Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kevin’s taxi driver has to wake him when they pull up outside the house. It’s only midnight, but it feels like 3 AM; he rarely takes flights this late, but Jeremy had texted him in the late afternoon and it was the soonest one he could get. Andrew had teased him about being almost frantic over nothing—he protested that he wasn’t frantic, but all the same, Kevin wanted to be with Jean as soon as possible.

Jeremy meets him at the curb, getting Kevin’s suitcase while he rubs his eyes and realizes where he is. He’s seen pictures of their house, of course, but seeing it in person is different—there’s a light on in an upstairs room, and he knows the movement inside is Jean: waking up, stretching, putting on a sweatshirt.

“Don’t I get a hello?” Jeremy’s voice is teasing, but Kevin’s cheeks flush all the same.

“Hey—sorry.” Stopping himself after one step toward Jeremy, he asks, “Do we hug, or…”

With a laugh, Jeremy nods and closes the gap between them. “Yes, we hug. Unless you’re getting shy on me all of a sudden.”

Kevin shakes his head and wraps his arms around Jeremy; unlike the post-game hugs that they’ve shared after a line of handshakes, this one lasts. Jeremy’s face fits against Kevin’s neck and his hand rests at the base of his skull and any apprehension Kevin had about this moment washes away. Careful not to let his lips touch Jeremy’s head just yet, he asks, “How are you feeling?”

Jeremy makes a noncommittal noise and says, voice warm on Kevin’s skin, “Getting there.”

“But you’re gonna play tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, Kevin, I can play.” While Jeremy doesn’t sound annoyed, he adds, “And I’m choosing to interpret that as you being concerned about my well-being and not about exy.”

“I—” Kevin cuts himself off, then holds Jeremy a little tighter. “Sorry.”

Letting go of Kevin, Jeremy leans back enough to meet his eyes. “Jean was the same way, he’s just better at lying about it.”

“You will be okay, though?”

Only undermining his point a little, Jeremy turns away from Kevin to clear his throat, then sniffles and replies, “It won’t be pretty, but a loss is better than a forfeit.” The same bug that had taken him down had apparently ripped its way through the Trojans, leaving half of them absent from practice on any given day in the past week. That still left them with more players than the Foxes had had on their entire line the prior year, but Saturday’s game was going to be tight. “I’ll have Coach pull me if I need to.”

It’s reminiscent of Neil saying that he would stop playing if he felt his stitches tear, but with far lower stakes—and Kevin trusts Jeremy about a thousand times more than Neil. He trusts Jean about the same as Neil, though, which is why it’s so worrisome that he’s not just sitting out the game, but the trip with the team as well. Granted, showing up to afternoon practice with a fever of 103 means that the trainer was probably responsible for that decision. The timing had worked out; Kevin had been planning to fly out to California a few days later, but moving his flight up meant that he could get some time alone with Jean.

“C’mon,” Jeremy says, giving Kevin’s sleeve a little tug. “Let’s see if he listened to me and stayed in bed.”

Of course Jean hadn’t; he’s waiting in the foyer, hands shoved in the pocket of his sweatshirt, hood up. Granted, the low light isn’t helping, but he looks exhausted and drawn, like he could fall asleep right where he stands. “Hello, Kevin.”

Dropping his bag at the door, Kevin goes over to Jean; he hesitates, then goes in for a hug. “You’ll catch this,” Jean protests; all the same, he allows Kevin to pull him in.

In spite of their years of history, this is not an embrace that Kevin knows. His hands know where to go, one coming up to cradle the back of Jean’s head, the other arm holding him close, but Jean doesn’t collapse into him like he had so many times before. With the desperation woven through their earlier years gone, there’s nothing for Kevin to focus on besides how stiff Jean’s body is, how unnatural this feels—until a breath later, when he relaxes ever so slightly and holds Kevin in turn. His hand rests on Kevin’s head—a mirror image—and the familiar sound of his breathing is all Kevin hears, Jean’s lips close to his ear.

“It’s fine.” Kevin’s careful to keep his voice low, knowing his mouth is equally close to Jean. “I’m already on break.”

“You do not need to practice over break?”

It’s not a real question—of course Kevin will practice over break: not as much as ‘breaks’ at Edgar Allen, of course, but he’ll practice. “I’ll be fine. Not like my team will be doing anything.”

“It shows.”

“Be nice, boys.” Appearing at their side with his brilliant smile, Jeremy gently pushes them apart. He keeps one hand on Kevin’s shoulder, but slides the other up to ruffle Jean’s hair; Jean does not look particularly pleased about this, but he doesn’t move away, either. “Save the fighting for the morning. Shoes off, Kev, and I’ll give you the tour.”

Doing as told, Kevin follows Jeremy around the house, with Jean trailing sleepily behind him. He could just go to bed, especially as he isn’t giving any input on the tour, but when they come to the bedrooms, Kevin sees why he didn’t.

“So this is our room,” Jeremy says at the first one they come to on the second floor, holding the door open with one arm. It’s the room Kevin saw from the street, a lamp on the bedside table casting the dim yellow glow he’d seen Jean silhouetted in. “You’re welcome to join us—there’s enough room, but I’m thinking that maybe we wait until I’m back to try that out.”

Kevin makes a little grunt in reply; he’d wondered about the sleeping arrangements. It occurs to him that there are more than a few details he should have thought to iron out before coming here.

Our room.

With a hand on Kevin’s low back, Jeremy guides him to the next room. “Or you can stay here,” he offers, flicking the switch just inside the door, “and we can stay with you, or we can stay in the other room, give you some space. Whatever you want.”

At first glance, the second bedroom is like their rooms in the Nest, with two neatly made beds on either side; the more Kevin looks, though, the more he sees that that’s the only real similarity. They’re double beds, to start, and each is done up with differently patterned sheets—they look like kids’ bedding, one with rockets and planets and the other with boldly colored shapes. Instead of an overhead fluorescent light, the switch turns on a string of Christmas lights along the edge of the ceiling. The whole thing feels almost juvenile but at the same time, anything less might cut too close to the sterile rooms at Evermore.

“Here,” Kevin says immediately. “With you.”

“Full disclosure” —Jeremy points between the two beds; Kevin drops his bag beside the one with the space sheets— “I’m still waking up coughing every hour or so.”

“I thought you said you were good to play.”

“Kevin.”

“You can’t play if you can’t breathe.”

With a sigh, Jeremy jerks his head toward Jean. “If you’re gonna worry about someone, worry about him.”

Jean grunts in response. “I would prefer he did not.”

“How about you go back to bed, at least?” When Jean doesn’t move, Jeremy gets up on his tiptoes and kisses his cheek; Jean closes his eyes and leans into it with a little nod. “Go get comfy—I’ll be in in a bit.”

“I need to shower,” Kevin says as Jean goes down the hall. “I’ll be quiet coming in.”

