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There’s a lot that Jean doesn’t understand. How to ‘let go of the small things, man,’ according to his roommate. Relationships. Tv. Sitting beneath the sky in order to do nothing.
He’s been learning a lot. By watching, mostly. By listening to his teammates’ conversations when they think he’s zoned out or, by the careful looks they give him, having another one of his episodes, as Jeremy likes to call them. Like when he loses track of time, staring blankly at the wall lost in memories he’d rather forget, but for some reason is desperate to cling onto. Sometimes he feels like nothing at all.
The times he feels the most alive is around these people. His roommate, Zach. His backliners. The girls. Jeremy.
Sometimes he feels overwhelmed by the volume of new information thrown at him. Movies the others want him to watch. Little touches he only allows from a few of them, and had to ask Alvarez to explain. Pats on the shoulder he gets, knocks on the court he thrives on – but Laila once threw an elbow around his shoulder, had to lean up on tip toes to do it, and Jean just raised an eyebrow at her. He doesn’t flinch, but he doesn’t really like it either. Alvarez says it means they’re family. He’s not so sure yet.
Still, he’s found a new project he thinks he’d like to work on.
Jean doesn’t know who to ask. The problem with asking Zach is, if it’s mock-worthy, he will be mocked til the end of time. Which he doesn’t think he’d like. If he asks Alvarez, Laila will know too. Which maybe isn’t a problem.
He ends up having to ask all of them.
Zach’s reply isn’t particularly useful. “I dunno man, it depends who it is.” He laughs, and bends to take his shoes off, to throw them to the end of his bed. “I’m usually half-drunk.”
Jean nods, and picks up the book by his bed, leafs through a few pages, closes it again. “And if you’re not drunk?”
Zach half-smiles. “Never tried, honestly. I’m a coward.”
Jean nods again. “Ok.”
He asks Billie, because she’s a backliner like him and he’s hoping for something unemotional, something pragmatic, which he trusts the backliners to be more than the strikers. She raises her eyebrows, looks behind him and stage whispers, “Who is it?” Jean just shakes his head. She shrugs and says, “Run into them head first and hope they catch you.”
It’s more metaphorical than he’d have liked.
Leanne, fifth year starting striker tosses hair over her shoulder and says, “You oughta ask Jimmy,” and then giggles, and her posse giggle too, and Jean frowns and regrets asking.
(He does try Jimmy, who grins and says he’d gone up to Leanne after practise one day and asked, Have you heard the latest health report? It said you need to increase your daily intake of vitamin me. Jean doesn’t think he’ll try that.)
Jean clenches his teeth, and knocks on Alvarez’s door.
She opens it in her pyjamas, long brown hair tied back, spoon in her mouth, and waves vaguely at him. He perches on the edge of her bed while she sits cross-legged on the floor.
“Sup?” she asks. One of those new words he’s not enjoying learning.
“Yes,” he says, then clears his throat. “Hello.” She has her laptop open, something obnoxious and popular, and offers him some ice cream. He shakes his head and she plunges her spoon back into it.
“Did you need something?” she asks, glancing at him. “I was going to waste several hours doing nothing and you’ve walked right into it.”
Jean spends a few seconds parsing this in different ways and decides to respond, “I’m sorry. I won’t stay long. I wanted to ask you something.”
“Ok.” She smiles at him. He likes Alvarez. She’s strong, and usually says what she means, and never makes him talk if he doesn’t want to. He spends a little more time putting words together in his head while she stares lovingly into her pint of ice cream and bops her head along to the music.
Jean says, “I think I – am interested in pursuing a relationship. With someone.”
Alvarez looks up, spoon halfway to her mouth. “Oh,” she says, half a smile creeping up her face.
Jean frowns. “Not with you.”
She grins. “Duh.” And rearranges herself a little so that she’s leaning against the bed opposite. “Ok. So, what do you want to ask?”
Jean thinks about it, and can’t quite look at her when he says, “About all of it.”
