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“Hey, Coach, I just got out of practice. How are things at USC?” Jeremy asks, a smile on his face having seen Coach Rhemann’s contact appear on his phone screen. He’d like to think that he’s pretty well adjusted to the professional exy practice schedule, but his body is still getting used to the increased training hours, travel, and playing minutes he’s getting. He’s been looking forward to their bye week for about a month now, because he finally has a few days off from practice in a row to let all of the little aches heal.
“Hey, Knox,” James Rhemann greets. “I saw your game against Boston this week. That goal in the third quarter was nice, and from a long way out.” Jeremy feels affection for his old coach swell in his chest just a little bit. “The team is doing good—we’re getting ready for the knockout rounds, but we’re looking about as strong as we can this year. I don’t know if it’s going to be enough to repeat the title, but we’ll put up a fight.”
There’s a pause, and Jeremy just lets the silence sit, because he knows that Rhemann is building up to some kind of a question. He wonders if it’s to talk about offensive strategy, because it’s clear that’s where the Trojans are struggling this year, or to discuss who Jeremey thinks will be ready to step up next year to defend their goal with both Cat and Jean graduated.
He isn’t prepared for what Coach actually asks. “I don’t want to overstep or intrude … but do you have any idea where Moreau is thinking of signing? He’s got plenty of offers but the window is closing. I’ve got lots of people calling me, but he hasn’t said anything to any of them.”
Oh. Oh.
Even though Jeremy is just a one hour flight north, playing in San Francisco, the distance has been hard on him and Jean. They facetime every day, but Jean has very little interest in talking about exy when they’re both tired and it’s so hard to find twenty minutes that work with both of their schedules.
“He hasn’t told me about any offers,” Jeremy says, for lack of a better answer. “Is… is everything okay?” He’s trying to draw lines between things Jean has said to him lately and stress over choosing a team.
“I know you have a bye week. I don’t want to pull you away from your team, but if you’ve got a few days to spare…”
“Coach, what’s going on?” Jeremy asks, his voice shaking just a little. This is so out of character for Rhemann, who would never ask anyone to return to help the team. This is Rhemann acting like he has for Jeremy, and how he wants to act for Jean: like a parent that they don’t have. “Is Jean okay?”
“He’s never going to ask for it, but I think he really could use a visit,” Coach admits. “He’s having a tough time this year.”
Considering that Jean had showed up to USC with more stitches than intact skin, Jeremy fears learning what Rhemann means by “a tough time”.
“I’m on the next flight out,” Jeremy says, and then he hangs up the phone.
Jean has been so normal, on all of their calls. He has been every bit as excellent on the court as he was last season, continuing to smash records previously held by himself last year, even if it’s more serious, more guarded than he was. He’s looked a little tired, but with practice and games and travel and classes, it’s not so out of the ordinary.
What has Jeremy missed?
He sends Cat a text, asking how Jean has been, and all he gets is a series of emojis in response that mean nothing at all.
Oh, she’s being evasive, too.
Jeremy’s heart turns to ice in his chest. Something is seriously wrong. Something is seriously wrong and he didn’t notice at all.
He just tells her that he’s boarding a flight to Los Angeles, and that he would appreciate one more round of crashing on their shitty couch.
Your bed is still in his room. No shitty couch necessary.
———————
Jean Moreau is tired.
He is tired, and he is hurting, and he can think of about twenty places in the world he’d rather be than sitting on the stupidly comfortable couch, his long legs folded underneath him, criss-crossed because he’s not supposed to hug his knees to his chest during therapy.
He wonders, not for the first time, what it’s going to take before Carlos gives up on him, too. Despite Jean’s initial impressions, when he saw the thirty-something, no taller than 5’2, skinny, sweater-wearing man, he has proven to be more stubborn than even Kevin fucking Day. But at some point, it’s got to be too much for him, right? Jean has always been too broken, too much, for anyone to actually stay.
“I don’t want to talk about the pro offers,” he opens with, like he does every session. He hates that this eats into his alone time on the court before Tuesday and Thursday practice. “Or Jeremy.”
“Then let’s start with how your week has gone,” Carlos asks, already writing something down in his leather-bound notebook. “Have you been getting at least seven hours of sleep?”
Jean just glares at him, which he thinks is a sufficient answer. Carlos does not, and he just stares at him until he continues speaking. “No. The nightmares have been bad.”
“Has anything we’ve talked about helped? Any of the strategies from last time?” he asks, and Jean just scoffs.
“What happens if you tell Coach Rhemann that I’m not cooperating?” Jean asks, before Carlos can interrogate him further. “What if I don’t want to do this anymore? It’s not helping.” He thinks he’s only this bold because he’s reaching a point of exhaustion that he hasn’t experienced since the Nest. “Why can’t I just go back to calling Dobson?”
“Then you won’t be allowed to practice or play in games,” Carlos says, as calmly as he does every time that Jean feels confrontational. “Talk to me Jean. What’s the biggest fire?”
At least Carlos had quickly learned that Jean Moreau is a series of problems strung together by sinew and bone, that his DNA is so corrupted that they don’t have a hope in hell of fixing all of him, just patching him through the next week. So they have to focus on which monster is currently posing the greatest threat to his mind and life and leave the rest for when its their turn.