When Kevin finishes getting ready for bed—tired as he is, he drags the process out a little—he lets himself into the shared bedroom. Jean is fast asleep, as expected; he’s always been able to pass out in seconds, but Jeremy’s clearly fighting it, eyes barely open. “Find everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Shutting off the light, Kevin gets into his bed. He does his best to squirm quietly as he tries to find a comfortable position. “What time do you leave tomorrow?”

“Early.”

“Wake me up before you go.”

“Only if you promise to try to go back to sleep after.”

“I’ll try.”

If Jeremy coughs at all during the night, Kevin doesn’t notice; he sleeps straight until Jeremy says his name just loud enough to rouse him. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispers when Kevin opens his eyes. “Call if you need me.”

“Think I can handle things.” Granted, the times that Kevin looked after Jean in the past, it had been a more defensive process, trying to keep the other Ravens from getting too close while he got back into fighting shape—not that Jean was much of a fighter by that point. “Good luck tonight.”

“Thanks.”

Because he promised, Kevin tries to fall back to sleep, and maybe he does—he feels all turned around, staying in a bed that isn’t his without the blankness of a hotel room. There’s also the fact that he can hear Jean breathing.

He hadn’t expected it to feel so familiar after all these years.

When Kevin finally gives up on getting any more sleep, he faces the humbling task of making coffee in someone else’s kitchen; it involves Googling the instruction manual and wrapping the grinder in a hoodie to muffle the sound, but finally he’s able to settle on the couch with a mug in one hand, book in the other. He’d made the mistake of reading on the plane last night, and his jet-lagged brain remembers absolutely none of it now, so he goes backward until he finds parts that are familiar. Even once the caffeine is in his system, he can barely concentrate on the page.

Kevin’s just about to give up on his book when he hears footsteps upstairs, and shortly afterward, Jean comes down in a USC hoodie and a clashing pair of flannel drawstring pants. “Hey,” Kevin says lightly. “How do you feel?”

Shrugging, Jean pauses and looks between Kevin and the doorway to the kitchen, then sits on the opposite end of the couch, legs tucked under himself. “No better.”

“Do you need anything?”

Jean points to Kevin’s mug, and Kevin hands it over without a second thought. “I meant for you to get me some,” Jean says, taking it anyway, “but this works as well.”

“Asshole.” All the same, Kevin tucks the throw blanket from the back of the couch over Jean’s legs, smoothing it over his thigh; Jean squeezes his hand, the warmth lingering for a second after he lets go. “You need anything else besides stealing my coffee?”

Kevin makes oatmeal for them both when Jean admits that eating anything more solid hurts too much, then settles back onto the couch. They stay at opposite ends, although Jean does stretch his legs out enough to bury his toes under Kevin’s thigh when he’s done eating. “You do not need to stay with me all day if you do not want to,” he says, adjusting the blanket to cover himself a little more. “I imagine you will want to see the court.”

Shaking his head, Kevin rests his hand on Jean’s shin. “I’ll wait until Jeremy’s back.”

“I will not be good company today.”

“You never were when you were sick.”

“You were not much better.”

Of course they hadn’t been—being sick didn’t mean getting to miss practice or class, aside from the time that Kevin’s Intro to World Religions professor had sent him home when he’d been so feverish he was visibly shivering. The stress of being ill only served to make them feel worse, an unending cycle until they either recovered on their own or got a shot of something to speed things up.

“No, I wasn’t.” Kevin’s quiet for a minute or so, rolling memories over like worrying at a loose tooth. Every time he pushes a little further, thinking of one more time that he’d snapped at Jean when he was only trying to help, until he finally hits the nerve.

“We need to talk about what happened.”

Jean snorts, then turns away to cough. “You want to talk about it. I do not.”

“I want to make things right, Jean.”

“Your guilt is not my problem.”

Coming here early had been a mistake, or maybe coming here at all. Texting was one thing, flirting with time to sort out his words, but it’s been years since Kevin and Jean talked face-to-face—besides the time at Abby’s, with Jean beaten to hell and just as angry. Kevin had known that this trip would test the strength of their budding relationship; he’d been foolish to think that a few dozen FaceTime calls with the three of them would be enough to fix things.

You did not have to slit my throat on the way out.

“I’ll go,” Kevin says as he gets to his feet.

He topples back down as Jean grabs his wrist, barking a laugh. “Go where?” Jean’s grip is hard enough that it hurts; he must see Kevin wince, because he loosens his hold, then swings his legs over the edge of the couch to sit upright. “You do not get to walk out this time.”

“I don’t know what you want from me.” Kevin’s voice breaks on ‘want’ and he grits his teeth. “Are you just playing along with Jeremy and I? Do you even want this?”

“Of course I want this,” Jean snaps, letting go of Kevin entirely, “but it will not work if you keep digging.”

“We can’t just not talk about this. It’s not fair to Jeremy.”

Jean sniffles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He can make his own decisions.”

“Jean, please.”

“Why the fuck do you think I would want to talk about it?” Slamming his hand down on the cushion, Jean tenses and says, “If I am lucky, I can go one day without remembering that place.” He spits out the last word. “Talking will only destroy that.”

“Isn’t having to look at me every day just going to rub salt in the wound?”

Jean clears his throat, then speaks every word as its own sentence: “There. Are. No. Wounds.” When Kevin turns his head away, Jean grabs him by the chin, holding his gaze. “No. Look at me when I tell you this.” Kevin looks; Jean’s eyes are ablaze, unwavering. “It has been three years, almost. My wounds have healed. There is nowhere for you to rub your salt in, but if you keep clawing at them like this, there will be.”

“Jean—”

“I will not allow you to make me bleed again.”

“Jean, please.”

Leaning forward, Jean rests his elbows on his thighs and his head in his hands. When he speaks, his voice is tight and he digs his fingers into his scalp. “I cannot do this now, Kevin.”

Kevin is about to push back one more time, but then Jean visibly shudders, curling in on himself with a barely voiced exhale. Moving closer, Kevin rests their shoulders together for a moment before putting his arm around Jean. “Your fever’s back.”

“I know.”

He rolls his eyes, then gets up without a word, returning with a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen. “Next time, say something.”

“I can handle it myself.”

Plopping back on the couch, Kevin nudges Jean until he takes the water. “Are you this much of a bitch to Jeremy when he looks after you?”

Jean takes a sip, swallowing the pills Kevin hands him. “I do not think that forcing me to talk about us counts as ‘looking after me’.”

Shame stings in Kevin’s chest, but he just nods in reply. Apologies don’t come easy, and when they come at all, they’re never enough. While Jean alternates between sipping his water and pressing the glass to his neck and forehead, Kevin smooths a hand over his back in light circles. “Do you want me to put on a game?” he asks. “I think UT is playing soon.”

With a shrug, Jean sets his glass on the table and gestures for Kevin to scoot toward the end of the couch. “You can put it on if you want,” he says as he kicks the blankets around and, oh, settles down with his head on Kevin’s thigh. “I will have a hard enough time focusing on our game tonight.”