“Oh man.” Alvarez’s words are not unkind, just the truth, and he doesn’t feel ashamed. Maybe the reason he put off asking her is because he knew she would be the most helpful. And really, he’s more scared of all of this than he’d really like to admit. “Ok then. Is it someone on the team?”
Jean nods, and folds one leg up so that his knee rests over one foot. He smooths a hand over his red sock.
“Well, first thing’s first. Is it someone you know could be into you?” Jean glances at her and she smiles gently. “You know. Like, because of their sexuality.”
“Oh.” Jean feels embarrassed, and he isn’t sure why. He looks away. “Yes.”
“Oh thank god,” Alvarez said, “It’s Sunday, and that’s like next level difficult. Good. I can work with this.” Jean looks at her, and can’t help but copy her smile, and lifts the other foot up too so that he’s cross-legged on her bed, and leans his head into his hands.
“You’re not going to tell me who?”
Jean shakes his head no.
Alvarez shrugs like, ok, and then says, “So, what is it you want with them?”
Jean considers. Blinks a little at the floor. Frees one of his hands to gesture a little at her. “You know. I – am really rather – they are very – like you and Laila.”
Alvarez doesn’t smile, but her eyes soften. “Yeah. I know.”
“I would like – to ask them out. Yes?”
Alvares nods and sits upright. “Yes,” she agrees. “Great. Let’s work out a plan.”
-
Jeremy scares him. On the pitch, he’s a typhoon, whirling up and down the pitch at a speed that always terrified Riko, though he’d never admit it. After Kevin, Jeremy was the closest to beating Riko’s performance, and he knew it, and he hated him for it.
Jean doesn’t.
Jean watches him all the time, and he thinks Jeremy has started to notice. They were watching movies in the girls’ room a week ago, and while Laila and Alvarez were filling up on drinks, Jean watched Jeremy while he was scrolling through his phone, explaining something at the speed of light, feet tucked under his legs and turned to face Jean. Jean doesn’t remember what he was saying. At one point he’d looked up, faltered, and smiled a little, and poked Jean in the cheek, and turned his face away.
Jean doesn’t remember what had been said next, just the look on Jeremy’s face, the lightness of his finger to his cheek.
Sometimes Jeremy will find him on the pitch, whisper into his ear, something between the two of them, like once, “Ryan has a nice ass today,” something that will make Jean speechless, and Jeremy lean up the few inches between them, pat his shoulder and say, a little louder, “Think he’s been doing those workouts I recommended. Thought you’d like to know,” and Jean thinks comments are enough to warrant a guess at bisexuality, at least.
He’s never asked.
It’s only recently occurred to him to.
-
(Recently, and then all at once.
All at once, like – before, it was Jeremy
The one who brought him here
Captain of the Day Spirit Award team
Nice to him because he had to be
and then, one day,
Laila and Alvarez were telling their story
How they knew they were gay
and for each other
and how they’d found out
and how Jeremy had grinned
bright, and wide, and gorgeous,
and how for a second his eyes had flicked to Jean -
and now it’s
Jeremy.)
-
He tries not to hold out too much hope. They don’t have much in common. Jean knows nothing of the world, and Jeremy seems to know everything. Jean isn’t sure he’s much fun, isn’t sure he’d want to date himself. Sometimes all he can talk about is exy, and sometimes he doesn’t want to talk about it at all. His body is happy to be thrown into it at all costs, but some days his mind will grow hazy and he’ll realise that any mention of it will make him feel sick. On those days he goes back to bed, and lies very still, and waits for it to be ok again.
He isn’t sure he’d be any good for Jeremy.
But it seems reasonable to ask. Just in case.
-
Jean edits the plan, slightly. Just to buy himself more time.
After practise one evening, he dresses intentionally slowly, facing his locker, but incredibly aware of Jeremy a few lockers down from him, seemingly dressing slowly as well, quiet as their teammates filter out. Zach fistbumps Jean, runs a hand through his wet hair, and punches him on the shoulder. Jean has been told this is how he says goodbye to the people he likes. He smiles, watching Zach walk away, then sits on the bench and rubs a towel through his hair.
