Chapter Text
Jean Moreau was carefully slicing tomatoes when Jeremy Knox’s cheerful greeting stopped him dead in his tracks. Jeremy sounded ecstatic—happier than he’d been all week.
Jean watched as Jabberwocky scrambled for the door, and the sound of a little body hitting the wall told him enough about the dog’s level of excitement.
Jean straightened up. In spite of himself, he sent the entryway a few expectant looks.
“Someone’s happy to see him,” Cat whispered next to him.
“Yes. The dog,” Jean replied evenly, refusing to return her conspiratorial glance.
Jeremy sank to his knees the moment he entered the living room. “Oh my God, look at you!” He gave Jabberwocky a dozen kisses. “Did you miss me? Yes, you did! Yes, you did!”
“Yes, he did,” Cat interjected with an innocent smile. For a glorious second, Jean contemplated force-feeding her a few tomatoes to keep her smart mouth busy.
Laila ignored both of them in favor of addressing Jeremy. “What’s the occasion? I thought you had to run an errand before going home?”
Though her tone was light, Jean had spent enough time with her to notice the downward tilt of her mouth.
“Oh, I did,” Jeremy replied. “But I still had time to make a quick stop to see you guys. Right, Jabbyjab?”
Despite the revolting nickname, most of the tension seemed to leave Laila’s shoulders. Softer, she said, “You’re in a good mood.”
He grinned back at her immediately. “How could I not be? It’s almost the weekend, I get to see my sweet boy, and…” With eyes full of pride, he opened his bag to reveal a small but shiny object. “Look at this beauty!”
Jean waited. He had no idea what that thing was supposed to be, but Cat’s sudden whistle told him it was somewhat impressive.
At least, it seemed good enough for Jabberwocky, who tried to give it a nibble. Jeremy quickly rose to his feet to keep it safe.
“No, Jab!” he yelped. “No eating my things! Ugh, wait, how do you say that in French?”
In the bat of an eye, Laila had joined Jeremy’s side.
“I assume that was the errand. It’s the new iPod?” she asked, already carefully inspecting the object.
He nodded seriously. “The 6th generation in the flesh! Or, should I say… in the steel? Is that steel? I can never tell.”
“Damn, you don’t waste time,” Cat remarked with admiration. “Didn’t it come out, like, a few weeks ago? You snatched it right out of the womb!”
“My old one died on me a few months back—it was time for a change. Mom didn’t even question it.”
Laila huffed at that, but Jeremy pretended not to hear it.
Mistaking Jean's silence for wonder, the other man leaned over the counter to show him the goods. “Worth it, right?”
“If you can afford it, definitively,” Cat replied, already back to rummaging through the cupboard.
It was hard not showing an ounce of interest when Jeremy was beaming up at him over his tomatoes. Jean put the knife aside and took the iPod in his hands to study it.
It was a shiny gray rectangle with rounded edges. It was cold to the touch and very light. There seemed to be a small black screen on the device’s upper half; Jean slowly dragged his finger over it, but nothing happened. It remained off, even when he traced a white wheel made of four buttons with his thumb.
He could tell by the buttons’ symbols that you could play something on the screen. What that something was supposed to be, Jean had no idea.
He remembered seeing a few students with similar items, but that was about it.
“What is it for?” he asked, giving the object back to its joyous owner.
“Oh right, sorry,” Jeremy said, like he should have been expecting the question. “It’s a portable music player! I just need my headphones and I can listen to any of the songs on it, anywhere, at any time.”
Jean wasn't sure why anyone would ever need a device to listen to music in their free time. And he had the distinct feeling that Jeremy would only make his confusion worse.
Still, with the other man watching him expectantly, Jean was bound to act a little stupid.
“What would you even listen to?” he heard himself ask before he could stop it.
The silence that followed was heavy but familiar. Jean did not particularly enjoy feeling like he had said something weird. It had once been a daily occurrence with his friends. However, he had gotten better on that front—or so he had thought.
Evidently, there was still some progress to be made.
He forced his attention back to Jeremy. Turning his iPod between his fingers, the young man had his head cocked to the side.
“Any song I want,” he offered. “All of my favorite ones.”
There was nothing to be said after such an unhelpful response, so Jean simply walked over to the sink to wash his hands and return to his tomatoes. But when he pivoted to get the soap, he found Cat's piercing eyes on him.
“Hey, just wondering. What's your favorite song at the moment?”
He could tell by her tone that she was already expecting the answer and knew she wouldn’t like it.