“Is there anything you want to watch?” Jean shakes his head. “Do you want quiet?” He shakes his head again and rolls over, back to the screen.

Kevin pulls up some never ending Youtube video of ‘lo-fi’ music, whatever that means, and reads an article about pseudoarchaeology on his phone while gently scratching at Jean’s scalp. He hopes it feels like an apology, feeble as it is; Jean’s face tucked against his abdomen, breath soft on the skin where Kevin’s shirt has ridden up, feels like forgiveness.

Stop editing the playbook.

I’m not.

I can see you in the google doc.
“Last edit one minute ago”

Why does it matter

Because I’m vice captain and you’re not
Go pay attention to jean

Fine
Did he say anything about me when you were at Evermore?

Not really.
We were kind of busy.

Okay.

???

I don’t know what I’m doing here

Jean’s nap serves as a reset; they don’t pick up the argument, and in the absence of something to talk about, though, he and Kevin mostly stay quiet.

They’ve never shared a living space like this, never had the freedom to move between so many rooms without permission or reason. They stay close; when Kevin gets up to cook, Jean settles himself at the kitchen counter a few minutes later, and when Jean says that he’s going to lie down, he hovers by Kevin until he follows. Jean naps in his and Jeremy’s bed and Kevin reads a book beside him, combing his fingers through Jean’s hair whenever he stirs. Physical closeness has always come easily.

They drift back to the living room for the USC pregame segment and Kevin keeps an arm around Jean, both of them covered in a fleece throw with their feet on the coffee table. Jean keeps falling asleep and jerking awake until finally Kevin urges him to lie down like he’d been before. “You can go back to the bedroom, you know,” he says, tucking the blanket over Jean’s shoulders.

“But you are staying out here.”

“I can come with you and watch on my laptop.”

Jean shakes his head. “I will stay. You hate watching on the small screen.”

And so they stay; Jean sleeps through the second period, waking just in time to see Jeremy’s postgame interview. He’s wiping sweat off his forehead with a towel and breathing heavily, smile bright as ever. “There is no reason for him to be so attractive like this,” Jean says mid-yawn.

“There really isn’t.” It isn’t the first time that Jean and Kevin have watched the Trojans and paid a little too much attention to Jeremy, but it’s the first time that they’ve been able to be honest about it. “How is it, playing together?”

Rolling onto his back but keeping his head on Kevin’s thigh, Jean gives a sly smile. “If you are asking if I find him as attractive when he looks like this after practices, the answer is yes.”

“And have you…” Kevin makes a vague gesture with one hand, a blush rising on his cheeks.

“Fucked in the locker room?” Jean supplies, and Kevin goes truly red. “Only, ah—’hand stuff,’ as Jeremy says.” A smirk curls at his lips. “We fuck in his car, sometimes, but I can usually make him wait until we get home.”

His breath catching, Kevin nods.

After he leans forward to shut off the TV, Jean stands and nudges Kevin’s calf with his foot. “Come to bed,” he says, looking unbearably pleased with himself as he continues, “but not in that way without Jeremy so” —he tilts his head downward as if to point— “you can deal with that on your own.”

“Fucking asshole,” Kevin mutters, cheeks burning as he adjusts his half-hard dick in his shorts before following Jean upstairs to bed.

sorry
forgot my phone at coach’s place
But you gave me some good advice one time:
Jean will help you if you help him.

Fuck off.

Kevin sets his phone down before he has the chance to drop it on his face. He’s on his back on the couch, with Jean halfway on his chest, halfway wedged against the back cushions of the couch, in and out of a doze for the past hour or so. “Neil says hi.”

Lifting his head, Jean raises an eyebrow at Kevin; he squints in the midmorning light that streams through the half-open curtains of the living room. “I doubt that.” His cheek is imprinted with the folds of Kevin’s t-shirt, a little flushed as well.

“Yeah, he didn’t.” Kevin pushes Jean back down and rakes his fingers through his hair. “Told me to pay more attention to you.”

“How kind.”

“Do you two talk?”

“He talks.”

“About what?”

“Nothing important. If he thinks he’s being subtle checking up on me, he isn’t.” After too long of a pause, Jean sighs and elaborates, “Exy. The Foxes. He bitches about you.”

With a huff of a laugh, Kevin shakes his head. “Yeah, I know.”

“Why do you ask?” There’s suspicion in Jean’s voice—rightfully so, Kevin thinks.

“No reason.”

“Jealous?”

Kevin snorts. “I cannot think of anyone I could be less envious of than Neil.”

Jean smirks and lies back down. “Perhaps you should be.”

The teasing, the joking—it feels right. Slipping his hand under Jean’s shirt, Kevin can feel every scar on his bare skin. The last time he’d done this, there had been scabs and thin, newly-healed skin that Kevin worried would break if he touched it too hard. But Jean had been more resilient than he’d ever thought possible; his skin, although puckered and thickened in places, still feels familiar under Kevin’s fingertips. This closeness is familiar too, the comfort of Jean’s body against his, and maybe—maybe the bones of their relationship won’t need to be broken again in order for them to heal right.

Chapter Text

Just got back to the stadium!
Should be home in a half hour or so.

ok
We’re on the couch, Jean’s asleep
I’m trapped

A terrible position to be in, I’m sure.
I’ll be quiet :)

Jeremy’s careful to be quiet as he comes inside, stepping on the backs of his shoes to take them off. The house is silent save for his footsteps, and he’s greeted with the beautiful sight of Kevin stretched out on their couch, Jean fast asleep on top of him.

“Hey, sunshine,” he whispers, leaning over and kissing Kevin’s forehead lightly.

A blush rises on Kevin’s cheeks. “Welcome back,” he says. “You played a good game last night.”

Jeremy can’t help but smile, less at the compliment and more at Kevin being so quintessentially Kevin all the time. “Thanks. I felt terrible afterward, though—being sick gets you out of shape so fast.”

“Couldn’t tell in your postgame. Jean woke up just in time for us to talk about how pretty you looked.”

It’s Jeremy’s turn to blush. “Oh, stop it.”

“No way. I’ve waited years to be able to tell you that.”

“Wait—”

“I meant in general that you’re pretty,” Kevin clarifies. “But I’m sure he’s told you that we bonded over you being pretty back in the day.”

“Be careful with how much you tell me how good-looking I am,” Jeremy warns. “I’ll get some kind of complex.”

“It’s true.”

Hoping to change topics before his blush becomes permanent, Jeremy makes an arc with one finger, pointed toward Kevin’s neck. “You comfortable like that?” The other man’s head is hanging off the arm of the couch, and Jeremy’s slept here enough times to know the answer.

Turning his head back and forth with a few cracking sounds, Kevin replies with a little smile, “Not at all.”

“You have lunch yet?” Kevin shakes his head. “Alright—how about I go put something together and then we can try to pry him off of you together?”

Once Jeremy’s made a stack of grilled cheeses, he returns to the living room to find Jean awake, but barely. “Hello, Jeremy,” Jean mumbles, reaching a hand out; Jeremy’s quick to set the plate down on the coffee table and lace fingers with his boyfriend, kneeling beside the couch. “Welcome home.”