“I’m just so tired,” Jean admits. “My knees have been aching, and my fingers. I could barely pry them off my racket after practice. I’m tired and everything hurts and it’s stupid but I miss Jeremy.”
It was only after Carlos had provided written documentation that he would not speak to any staff member of the USC exy team unless Jean truly posed a threat to himself or others that Jean started admitting that he’s fraying at the edges physically as well as mentally.
“Have you communicated this pain with the training staff?” Carlos asks, and Jean just shakes his head, before drawing his knees to his chest. Jean is expecting another question to come, but sometimes the annoying man just waits him out until he starts telling on himself.
“I need to tell Jeremy about the pro offers,” Jean provides, to change the subject. “I have an offer from his team. I should have already accepted it. I should have told him already. But…” Jean has to take a minute to find the correct words. “If I tell you something that used to be true but isn’t now, you’re not going to lock me up, right?”
“We’ve discussed the limits of the care I can provide,” Carlos says. “You have my written signature that that won’t happen, provided that you’re not an immediate danger to yourself or others.” Carlos has found that Jean’s trust is hard to earn and easy to lose. The kid is staring out at him from above the tops of his long shins, his hands fidgeting with the fabric of his sweater as he does everything in his power to avoid eye contact with the man across from him.
“Riko made me a promise, after Kevin left,” Jean admits, his voice going soft and whispery in a way that means that he’s about to say something that Carlos is going to have to write copious notes about and probably discuss with his own therapist. “After I tried to kill myself for the third time. He was so sick of it that he said if I made it to graduation he’d shoot me himself.”
Not for the first time, Carlos has to actively think about how he needs to respond to what Jean divulged. There are some things that he admits, like he is now, as simply and easily as if he’s recounting the last exy match, that send Carlos’s heart into his stomach. It isn’t often that Jean will even say Riko’s name, but every time he does, it only reveals another way in which Jean has been horribly and horrifically wronged.
“I’d never once thought about what happens after graduation, because there was nothing,” Jean continues. “I know that I need to sign somewhere and discuss it with Coach and Jeremy but I… I didn’t think I’d make it this far. I don’t know what to do.”
“You don’t have to do it alone,” Carlos says first. “Jeremy just went through the process of joining a professional team. But let’s talk more about what you said earlier before we talk about exy.”
“I don’t want that anymore,” Jean clarifies. “That’s why I said it used to be true.” He is backpedaling as hard as he can, and Carlos sees his nails go to his own wrists to dig in, trying hard to ground himself. “You can’t tell anyone I told you that.”
“Ball,” Carlos says, already tossing the squishy ball that releases the scent of vanilla into Jean’s hands, giving him something to hold onto and squeeze that isn’t his own skin. He waits until Jean isn’t squeezing the life out of the thing to continue. “What you say here stays between us. But even though it’s not your plan, approaching graduation seems like it’s difficult, considering everything you’ve told me.”
“I think Kevin has figured it out, too,” Jean says in a rush, bringing his head towards his knees and wrists to both smell the ball and make it easier to breathe. “I know he and Jeremy still talk about me. What if he tells him about this? Or Christmas?”
“Let’s take some deep breaths, Jean,” Carlos says gently.
Jean doesn’t remember what happens during the rest of the session, or how he gets to the Gold Court, or the fact he is drilling by himself on the court until Alvarez is banging on the glass with her racket to alert him to her presence.
He’s been losing time like that more often, but it still shakes him to his core. After years and years of hypervigilance, when the next blow could be coming from any direction, allowing himself to slide like this and lose hours of time is unfathomable. A voice in his head that sounds annoyingly like Carlos reminds him that healing isn’t linear.
Jean doesn’t know what’s going to happen when they all realize that he’s not healing. Everyone keeps saying that it gets better, that he’s getting better, but Jean feels every single bit as broken and dead as he did last June.
“Lisinski wants everyone in the gym in five,” Cat says, as she starts helping him collect balls on the court. Then, when his back is turned, she takes a deep breath and drops the news. “Jeremy is visiting this weekend. He just got on a plane.”
“What, why?” Jean whips around fast. “He didn’t tell me. Yesterday he said he wanted to lay on his couch and never move again.”
“I think it’s a last minute decision,” Cat says, continuing to scoop up exy balls. “I bet he called or texted. You left your phone at the house again.”
“I was running late for…” Even now, Jean can’t bring himself to say the words, even though Cat knows exactly where he is before practice and why.
“Based on how you were slaughtering innocent cones, I can guess how it went today,” she says, with no heat to her words. “He’s going to land soon. He’ll probably be here before the end of practice. What’s our story?”
Not for the first time, Jean is so incredibly grateful for Catalina Alvarez. Neither of them had anticipated how difficult it was to be left behind by Laila and Jermey, and they have dragged each other through the year, oftentimes kicking and screaming. Neither of them are as happy as they were last year, but they have each other and a pact to not burden their partners with their feelings of abandonment. And they keep each other sane when the freshmen are simply too young and too hopeful and too bold for them to handle.
“My flight got canceled for Christmas,” Jean says. “I think the rest is fine. It will be… nice, having him back here.”