He couldn’t ask Does everyone have one?, even when it itched him to do so, so instead, he settled for a simple “Do I need to have one?”
It had been the right thing to say. Cat only grimaced. “I guess not. But still…”
Laila was tapping her fingers on the table, lost in thoughts. “Maybe you have a favorite genre?”
A what, now? Jean turned off the faucet and went back to the counter to get his knife. “Nothing comes to mind.”
He focused on his tomato slicing, but it was hard to ignore the weight of all of their eyes on him. Soon enough, Jean made the mistake of looking up at Jeremy.
The other man had put his music player back in his bag, and his focus was now entirely on Jean. “I can’t believe I never asked before… Do you ever listen to music?”
Jean almost laughed at that. Of course, he sometimes listened to music: other people’s music—Cat’s brand-new boombox, the radio in their cars, a musician performing on the street, the music playing in stores… But he wasn’t stupid enough to believe that was the extent of Jeremy’s question.
“Not as a recreational activity, no.”
Even if he had had the time or desire to do so, somehow, why would he have taken that risk? Listening to the Ravens come and go, recognizing the steps of each one of them… it had become a key part of surviving the Nest. Besides, even if he been mad enough to play with fire, what would he have listened to?
As a child, he had often heard his mother’s radio playing from the next room. Back then, he would sit down against the wall, taking in the songs and silently mouthing the words to his sister as she nestled against him. But that was years ago; songs in a foreign language, from radio stations that wouldn’t play on this side of the ocean. And Élodie was gone.
Grief was a vicious wave that slowly receded and left him exposed, only to rush back and drown him mercilessly.
His knife hit the chopping board. He had run out of things to cut.
“You don't know your music taste, do you?” Jeremy finally said, and there was something mournful in his warm brown eyes. Jean had no choice but to look away.
By the time he spoke up again, Laila had given Jean a bowl to put his tomatoes away. Jeremy’s voice was clear, full of light: “Would you like to know?”
Jean had to blink; the other man had materialized right next to him. Jeremy reached over him for the chopping board. In a mere second, he had stolen a tomato slice and eaten it.
“What?” It was the only thing that could escape Jean’s lips.
“Your music taste. Do you want to know what it is? We could figure it out together.”
“What.”
“We could listen to different kinds of music; find out what works for you!” Jeremy was starting to sound way too excited about this dreadful adventure. “That'd be fun, right? Heck, we could even go to a concert together! Imagine that!”
He could not. Or, maybe he could; but that was worse. This was getting out of hand. Jean had to put a stop to it.
Cat was hunched over the pan with her back to them, and he could tell she was trying not to snicker. Laila was getting the plates ready with a neutral look on her face, but Jean noticed her trying to catch Jeremy’s eye.
He really ought to nip that idea in the bud. But Jeremy was already coming up with an unbelievable number of possible activities, looking more and more thrilled with each new one. He sounded so eager to work on that absurd project of his that Jean did not have it in him to either encourage or discourage him.
“So, what do you think?” Jeremy asked at last, inclining his head just enough that a few strands of blond hair fell over his eyes.
“I think you have too much free time.”
It was a lie, and they both knew it. Jeremy was busier than ever. That he’d want to sacrifice what little peace he had left for Jean was unreasonable. Unforgivable, even.
However, it was terribly in character for his fool of a captain.
Jean didn’t ask him why he cared so much. Although the question haunted him, he already knew the answer.
For good measure, he added, “Let’s not make a whole cheese out of this.”
Alas, his dismissal did not had the intended effect.
“A whole—“ Jeremy’s words were drowned out by the echoing sound of Cat’s maniacal laughter.
“Cheese?!” she breathed with disbelief. “What do you mean cheese?”
Jean looked from one to the other and let out a deep sigh. “Is that not how you say it?”
“Wait,” Laila’s eyes were bright with curiosity. “Is that how you say ‘making a big deal out of something’ in French? That’s so neat. Is this common? Specific to Marseille? Do you have any other sayings that involve cheese, or…?”
“Don’t change the subject!” Jeremy pleaded. “I was asking him an important question about music.”
“I wonder what his favorite song would even be…” Cat mused in a tone that made Jean squint at her. “For all we know, it could end up being SexyBack or something. Can you imagine?”
Jean could not. He didn't need to listen to that song to guess that she was making fun of him. The distasteful title made it terribly obvious.
With one foot, he pushed her stool a little to the side, just as she tried to sit on it. It wasn’t so far as to make her fall, but the little gasp she let out was payback enough. Cat ran to Jabberwocky for comfort—or perhaps immunity.