Jeremy pulls a white tshirt on, tight over his back, resting just above his hips, and Jean watches, and clears his throat, and Jeremy turns round, a question in his expression, and Jean says, “What are you doing? Tonight?”
Jeremy raises his eyebrows, and then goes a little pink, and turns back to his locker hastily. “Oh. Nothing. I think Laila has a new album she wants to show me.” Jean watches his back muscles move in a shrug, and leans back against the locker.
“You want to go somewhere?” he asks.
Jeremy turns around again, jeans tight and his whole body facing Jean, red hoody in his hands, like he can’t decide what to do with it, and grins. “Sure.”
Jean stands up. “Ok. Now?”
Jeremy slams his locker shut and flings his hoody over his shoulder. “Yeah. Ok.”
-
Jeremy has a car, and Jean does not. Jean is wearing his favourite soft black shirt – because it’s what he usually wears – and his dark jeans, and Jeremy is still in his red hoody and holey jeans that are so tight Jean wants to rest one hand on his thigh, to feel his skin-warmth seeping through, to poke one finger through the hole over his jeans and scratch through his hair.
“Where to?” Jeremy asks, grinning across at Jean while Jean scrolls through his phone, fingers itching at his side; puts them under his leg.
Jean says, “Are you hungry?”
“Always. But I don’t feel like people.”
This is something Jeremy says sometimes. He explained to Jean once that he’s an extrovert/introvert. Sometimes he desperately needs to socialise, like his brain is going a million miles a minute and he has to share all his thoughts with someone immediately. Jean likes it when he’s around for that. Sometimes Jeremy gets quiet, and grabs Jean and the girls and wants to be covered in soft things and shut the door and have it be just them, and movies, and no one one else. Jean likes it when he’s around for that, too.
“Ok,” Jean says happily, and directs Jeremy to a drive-through.
It’s mexican food, and it’s delicious, and they eat it sat on the engine of Jeremy’s car, one of those long vintage things that allows Jean to dangle his legs off the edge while Jeremy curls his shorter legs up beneath him, parked at the edge of the beach, feeling the mild February chill and watching people swim against the season.
Jeremy says, “It’s your anniversary.”
Jean takes the offered milkshake, sips it and frowns. “What is this?”
“Peanut butter chocolate oreo.”
Jean hands it back. “Disgusting.”
Jeremy laughs. “What would a French milkshake be? Pan au chocolate milkshake.”
“The French do not drink milkshakes. We care too much about our health.”
“Baguette milkshakes.”
“This is offensive to my people.”
“So is your disregard for peanut butter chocolate oreo,” says Jeremy, slurping from his straw.
Jean smiles, a little, then coughs it away, and leans back on his hands. There’s a soft breeze on his skin, and he likes to look up at the sky as it’s still blue, and do nothing. He doesn’t quite understand yet what it achieves, but he knows it makes him feel a sort of stillness. He doesn’t like night time, or the dark, and when the sun starts to go down they pack up their food and hop back in the car.
Jeremy doesn’t take him back. They drive along the road parallel to the coast until the sea dips away and the road turns up a hill. Up, and up, and up, and they aren’t even talking about exy anymore. Exy was Jean’s safe topic, but Jeremy’s been talking about his family for half an hour. Things Jean didn’t know. Things apparently the girls didn’t know. His dad’s drinking problem, and how he’d reacted to Jeremy’s ADHD, how shallow their relationship is. Jean nods, and listens, and watches Jeremy’s face when he talks about his dad, and can’t relate, but hurts anyway.
Jeremy only asks about Jean’s family once, and when Jean says, “I would happily never hear from them again,” hearing his own words tight and pained, he reaches a hand across the gearstick and squeezes Jean’s hand.
Jean holds onto it , and doesn’t let him go.
