Chapter Text
The silence in the Fox Tower dorm room was a living, breathing thing. It wasn't the oppressive, watchful silence of the Nest, thick with the threat of discovery and pain. This was a different kind of quiet—a hollow, lonely one. For two years, Jean Moreau had been learning the textures of silence, and this particular one, on a Saturday night, was the worst kind.
Neil and Andrew had left for Columbia hours ago, their departure marked by the soft click of the door and the subsequent vacuum of sound they left behind. It was a routine by now. Most weekends, the two of them vanished, leaving Jean and Kevin in the apartment that never quite felt like theirs. But tonight, the emptiness was sharper, more profound.
Jean lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, the ghost of a memory playing behind his eyelids—the frantic, desperate press of Kevin’s mouth against his in a storage closet at Evermore, a moment of stolen, painful solace. He rolled onto his side, the sheets tangling around his legs. He’d been doing this for hours, chasing a sleep that wouldn't come. The digital clock on his bedside table glowed 2:17 AM.
Kevin’s bed was empty. This, too, was not unusual. Since their arrival at Palmetto, Kevin had developed a habit of nocturnal wandering. In the beginning, Jean would seek him out, finding him in the living room, tense and silent, staring at nothing. But Kevin’s body language was a fortress, his shoulders rigid, his answers clipped. He didn't want Jean's company. He didn't want anyone's touch. So, Jean had learned to give him space, to let the distance between them grow until it felt like a chasm he could no longer cross.
But tonight, something was different. The memory of Kevin’s touch was a persistent ache under his skin. He missed the weight of his hands, the taste of his mouth, the simple, terrifying comfort of his presence. With a frustrated sigh, Jean pushed himself up. He wouldn't find sleep like this.
He padded barefoot into the dark hallway, the cool floorboards a familiar sensation. A faint, blueish light flickered from the living room, accompanied by the muted, familiar sounds of a commentator’s voice and the squeak of sneakers on court.
He found Kevin curled on the far end of the sofa, shrouded in a thick blanket. The screen cast shifting shadows across his face, illuminating the sharp line of his jaw, the famous '2' on his cheekbone. He was watching old Penn State game reruns, their opponents for the upcoming week. But he wasn't studying them with his usual frantic intensity. He looked… relaxed. His posture was loose, his eyes following the play without the desperate hunger Jean was used to seeing.
When Kevin’s eyes flickered towards him, there was no flinch, no immediate tension. He didn't lower his voice to a whisper, a habit born from years where the sound of their voices could earn them a punishment.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Kevin asked, his voice casual, rough with sleepiness. It was a normal question, asked in a normal tone. The sheer, breathtaking normality of it made Jean’s chest tighten.
“No,” Jean replied, his own voice softer than he intended. “The silence is loud.”
Kevin gave a slight, understanding nod, his gaze returning to the screen. “I know what you mean.”
Jean stood there for a moment longer, then made a decision. He walked into the small kitchenette, opening the cupboard where he kept his secret stash—a tin of rich hot chocolate mix, hidden from Andrew’s sweet tooth and his own attempts at moderation. He prepared two mugs, the ritual calming his nerves, and carried them back to the living room.
He placed one mug on the coffee table in front of Kevin before settling on the sofa, leaving a careful, respectable foot of space between them. Kevin murmured a thanks, his fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic.
For a while, they just watched the game, the silence now companionable rather than strained.
“Their defense is lazy on the left flank,” Kevin commented, pointing at the screen with his chin. “The backliner… Johnson, he’s slow to pivot. We could exploit that.”
“Oui,” Jean agreed, taking a sip of his chocolate. “If Neil passes to me on the dealer’s side, I could draw him out, create an opening for you. It would be easy.”
The word hung in the air between them. Easy. For the first time in two years, being near Kevin felt easy.
“It’s a solid strategy,” Kevin said, and then he did something Jean hadn’t seen in a long time. He smiled, a small, private thing. “Très bon, n'est-ce pas?”
The French, spoken with a near-perfect mimicry of Jean’s own accent, sent a warm shock through Jean’s system. It was a ghost from their past, from the long nights Jean had spent teaching Kevin, the syllables a secret shared between them, a rebellion. It felt like coming home.
“Your accent is better,” Jean said, unable to stop his own smile. “You no longer sound like a farmer from Quebec.”
Kevin chuckled, a low, pleasant sound. “You’re a terrible teacher. Brutal.”
“I am an excellent teacher. You were a terrible student. Stubborn.”