“You can admit you miss him. It’s obvious,” Cat says, nudging his shoulder gently. “Fuck, I miss him.”
“I miss him,” Jean says simply. “But there’s no time for that. Lisinski will be angry if we’re late.”
Catalina Alvarez wishes Jean could see, just from small statements like that, how far he has come in the last year. She knows that he doesn’t feel like it, and she knows that he’s not doing well. He is thinner than he was last year, and his nightmares are worse, and he’s so deeply sad in a way that terrifies her, but he is feeling. When he showed up at her doorstep with nothing but a backpack and more stitches than skin, Jean had been shut down in an effort to survive. It had taken her and Jeremy and Laila most of the year to get him to release from danger mode, for him to believe that he was safe enough that he could afford to feel. He feels safe enough now to calmly speak about his favorite coach’s ire instead of handing her a racquet to hit him with because he made a mistake.
She hadn’t anticipated smooth sailing, especially not with Jeremy gone. It’s been hard to keep it from him, but she will not betray Jean’s trust, which she had fought so hard to earn. It’s been hard to watch her friend struggle with things that she cannot help with, but he is struggling with them. He’s not letting them win.
Cat just wishes she had Laila at her side to ease some of the burden and feel some of the joy at the steps he has taken.
———————
Jean knows exactly when Jeremy returns to the Gold Court. He is in the middle of a scrimmage, focused on dogging Xavier to the point where he hasn’t received a pass on this side of the court for the last fifteen minutes.
“Shit, man, you’re making me look bad in front of my predecessor,” Xavier says, with no heat to his words, when the whistle finally blows for a water break. He gestures to the outer court where Jeremy is standing with Coach Rhemann.
Jeremy gives him a smile and an enthusiastic wave, and the only thing stopping Jean from dropping his racket and running over to his boyfriend is the deep pit of dread currently eating his stomach. That, and the look from the defensive coach when he takes a step towards the court doors.
“Oh, let him go, Jimenez,” Cat begs, in between large gulps of water. “Or he’s going to murder the underclassmen next scrimmage.”
“Now is not the time,” Jean says, and he hopes that Cat hears the roll of his eyes that he does not actually do. “We need to focus, Alvarez. You’re forgetting where your waist is again.” Jean gives his fingers an experimental flex, and he does not let the pain show on his face as he re-tightens his gloves around his wrists. He simply stretches, focusing on his uncooperative shoulder today and he puts his whole brain into the scrimmage.
But he takes a fast shower when they are finally released, hoping to snag Jeremy and leave before he can learn why someone had called him, and before the nurses kidnap him again for no good reason.
Jeremy is blessedly alone in the team lounge when Jean is done.
He crosses the room in three easy strides, and then he is burying his face in his boyfriend’s shoulder, his hands pressing tightly to Jeremy’s back as he feels the heartbeat that he has missed so dearly. All of a sudden, the chained box in Jean’s brain is no longer rattling, threatening to burst open; it is deep in the sand and the waves of Jeremy have brought a peace that Jean had forgotten he had once felt.
“I missed you,” Jean forces out. Jeremy pulls back, though his hands don’t pull back from where they’re gently holding Jean’s forearms, and he looks like he’s going to say something that is going to ruin the moment. He looks worried.
“Good try, Moreau. You know where you need to go,” Coach Rhemann says, leaning on the open doorway to his office and gesturing to the nurses’ area. Jean fixes him with his blankest stare, but the coach does not budge, simply raising his eyebrow at the backliner. “I’ll return Jeremy to you in one piece.”
“Are you hurt?” Jeremy asks, as Jean sighs and drops his backpack from his shoulder onto one of the couches. “You haven’t missed any games.”
“It is… preventative,” Jean explains. “And they are all overcautious.” He just glares at his head coach as he walks by, and to his credit Rhemann doesn’t fold at all.
Jeremy watches from the office as Jean walks into Davis’s office, and through the glass doors he can see as Davis thoroughly examines not just his hand with crooked fingers, but tests and works his knees, shoulders, elbows, hips, and ankles with a worried look on his face. “Are you allowed to tell me what’s going on now, Coach?”
“Call me James. You’re not my player anymore,” Rhemann reminds him, but underneath Jeremy’s gaze he just sighs, running his hand through his coarse and wiry curls, before placing his Trojans cap back over them. “He won’t admit anything, but Lisinski, Jiminez, and Davis are all pretty convinced his past injuries are causing some kind of chronic issue. They’re trying to stay ahead of it, but it’s tough when he keeps saying he’s fine.”
“But that’s not why you called me,” Jeremy says. “He looks… he looks exhausted. What’s actually going on?”
Coach Rhemann fills in what he can, without spilling Jean’s secrets on his behalf. They all knew that Jean’s good mood at the end of last season couldn’t last, that being at USC without Jeremy was going to be difficult, and that healing from what he has survived was never going to be linear.
The biggest problem seems to be, currently, that Jean is paralyzed with the decision of where to sign for his professional career.
There are several other smaller fires—Jean has been reserved, and snappy, and he will not communicate with the staff or team beyond what is required. He has no patience for the freshmen, and he had spent the whole of the fall season working himself to the bone, to the point where Cat started going to the stadium with him at night just to make sure he would get some kind of sleep.
