Work Text:
Jean was frankly not surprised that Jeremy wasn’t instantly good at throwing pottery.
The first thing their professor had said was that throwing took patience. It wasn’t that Jeremy didn’t have patience, he put up with Jean after all, but he had too much enthusiasm. He was like a dog, throwing himself into a task without holding back. He didn’t play exy like that, but that had been ingrained in him from a young age. Just like it was ingrained in Jean. Albeit, a lot more violently in Jean’s case.
“Throwing is like any task that requires muscle memory,” Their professor said, once they had wedged the air bubbles out of their clay and firmly secured it to a throwing bat on the wheel. “At first, it’ll seem hard. But the more you do it, the more your hands and body will know exactly what to do.”
Jean thought about how his muscle memory was inclined to be aggressive. It was taking long hours and endless concentration to change that. It would be nice to have a clean slate for once.
The teacher demonstrated how to position their hands over the clay. One hand cupping the side of the mound, palm pressed against the clay. The other hand on top, pushing down. Their thumbs intertwined, their arms braced on their legs to keep them steady and unwavering.
Jeremy was a steady force in his life. No matter how Jean fucked up or broke down or regressed, Jeremy was there for him. In this classroom, however, he was having a hard time keeping himself from shaking.
“No, no,” Their professor said, noticing Jeremy’s position. “You’re making it worse. Look at Jean, see how much control he has over the clay.”
Jean’s piece was slowly steadying itself under his hands. It had been rough and wobbly at first. Now, with a little water and pressure, it felt silky and consistent.
“Beautiful work, Jean.” The professor was standing above him now. He nodded, she’d learn in time that Ravens didn’t talk in classes. Except, he wasn’t a Raven anymore. He was a Trojan. He doubted Trojans were supposed to fade into the background, not calling enough attention to themselves that anyone would think twice about their living situation or sleep routine.
“Thank you, ma’am.” He said, not lifting his eyes from his clay. She huffed a laugh and moved on.
“If you think you centered your clay, cup it with both hands and close your eyes. It should feel even.” Jean did so, making sure he carefully and slowly lifted his hands off the clay before carefully and slowly putting them back onto it in a new position. The clay is sensitive, their professor had said. That doesn’t mean everything is lost if you fuck it up. You can fix mistakes or you can restart. Clay is always prepared to be rebuilt, no matter what. Even if it’s dried, you can add water and start anew.
Jean wanted to be like that. Able to form new patterns, create new shapes. He didn’t want to be Raven shaped anymore. He wanted to be a Trojan.
He was trying, though. Just like the clay beneath his hands was trying to be centered.
“If you think you’ve centered it, the next step is to take two fingers and push down into the center of your clay from the top. Go slower and don’t be afraid to take your fingers out and check how deep you’ve gone with your needle point tool,” She demonstrated how they could do so, how they could erase the hole afterwards so the piece would be whole. “It’s better to have a thicker bottom than a thin one. Thin bottoms will break or refuse to insulate the heat of a hot drink or soup.”
Jean braced his arms again, everything needed to be steady in pottery, and started to make a hole down his clay mound. He had worried at first that his fingers would be too big for ceramics, but their professor had told them that people of all sizes and strengths should be able to do it. “It’s about learning your body and compensating for its capabilities.” She had said.
Beside him, Jeremy was having an awful time of things. The professor had given him a new piece of clay and was trying to get him to brace himself better. Whatever she was doing, it wasn’t working. Jeremy was dropping his fake expletives, “Hecker doodle. Darn it. Ah crud…”
Jean’s piece had an inside now. It was almost in the center.
“Next, put together the pointer finger and middle finger of your left hand. On top of that, lay your right pointer finger. Don’t forget to brace and slowly pull the wall towards you. If you pull straight outwards, the bowl will have straighter sides. If you pull at a diagonal, it will be more curved.”
Jean went for a curved shape, imagining the types of bowls they ate rice and curry in. This step was a lot slower than the previous ones, his wheel moving at a snail’s pace.