“Good to be back.” Jeremy brings Jean’s hand to his mouth for a kiss. “I know it was only a day but it felt like forever. I just wanted to get back to both of you. You were a model patient for Kevin, I hope?”

Kevin snorts a laugh.

“I behaved,” Jean pouts.

“You argued with me about every single meal.”

“It is not my fault that I wasn’t hungry.”

“Boys.” Kissing Jean’s forehead, then Kevin’s, Jeremy stands and gestures for them to get up. “You’re eating now. And I’m sitting between you, so scoot.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice; they make room for him, Jean resting his head against Jeremy’s while he nibbles his sandwich. In the time that they’ve been together, Jeremy’s stopped being so focused on how much smaller than Jean he is, but now, pressed between Jean and Kevin, he’s very aware. Jeremy’s shoulder only comes up midway up Kevin’s bicep, and if it weren’t for Jean slouching, it would be the same there.

He’s kind of into it.

He’s definitely into it, but he’s not about to make a move on Kevin while Jean’s so miserable; this week is for the three of them, together. Once he sets his plate down, though, he puts an arm around both men, letting his hands wander over wherever he can reach. When his fingers trail up Kevin’s neck—he’s not making that kind of move—Kevin lets out a content little hum and looks at him; there’s a little smile on his lips, almost a smirk. “Are you flirting with me?”

“What on earth gave you that impression?” Jeremy works his fingers into Kevin’s hair, intentionally brushing over the spot behind his ear that never fails to make Jean melt.

Apparently it works on Kevin, too, as he inhales Jeremy’s name in a soft gasp. Jean leans forward, eyebrow raised, and a smile spreads across his face, too. “Not wasting any time, I see.”

“Just testing the waters.” Jeremy kisses Jean’s forehead, then Kevin’s temple, holding his gaze after. “You let me know if I’m loving on you too much, okay?”

“Not possible.”

“Cute, but” —keeping his hand in Kevin’s hair, Jeremy turns to face him better— “you’re not the first baby bird I’ve rehabilitated. I know—” Kevin barks out a laugh and shakes his head. “Oh, hush. I thought it was funny.”

Jean rubs his hand briskly over Jeremy’s thigh. “Not quite, my love.”

“Fine,” Jeremy huffs. “Anyway. You say that now, but I remember how this one was at the start.”

“It sneaks up on you.” Jean’s admission would have stung earlier in their relationship—Jeremy knows he can be a bit much, but hearing it had been a whole other thing—but not now. “The attention.”

Turning his head, Kevin brushes his lips over the inner part of Jeremy’s wrist. “I’ll tell you. I promise.”

“Does this mean I can keep going?” Kevin nods, and Jeremy tugs gently at his hair. “Still gonna take things nice and slow.”

Jean clears his throat and gets up, moving to Kevin’s other side. “I will join when I am feeling a bit better.”

“Can join now, if you want,” Kevin says, not quite breathless. “I don’t want to make you just sit there and watch.”

Sliding his hand out of Kevin’s hair, Jeremy goes back to trailing his fingers from neck to shoulder, affectionate but not teasing. “I can chill out a bit.” The idea of both of them with their hands on Kevin is thrilling, but Jeremy’s content to wait. “We’ve got time.”

They shift positions slightly, putting on a movie while Jean settles with his head in Kevin’s lap. Jeremy brushes his own fingers over the inner part of Kevin’s thigh, staying close to the knee, and Kevin spreads his legs just a little wider, offering up a little more skin. Jean grumbles about his pillow moving; Kevin laughs and slips his hand into Jean’s curls like he’s done it a thousand times.

Later, Jean kicks them out so that he can rest without distraction, and they head to the court, playing a glorified but high-speed game of catch. In the showers, Jeremy looks—sees Kevin looking—and finds himself turning away to hide his blush.

“Like what you see?” Kevin asks, and god, he’s flirted with Jeremy before, obviously, but that had been on Skype and he’d been clothed.

“Oh, be quiet.”

“Jean says you’ve fooled around in here before.”

Jeremy’s flush deepens. “True, but that was…a one-time thing. Last thing I need is to be in here with the team and get turned on ‘cause I remembered something.”

“Not very captainly.”

“To get a boner in the shower, or not to hook up in here anymore?”

“I mean, I know that Neil and Andrew have hooked up in ours.” Kevin wrinkles his nose. “Wish I didn’t.”

Focusing on getting all the conditioner out of his hair, Jeremy closes his eyes. “You’re saying that it’s at least vice-captainly to mess around in the showers?”

“Dan and Matt might have, but I’m not gonna ask just to see what other captains are up to.”

“Sounds like you’re saying it’s a good leadership move.”

Kevin laughs. “Maybe I am.” Shutting off the water, he slicks his hair out of his face and reaches for a towel. “Or maybe I’m just giving you a hard time because you’re cute when you blush.”

Pretty sure he’s rinsed his hair enough, Jeremy shuts off his own shower. “You’re gonna give me something else hard if you keep talking about this.”

“That was terrible.”

“Hush.” If Jeremy had the wrist for it, he’d snap Kevin with his towel, but as it is, there’s a high chance he’ll mess it up and either look silly or hit a part of Kevin that would make this situation a lot less fun. Instead, he dries off and tries not to think about kissing Kevin here.

That proves harder than everything else.

After dinner they all pile into the main bed, but when Jeremy wakes the next morning, Kevin’s gone. Briefly, he worries that he’s changed his mind about this, then he figures that Kevin’s still running on east coast time, and then he looks at his phone. There’s one text from Kevin: Not feeling well, went to the other bedroom.

It’s almost ten when Kevin finally comes downstairs, and it’s obvious that he’s just as sick as Jean had been a few days ago, face pale and clearly no less exhausted for having slept in. His hair is sticking up every which way and he’s dressed in Jean’s clothes: team sweatpants and a hoodie they’d gotten on vacation in Colorado. It’s a glimpse of what Jeremy imagines things might look like someday—the three of them sharing a space, sharing belongings, taking and giving what they need.

“Morning,” Jeremy says as he rises from the couch, ignoring Jean’s scowl at being abandoned. “I’d ask how you’re feeling, but it’s pretty obvious.”

Kevin ducks his head as he swallows, then manages a gravelly, “Yeah. Not good.”

“Did you get back to sleep okay?”

“Eventually.”

Putting his hand on the back of Kevin’s head, Jeremy draws him down to press his lips to his forehead. “You’re warm—have you taken anything?”

“Ibuprofen sometime around two. Wanted to eat before I take anything else.”

“What do you want? I can get it.”

Shaking his head, Keven steps around Jeremy. “I’m good,” he says as he gets the bag of bagels out of the fridge. “Where’s Jean?”