“He seems happier on the phone with you,” James throws in, at the end of it all. “He already looked lighter when you showed up at practice.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Coach,” Jeremy says, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know it had gotten this bad.”
“You’re good for each other,” James says, a small but knowing smile on his face. “Hopefully I can look forward to watching you both on the same side of the court next year.”
———————
Jean has to resist the urge to text Neil Josten another ridiculous question the entire ride home from the stadium. He is letting Cat and Jeremy carry the conversation, because he has no idea what he has done wrong. Is Jeremy breaking up with him? Is that why he can barely look Jean in the eye? Is he disgusted with him?
Neil would just laugh at him, the demon. His relationship with the monster is nothing in the realm of normal, but—
Neil is happy. Neil has been happy ever since his life was handed back to him. He has faced far worse than what Jean can imagine, and yet he is more whole than Jean could hope to be. He would know more about this situation than Jean ever could.
He would tell Kevin, though, and Kevin would connect the line between the dots of Jean’s mood, Jeremy’s surprise visit, and what Jean has yet to do, and he will burst the fucking door down if he even thinks Jean is going to break his promise.
Typical of Kevin, to make it all about him.
Jean knows an argument is brewing, because he knows once Jeremy sees the state of Jean’s room and his desk that he’s going to know.
He tries to distract Jeremy with kissing instead, dragging him up the stairs by his hand and immediately pressing him to the wall. Fuck, he should never have allowed himself to want and miss as much as he does with Jeremy, because he feels like the ragged edges of himself are stitching back together when Jeremy’s hands wrap around his waist.
Jeremy is the one who breaks it off, though, and before Jean can stop him he is turning on the light and surveying the room.
There’s dirty laundry on the floor, because Jean hasn’t had the energy to do it, and there’s so many cups of coffee and tea and water that Cat has brought him, and Jeremy’s sweatshirt is on Jean’s pillow because he needs the scent underneath to be able to sleep.
“Shit,” Jean says, trying to rush forward to shove things in the hamper. A year ago, a room this messy would have caused him to have a full panic attack. Today, his shoulder twinges as he tries to hide some of the evidence of how far he has fallen. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“It was a last minute thing,” Jeremy says, his hands already in motion to help Jean before his brain catches up. “Coach is worried about you.”
That stops Jean in his tracks. He still doesn’t know what to make of Rhemann, despite the fact that he’s spent almost as long on his line as he had officially on the Ravens. He knows that he’s different from the Master, so different that it scares him, sometimes. Jean hates having to look Coach Rhemann in the face, especially after Grayson and Christmas and the entire mess Jean has been in his locker room after matchups with his old team, but when he does he rarely sees disappointment. He sees something he doesn’t quite know how to place, when he helps the freshmen with a drill or makes a good play, something that he hasn’t seen on anyone but Jeremy’s face when it comes to him. And when Jean is a mess, he only sees worry and compassion. He has barely seen the man angry, even when he knelt over Jean on the court floor this December.
“I am fine,” Jean tries, but his muscles have locked up against his will. Carlos’s annoying voice in his head tells him that it’s a fear response, and he tries to force the muscles to unclench and release the tension, but they are not listening.
“This isn’t fine for you.” Jeremy gestures around the room, and his voice is anything but unkind, but he leaves no room for debate. “Talk to me, Jean. What’s going on?”
“I did not ask for his interference,” Jean presses, now leaning up against his bed, kicking his hamper beneath it to try and hide the evidence. “I just didn’t have a chance to clean up before you got here.”
“Bullshit,” Jeremy says, approaching Jean slowly when his hands automatically go to his own forearms to try and stave off the panic. “You look exhausted, love.”
The pet name sends a pang of hurt through Jean’s chest, and he runs a hand through his hair and tugs, then his hand finds the cross necklace still around his neck just to keep his emotions inside. “You know how the last year is. You were just as stressed, between championships and signing to a professional team.” Jean hopes the deflection works, and that their coach hasn’t told Jeremy about Jean’s inability to decide his own future.
“About that,” Jeremy says, and Jean knows that he made a fatal error. He can hear the funeral march in his own ears. “Coach also said that you haven’t signed yet.”
“I have offers,” Jean says, before he finally finds his spine. “ I can’t talk about this with you, Jeremy. I won’t do it.”
“Talk to someone about it, it doesn’t have to be me,” Jeremy says instantly, because he recognizes when Jean is on the verge of a complete shutdown, and he will never push him past it. “Dobson, Cat, Coach—anyone. I won’t pretend to understand what’s going on, but I’m worried.”
“I…” Jean starts, and he cannot stop the guilt from frothing in his stomach. He can see the turmoil and distress on Jeremy’s face now, and he knows that he is the cause of it. Jeremy deserves someone who shines as brightly as he does, who lights up a room with their presence, who makes the world better and more hopeful and brighter for them having been a part of it. He deserves someone who tempers his energy with calm, who brings him joy and laughter. He deserves more than the fucking trainwreck of shattered pieces and sharp edges that composes Jean Moreau.
Moreaus have always gotten what they deserve. And yet Jean has been given Jeremy.