They fell into a comfortable back-and-forth, talking about nothing and everything. The game, their teammates, a book Kevin was reading for a class he pretended to hate. Jean lost track of time, wrapped in the simple, profound joy of being with Kevin without the weight of Evermore, without the pressure of the day. He realized, with a start, that this was the first time he truly felt a sense of home in Palmetto. The Foxes were chaotic, difficult, a constant negotiation of personalities and traumas. He often felt like a ghost wandering through someone else’s life. But Kevin… Kevin still felt like home.
He didn’t know when they had shifted. He didn’t notice the exact moment their thighs brushed, or when Kevin’s hand, resting on the couch between them, began to idly pick at a loose thread on Jean’s sweatpants. He wasn’t aware of them both leaning their heads back against the sofa, turning to face each other, their faces so close he could feel the warmth of Kevin’s breath.
He only knew that his hand was moving of its own volition, rising to thread through Kevin’s hair, which was longer now, curling softly at the nape of his neck. It was as soft as he remembered.
Kevin’s eyes, those incredible green eyes, widened slightly, but he didn’t pull away. He leaned into the touch, a barely perceptible sigh escaping his lips.
Jean wanted to close the distance. He wanted to know if Kevin still tasted the same, of that unique, sweet flavor that was his alone. He wanted to lose himself in the warm, wet heat of that delicious mouth he knew so well.
And then, to his utter astonishment, Kevin was the one who moved.
He bridged the short gap, pressing his lips to Jean’s in a brief, chaste, closed-mouth kiss. It was over in a second, Kevin pulling back with a sharp intake of breath, his eyes wide and suddenly avoidant. His cheeks flushed a painful, beautiful shade of red.
The sight enchanted Jean. Without a word, he slid his hands up to cup Kevin’s jaw, his thumbs stroking the heated skin. He gently pulled him back for a real kiss.
This wasn't rushed. It wasn't hungry. It was a recognition. A homecoming.
Jean started as Kevin had, a soft pressure against his lips. Then he felt Kevin part his own, a silent, trembling invitation. Jean slipped his tongue inside, tracing the soft inner lining of Kevin’s lip, and was met immediately by Kevin’s own. It was an exploration. A rediscovery of that perfect fit.
Kevin made small, breathy sounds—little hitches and quiet moans that Jean had never had the luxury of savoring before. He committed each one to memory. The way Kevin’s breath shortened when Jean tangled their tongues. The short, sharp gasp when Jean sucked gently on his tongue. The surprised, choked sound when Jean nipped at his full bottom lip.
Pulling away was a special kind of torture. Jean compensated by placing dozens of small, soft kisses on Kevin’s lips, the bridge of his nose, on each of the tiny freckles he knew by heart even with his eyes closed. It made Kevin let out a soft, adorable laugh.
When Jean finally opened his eyes, he found those impossibly green eyes shining back at him, bright with unshed tears and something so tender it made Jean’s throat constrict.
“Impatient,” Kevin whispered, leaning in for another quick peck.
“You have no idea,” Jean murmured, his voice rough. “I have thought about doing this since the first day we arrived here. I would have, if you hadn’t been avoiding me.”
Kevin flushed at the declaration and tried to turn his face away, a familiar gesture of retreat. Jean stopped him, holding his cheek firmly, forcing him to maintain eye contact.
“Talk to me, Kev,” Jean said, his voice calm, switching to the smooth French that felt like a protective blanket. “You have been hiding for so long.”
The nickname, the gentle tone in the soft French—it wasn't something from the Nest. It was the first time they had the freedom for such subtleties, and the novelty of it made Kevin’s eyes well up.
“I… I didn’t…” Kevin stammered, struggling to formulate the words. He only stilled when Jean leaned forward, their foreheads touching. Jean’s murmur was so low Kevin wouldn’t have heard it if they weren’t so close.
“Dis-moi quelque chose de vrai.” Tell me something true.
It was an old game between them. Honesty was a dangerous luxury in the Nest. But when one of them said those words, it was a promise. Lies were off the table.
Kevin took a shaky breath, his words ghosting over Jean’s lips. “You… you once said I was your first… in everything. And we were never good at being that for each other. Back there, it was all so rushed, so aggressive… sometimes I felt like we were just hurting each other more when we… you know.”
Jean stroked his thumbs over Kevin’s flushed cheeks and nodded. He knew. So many times, sex had come at the peak of tension, of rage. They were always so hurt, and because they were broken, neither of them was exactly gentle. It wasn’t right, they knew that. But they hadn’t known how to do it any differently.