“Couch.” The words are no sooner out of Jeremy’s mouth that Jean appears in the doorway; he says something in French, and Kevin whips around to snap something back at him. Jeremy waves his hands in the air, moving in between the two of them. “No—we are not doing that.” He points from Jean to Kevin. “You’re only allowed to do that if you’re planning some super secret surprise for me, and I get the feeling that that is not what’s happening here.”

Kevin turns back toward the toaster as he pulls his bagel into halves. “He said I look worse than he did leaving the Nest.”

“And he told me to go fuck myself,” Jean adds, “although a more literal translation would be—”

“That’s not funny.”

“I thought it was.” Jean’s tone is almost teasing. “But perhaps in poor taste.”

“I’ll forgive you. You need anything while you’re up?” Jean holds his mug out; Jeremy refills it with what’s left in the carafe, adding the splash of milk and miniscule amount of sugar that Jean has come to use. The few times Jeremy’s stolen a sip, he swears he can’t taste either of the additions, but it’s still a step up from when only black coffee was allowed in Jean’s self-imposed nutrition plan.

Jean seems happy, though, as he blows on the surface before taking a few sips. “Thank you, my love,” he says, and the endearment still makes Jeremy’s heart skip.

“Course, baby. Go get comfortable—we’ll be right in.”

Once he’s got more coffee brewing and retrieved his own mug from the living room, Jeremy stays at the counter to keep a subtle eye on Kevin. He’s leaning against the fridge, flushed and clearly exhausted, and Jeremy’s about to shoo him off to join Jean when Kevin twists away, breath catching before he sneezes twice into the crook of his elbow.

“Bless you!” Jeremy turns away from the coffee maker and rests a hand on Kevin’s back, leaning in to get a look at his face; Kevin stares back blankly. “Go sit—I’ll bring this over when it’s done.”

Kevin shakes his head with a sniffle, pinching the bridge of his nose after. “I’m alright.”

“I mean, you’re so not, but okay.” Opening one of the cabinets, Jeremy sets a mug on the counter for Kevin. “How do you take your coffee?”

“I can handle it, Jeremy.”

Jeremy is quiet for a moment as he fills the mugs. “I’m kind of assuming you take it black,” he muses as he goes to the fridge, “but you’ve surprised me before.” Splashing milk into his own, he adds, “Honestly, I’m still kind of shocked that you’re here.”

While Kevin’s been closed-off all morning, this gets him to relax just a bit, a small smile on his lips. “Same. Glad I am, though.”

It’s been almost a year in the making; Jeremy and Jean had gotten close during his first semester, then actually gotten together in the spring. It had been around Christmas that Kevin and Jean started texting again, just little things that made Jean smile at his phone when he thought Jeremy wasn’t looking. They’d ended up in a group chat shortly after, when Jeremy got sick of showing his phone to Jean whenever Kevin wanted them both to see something, and things had spiraled from there. A comment about Jeremy and Jean “looking good” during a game turned to joke-flirting in return, which turned to real-flirting by the time summer rolled around. A “wish you were here” text one night ended with a Skype call that lasted until Kevin fell asleep.

Apparently, it had been Andrew Minyard who told Kevin that he was going to kick him out of their room if he didn’t get his “disgusting crush under control.” Kevin, ever obstinate, had started calling more and more until finally, Jeremy suggested that he come out over winter break so that they could spend some real time together, just the three of them.

Jean had been the anxious one; he’d worried that Jeremy was just doing this to make Jean and Kevin happy, or that Kevin was just going along with it because he felt he owed it to Jean, but—here they all are, fears aside.

“I could do without you two being quite so miserable for it, though.” Jeremy touches his fingertips to his lips, then to Kevin’s too-warm forehead. “Coffee’s here, if you do want to add anything.”

Kevin leans into Jeremy’s not-quite kiss, but it might be more from the cool touch than anything else. “I do take it black,” he says, the little smile not making it to his eyes. “Sorry to be predictable.”

“Nonsense.” Squeezing Kevin’s upper arm once, Jeremy takes both mugs to the living room to wait. He settles back in with Jean at his side, pressing a true kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek to check his temp. “At least you seem to be doing better.”

With a shrug, Jean turns his head to catch Jeremy in a quick kiss. “Not by much.”

“My poor thing,” Jeremy croons, smiling as Jean rolls his eyes. “Oh, hush. I’m allowed to baby you.”

“If you must.”

Shortly after the toaster oven dings, Kevin joins them; he settles in the nearby armchair rather than fitting himself onto the couch. Methodically, he eats his bagel, chewing each bite until it must be utterly textureless—Jeremy had done the same when his throat hurt too much for anything else. Kevin’s made it clear that he’s not up for conversation, and Jeremy doesn’t blame him, so he focuses his attention on Jean and on coming up with a list of movies for them to watch.

Once he sets his plate down on the coffee table, Kevin curls up in the chair with his coffee, knees tucked to his chest for a bit before he starts fidgeting. Rolling his shoulders back, then shifting positions entirely, and finally reaching behind his head to rub the muscles at the top of his back, he clearly can’t get comfortable, so Jeremy asks, “Sore?” Kevin nods, not quite grimacing. “C’mere. Jean can attest I’m good at back rubs.”

It’s less than he wants to offer; really, he wants to get Kevin into the shower, Jeremy with him so he can work the aches and tension out with the heat’s help, then take him and Jean to bed, skin on skin on skin while his boys recover.

Kevin goes still. “I’m alright.”

Jeremy tries not to let it sting, reminds himself that Jean was like this not long ago. Still—Kevin came here to try this out, to try him and Jean on and see if they fit. Either he’s changed his mind or found that there’s only room for Jean. Or he’s just achy and exhausted like Jeremy had been a week ago and of course he’s a little grouchy about it. Whatever it is, it’ll shake out in the wash. They have a week left before Kevin goes home.

Jeremy is tired of being patient.

“Why do I get the feeling you’d rather I just pretend you’re fine?”

Kevin opens his mouth to reply but Jean cuts in, “Kevin has always preferred to hide away and lick his wounds like a dog.”

“Weird way to put it, but so did you, if I recall correctly,” Jeremy says—grateful all the same for the reminder—before turning back to Kevin. “I’ll do my best not to fuss too much, but I’m not gonna let you be miserable this whole time, either.”

At least Kevin has the decency to look somewhat chastened and he nods, not looking up from his coffee until he asks, ”Could you just get me some Tylenol, for now?”

“Was that so hard?” Jeremy’s gentle as he says it, getting off the couch and retrieving the bottle from the counter. When he hands the two pills to Kevin, he bends down and kisses his forehead. “Besides, it means I get to do that.” An adorable little blush spreads up Kevin’s face and Jeremy looks away, smiling nevertheless as he settles back down beside Jean and kisses his forehead, too. “You, mister, might finally be in the clear, fever-wise.”

Nodding, Jean rests his head on Jeremy’s shoulder. “I feel a little more” —he makes a vague gesture with his free hand— “like I can think now.”

