Work Text:
Jean narrowed his eyes at Jeremy who sat on the floor comfortably beside his bed and prodded the tissue paper package placed on his lap. “I thought the birthday was over.”
“Not yet.” Jeremy beamed.
Jean sighed and lifted it. This last present was very light, fit in one hand. The wrapping was gray– silver.
He hadn’t seen the need for wrapping gifts at all, assuming the contents were the important part, but he also hadn’t missed Cat’s wince earlier, when he carelessly tore into Laila’s gift. He thanked Laila— but feared the damage was done.
So Jean took his time untying the ribbon holding it together, ignoring Jeremy in his periphery. The present rolled out onto his lap and stared up at him. It was a small mime figure, black and white, a beret. Jean picked it up and held it in the light.
They both studied it for a moment. “He looks kinda like you. No?”
“That’s offensive.” Jean said.
“So you don’t like it?”
Jean pinched it between his thumb and forefinger and slowly turned it. The statuette was so similar to the defective fridge magnets that were locked away in his dresser drawer. He allowed himself a small smile and let it drop a moment later, then pillowed the mime back in its pretty wrappings. “It’s good.”
Jeremy gasped and sat up on his knees, startling Jean into raising his eyebrows.
“That was basically a five star review.” He leaned his arms on Jean’s mattress and smiled at him. “So, did you like your birthday?”
Jean’s birthday was just another thing he’d had to leave behind in Marcaille. They’d never acknowledged his birthday in the nest. And before that—
‘You have to make a wish, Jean-Yves.’
I wish I could’ve given you more.
Jean stroked the mime’s pretty face with his fingertip while he thought. He hadn’t seen the appeal in celebrating; heart wrenchingly guilty over the way he’d squandered his life, while his sister rotted in the ground. He’d only expected something like this from her.
“Yeah. It was…good.”
“ But…?” Jeremy waited.
“This ” Shouldn’t be for me.
‘ Do we have to do this?’ He’d asked.
She giggled,“Of course--”
“You celebrate the people you love.” He finally said
“Am I not allowed to love you?” The question hung, strung between them.
He realized too late Jeremy was being facetious. Instead of brushing it off, Jean had actually stopped to consider the answer. Creating an awkward… p a u s e.
And Jeremy noticed, like always . And waited curiously for Jean’s answer.
Jeremy relinquished too many parts of himself, as natural as breathing. He didn’t have the same thorns around his throat, mangling painful phrases escaping his mouth. He just spoke, and waited, kneeling beside the head of Jean’s bed, as he had a million times before, offering. More willing to be rejected, and torn apart, than keep himself bottled away. But unbeknownst to him, Jean clutched onto Jeremy’s words like a child keeping hold of its comfort item passed the expiration date. Comforting Jean to sleep as he laid in bed at night, praying he, himself, wouldn’t be foolish enough to speak ever again.
Yet.
Am I not allowed to love you?
It echoed between them.
If Jean was smart he’d pull the duvet over his head and suffocate. Forget air. Forget light. Forget Jeremy.
But his eyes . Oh, after he’d gone, how he’d miss Jeremy’s eyes.
And Jean was foolish. Foolish enough to spill all his secrets. Foolish enough to sit frozen, and stare. He wasn’t brave enough to open his mouth and speak when it mattered. To talk through the pain that lingered in his esophagus like a tumor. He’d always been a coward.
Am I not allowed to love you?
Still, Jeremy waited. His hands were folded together, clasped on Jean’s mattress. It looked like he was praying in the milliseconds between each blink. Nothing Jean said out loud was worth any kind of worship.
An object of another’s affection was still an object nonetheless.