There is no way that it could last.
“I’m fine,” Jean tries again, but he is blinking back wetness from his own eyes. “I’ve been fine on the court. My grades are fine. I’m fine.”
“It’s okay if you’re not,” Jeremy says. “I’m usually not. I keep waking up in my apartment and thinking I’m back here with you. I miss you, and this year has sucked being so far away from you. It’s bearable only because of our calls, and because I’ve held on to hope that next year you’ll be in San Francisco with me.”
Jean has no idea how to explain to Jeremy that he wants that more than anything, but he has no idea how to want it. Because then he has to explain the expiration date that Jean had clung to with broken and bloodied fingers for years in the Nest.
It’s why when Jeremy reaches for his forearms to pull him closer, Jean steps back.
“I don’t want to talk about exy,” Jean says, and he can’t keep some of the heat from his voice. “Why are you here, Jeremy?”
“Why won’t you let me in?” Jeremy asks, reaching again for Jean. “I know that you’re not fine. And I know that Coach and Cat and the rest of the team knows why. Why can’t you talk to me about it?” He can’t keep some of the frustration from his voice, and he can see how Jean viscerally recoils from it. He regrets it instantly.
“You weren’t here. I don’t want any of them to know, and I don’t want anyone’s help. I am fine,” Jean spits. “Please… please just leave. I can’t do this right now.”
Jean’s heart breaks when Jeremy does what he asks.
He has felt himself fraying at the edges, ever since Jeremy got on that plane last June. There’s not a single person that has known the truth of Jean Moreau and chosen to stay, and Jeremy might be Captain Sunshine, but there’s only so much that he can take. He doesn’t need to be burdened with a whole new host of ways that Jean is fucked up, because at some point he’s going to look at all of that baggage and decide that it’s not worth it.
But Jean can’t pretend when Jeremy is right in front of him, which is why he has to keep him at arm’s length. If Jeremy had stayed, Jean would have folded. He would have let himself sink into Jeremy’s orbit, would have surrendered to the overwhelming need to just be held and comforted, like he is a child that scraped his knee.
Maybe, if Jean can fix himself just a little bit more, it’ll be okay. If he can make it through graduation, then he’s already outlived his life expectancy. He’ll be playing life on house money, and he will be better. Then, maybe he will be good enough for Jeremy.
He doesn’t realize that he is crying until a tear hits his hand.
———————
“I’m going upstairs,” Cat says, after a quiet dinner with Jeremy. She pauses at the fridge, pulling out a chocolate protein shake.
“Since when do you drink those?” Jeremy asks, looking up from where he is washing dishes. “I thought he would have come down for dinner.” Even now, his gaze wanders to the stairs, as if he can manifest Jean’s appearance by staring at them.
“It’s not for me,” Cat says, and Jeremy files that information away for later. “Davis has been on his ass about shit like his bone density and muscle mass. Thus, these shakes.”
“Man, fuck the Moriyamas,” Jeremy says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “I… it’s not fair. It’s not fair that it’s still clearly so fucking hard for him.”
“You have no idea,” Cat says, and then she is heading for the stairs. “PIck something to watch on TV while I’m gone.”
Cat knows that Jeremy’s heart is in the right place, and she thinks that Jean is actually making things harder for himself with his dedication to keep Jeremy in the dark, but she won’t spill his secrets to fix the problem. Not when it’s just been him and her this whole year, and not when his trust in anyone is such a fragile thing. And not when Jean still can’t catch a fucking break. Not when reminders of what he had to endure pop up in ways that no one could have ever expected, reminders that will follow him for the rest of his life.
So she knocks on Jean’s door, but she doesn’t wait for his response before she’s in the room. Jean is staring at the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling, and his eyes are red and puffy.
“Drink up,” she says, tossing the bottle at him. Jean sits up and slowly unscrews the cap, and Cat knows that they are not in the worst of it, if he’s at least willing to listen to directions.
“How’s Jeremy?” Jean asks, after a long sip. “I fucked up, Cat.”
Cat just opens Jean’s blinds, and he winces at the bright light of the California sunset as it bathes the whole room in warm golden and orange light. “You kind of did. But so did Jeremy, showing up without warning.”
“I can’t tell him. I don’t know why, but I can’t,” he forces out.
“I think it would help,” Cat says. “Not just you. Jeremy always jumps to the worst case scenario, so I can guarantee what he’s thinking about is a thousand times worse than the truth.”
“He shouldn’t have to worry.” Jean tugs frustratedly at the necklace on his neck. “I should be better by now.”
“I don’t have a whole lot of lived experience in the area, but I don’t think escaping a cult that you were raised in has a timeline for healing,” Cat says dryly. “And worrying is what you do when you love someone. You worry about him when he gets checked in games, right?”
“You know it’s different,” Jean says, fixing her with his blankest stare. “I make him worse. Surely you can see that.”
“I can’t, actually,” Cat pushes back, sitting next to Jean on his bed. She doesn’t comment on how this never would have been possible a year ago, because Jean has had so many victories that she can’t point out all of them. “He’s calmer, with you. You give him peace.”
“I have never given anyone peace,” Jean says, pulling his knees to his chest. “I have given you all nothing but trouble since Kevin dumped me on you.”
