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The first thing Jean Moreau fell in love with at USC were its winters.
Despite the temperature never dropping below 50 degrees, every warm, soft, cozy thing was brought out en masse. Fuzzy hats, puffy coats, baked good fresh out of the oven. And, Jean's favorite, fireplaces.
The Trojans indulged in the heat like they were on the brink of a new ice age. Jean understood the urge, though he knew their reasons were vastly different from his. The Moriyamas always did their best to make sure any sort of warmth was eradicated from the Nest. Even in the summer, not a sliver of the outside weather was allowed in. Jean hoped, prayed, that with the new management, no one would ever have to experience the permanent chill carved into his bones ever again. Now, after so many months, Jean swore he could still feel it. The frostbite gnawing at his organs.
When Cat and Laila first turned on their own fireplace, Jean had sat in front of it for hours, so close it almost burned. It became a routine of sorts. Sitting in front of the fire when he felt the ice crystals taking root in his chest. Sometimes, Cat would join him. Laila too, if she had nothing else to do. They'd chat about nothing. They'd chat about everything. They'd eat dinner. They'd watch the latest video essay Cat was obsessed with (which Jean and Laila would protest, fully knowing they'd be invested by the ten minute mark.)
And, sometimes, it was Jeremy at his side. Jeremy, who brought his own kind of warmth. A warmth Jean was more afraid of getting scorched by than the dancing flames in front of him. They rarely spoke in these moments. Jeremy would close his eyes, taking in the silence. Every time, Jean tried not to watch him, to force his gaze away, but his eyes ended up on the glowing boy again and again. It was in those moments he felt the ice completely melt away. It was in those moments he felt more grounded than he ever has in his entire life.
Mid-December rolled around, and the four of the gathered in front of the fireplace again. At some point, it became their regular hangout spot. Though, that was most likely due to the fact that it was Jean's regular hangout spot. That night, however, wasn't any ordinary night. Or so Jean had been told.
"I call it: Thanksgiving,” Cat had said, dragging her across the air in front of her. "Not to be confused with the less cool, mainstream, colonizer day of the same name. No, no, no. My **day involves giving presents to show thanks for the people you love.”
Jean had never celebrated the American holiday, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd celebrated Christmas. He tried to conjure memories of him and Elodie in Marseilles, but came up blank. When he told the others this, an attempt at being more open with the people he called friends, he was almost glad to find they hadn't celebrated Christmas in almost as long as he has. Laila, being Muslim, had only half partaken in the festivities once when she was little, her family traveling for Lebanon to Palestine to meet up with family friends in the area. Cat’s family had very strong opinions on the holiday and so saved all that gift money to go all out on birthdays and other personal celebrations. Jeremy, for reasons Jean still didn't know, had written on the family celebration aspect in high school.
And so, when they all came together their freshman year at USC, “Thanksgiving” was born.
“Ugh, you’re lucky you haven’t had it commercially shoved down your throat all these years,” Cat told him.
Laila nudged her girlfriend. "Habibti."
“What?” she asked, before realizing the Why behind Jean's lack of experience in consumerist holiday cheer. "Oh... right."
The gift exchange was a drawn-out process, each of them handing out all their presents one by one. When it was Jean’s turn, he hesitated. He'd never had to buy anything for anyone before. And the only presents he'd ever got were the now-broken magnets and postcards from Kevin. His gifts seemed shoddy compared to Cat’s and Laila’s.
Still, it wasn’t like he could back out now.
To this day, Jean still thinks they played up their reactions. For Cat, he got markers for the fridge. ("And they're pastel! Jean Moreau, you know the way to my heart.”) For Laila, a set of fancy sport hijabs she’d been wanting. (”The way you matched these to the team colors perfectly without the obnoxiously bright ones. Alhamdulillah.” Jeremy looked offended. “What’s wrong with obnoxiously bright?”)
Then, lastly, he gave his third carefully wrapped present to Jeremy. Inside was a small, vintage copy on Pride and Prejudice. Jeremy studied it for a moment, grinning to himself as he thumbed through the pages.
"My favorite book," he said, locking Jean in with his warm, brown eyes. "How’d you know?”
Jean shrugged. “You reference it a lot.”
Jeremy’s smile grew. “Well… thanks.”
Jean hummed in reply.
They stared at each other for what could've been seconds, or hours. Jean only remembered the other people in the room when Laila cleared her throat. “We’re gonna go make those cookies we prepped earlier. Be right back!” Before either boy could offer to help, Laila had already dragged Cat to the kitchen, leaving Jean and Jeremy alone.
The room was quiet for a beat, only the crackling of the fireplace filling the air between them.
