Chapter Text
From the start, Jeremy Knox is too... much. His smile is blinding and he doesn't stop talking and he never stops fidgeting. His hair is too light and his eyes too blue and Jean wonders what other people think when they see Knox's tan skin compared to his, too-pale and scarred (half of Jean's face is still one huge bruise).
“Hi! You're Jean, right? I'm Jeremy Knox, it's so great to finally meet you.” His voice is light and it's not like Renee's or Kevin's or—Jean cuts himself off.
Knox holds out his hand and Jean shakes it carefully (Knox's palm is smoother and warmer than Jean's is and his grip is confident).
“So, I'll be taking you to the USC dorms. We don't have any extra rooms right now but I don't currently have a roommate so you can room with me, if that's alright, and, hey, let's get to the car...”
Jean lets Knox's talking fade into background noise and trails after him, automatically checking the throngs of busy people for threats.
Knox twists his string bracelets (he has three and they look like they're handwoven) between his fingers as he leads Jean to the car and he taps the wheel incessantly (his nails are all bitten down to the quick) when they finally pull out into traffic.
Jean looks out the window and drinks in the sun and pretends not to notice when Knox starts humming (off tune) along with the radio's pop songs.
i am with knox now, he texts Renee, and she replies in moments.
have fun & text me anytime jean i mean it
Knox has an alarm set for 5:30 am even in the summer. He sleeps in pajamas that have tiny whales printed on them. He likes to eat two breakfasts—one before and one after his morning run. He likes to eat popcorn when he watches horror movies and sweets when he watches reality TV.
Jean trails along after Knox and watches and remembers, and he can't help but wonder, when does this peace shatter? When does the world realize that Jean is more calm than he ever remembers being and when does the world take that calm away?
“Jean?” Knox suddenly appears in the doorway and he's grinning, holding up two Exy balls. “Ready to go scrimmage?"
Jean is on his feet in moments, racquet in hand (it's a familiar weight, comforting). It's been too long: three weeks at Palmetto State and another since getting to USC's campus and he suddenly feels like he won't be able to breathe until he gets back on the court. “Yes.”
The uniform that Jeremy hands him is wrong.
It's dark red and sun-gold and not black and Jean knows he's stared for too long because Knox is shifting in front of him, concerned.
Still, he can't tear his eyes away from the color too bright against scarred hands.
“Hey Jean, you alright?” Knox's voices filters in from somewhere far away.
He swallows the words lodged against his throat (I've never been alright in my life) and shoves the wrong clothes back into the wrong sports bag.
“Jesus, Jean.”
Jean flinches at the sudden voice, tensing up and moving to press his back against the lockers (He's only halfway through changing and he is too aware of the many scars striped silver and pink and angry red across his body). He'd messed up three shots and his footwork was sloppy and he idly wonders how Knox will punish him.
(He'll text Renee about this later, he knows, and she will say—as she has said many times already—that Jean is still suffering from decade-long trauma and that it's okay that he's not okay and also has he considered a therapist?
i don't need a therapist
then what do you need jean?
i don't know
it's too much
well maybe i can try to therapy u
your english is worse than mine and english is not even my first language.
shh)
Knox looks pained and then Jean realizes he's looking at the still-open cut right under Jean's ribs (Riko had dug his pocket knife in as deep as it could go and dragged it sideways—). It opened a little when Knox checked him against the wall earlier, blood now seeping slowly through the bandage. It's not life-threatening.
Jean turns away and tucks his new Exy gear neatly into his new locker.
“Are you sure you don't need stitches?”
Knox is still hovering by the door, looking more concerned than he has any right to be and Jean feels an irrational surge of anger towards him.
“It's fine,” he bites out. Before Knox can argue, he adds, “I'll change the bandaging when we get back.”
Knox still looks unsure but he lets it drop. He's still studying Jean by the time Jean is done changing, but then he seems to shake himself out of his pensive mood.
