells him that he loves him against his sweat-soaked skin. He tells him that he is beautiful. He tells him that he is perfect. He tells him that he wants him. When Jeremy comes, it is to the sound of his own name. Jean thinks that he is finally home.
The Trojans win in the semifinals but lose against the Foxes in the finals.
This is not ideal, but it is also not the most surprising thing in the world. Though Jean will never admit that out loud. The Foxes have Kevin Day and Andrew Minyard and Matt Boyd and Neil Josten. Their freshmen lineup is also intense this year, even though one of the strikers, (Jean thinks his name is Jack, or something. What a stupid fucking name), clearly has some sort of personal vendetta against Neil. The two have absolutely zero synergy on the court. Jean does not know how the hell Kevin has dealt with this for the past year.
Speaking of Kevin: Jean is not at all surprised when he corners him after the game.
“I am signing with the Boston Bears,” Kevin opens with.
Jean raises an eyebrow. “Not Houston?”
Kevin shrugs. “What about you?”
“The San Francisco Swans,” says Jean. “I got my contract in the mail a few days ago.”
“Good,” Kevin nods. “They won’t win the playoffs this year. It’ll be either the Bears or the Lions. But with you, Jeremy, and Allison on the line next year you’ll stand a fair chance.” His lips twist. “Well. The Bears will have me next year, too.”
“Okay,” says Jean.
“Then,” says Kevin, tipping his head a little. “We will meet at Court.”
He turns on his heel and walks toward the lockers. Jean doesn’t bother calling out to him to congratulate him on his win. He doesn’t need to. It is only natural that Kevin Day wins the spring championships in his final year before going pro. It is exactly how the stars should align.
soleil
[16:03] you: signed.
[16:04] soleil: YAY!!!!!!!!
[16:04] soleil: Oh my god darling we are going to play for the same team
[16:04] soleil: We are going to live together
[16:04] soleil: I love you this is the best day of my life
[16:05] you: i love you too.
[16:05] you: there are many more best days to come.
[16:05] soleil: <3
[16:05] you: <3
Annoyingly, Kevin is right. Because of course he is.
The Swans make it to the western conference finals, where they go against the Lions and lose by two goals. Jean has never been more focused watching a game before in his life. He watches as Jeremy expertly weaves through clumps of players, racquet in hand, muscles rippling as he bounds across the court with the ball. Laila is ready for him at the other hand, knees bent halfway, razor-focused with her own racquet held out by her side.
Jeremy shoots with all of his might against the Lions’ defense crowing desperately in. The ball bounces off the plexiglass and beelines straight for the goal. It lights up red. Jean jumps up to his feet and cheers with Cat, who is practically hanging off of him while she screams.
Then he tries again, and again, and again, and every single time Laila blocks the shot with ease.
But the Swans’ goalie isn’t as good as she is. And while the Lions’ strikers are not as good as Jeremy is, they are still not bad at all. Jean is already cataloguing every single player in his head. His hand itches to hold his own racquet. He will be playing on this court next year with Jeremy at his side.
He can’t wait.
The Lions lose to the Bears in the finals. Jean has an urge to text Kevin about it but he doesn’t. Instead, he gets to packing his things with Cat, Laila, and Jeremy’s help.
When it is time to leave, Laila crushes him in a tight hug and whispers her well wishes into his ear. “I’m so proud of you,” she murmurs, then glances at Jeremy, who is lingering by the kitchen counter with a fond look on his face. “Take care of him for me, will you?”
“I will,” Jean nods firmly.
“And take care of yourself, too.” She smiles and lets go of him. Then it is Cat’s turn to fling herself on him.
“You are calling me every single goddamn day,” she says, her grip tightening more and more with each passing second. “Twice a day, if you want. I’ll even take thrice a day.”
“Mm,” says Jean, folding himself on top of her. “I will miss you, Catalina.”
“Don’t make me cry,” says Cat, and then she sniffles a little, and Jean squeezes her shoulders against his palms. “Okay, okay, go out there and win some trophies, or whatever. Us little people will be waiting for you back here at USC’s campus. Christ.”
“You only have one more year,” says Jean as he lets go of her and takes a step back. He fears that if he touches her again now, he will never want to let her go.
She smiles and winks. “Damn straight,” she says, then her expression softens. “I love you. Call me when you’re cooking, or something, I’ll cook here in LA at the same time. It’ll be just like always.”
“Okay,” Jean says. “I will do that. I love you too.”
So Jean drives with Jeremy to San Francisco, and it is so reminiscent of just a year ago when he had gone to drop him off, that Jean reaches for Jeremy’s hand over the console and doesn’t let go for the majority of the ride. They decide to drive because they’re taking Jabberwocky with them, and this way, Jean can pack his entire life into the trunk instead of into three suitcases. They’ve got a new place in San Francisco, one with a nicer kitchen and a bigger living room and an extra bedroom. When they arrive, Jean watches Jabberwocky start barking like an idiot, zooming across the empty space like he has never seen an apartment before.
“Stop making so much noise,” he scolds, leaning down to pick him up.
Jeremy looks around, humming thoughtfully. “I’ll have the movers bring in whatever I can from my old place tomorrow. I did manage to bring an air mattress before I left, and we can go grocery shopping, so we should be good for one night. Unless you want to—”
“You,” says Jean, putting Jabberwocky down. “You stop making so much noise too.”
“Oh,” says Jeremy, and then Jean kisses him quiet in the middle of their living room. In the middle of their new life. In the middle of their forever.
It is perfect, and it is everything. Jean smiles against Jeremy’s mouth and leans impossibly closer.