“So when we left,” Kevin continued, his voice gaining a little strength. “You said that now everything would be different. And for everything to change, we had to stop hurting each other.” He swallowed hard. “I missed you every single day, but I wanted you to figure things out. We were so young, Jean. And here, you had the chance to do all those things with anyone you liked without the weight we carried… I wanted you to be happy, to have fun, to feel pleasure purely for pleasure’s sake and not to numb the pain. I thought it would be unfair to keep clinging to you after everything, and I… even though I missed you every second… I wanted you to be free.”
His voice ended in a pained whisper. “And now I’ve probably ruined it all because I can’t be in a room alone with you without wanting to kiss you. How pathetic.” The self-deprecation was a familiar, bitter note.
Jean promptly held his cheeks again and pulled him into a long, sealing kiss. He didn’t open his mouth, didn’t seek entry. He just held the contact until Kevin closed his eyes and relaxed against him. Still so close that their lips brushed, Jean murmured, “Ask me.”
Kevin’s breath hitched. “Dis-moi quelque chose de vrai.”
“I never wanted any of this with anyone else.”
The way Kevin’s eyes flew wide open at that simple sentence made Jean’s heart clench. He gave a small, sad smile.
“We have been here for two years, mon rêve. Two years of you avoiding me… we live in the same apartment, and I almost never see you outside of practice. We made bonds. We have freedom. People approached me… I could have done whatever I wanted. I could have explored, had fun. I could have loved someone else. But I did not want to. I turned down every single one, because I have known who I wanted since the first kiss you gave me in the Nest. You have always been my partner. You were always supposed to be at my side.”
Tears were now streaming freely down Kevin’s face, and Jean wiped them away with a tenderness that felt new and ancient all at once.
“I know we did it all wrong,” Jean continued, his own voice thick with emotion. “If we hadn’t been so broken, so young and foolish, we wouldn’t have done things that way. There were sweet moments where we could have fixed it. But we were both too terrified of feeling too much. We knew what happened when someone cared too deeply. I did not want to be used against you, and I could not bear for you to be used against me.”
Kevin’s hands found Jean’s wrists, holding onto him like an anchor as he spoke.
“So, pretending that we only needed that desperate touch when we were at our most furious… that is what ruined it. What should have been our comfort became another open wound. I know I hurt you, Kev…” A heavy tear escaped and traced a path down Jean’s cheek, and Kevin wiped it away with his thumb. “I was never kind to you… and I regret every day how I treated you, but I could not stop, because I wanted you too much. And when we left… when I said everything would be different, it was not because I wanted you to go away. It was because I could finally have you with the freedom to give you the kindness you deserved.”
Kevin’s breath faltered at those words, and his grip on Jean’s wrists tightened almost imperceptibly.
Jean pressed on: “I could finally be good for you. I could finally stop being afraid to simply say that I love you… but you pulled away. Andrew gave us a home, and you… you gravitated toward him. I was jealous at first, God, I was so jealous. But it was your right. You were finally free, Kevin, and even though I hated the distance, I hated your sudden closeness with Andrew, I hated not having you the way I thought I would… it was still your choice.”
Jean took a deep breath, his thumbs still stroking Kevin’s wet cheeks. “But I kept choosing you. I waited for you for two years, Kev. And I would never have made the first move if you hadn’t done it tonight, because I do not want to keep hurting you. I want you desperately. But only if you say yes.”
He leaned his forehead against Kevin’s again, and for a few seconds, the only sound in the room was their quiet, synchronized breathing.
“So do not tell me it is pathetic that you finally found the courage to do what I have been waiting for you to do all this time. And do not hide that courage from me again. If it is me you truly want, not out of necessity, but because you truly love me, then choose me, Kevin. Because nothing could ever make me feel more free than having you by my side.”
Kevin’s hands moved from Jean’s wrists to his face, mirroring the gentle hold. “I hurt you, Jean,” he whispered, his voice breaking.
“We hurt each other,” Jean corrected softly. “We were children, Kev. Children trying to survive hell. But we are not there anymore, and we are not children anymore.”
Kevin’s answer was to close the distance between them, capturing Jean’s lips in a kiss that felt like a final homecoming. This kiss was different from all the ones before—there was no desperation, no fear, no anger. It was soft, warm, and full of promise.
When they parted, Kevin whispered against Jean’s lips, “I choose you. I always chose you, even when I was trying to let you go.”