"I, uh, I guess I should give you my gift now," Jeremy said. His smile, usually so bright and loud, turned nervous. A small crook of the mouth. A slight show of teeth. He held a messily wrapped present in each hand. Jean might've laughed if weren’t for the confusion.
"Two?" he asked.
Jeremy set the gifts in front of him. "They're part of a set."
Jean watched him for a little longer before peeling the crumpled paper off the bigger package. The first thing Jean saw was the brown fur, soft and plush. Casting the wrapping away, he held the little toy bear in front of him. Jeremy scooted closer. He nodded his head at the other gift. Jean opened it as prompted, revealing a dinky crocheted red beret. When Jean didn't move after a couple seconds, Jeremy took the beret out of Jean's hands, and gently placed it on the bear's head. It looked just like—
"Like your magnet," Jeremy said. "You... You've been staring at it a lot lately. Like, you expect it to be fixed every time you do."
Jean didn't know what to say. Didn't know what to do with the feeling in his chest. He'd only felt it once before. The flushed cheeks. The sweaty palms. The racing heart. All for a different boy, chasing a game more than he'd ever chase him. A different boy giving him a different tiny bear with a different red beret. Jean had been taking the magnet out more. To remind himself where those feelings landed him last time. But now, with the soft fur under his fingertips, a vast contrast to the hard plastic, Jean couldn't help but feel it was different this time.
"I saw this little guy at the store, and I couldn't just not buy him, you know? And, you know, I've been doing the whole trying to crochet thing, so I made him the hat too only I definitely overestimated my skills and, heck, what I'm trying to say is—"
Jeremy nervous ramble got cut off by Jean's lips. Jean didn't even register leaning in. One second he was staring at the boy across from him, the low light from the fire gilding him in gold, and the next he was kissing him. Jean jumped back at the realization, standing up and putting as much distance between them as he could. "Merde," he muttered. "I'm sorry. I’m—"
"It’s okay." Jeremy stood too, picking the beret up from where it fell in Jean's haste to move. "It's okay, Jean. It's fine."
Jean attempted to relax his grip on the bear as Jeremy took slow steps toward him and set its beret back into place. He moved his hands to Jean's, gingerly loosening his tight grasp. The touch sent a shiver down Jean's spine. "It's not," he finally managed to whisper back. "I didn't—"
Jeremy, after setting the bear aside, held Jean's hands in both of his own. "Didn't what?"
"Ask."
Jeremy’s eyes filled with comprehension. Realization. "Oh.”
Silence stretched between them. Jean was afraid he'd ruined everything. That Jeremy would remember how broken he was. He’d never pitied Jean before, but… what if—
The forming spiral was cut off by Jeremy’s voice. "Then,” he started. “We have a do-over. Get it right this time." He sounded small, uncertain in a way Jean had never heard from him before. "Ask me."
Jean blinked. "What?"
"You can ask to kiss me, if you still want to.” Jeremy was looking down at their hands now. "Or... you can ask me to kiss you?" he added when Jean didn’t respond.
The words were still processing in Jean’s head, making sure they were real. That his ears weren’t playing tricks on him.
"Unless… I completely misread this?”
Jean’s brain finally kicked into gear. "No, it’s— You didn't... misread anything. I... I've wanted to... kiss you… for a while now."
Jeremy glanced up at him through his eyelashes. A sight Jean didn’t know he was missing until now. “Yeah?”
Jean heard the hidden meaning. The out Jeremy was giving him. It would’ve been so easy to take. But, he realized with stunning clarity, that he didn’t want that out anymore. He didn’t need it. Not with Jeremy.
“Yes,” he said, breathless. "Can I—?"
And before he could finish his sentence, Jeremy stood on his toes, and met Jean where he was. Jean melted into the kiss, savoring it like it was the last thing he’d ever do. Jeremy traced a thumb over the ridges of his knuckles, their hands still clasped between them. The smell of home-baked cookies wafted in from the kitchen, mixing with the scent of sugar and cinnamon Jeremy always seemed to carry around with him. The quiet crackles of the logs as they burned sounded from beside them.
Jean remembered when he first arrived at USC. How he’d compared Jeremy to the sun. Now, here, he realized just how wrong he was. Jeremy wasn’t a ball of fire that burned and hurt and destroyed if you got too close. He was a fireplace, safe and warm and sincere. He was fresh-baked cookies and soft blankets and the security that came with no longer being cold, no longer being afraid.
He was the home Jean never thought he’d have.
When they eventually pulled apart, foreheads pressed together, Jeremy let out a quiet laugh.
The sound warmed Jean to his bones.