“That’ll do it.” Jeremy puts his arm over the back of the couch and starts to play with Jean’s hair, relishing in the way he presses into the touch. It had taken months for Jean to stop resisting Jeremy (and Cat and Laila’s) attempts at tending to him when he wasn’t feeling well, whether it was a nasty sore throat or a hangover or a bruised calf that left him limping for a week after a ball just missed his shin guard. He’d let them in bit by bit, allowing a mug of tea here, a heating pack there, until one day Jeremy had come home to Jean asleep with his head in Cat’s lap while she ran her fingers through his hair.

Jeremy doesn’t expect his admonishment to make much of a difference in getting Kevin to accept help, so it comes as a surprise when, a half hour later, Kevin kneads his own shoulder a few times and asks, “That offer still good?”

“‘course it is. Sit.” Gesturing to the spot on the floor in front of him, Jeremy rouses Jean from where he’s half-dozing against his side with a smattering of kisses to his head. Not unexpectedly, Jean grumbles about being dislodged, and stretches out when Jeremy lowers himself to the floor. With his back against the couch, Jeremy sits cross-legged with Kevin in front of him.

Kevin’s shirt is damp with sweat from his recently-broken fever, but Jeremy doesn’t mind—the way it clings to the skin means that he can feel the minute ways Kevin’s muscles shift in response to his touch. A few minutes in, though, Kevin pulls it over his head and tosses it to the side. “Sorry,” he says, turning just enough to make eye contact with Jeremy. “You don’t have to keep going.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes.” Kevin twists away and muffles a few crackly coughs into his elbow; Jeremy hums in sympathy, firmly smoothing his hand over Kevin’s back. “I know it’s gotta feel gross, though.”

Shaking his head, Jeremy leans in and kisses Kevin’s shoulder in an attempt to prove how not grossed-out he is. “You’re sick, baby,” he says quietly as he starts to rub his back again, starting at the bottom. “You’re allowed to be gross.”

Kevin makes a hoarse sound in response and draws his legs up, forehead resting on his knees. The room is still for a while until Jean, who Jeremy assumed had been sleeping, rolls off the couch and settles beside Kevin. Jeremy watches as Jean holds out a hand; Kevin looks at it for a moment, then lays his left hand face-up in Jean’s.

“My knee still hurts when the weather changes,” Jean says, massaging Kevin’s palm with his thumbs. “I did not expect it to hurt with the fever, though.”

“Yeah.” With his other hand, Kevin rubs his nose, sniffling after. “Tylenol didn’t touch it.”

These boys will always be hurting somewhere, Jeremy reminds himself as Jean tends to Kevin from wrist to fingertip, the skin paling under the pressure, then flushing back pink. They’ll always hurt somewhere, even though their injuries have healed enough for them to play again, and as much as Jeremy loves Jean, as much as he sees himself loving Kevin, he’ll never quite understand them in the way they understand each other.

Kevin seems to relax, head tilted with one cheek on his knee; it lets Jeremy see a bit of his face, so he can tell when he seems a little less comfortable. “You okay, Kev?”

“‘m fine.”

“With the amount you complain about Josten saying that, I refuse to accept that response,” Jean says, bringing Kevin’s hand to his mouth. “Say it.”

Lifting his head with a thick sniffle, Kevin pulls his hand back and rubs his face. “Hurts,” is all he says, grimacing as he sniffles again. “My whole head just feels full.”

“I think you’re maxed out on meds,” Jeremy says, and Kevin nods, setting his head back down. “But how about we get you in the shower, see if the steam can open things up?” Kevin nods again and the three of them get to their feet; Jean goes to start the water while Jeremy hangs back with Kevin, who sways a little too much for comfort once he’s standing. “Sorry you’re hurting so much,” he says, resting a hand on Kevin’s back. “I was really hoping this wouldn’t hit you as hard as it did for us.”

Kevin shrugs. “It’ll pass.”

“I mean, yeah, but still.” At least Kevin seems steady as they start walking, but it doesn’t escape Jeremy that he puts a hand on the backs of chairs and then the wall as they go upstairs. “Jean’s called you an insufferable b-word and a drama queen more than once, so I guess I was expecting you to be a little more of a complainer.”

“Never made a difference.”

“It does here.”

Jean goes to lie down while Jeremy and Kevin get in the shower; they sit, since Jeremy doesn’t trust Kevin to stand, and Kevin doesn’t argue. Kneeling in front of Kevin, Jeremy washes his hair, using one hand to keep the suds out of his eyes. By the time his hair is rinsed and Jeremy’s lathered up a washcloth, Kevin turns away with a few rough-sounding sneezes. “Goddammit,” he mutters, rubbing his cheekbones with thumb and forefinger. “Fucking hurts.”

“Bless you, babe.” Jeremy pushes Kevin’s hair out of the way and kisses his forehead. “You know, it took Jean months to let me fuss over him like this. If you really want me to back off, I will.”

Shaking his head, Kevin starts to reply, then holds up a finger as he sneezes twice more toward his chest. “No. It’s good.”

“Mm,” Jeremy hums in response. “When I was gone, was Jean better or worse than you’re being? In the ‘getting cared for’ department.”

“Worse. But I get it.” After a few seconds of silence, Kevin continues, “Last time I looked after him like this, we were just trying to survive.”

The words bubble up before Jeremy can stop himself. “I wish we’d known. The league, the fans, anyone. Someone could have stopped it.”

Kevin shakes his head. “No. No, they couldn’t. There isn’t an organization or agency in the world that could stop the Moriyamas.”

“I wish you’d gotten out sooner.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds; Kevin wipes at his nose with his fist and says, so softly that Jeremy can barely hear it, “I wish I’d taken him with me.”

“I know.” Nodding, Kevin sniffles, head tilted down so Jeremy can’t see his face. “And he knows it, too.”

Jeremy doesn’t expect Kevin to reply—placid reminders won’t change how he feels, even though Jeremy’s going to say them anyway. He takes the opportunity to clean Kevin off, washing away fever sweat with Jean’s spice-scented body wash. Kevin sneezes a few more times—the poor guy—and when Jeremy finishes and asks if he wants to get out, Kevin nods.

When he lifts his head, he rubs at each eye with the heel of one hand and avoids Jeremy’s gaze. Even though their positions don’t make it easy, Jeremy leans in and pulls Kevin to him, one hand on the back of his head to keep him close. “This bug’s got you all off-kilter, huh?” A sniffle comes in response, then a movement that’s probably a nod. “Let’s rinse off and get in bed. I know a nap won’t fix everything, but it won’t make things worse.”

It’s heartbreaking to see Kevin like this, but once he’s dried off and dressed in a loose shirt and boxers, he looks a little more like himself. The red rims of his eyes are barely noticeable by the time they get to the bedroom, where Jean is on his side in bed, typing something on his phone. “I was worried you two had drowned,” he says, stretching to set it on the nightstand.