They stop at the top of a very big hill, that Jeremy calls a mountain because he hasn’t been to West Virginia, or the south of France, and find a viewspot to park at. Jeremy needs his hand to put the brake on, but Jean takes it back again, and holds it in his lap while they talk. Eventually Jeremy works his hands to lean their seats back, and then his head against Jean’s shoulder, and then they can watch the darkening sky out the windscreen, broad with black fingers stretching out to each corner, and Jean admits,
“I hate the dark.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. The Nest was all darkness.”
“With your accent I can never tell if you’re being romantic and figurative or what –”
“The walls were painted black.”
Jeremy’s body shudders a little along the side of his, and he rubs his head aainst Jean’s shoulder before facing out the window again. “Gross,” is all he says.
“Indeed.” Jeremy is warm, and Jean is barely touching him – two hands interlinked, but the rest of it is Jeremy against Jean and it’s kind of hard to concentrate on anything else. Jean wants to close his eyes, but doesn’t want the darkness to penetrate his eyelids.
“You deserve more than that.”
“They all did.”
Jeremy hums.
Jean considers his words. “Except Riko, perhaps.”
“Damn right,” Jeremy says firmly and Jean laughs a little, low and short, and pained.
Jeremy says, “Do you miss them?”
“No. Yes. Some of them. I had friends there.”
“Was Kevin one of them?” Jean is quiet, so Jeremy fidgets a little, looks down at their hands, then back out the window, then adds, “We talk, sometimes.”
“Oh?”
“Me and Kevin. He got in touch when I was first made captain. He’s – an interesting guy.” Jean can hear Jeremy’s smile, even if he’s not looking directly at it. “I’m kind of obsessed with him. Me and Laila and Alvarez started a fan club. We called it 3 for 2. Get it?”
“That’s awful.”
“I know.”
So they talk about Kevin for a while, and it’s difficult at first, but Jean lets Jeremy’s impressions of his friend pave the way, after a while looks down at his lap and says, “Well. He left me.”
“I know,” says Jeremy. “That must, uh, have sucked a fair bit.”
“Yes.”
Jeremy sits back a little – not enough that they’re no longer touching, but enough that he can look at Jean. “We could talk to him sometime.”
Jean meets his eyes. “We?”
Jeremy grins. “Yeah. Like, all of us. A group call. Or maybe he can come visit or something.”
“Ah,” says Jean, and looks back out the windscreen. “I understand. You are using my friendship as a means for connection.”
Jeremy laughs. “Damn right,” and leans against Jean again, and then seems to change his mind, presses one hand against his chest and leans up, his face above Jean’s. “Hey. Can I – maybe I’m reading this wrong. You’ll have to tell me.” Jean looks at Jeremy, just looks, eyes cataloguing every piece of his expression, warm and open, bright. He is the very embodiment of want, of the confidence Jean longs for as he asks, “Can I kiss you?”
Jean holds his breath, a beat, then sighs, a little shaky, relief and fear hitting his lungs at the same time, feels his breath stop as it hits Jeremy’s skin, inches away, and nods. Jeremy leans forward, and kisses him, slow and steady, and aching, and delicious, and Jean winds a hand around his back, and up his hoody, and holds on to him, and kisses him back, just as slow, just as aching. It’s – beautiful.
Jeremy is beautiful against him.
Jean says, when they finally break apart, lips leaning against each other, “I was going to ask you out tonight.”
Jeremy leans back, looking a little surprised. “You mean, this isn’t a date?”
Jean blinks, and then looks out the window, then back at Jeremy, and says, “Oh. Well.” Jeremy has already started laughing. “I wanted to ask you. Away from the others.”
Jeremy leans his head against Jean’s chest, and he’s still laughing, and says, “Ok, sure, we can go on a date, some other time, when it’s less you know perfect and romantic haha,” and Jean smiles, and lets himself gets mocked, and holds onto what he hopes might be his person, bright and achingly beautiful and here, with him.