“You meal-prepped for me all of October when I thought Laila was going to break up with me,” Cat reminds him. “You even held my hair back when I got drunk enough to puke on Halloween about it. You make sure the freshmen aren’t chaotic messes on the court. You have even drank boba several times with me this year when Laila had to cancel our phone dates. You give more peace than you know, Jean Moreau.”
“I am told that is simply being a friend,” Jean says. “You have done more for me.”
“Good thing friendship isn’t transactional,” Cat says, nudging his shoulder gently. “I know Thursdays are hard for you, and this on top of it all can’t be easy. But I think you should consider telling Jeremy. I think it’s worse for both of you with him not knowing.”
“What if he leaves?” Jean asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Then I kick his ass,” Cat says simply, pressing a gentle kiss to Jean’s temple. “Backliners before hoes, or something like that.”
“I think I should talk to Carlos about it,” Jean admits, and before he can chicken out he sends a text begging for an appointment tomorrow morning.
He falls asleep shortly after, and his bed feels emptier than normal with the knowledge that Jeremy could be there with him.
———————
“I’m going for a run,” Jean says suddenly, the next morning when Cat and Jeremy are sipping coffee and making pancakes.
Cat and Jean have a whole language in code, at this point. He isn’t supposed to be running much off the court, at the direction of Carlos and the Trojans medical staff, who are already worried about his joint health at the ripe age of twenty years old. But he runs to therapy, because it’s only a mile and it clears his head in both directions. He’s not supposed to have a session today.
But he feels so underwater that he couldn’t stop himself from texting Carlos and begging for time today.
“I’ll go with you,” Jeremy says immediately, putting down his coffee mug. “I miss running with you.”
“It’s going to be a long time,” Jean tries. “You should rest. It’s your weekend off.”
“My fitness coach would have my head if I didn’t do at least some light cardio this weekend,” Jeremy says easily, already bending over to tie up his tennis shoes. Jean shoots a panicked look at Cat, but she just shrugs at him. She isn’t getting involved with Jean’s lies any more than she has to.
Jean doesn’t say a single word, not until they stop just a mere seven minutes into their run at the front of the unassuming office building that houses Carlos’s clinic. He’s out of breath, not from exertion but from panic, and Jeremy is looking at him concerned.
“Hey, are you okay? We can stop. Do you need water?” Jeremy asks, as Jean fights every urge to dig his own nails into his neck just so he can feel his own pulse.
“I lied. I have therapy. It’s going to be a long time. You don’t have to wait. I’m sorry that I lied,” he says bluntly, and then he walks into the office, expecting that Jeremy will fail to follow him.
His heart sinks a little when he actually hears the door close behind him. Luckily, he doesn’t have time to look behind him because he is barely at the front desk to check in before he is already being lead down the familiar hallway.
The door to Carlos’s office has barely closed before Jean cannot keep the flood that has been building for twenty-four hours from spilling over.
“Jeremy is outside,” Jean starts, already pacing the length of the small office like an animal in a cage. “I couldn’t tell him the truth until we were here. He just showed up yesterday, and I think it’s because Coach called him, or Cat, or someone. And I can’t tell him. He’s so good, and I am so happy to see him that it hurts, but I can’t tell him because if I tell him then he’s going to know that I’ve been lying to him and that I’m not good enough. He is so good and beautiful and light and kind and I.. and I’m…”
Jean doesn’t realize that there are tears streaming down his face until one hits the back of his own hand. He can’t look at Carlos, because he does not want to see the judgment on his face. Before he can stop himself, Jean finally finishes the thought that he has held inside himself for months, terrified of setting it free. “There’s so little of me left. I thought, after last year, that maybe I could be good. Eventually. But I think that any part of me that could be happy died a long time ago. And I can’t drag them down with me. I can’t make them stay and ruin them, too.”
“Jean,” Carlos says, his voice trembling with how serious it is, despite the low and gentle tone. “Can you look at me, Jean?” He waits until Jean lifts his chin, trembling with the effort of trying to hold his tears in, and he waits until Jean’s red eyes meet his own before he continues. “You are good. You are a good person that terrible things have happened to, but that does not make you terrible. You deserve love and happiness and friends as much as anyone. You are trying your best. And if Jeremy thinks of you differently if he learns what you have been through, that is on him, not you.”
Jean Moreau feels like a million shattered pieces of glass, more dust than jagged edges. There is no point trying to piece himself back together—he is just something that should be swept up and thrown out. He is so tired of trying. His fingers are bleeding from the amount of times he has cut them picking up another piece, and he doesn’t know how much effort he has left. He still sees Riko, in every dream and around every dark corner and every time he fails on the court.
Jean is so tired of being afraid. He is tired of having to force himself out of bed, of having to talk to people and act like he isn’t expecting a blow, of having to feed himself and sleep and play exy and go to class when at any given second he will blink and suddenly he isn’t in a lecture hall or Cat’s kitchen or the Sunshine Court, but he’s in the Nest and he is going to pay for his sins.
“I’m so tired, Carlos,” Jean admits, as his legs fold and he drops to his knees on the stupidly plush carpet. “I am so tired of trying and getting nowhere. I’m so tired of being scared that I’m losing everything.”