Jean’s hands slid down to Kevin’s waist, pulling him closer until their bodies were aligned on the sofa. “Then stay with me. Let me show you how we can be kind.”
The confession had opened a new space between them, a territory of peace that was at once strange and wonderfully familiar. The hours that followed were a study in gentle touches and shared tenderness. They stayed on the couch, entwined, exchanging kisses that were no longer about desperation, but about discovery. They were slow, exploratory kisses, interspersed with French whispers and synchronized breaths. Jean traced the outline of Kevin’s lips with the tip of his finger, and Kevin closed his eyes, surrendering to the sensation, a small, constant smile playing at his mouth.
Eventually, fatigue began to tug at their eyelids, and their bodies—finally relaxed after years of tension—started to give in to exhaustion. The thought of parting, of going to separate beds after that night, felt like a desecration. When Jean stood up to take their empty mugs to the kitchen, a fleeting chill of uncertainty touched Kevin. He wrapped himself in the blanket, now carrying their shared scent—sweat, chocolate, and the earthy base of Jean’s cologne—and waited, his heart beating a little faster.
Relief came instantly when Jean returned. He carried two pillows, which he arranged with practical care against the back of the couch. “If we’re going to sleep here, I need something to keep my spine intact,” he said, his amused tone instantly soothing Kevin. Kevin nodded, shifting to make room. Jean lay on his back, closer to the couch’s edge, and since it wasn’t wide, he settled in and opened his arms. Kevin didn’t need a verbal invitation; he nestled against Jean, his head finding the perfect space between the other man’s chin and shoulder. The blanket covered them both, a cocoon of wool and warmth.
Feeling Jean’s heat pressed against every part of his body, and hearing the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against his ear, was the most powerful lullaby Kevin had ever known. He fell asleep faster than he had in the past two years, sinking into a dreamless rest. The last thing he heard, drifting on the edge of sleep, was a soft, raspy whisper against his hair: “Je t’aime, Mon Rêve.” The words made him smile in his drowsiness, a feeling of absolute peace washing over him.
---
The first thing Kevin became aware of was warmth. A solid, encompassing heat that seeped into his bones, quieting the constant, low-level hum of anxiety that had been his background score for years. The second was a sound—a steady, strong thump-thump, thump-thump against his ear. He nuzzled closer, the scent of Jean’s skin—clean cotton, the faint, sweet remnant of hot chocolate, and something uniquely, essentially Jean—filling his senses.
He blinked his eyes open slowly. Morning light filtered through the blinds, painting stripes of gold across the living room. His body ached pleasantly from the cramped night on the sofa, a small price to pay for the reality he found himself in. He lifted his head, his neck stiff, and looked down.
Jean was still asleep. One arm was tucked behind his own head. The other was a firm, possessive band around Kevin’s waist, holding him close even in sleep. From this intimate distance, Kevin could study every detail. The long, dark lashes resting against Jean’s cheeks. The proud, slightly crooked line of his nose. The scars—the one that cut through his eyebrow and sliced down his cheek, a brutal history written on his skin. And the small, stark ‘3’ tattooed there, a brand they both shared but were now free to redefine.
He was beautiful. Heartbreakingly so.
Kevin propped his chin on his hands, which were resting on Jean’s chest, and simply watched. He wanted to see the exact moment consciousness returned to that face. He didn’t have to wait long.
The first sign was the hand on his back. It stirred, then slid slowly, languidly, up his spine to the nape of his neck. Jean’s long fingers began to massage the stiff muscles there, a slow, tender caress. Kevin’s smile widened, a helpless, happy thing. This gentleness—it was still so new, so unexpected. He was already falling in love with it.
He watched as Jean’s grey eyes fluttered open. There was no confusion, no momentary panic. Just a slow, dawning awareness, and then a focus so intense and soft it made Kevin’s breath catch. Jean’s lips curved into a small, sleepy smile.
“Bonjour,” Jean murmured, his voice rough with sleep, like gravel wrapped in velvet.
“Good morning,” Kevin whispered back, his own voice hushed in the sacred quiet of the morning.
Jean’s hand moved from his neck to cup his jaw, his thumb stroking the line of Kevin’s cheekbone. “You were watching me.”
“Yes.”
“Creep,” Jean said, the affection in his tone robbing the word of any insult.
Kevin laughed, a soft, breathy sound. “You’re handsome when you sleep. You don’t scowl.”
“I do not scowl,” Jean protested, though the faint crease between his brows made Kevin laugh again.
