Chapter Text
Much to Jean’s dismay, Kevin is visiting again. He refuses to explain himself aside from wanting to see Jeremy, and yet he’s spent most of the few days that he is in town with Jean.
Today they’re outside the gold court while Jeremy swings by Coach Rhemann’s office for some captain-y thing that Jean didn’t waste time trying to understand.
Kevin has a stick in hand that he is using as a stand-in for a racquet and practicing his swings—because the queen of the court never takes a day off and Rhemann isn’t hanging around long enough today to let them practice.
After a few minutes of watching Kevin’s swings, Jean decides to poke fun at him. “Your form is off,” he says.
“It is not,” Kevin protests, his arms dropping to his sides as he turns on Jean. “Your form is off.”
Jean folds his arms across his chest where he’s leaning against the half-wall surrounding the stadium. “What form?”
Kevin flounders. “Shut up.” He goes back to swinging, this time slower and more mindful of Jean’s lingering gaze.
He knows he’s going to either need to lie down immediately or risk passing out when a sweat breaks out along his top lip and his stomach twists uncomfortably with a wave of intense nausea. But he can’t just lie on the ground without alerting Kevin to his anemia and Jean isn’t having the kind of day where he can take that kind of scrutiny.
If Kevin found out then everything would be over for Jean. There’s no way he could make a professional team with this kind of handicap, and if Kevin knew then it was only a matter of time before it made its way back to Ichirou and the man ordered for someone to get rid of the dead weight.
Jean has spent a lot of his life waiting to die but now he kind of wants to live.
So he just sinks down into a sitting position and hopes it mitigates the new surge of dizziness enough to get Jean out of this funk without him having to collapse first. He can hide it from Kevin, it’ll just take a little bit of finesse.
“Your underhand swing doesn’t have enough force,” Jean says, hoping to distract Kevin from the way he wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and fights the rising bile in his throat.
“What do you know about being a striker?”
“Enough.”
Kevin huffs but adjusts his swing to be more forceful. Jean makes a noise of approval, only half paying attention. The concrete to his back is a comfort, at least he can’t tip backwards like this.
He watches Kevin do a few more swings and presses his spinning head into his palm, using his fingers to apply pressure to his temples. He’s fighting off the fainting with as much force as he can muster but he’s losing the battle enormously.
He doesn’t even notice that Kevin has stopped swinging and is now watching him until Kevin huffs again, this time an impatient “well let’s see your form. Are the Trojans maintaining your skill?”
“I maintain my form on my own, I do not need the Trojans for that.”
“Then you won’t struggle to show me all the places I’m sorely lacking,” Kevin pokes, extending his arm with the stick.
“This is a stupid measure of skill,” Jean complains as he picks himself up off of the ground.
Jean straightens and takes a few steps towards Kevin before his legs are swept out from underneath him.
He blinks and he’s staring up at the blue sky and Kevin’s pinched expression. It takes him a few blinks to realise his head is in Kevin’s lap and the Fox is running a hand through his hair.
Embarrassment burns in Jean’s chest and lights up his face with heat and yet he doesn’t make a move. Kevin hasn’t touched him this tenderly since he fled from the Nest and left Jean behind. Jean doesn’t resent him as much anymore but it still hurts if he lingers.
“Have you been eating?” Kevin asks once he realises Jean is awake and looking at him. Straight to the point.
Jean swallows against his dry mouth. “Yes.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not!” Jean argues as he tries to sit up. Kevin’s grip is firm for a second before he lets go. Scrambling to put some distance between them but still feeling not entirely solid, Jean manages to scoot far enough away from the striker to look him in the face.
Kevin’s expression is apocalyptic. “You just fainted.”
“I know.” Jean brings up his hands to somehow coax Kevin down to something a bit more reasonable and less fiery-eyed. “I eat fine. The Trojans help with that.”
Still not looking entirely convinced, Kevin asks, “are you ill?”
Jean winces at the word which just intensifies Kevin. Jean has to cut him off as soon as he opens his mouth because he knows that if he doesn’t Kevin would never stop to listen to him.
“I…” he starts. “I have anemia.”
“Anemia?”
“Yes,” Jean says. “I don’t have enough iron in my blood.”
“I know what anemia is, Jean.” There’s a bite of frustration in his words that has Jean averting his gaze. His voice is softer when it returns, “are you being treated?”
Nodding, Jean keeps his eyes trained on the flecks of darker grey in the concrete. “I can still play.”
“That is not what I asked.”
Jean hesitates for a breath. He will always cave to Kevin. “I am on supplements.”
“Is there nothing more effective?”
Jean shakes his head. “I could get a transfusion but my doctor doesn’t think it’s necessary at my current stage. The supplements have helped a lot.”
Kevin makes a noise Jean can’t really decipher the meaning of but he doesn’t have to worry about that because the sound of shoes on pavement hits Jean’s ears.
Looking up reveals Jeremy coming down the short few steps to where Kevin and Jean are sitting. “Hope I didn’t keep you guys waiting too long,” he says.
Jeremy always wears a stellar smile, it takes a practiced eye to tell which are real and which are a front. This one is almost real, the edges of it are a placating smile for Kevin. Jeremy has long since abandoned trying to fool Jean.
There’s no doubt in Jean’s mind that Kevin doesn’t buy it either. So it’s not entirely a surprise when he sours the mood with a firm, “Jean passed out.”
That wipes the smile off of Jeremy’s face. He turns his wide brown eyes on Jean, scanning him all over. “Are you feeling okay?”
Jean waves him off. “I am fine.”
Extending a hand that Jean only half-hesitates to take, Jeremy pulls Jean to his feet and steadies him with a hand on his shoulder. “It’s been a while since the last one, right? At least a month.”
Jean nods. “Six weeks.”
“And you have bloodwork due on Monday?”
“Yes.”
The next smile is something genuine, a faint flicker of life in Jeremy’s eyes. Jean needs to ask him about what Rhemann said, but he wouldn’t dare in front of Kevin. “Good.” He turns to Kevin who is only now picking himself up off of the concrete. He’s dusting down his pants with an annoyed look on his face but perks up when Jeremy speaks. “Shall we go and get lunch? It’s a little late but I’m starving.”
Jeremy keeps a steady hand on Jean’s back as the three of them walk back to where he parked. Kevin is a step behind them but he contributes more to the conversation than Jean.
There’s a back and forth about what to get but Jean doesn’t really have a preference so he lets Kevin and Jeremy mull it over together. Jeremy’s hand doesn’t leave Jean’s back until they’re back at the car and he is holding the door open for Jean, warm smile and all.
“Thank you,” Jean says as he clambers into the backseat. He’s not used to this but Kevin is a princess and demands to sit in the front and Jean will always give when pressed. Especially to Kevin.
He takes the bliss of the backseat and leans back until his head touches the headrest and he closes his eyes, taking the rest he can on the way to whatever restaurant the strikers settled on.