“You have every right to be tired,” Carlos says, sitting down with him. “But you are moving forward.”
“Why does it feel worse?” Jean asks, his voice cracking. “The more I talk about it, the worse it all gets. I can’t sleep without nightmares. I can’t eat because I’m so nauseous. How on earth am I supposed to do this forever?”
“A cool evening breeze, rainbows, open roads, friendship, Jeremy,” Carlos lists, reciting Jean’s first ever homework assignment.
“What if it’s not enough?” Jean’s voice trembles. His tears are dampening his shirt.
“You expand the list, and you let others help carry the burden,” Carlos says. “Why do you think Jeremy will change his mind, if he knows how you’ve been struggling this year?”
“I think I’m scared that he won’t,” Jean admits for the first time. “I… I’ve never looked beyond graduation. I am scared of losing him, of messing this all up. I don’t know what to do with the idea that it’s not all about to end.”
“None of us know where life is going,” Carlos says. “We figure it out as we go.”
Jean wipes the snot dripping out of his nose and onto his upper lip. His fingers ache, the effort of spring training taking a toll on bones that have never properly healed. “Do you think that I’m ever going to be happy?”
“Happiness is not a static state. You will be sad, and angry, and anxious, but I think you have already been happy. And you’ll be happy many more times in the future. How do you feel when you cook with Cat? Or when you talk on the phone with Jeremy? Or when you teach the freshmen a new skill?”
Jean takes a shaky breath, trying to wipe the tears from his eyes on the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
“How do you think I should talk about this with Jeremy?”
———————
Jeremy Knox regrets ever asking Kevin Day for advice.
After Jean had entered the building, he had stared after him in shock for thirty seconds before he had pulled out his phone. As far as he knew, Jean had still been calling the Foxes’ therapist once a week. From what he can tell from Cat’s text, this isn’t a sudden change.
At a loss for what to do, he doesn’t know what possessed him to try and ask Kevin. Never once has Kevin’s response ever done anything but sink a rock into Jeremy’s stomach, and never once has it actually been useful or sane advice.
He’s not shocked that when he lays out the pro contract situation and Jean’s palpable exhaustion he immediately is notified of an incoming call.
“You can’t let him be alone,” Kevin starts with, and he sounds most of the way to panicking already. “I’m serious. This isn’t some Raven shit. He’s going to kill himself. Go find him.”
“Jesus fuck,” Jeremy says, for lack of a more eloquent response. “He’s in his therapist’s office right now. I think he’s safe.”
“You don’t let him be alone,” Kevin says, and his voice is shaking, now. “I had thought… with last year… fuck.”
“You need to explain and explain it completely right now,” Jeremy says, because he does not have time for the Kevin Day show at present moment. He knows that Kevin is a complicated bruise for Jean that seems like it’s never going to heal, and he thinks that Kevin in many ways still expects to be treated as Jean’s superior. But none of that matters when Kevin is apparently convinced that Jean is in mortal danger.
“Riko,” Kevin says, and Jeremy knows that he’s going to hate whatever is about to follow. “I know you know that Jean tried in the Nest, at least a few times. Riko got sick of it and promised he’d shoot Jean the night before graduation if he stopped trying himself. I made him promise to stay, but after…”
There are a lot of puzzle pieces coming together, but the picture doesn't make sense. Jean hasn’t told Jeremy explicitly that he has tried, before, but he hadn’t exactly hid it in his answers to some of Jeremy’s questions. But this summer they had talked about a lot, and Jean had confessed that he didn’t know what the future looked like but he wanted to try it with Jeremy.
“You think that’s why he hasn’t signed,” Jeremy says slowly. “Are you absolutely certain?” He is saved from having to hear the answer by the sounds of a scuffle on the other side of the line. When it subsides, a different voice entirely is speaking to him.
“Kevin’s an idiot,” Neil Josten says, with no heat to his words at all. “Just talk to Jean. It’s not going to be pretty but it’s not whatever the fuck Kevin said.”
“Do you know anything?” Jeremy asks, and he cannot keep the frustration from seeping into his voice.
“Nothing that I can share,” Neil says, which means that he absolutely knows things. “The year has been hard, but it hasn’t been bad. I think that’s what’s scaring him.” And then, because Neil Josten is an asshole, he hangs up the phone.
Jeremy is still pacing anxiously when Jean approaches him, fifty minutes later. He looks like a dog with its tail between its legs, his shoulders hunched over to make himself as small as possible as he approaches Jeremy. Jeremy can tell from the redness of his eyes that he’s been crying.
“Jean, my love,” Jeremy says, because suddenly none of this matters because Jean is in front of him and he is crying and that is all that there is in the universe. His arms open and Jean walks into them gladly, his large hands pressing flat against Jeremy’s back like if he holds on tight enough that he won’t ever have to let go. “I’m proud of you.”
“I lied to you,” Jean says. “You aren’t proud of me.”
“I am so proud of you,” Jeremy says again, and Jean just lets out a hollow sob.