“You constantly scowl. It’s your default expression.”
“It is my ‘thinking’ face,” Jean corrected, his thumb now tracing Kevin’s bottom lip. “And right now, I am thinking that I have never had a better wake-up.”
The simple words sent a flush of warmth through Kevin that had nothing to do with the shared blanket. He leaned down, meeting Jean halfway in a soft, unhurried kiss. It was a morning kiss, lazy and sweet, tasting of sleep and the lingering promise of the night before. When they parted, Kevin rested his forehead against Jean’s.
“My back hates this sofa,” Kevin confessed.
“My entire spinal column is filing a formal complaint,” Jean agreed, his hands sliding down to rest on Kevin’s hips. “But I would not change a thing.”
They lay like that for a while longer, talking in low murmurs. About nothing. About everything. The quality of the light, the stupid pattern on the blanket, the fact they were both starving.
“We should find food,” Kevin said, making no move to get up.
“Oui,” Jean agreed, equally immobile. “In a minute.”
It was in this state of lazy, intertwined contentment that they heard the key in the lock.
The change was instantaneous, a subtle tensing that ran through both of them. It was an old, ingrained reflex—the fear of being caught, of a private moment becoming a public spectacle or, worse, a weapon. Kevin felt Jean’s arms tighten around him, not to push him away, but to anchor him. It was a hold that said, I am here. We are not hiding.
The door swung open and Andrew Minyard walked in, followed by Neil Josten, who was mid-sentence.
“…and if he thinks that’s a valid strategy, he’s even stupider than he looks,” Neil was saying, dropping his bag by the door. He stopped abruptly when he saw the couch.
Andrew, who had been heading straight for the kitchen, froze, his eyes landing on them. His expression, as always, was largely unreadable, but his stillness conveyed his surprise. Neil just stared, his mouth slightly agape.
Jean didn’t remove his arm from around Kevin. Kevin, for his part, didn’t scramble off Jean’s chest. He simply turned his head to look at them, his heart beating a little too fast, but his posture deliberately relaxed.
Andrew’s gaze flickered from Jean’s face to Kevin’s, then down to the way they were tangled together under the blanket. A single blond eyebrow crept upward.
“Well,” Andrew said, his voice flat. “This is new.”
Neil, recovering, cracked a slow, sharp grin. “Took you two long enough.”
Kevin felt a blush creeping up his neck, but Jean spoke, his voice calm and steady, devoid of any shame. “Is there a problem?”
“Don’t be boring, Jean,” Andrew said, finally moving again to open the fridge. “The drama is already exhausting and it’s only been ten seconds.” He pulled out a carton of juice. “Just keep the noise down. Some of us require actual sleep.”
Neil snorted, dropping onto the armchair opposite them. “So, was it the thrilling Penn State game reruns that finally did it?”
Jean’s hand, still on Kevin’s hip, gave a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Kevin found his voice, aiming for nonchalance and landing somewhere close. “Something like that.”
Andrew took a long swig from the juice carton, his eyes on them, assessing. It wasn’t a hostile look, just… Andrew. Finally, he shrugged “Don’t care,” he stated. “Just don’t be gross on the common furniture. I have to sit there.”
“We’re not being gross,” Kevin muttered, his face heating further.
“Yet,” Neil added, dropping onto the armchair opposite them. “Give it time. I give it a week before you two are worse than Nicky and Erik.”
Jean rolled his eyes, but his hand was still a comforting presence on Kevin’s back. “Your faith in us is touching.”
Kevin let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and felt Jean relax beneath him. The world hadn’t ended. The sky hadn’t fallen. They were just two guys on a couch, being teased by their roommates.
Neil launched into a story about a fight he’d almost started with a Ravens fan at a gas station, and Andrew began making coffee with his usual focused precision. The normalcy of it all, the sheer, mundane casualness, was more profound than any grand declaration.
Jean shifted underneath him, pulling the blanket up a little higher over Kevin’s shoulder. His grey eyes met Kevin’s, and in them, Kevin saw no regret, no hesitation. Only a quiet, steady certainty.
“See?” Jean murmured, so only Kevin could hear. “Not a disaster.”
Kevin let out a soft breath, a real, genuine smile finally breaking through his embarrassment. “No,” he agreed, settling back against Jean’s chest, listening to the familiar, comforting sound of his heartbeat. “Not a disaster at all.”
This was their life now. And for the first time, tangled up on a too-small sofa with the morning chaos of the Foxes unfolding around them, it finally, truly, felt like it was theirs.