Jeremy was on his third piece of clay now. Actually, he was just sitting with it in front of him. His wheel was still and his eyes elsewhere. Jean felt them on him, occasionally.
“The next step is the hardest and can easily go wrong. Don’t fret if it does, this is only your first piece.” Their professor talked them through pulling the walls up on their bowl, how to gently coax the clay into being thin and tall. Jean decided this was the best part of the process. It was finally looking like a bowl.
He had made something. After years and years of only dealing in violence and aggression and silence and fealty, he was starting to make things. Dinner, a bowl, friends…
“Beautiful work Jean. You look like a natural,” Their professor said, passing by him. “Jeremy, I’d like to see you with at least a centered mound by the end of class.”
“I’ll try my best,” He said, a smile evident in his words, but doubt tinging them nonetheless.
“I can help him, ma’am.” Jean said, slowly lifting his hands away from his bowl. It was a little thick and uneven and had become slightly off centered, but it was his. He had made that from a piece of clay into a recognizable bowl.
“What a great idea.” She said, clearly relieved.
Jean slowly lifted his foot from his peddle, letting the wheel slow itself down. Then he stood up and pulled his chair across from Jeremy’s.
“Your bowl looks amazing,” Jeremy said, sighing.
Jean nodded. “Let’s do the same for yours.”
Jean made Jeremy practice the hand position and bracing before he turned on his wheel. Then he made him go slowly. Immediately, Jeremy’s elbows shot up and away from his body. He was applying too much pressure down, not enough to the side. Jean shook his head.
“You need to-” The word escaped him, he could only think of it in french. “Can I show you?” Jeremy pulled his hands away, too quickly, and gestured to the clay in a ‘be my guest’ sort of way.
“Non, non,” Jean said. “Leave your hands there.”
Jeremy put them down again, linking his thumbs. He kept his elbows braced this time, Jean was happy to note. Jean put his hands over his. The clay on his hands was still wet, but Jeremy’s were splattered with the substance. They were a lot smaller than his hands. Warm too. He ignored the feeling as Jeremy started the wheel up again. He applied the same amount of pressure he had on his own wheel. “Do you feel it?” He said.
Jeremy said, quietly, “Yeah.”
They sat in silence, Jean’s hands still encompassing Jeremy’s. The clay slowly changed to fit their demands. Jean liked how it felt to go from uncentered to centered. I want to feel that way, he thought, then internally scoffed at his cheesiness.
“You’re… really good at this.” Jeremy said. Jean could feel his eyes on him. “Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”
“No, I have not.” Jean said, almost certain Jeremy was teasing him. “Maybe in a past life, perhaps.”
Jeremy laughed, slightly and under his breath. Their heads were very close to each other, Jean’s bowed to look at the wheel. He could hear Jeremy’s breathing, quick and shallow.
“I’m going to slowly lift my hands now,” He said. “Then you will do the same.”
Jean did, then looked up at Jeremy. His friend was still looking at him, eyes wide and dark. “Right, right,” Jeremy glanced away, swallowing so hard that Jean could see his Adam's apple move. Then he slowly lifted his hands away too.
Underneath them was a centered piece of clay.
“Woo!” Jeremy said, pumping his clay covered hand. “We did it!”
Jean’s lips quirked into a smile. “That’s just the first step. Are you ready for the next one?”
Once they were clean and their bowls were safely stored away for the next class, where they would learn to trim them, Jean let himself watch Jeremy.
Already, his captain was chatting with other people in the class, gesturing wildly. They were laughing and forming shapes in the air to indicate their bowls. Jeremy’s smile was bright and infectious; everyone around him couldn’t help but smile back.
Jeremy’s eyes met his and he quickly jogged over. “Ready to go?” He asked, pulling off his apron. Jean nodded and straightened from the wall where he had been leaning. “Did you have a good time today?” Jeremy asked. “Cuz I had a great one.”
Jean nodded. He had.