“I lied about Christmas,” he says into Jeremy’s shoulder. “My flight wasn’t canceled. I wasn’t allowed to travel. I… it’s been really hard, Jeremy.” Jeremy feels his heart shatter when Jean’s voice cracks. He can tell that this is where Jean is expecting Jeremy to be angry or walk away or something, but Jeremy just runs his hand down the back of Jean’s head, his fingers catching in dark curls on their path.
“I know, it’s okay,” Jeremy says. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I think I have to,” Jean says, pulling back just a little to wipe at his own eyes. “If I don’t do it now then I’m never going to.”
Jeremy doesn’t think he’s ever heard Jean speak as much as he does, then. He learns that Jean had pushed himself too hard in December, running drills by himself every night or running because he couldn’t escape the nightmares and panic attacks. He had collapsed at practice right before finals, and that’s when he had to switch to seeing a therapist who could actually see him every session, and that it was bad enough that the Trojan medical team wouldn’t let him fly to visit Jeremy. He learns that Jean is terrified of signing a professional offer because he is terrified because he wants to live for the first time.
It’s unfair, Jeremy thinks, that after everything that Jean has been forced to endure, that it hurts him even more while he tries to heal from it. Jean admits he doesn’t really see a point most of the time, that he still feels so broken that he doesn’t think he can ever find what Jeremy or Laila or Cat have, but he feels and he wants and that has to be enough, for now.
“I think that I was lucky, that the first things I was feeling were because of you,” Jean admits, at the end of it all. “My list of reasons to stay got so much longer because of you.”
“I am so proud of you,” Jeremy repeats, and he puts his hand back on Jean’s neck and drags his head to his own shoulder, a motion that used to be awkward with their height difference but is well-practiced, now. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t here to help when you were hurting this winter. I’m sorry that this is all still so difficult for you, and I’m sorry that I still try to ask Kevin Day for help when he doesn’t know shit.”
That gets a small laugh out of Jean. “I want to sign with your team. I don’t want to be so far away from you next year.”
“You should tell Coach that. He’ll arrange all of it,” Jeremy says, squeezing Jean’s hand. “You’re going to love San Francisco. You’re going to love the beaches up there, and the mountains, and you’ll love the team.”
“Coach won’t tell them about …” Jean takes a stuttering breath. “He won’t tell them about my… inadequacies, will he? I need to play for a long time.”
Jeremy hates being reminded of the sword hanging above Jean’s head. He watches as Jean carefully stretches the fingers on his dominant hand, and he sees how his gait is more jarring now that he’s walking slowly and not running, and Jeremy thinks he knows what this is about. “You have been hurting.”
“This wouldn’t even register with the Ravens,” Jean dismisses quickly. “It is nothing as bad as before. It barely even counts as pain.”
“Several players on my team are managing chronic injuries, mostly knees and shoulders,” Jeremy says, trying to keep his voice level. “We’ve got a whole staff just to make sure that we all stay as healthy as possible. I know why you don’t want to, but you should talk to Lisinski. She will know how to help, and she won’t take you off the court. Getting ahead of it now before it gets worse will only help in the long run.”
“What have I done to deserve you?” Jean asks, as the familiar crooked front door of the house comes into view.
“I ask myself the same question every day,” Jeremy says, opening the door for Jean. Alvarez is meal-prepping in the kitchen, but she quickly turns off her music at their return. She doesn’t spare Jeremy a glance, just staring straight at Jean, waiting for his explanation.
“I told him,” Jean says, and the tension that Jeremy hadn’t known he’d been holding leaves his shoulders at the admission. “About everything.”
Cat just walks over to the door and wraps Jean up in a loose but powerful hug, her hand ruffling his messy hair. “And did the world end, mon ami?”
“Non,” Jean admits quietly, a little smile on his face. “I thought Cat was going to call you like eight times this fall.”
“We were both sad sacks,” Cat says, nudging his shoulder. “Still are. But now we don’t go to the Court at midnight about it.”
“Thank you,” Jeremy says to Cat, his voice completely serious. Cat just waves him off, and with a single gesture Jean takes his place helping to chop vegetables.
It almost feels like last year, except for Laila’s quiet, assured presence. Cat is obsessed with a different album and artist now, but the music is familiar, as are the quiet sounds of Jean’s chopping and Cat’s direction as different things sizzle and cook on the stove.
Jeremy still thinks that last spring might have been the happiest of his life, the tether of his family finally being cut with his assured professional salary, and with Jean finally finding some joy on the court and off. He has thought about those moments all year long, on the nights where Jean is too busy at practice or traveling or studying to talk. But now he finally has something to look forward to. He’s already compiling a list of hikes and restaurants and sights that Jean must see, that they must do together.
It will be different, without their whole little family intact the way it was last year.
But it will be good.
A cool evening breeze. Rainbows. Open Roads. Friendship..
They are going to add to that list until it is so long that Jean can’t remember all of it. They will build happiness brick by brick if that’s what it takes, no matter how bloodied and scraped their hands become from the effort.
It will be good. And it will be bad, and stressful, and tiring, and the Nest will still haunt Jean no matter what any of them do.
But there are glow in the dark stars to chase away the inky black terror, and there are arms that can hold him through the shaking panic, and there are open roads for when the walls close in.
There is life to be lived.
And it will be good.