“Just needed a little extra TLC.” Jeremy lets Kevin crawl into bed first and watches as he wraps himself around Jean, face nestled against the other’s neck. “And he’s gonna get a little more here.” Jean’s eyes are open and he looks to Jeremy, brows furrowed in question as he flicks his gaze toward Kevin and back. There’s no good way to respond, but Jeremy mouths ‘he’s okay’ all the same.

“Of course.” With his lips near Kevin’s ear, he murmurs, “Try to rest, mon chéri.”

And rest he does—Jeremy sits with his back against the headboard and texts with Laila, one hand in Kevin’s hair as both his boys’ breaths even out into sleep.

Chapter Text

Jean wakes before Kevin does and is too restless to stay beside him, so he and Jeremy retreat to the living room. They both settle onto the couch with mugs of tea, a blanket spread over them, and Jean puts an arm around Jeremy. Nuzzling into Jeremy’s still-damp curls, Jean murmurs, “What a week.”

With a deep sigh, Jeremy nods. “You can say that again.”

“What a—”

Jeremy elbows Jean in the ribs, but gently. “Oh, hush.” Grinning, Jean kisses him; at first it’s just a peck, but then Jeremy kisses back more intensely, drawing Jean’s lip between his teeth. “Missed getting to do that,” Jeremy says, their mouths a breath apart.

Between Jeremy and then Jean being miserably sick (not to mention too stuffy to kiss for long) and Jeremy being away, it does feel like it’s been forever. Jean hums in agreement and kisses Jeremy again. “Put your mug down,” he says between little nips at his boyfriend’s mouth, setting his own out of the way before maneuvering Jeremy onto his lap, knees on either side of him. “This is better, no?”

Jeremy sinks his weight onto Jean, not quite grinding against him, but not not either. “Yeah,” he breathes, cradling the back of Jean’s head in one hand. “We gonna fool around while Kevin’s asleep in our bed?”

“If you want.” Truly, Jean doubts he’s up for it—he’s still achy and fuzzy-headed—but he can certainly tease Jeremy like this. It isn’t the first time they’ve talked about Kevin while making out, or about what they’d do if he were there, but the fact that this time he’s just down the hall makes Jean’s heart race. “If he wakes up, he can join.”

“I don’t think the poor guy’s gonna be joining in anytime soon,” Jeremy says between kisses. “He was in pretty rough shape earlier.”

Kissing Jeremy deeply one more time, Jean puts a hand on his chest to keep him from leaning back in. “Did something happen in the shower?”

Jeremy doesn’t answer right away, which means that he and Kevin had definitely been talking about Jean. With a little frown, Jeremy finally answers, “It was my fault—I shouldn’t have brought up what happened.”

‘What happened’ has become shorthand for everything that occurred prior to Jean arriving in California. It isn’t that Jean is incapable of actually talking about it by name—he’s finally able to say ‘torture’ and ‘cult’ without feeling like he’s exaggerating—but that he doesn’t want to. ‘What happened’ encompasses a multitude of sins, and sometimes, he doesn’t want to sift through them all to find the one he means.

Sighing heavily, Jean looks away from Jeremy, focusing instead on picking at the stitching on the hem of his own sleep shirt. “We tried to address some unfinished business while you were gone.”

Ever patient, Jeremy leaves a few breaths of space before saying, “Do you think this business will ever actually be finished?”

“That is up to Kevin.”

“I think it’s a little up to you, too.”

Jean groans and rests his head on Jeremy’s breastbone. “Must it be?”

“Apologies mean more when the other person knows what they’re apologizing for.” Jeremy works his fingers through Jean’s hair, using his other arm for support against the back of the couch. “But waiting until you’re both feeling better would probably have been a better idea.”

Even though Jeremy won’t be able to see, Jean rolls his eyes. “Somebody should have told Kevin that.”

Jeremy doesn’t reply, but Jean hears a catch in his breath like he’s about to. Trying for patience, he waits for what feels like ages before sitting back and tilting his head at Jeremy in question. After a real, deep breath, Jeremy says, “I’m not the magic fix for you two.”

“I know.”

“You say that, but” —Jeremy rakes a hand through his own curls, tugging at the ends— “you’re both going to have to work at it. Just having me here as some sort of middleman isn’t enough.”

“I know, Jeremy.”

“I know that you know.” Letting go of his own hair, Jeremy tucks a loose curl behind Jean’s ear. “But we could both do with some reminding.”

Jean takes a deep breath of his own and puts his hand over Jeremy’s where it lingers near his neck. While his hand is smaller than Jean’s, Jeremy’s fingers are strong and warm and solid. Jeremy has always been able to hold his own.

“Maybe it’s a good thing no one’s feeling great,” Jeremy goes on, “otherwise we would’ve just spent the whole week making out and not actually, like, addressing any of this.”

“I would not have minded some making out.”

“Wait.” Jolting back, Jeremy takes Jean’s face into his hands. “Are you telling me that you two didn’t smooch at all?”

God knows how Jeremy understands what Jean says, seeing as his cheeks are being smushed, forcing his lips into a cartoonish kissing expression. “Were we supposed to?”

Jeremy releases Jean’s face, although his eyebrows are still raised. “I just kind of assumed you had! How else was he gonna get sick, like, five minutes after he got here?”

“Two days—”

“Still.”

“In spite of him trying to dredge up the past, he did also take good care of me.” He’d been furious at the time, but looking back, that had been a small cloud in an otherwise clear day; Kevin had held him, fed him, set timers for his medications so his fever wouldn’t return when they wore off. They’d shared a bed for the first time in years, and as he’d fallen asleep that first night, there hadn’t been a doubt in his mind that this could work. “But no—no kissing.”

Jeremy leans in and kisses Jean himself, lightly sucking Jean’s bottom lip between his teeth as he pulls away. “Well,” he murmurs, “we’ve still got a few days.”

“Don’t push him,” Jean warns.

“Cross my heart, I won’t.”

Kevin comes downstairs as the sun starts to set, sitting on one end of the couch and trapping Jean beneath his legs; on the other side of the couch, Jeremy slips his hand up the leg of Kevin’s sweatpants and slowly trails his fingers up and down his calf, pulling the fabric with him. Not to be outdone, Jean finds the hem of Kevin’s shirt and rests his palm on the warm skin of his abdomen, just low enough to feel the trail of hair beneath his navel. Kevin’s eyes flutter ever so slightly at the touch and he places his own hand over Jean’s, only the shirt separating them.

“Not too much?” Jeremy asks.

“No, this is—this is good.” Kevin’s voice catches and he coughs a few times against his upper arm. “My skin hurt this morning, though.”

With a frown, Jeremy makes a little sound of sympathy. “Aw, babe—was that why you went to the other room?”

Kevin nods. “Didn’t want to keep everyone up.”

With his free hand, Jean brushes a thumb over Kevin’s cheek. “How kind of you.” He pushes Kevin’s hair away from his face; the length is new—certainly not what anyone would consider long, but enough for Jean to play with. To tug on, even, but not today. “Are you feeling better at all?”

“Hard to tell what’s jet lag and what’s the flu,” Kevin admits, “but not worse.”