“So, hey, I was thinking we can go shopping? Soon, maybe over the weekend.”
“Okay.” Jean grabs his racquet and waits for Knox to lead the way back to the car.
“... okay.” Knox gives him another smile (too bright, how can someone be this happy all the time?).
Jean wakes up drenched in sweat and panting harshly into his pillow, and for a second he thinks he's back at The Nest and he bites down hard on his lip. There is only screaming and terror—
And then he realizes it's not pitch-black, there's a window to his left letting in weak moonlight. Slowly it comes back, light eyes and sun and soft hands.
He texts Renee, not really expecting a reply this early in the morning. The phone is a familiar weight, though, and it helps steady his breathing to something more normal.
Across the room, Knox stirs slightly.
His hair is bleached white in the night, messily splayed on the pillow. There's no way Jean is going back to sleep, not tonight, so he leans his head against the wall and studies his new roommate.
(He notices that Jeremy has freckles splashed across his arms and the back of his hands and that Jeremy's eyelashes are long enough they brush against his pillow when he snores and that Jeremy is all soft edges and light and the opposite of Ri—of him.)
Jean follows Jeremy around the store, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Knox chatters animatedly as he puts bedsheets and towels and groceries in his cart.
He shakes himself out of his thoughts when Knox holds a shirt up next to Jean, squinting a little. “D'you think this is your size?”
“Yes,” Jean says after a beat, even though he doesn't need clothes, because a direct question is to be answered and remembering the time Master taught him that lesson keeps him busy until they're done in the shop.
It is only when they get back to the dorm, Jeremy cheerily setting the bags down on Jean's bed, that Jean realizes: none of the clothes are black. And on the heels of that comes the realization that it doesn't bother him, that somehow over the past few weeks he has grown accustomed to having color in his world.
(And on the heels of that comes the thought that he doesn't think he could survive if it was taken from him again.)
He finds Knox in the bathroom in the middle of the night. The light over the sink is on and Knox is on the floor, knees tucked into his chest and elbow resting on the edge of the tub and sucking in shallow breaths like there's not enough air to go around. Jean stands for a moment in the doorway, unsure, but Knox must have heard his footsteps or something because he's looking up.
“Oh, Jean.” Jeremy pulls a smile across his face but Jean can tell immediately that it's fake. (He realizes it's the first time he has seen Knox not look happy. It's a little jarring, honestly.) “What're you doing up?”
“I was—walking.” Jean backs up, starts to close the door. “I am sorry for interrupting you.”
“No, Jean, no, it's fine.” Jeremy reaches out helplessly and Jean only hesitates a moment before sliding in next to Jeremy. Jeremy curls his arms in around his legs, carefully not brushing against Jean (Jeremy had tapped Jean on the shoulder a week ago and Jean had panicked, actual full-on panic complete with hyperventilation and begging please I'm sorry's—). Jean feels weirdly grateful and he mulls over the unfamiliarity of that emotion for a while.
It's quiet, and Knox's breathing slows gradually.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Jean finally asks, just to break the silence. “Renee is always telling me that is a good thing to do.”
“I'm just a little stressed, is all,” Jeremy says quietly, “especially with the school year and the season coming up.”
Jean makes an mm sound and rubs absently at his crooked fingers. He doesn't even realize he's doing it until Jeremy uncertainly holds his hand out in the space between them. “Can I?”
Jean places his hand into Jeremy's (Jeremy's palm is still as warm and soft as he remembers) and lets him examine the white scars carved into the skin. His thoughts, normally clamoring inside Jean's head, go quiet.
This close he sees that Jeremy's blond hair is shot through with even lighter highlights, probably from spending so much time outside. He has freckles across his nose and knuckles and one on his lower lip. He is what a sun would look like if it were shoved into the body of a boy and allowed to roam the earth.
“You can talk to me, if you want,” Jeremy says, and Jean knows that he will. Maybe not in the next hour or week or month, but one day he will talk and it will lift weights off his shoulders that even Renee has not yet managed to coax from him.
The Trojans are boisterous and loud and happy and Jean sits uncomfortable in their midst, feeling out of place. They shout greetings and introductions at him but not one single person tries to touch him and he knows Jeremy has something to do with that.
On their way back to the dorm (after a very sloppy practice with more hugs given than goals made), he tells Jeremy, “Thank you.” He hesitates, unsure, and then says even more quietly, “Merci.”
Jeremy only smiles brighter and sings the radio song louder and Jean finds himself grinning fondly, face turned towards the window so Jeremy can't see.
“I saw your game last night,” Renee says.
Jean snorts, shifting on his bed so that he's sitting cross-legged and leaning back against the wall. He can see Jeremy through the open door; it looks like he's making instant ramen, and Jean makes a mental note to buy something more healthy the next time they go shopping.
“That pass you made to Jeremy was amazing.” The pass he had made to Jeremy had taken weeks to perfect. The Trojans are good, but they are not as good as the Ravens are—were, Jean corrects himself.
Renee's statements always seem like just small talk but really every time she manages to get Jean to uncover a small truth about himself. And the truth this time was: Jean enjoys spending time with Jeremy, both on and off the court.
“Are you still having your nightmares?” Renee asks when Jean still doesn't say anything.
“They are less,” he admits. “Jeremy woke me two nights ago because I was yelling.”
“Mmm,” and he doesn't need to see Renee's face to know that her eyebrows are pinched in worry. They breathe in companionable silence for a while, Jean just taking the time to relax and roll out his pleasantly sore muscles.
“Did you get the sweater I sent you?” she asks suddenly. He knows what she really means to ask is are you wearing color now? and he rolls his eyes affectionately.
“Yes, I am wearing it now.” It's soft and pastel blue and the sleeves go all the way past his knuckles.
“Allison helped me pick it out for you! Send a picture so I can show her.”
“Do you love her?” The question comes out before he has time to think about it, he hadn't even meant to ask it out loud, because he already knows what the answer is, even before Renee lets out a quiet yes.
A week ago, a month ago, maybe Jean would feel jealous, but now he is only happy for her, and maybe a little sad that their paths have led them together and then apart again.
“That is good. You should let her know.”
“I will Jean.” A pause, and then, “It's important to tell the people in your life that you care for them, too.”
They move on to lighter topics.
An hour later, though, after they finally hang up, Jean still gets the feeling that Renee has tried to tell him something else in her cryptic way, he just doesn't know what.
“Jean!”
He has no idea why Jeremy is smiling like that (like Jean has pulled the stars out of the sky) so he sits heavily on the couch, pulling his laptop out. Jeremy is holding something behind his back but Jean ignores him in favor of looking for Exy reruns online.
Jeremy manages to sit through five minutes of Jean's Hokies versus Cavaliers game before covering the screen with one hand, impatiently tapping his foot against the floor. “Aren't you going to ask me what I'm hiding?”
Jean sighs loudly before asking, “What are you hiding, Jeremy?”
Jeremy doesn't even wait for him to finish before he's dropping little string bracelets in Jean's lap. “I made these for you and I wasn't sure what color you wanted so I just did as many different combinations as I could think of.”
This boy gives the sun to Jean everyday and pulls him back from the ledge with no questions asked and he never asks for anything in return and Jean's heart feels too full.
Jean casts about for words, jumbled phrases he tries to string together into something that can convey the full weight of his feeling.
“I appreciate you,” Jean finally settles on, low and intense and unintentionally echoing Renee's words from a week ago. Jeremy must be as good at cryptic messaging as Renee is because his smile turns soft and he holds his arms out, eyebrow quirked at Jean in question.
Jean nods and then he is enveloped in warmth and coconut shampoo scent.
For once he doesn't think, how long will the world let me have this?
For the first time he thinks, I would fight the world for a chance to keep this.
Fin.