“Good.” It’s not a surprise, though—between the two of them, Kevin always got off easier with things like this. Jean had hoped it had been because Kevin wasn’t constantly healing from stitches or broken bones, but apparently Kevin was just naturally one step up from him. “Coming early means you have a few more days to recover from both, though.”

Kevin nods, about to speak when Jeremy says his name.

“Think fast,” Jeremy says as he reaches for the box of tissues on the coffee table and tosses it at Kevin. Of course, he catches it with ease, but flicks his free hand at Jeremy in question. “You were doing the same little nose-scrunching thing that Jean does when he’s trying not to sneeze.”

Kevin frowns. “What? No.”

“You definitely were, and it’s adorable.”

Eyebrows raised, Jean casts a sidelong look at Kevin; sure enough, a few seconds pass before his breath catches and he turns away, muffling two quick sneezes into his sleeve. He sniffles a few times before reaching for the tissues and when he finally looks up, he’s bleary-eyed and pink-nosed and so clearly still sick that it makes Jean’s chest ache. Rubbing his hand soothingly over Kevin’s thigh, he says, “Should we have Jeremy make you some more tea?”

“Oh, sure, just volunteer me, I guess.” Even though he grumbles, Jeremy gets up before Kevin has a chance to answer. “I’ll do it, but only because you two look so darn cute like this.” Before he disappears to the kitchen, Jeremy kisses each of them, first on the forehead, then chastely on the lips.

Once Jeremy is out of earshot, Jean reaches out to cup Kevin’s cheek, stroking the flushed skin with his thumb. “It is cute,” he says. “You get a little crease right here, too.” Moving his hand up, Jean traces a finger in a vertical line between Kevin’s eyebrows. “You look very focused.”

Kevin rolls his eyes, but takes Jean’s hand and kisses it anyway. “Took a lot of focus to convince the Master we weren’t fucking dying from this shit every January.”

They’d been made to play through anything, and with the entire team living on top of each other, illnesses tore through the team as fast as rumors. Everyone did their best to keep up appearances, knowing that only punishment would come from falling short during practice, and it had apparently become second nature to the point that Jean and Kevin acquired the same habit without noticing.

The only good thing to ever come of those miserable days was that when Kevin got sick Riko would send him away to save himself, leaving Kevin to crawl into Jean’s bed until the worst passed. He’d held Kevin close through fevers that left him with whole-body shivers and rubbed his back through coughing fits, knowing that Kevin would do the same for him when the time came.

And here they are—years later, finally free, and Kevin had flown across the country in the middle of the night just to be with him. It had been guaranteed that he’d catch this as well, that he’d be off the court for at least a few days with it, and still, Kevin had held him.

“I know I said I wasn’t going to talk about what happened—what I did—anymore,” Kevin says softly, “but there’s one thing I need to know.”

Leave it to Kevin to find a way to spoil a good moment. “Kevin, please. It was another life.” Exhaustion weighs on Jean’s voice as he draws lazy figure-eights with his index finger over Kevin’s thigh where it rests on his own. “Let it be forgotten.”

Kevin clenches his jaw, holding his breath until Jean’s sure his chest burns. Letting the air out slowly, he places his hand lightly over Jean’s to hold it in place. “Doesn’t that mean forgetting me?"

Jean had been braced for a blow, but not like this; he wishes he could pull Kevin to him and not let go. “I could never.” Shifting their grip, Jean brings Kevin’s hand to his lips. “You were the one good thing.”

“So were you,” Kevin echoes, kissing Jean’s hand in return.

It is still dangerous to hover here; Jean pivots. “Now you get to complain to your heart’s content while a beautiful boy makes you tea,” Jean says. “I much prefer this life.”

Said beautiful boy calls from the kitchen, “I’m also heating up soup—found another container of Cat’s veggie whatever in the freezer.”

“Mmm,” Kevin hums. “Veggie whatever.”

“He is, as you are well aware, not the cook in the family.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true,” Jean calls, angling his head to be sure that Jeremy can hear him. “But you are a wonderful little sous chef.” He looks back at Kevin and adds with a smirk, “Aside from the time he needed stitches after a battle with an onion.”

After first laughing, then coughing, Kevin manages, “Seriously?”

“He was lucky that it was the off-season.”

“I would have been luckier if you kept that little story to yourself, mister.” Back in the living room, Jeremy leans over Jean to kiss him upside-down. “Jerk.”

Before Jeremy can return to the kitchen, Kevin reaches one hand out for him and says his name. “Will you kiss me if I tease you about something, too?”

Jeremy walks to the front of the couch and drops to a crouch, now at eye level with Kevin. “I’d kiss you even without you antagonizing me.”

When he arrived in California, Jean had been a skittish animal, one wrong move away from bolting or biting. By the time he and Jeremy kissed, his reflexes had calmed but still, Jeremy had been so careful, always waiting for Jean to close the space between their mouths once they got close.

Jean had kissed Kevin in their adolescence—the memories of that are like all his memories from Evermore: shrouded and shadowy, then starkly, suddenly clear. When Jeremy kisses Kevin, gentle but unhesitating, Jean remembers frantic kisses with barely time to breathe between them.

He wonders how he ever doubted this could work.

Jeremy leans back, face alight with that perfect smile, and tucks some of Kevin’s hair behind one ear. “Good?”

Kevin nods, a true smile on his face, too. “Good.”

“My turn, then,” Jean says, leaning in; he feels Jeremy’s eyes on them as he kisses Kevin.

Jean’s body remembers so much that his mind doesn’t, and that’s rarely a good thing, always revealing some fault or another. Now, though, he feels his hand lace into Kevin’s hair, feels himself suck Kevin’s bottom lip between his own, and it comes as a relief.

They still fit together.

When they pull apart, Kevin’s cheeks are flushed and—god, he’s laughing a little, and still smiling. “I just—” He stops, pressing a hand to his cheek. “I’m just hoping this isn’t a fever dream.”

“Sure isn’t, babe,” Jeremy says, kissing Kevin’s forehead, then Jean’s. “But we should get you feeling better so you believe us.”

“And I imagine this will be more fun when you can breathe through your nose,” Jean adds.

Kevin huffs, flopping back into his previous position, and Jeremy laughs. “You want mint tea, or lemon ginger?”

“Which one’s your favorite?”

“Mint.”

“That, then.”

Jeremy’s halfway to standing when he narrows his eyes at Kevin. “Are you just asking that because you think I’ll want to kiss you more?”

“Maybe.”

Jean takes Kevin’s hand and kisses along his scarred knuckles. “I will do the same.”

“I’ve created monsters,” Jeremy sighs. Instead of returning to the kitchen, though, he leans back down and draws Kevin into another kiss, a little longer this time. When he pulls away, Jean gets a clear view of Kevin: green eyes bright with fever and crinkled at the corner with the smile that hasn’t left his face. Jeremy kisses Jean, slow and sweet, his lips slick from his kiss with Kevin, and Jean has never been more in love with either of them.