Laila shook her head. “Please no. It's already Jeremy's. We can't have another Justin Timberlake super fan under this roof. We need some diversity.”
“What?” Jeremy sounded genuinely offended. “It's not my favorite song! It’s not even my favorite song of his!”
“It's not?” Cat interjected, with Jabberwocky buried in her arms. “You wouldn't stop playing it the entire year! You better give me all those hours back!”
Jeremy threw his hands up in disbelief. “Lies. I only play it on special occasions. You must have heard it on the radio—it wasn’t me.”
“Sure, babe,” Laila said, just as Cat replied, “And in what kind of situations are you listening to SexyBack on repeat, Jeremy?”
The accused seemed to be thinking hard of a safe answer to give them, but was coming up empty-handed. “Nothing that scandalous…” he finally said before trailing off with a smug smile that did scream scandal.
Cat looked like she was going to tease him a bit more, but Jean needed to put an end to this madness before he started giving it too much thought. “What is your favorite song, then?”
She sent him a look for stepping in. Jean pretended not to see it.
Jeremy gave him a dimpled smile. “Ah, thank you! Someone who asks instead of assuming,” he said, as if Jean would have had any guess to make.
“Oh, we’re all dying to know,” Cat laughed. “It has to be Nelly Furtado, right? You bought the CD just for your car. Hmm, which one… Promiscuous, maybe?”
“Wrooong!” Jeremy crossed his arms, looking as stern as his gentle features allowed him to. “Good try, I love it, but it’s not my current favorite song. Laila, any guess?”
“My money is on Stronger by Kayne West.”
“It’s everybody’s favorite song! It doesn’t count.”
Jean had no idea who all those singers were. It was a little overwhelming; like he had been brought back to the first days of summer, when everything felt ever so slightly out of reach.
But summer was over, and Jean had made it to October.
He had stopped following the conversation when Jeremy promptly put his bag up onto the counter and got his laptop out.
“What are you doing?” Jean asked, a little startled.
“The CD’s at home, but I’ve got it all on there,” Jeremy explained, and Jean had to remind himself that home meant at my family’s house and not here.
It had always been understood that Jeremy was to live with his family during the week, only coming home to them on the weekends. But ever since the fire, his mother had taken the liberty of keeping him away every single night. Jeremy still managed to spend some of his free time with them, but he was not to sleep at their place again.
For now, Jeremy had promised, but Jean knew the look of a man holding onto false hope.
They had still gotten a bed for him. Even now, its white sheets haunted Jean and Jeremy’s room, empty and untouched.
It had been hard for the both of them to adjust to this new rhythm—it still was. Especially with Jabberwocky now thrown into the mix.
Jean hated all of it. He hated Jeremy’s mother, of course. But most of all, he hated the despair creeping up on his friend’s face whenever he had to leave.
It’s Thursday, he told himself. Almost the weekend.
“Alright… here we go! Favorite song at the moment,” Jeremy announced.
As soon as the song started, the computer’s media player started displaying some strange imagery. Geometric shapes began to appear, pulsing along to the music’s beat. The colors were starting to change, from electric blue to neon orange.
Jean was too stunned to speak. He felt like he was being hypnotized. He barely registered the melody that was playing, his eyes glued to the screen.
He only came out of his trance due to utter bewilderment: Jeremy had started singing along to the song.
Jean almost snapped his own neck to look at him. He was both amazed and aggravated by Jeremy’s behavior: his performance was clearly meant to be light-hearted, as he did not have the voice of a singer, and yet, he gave it his all. He was singing all the parts, even an additional speaking voice that appeared once or twice. He was moving his hands in a series of intricate motions that might have made sense if Jean had been paying any attention to the lyrics at all.
It was hard not to be impressed with Jeremy’s lung capacity: he barely got a breath in during the entirety of the chorus and was still spouting words like it was nothing. Jean wondered how he utilized that ability on the court. Or off of it.
That dangerous line of thought was cut short by the sound of rising debate.
“I should have known it would be MIKA,” Laila shook her head gravely, spatula in hand. She did not like to lose.
“Yeah, Grace Kelly was obvious,” Cat agreed before humming the tune to the dog.
Jeremy turned towards Jean, who was still processing the dual hypnosis from the computer and its owner. “So, what did you think?”
“About?”
“The song!”
Jean did not waste their time pretending like he had to put any thought into it. “You are a better striker than singer.”
That got a laugh out of Jeremy. “No, I mean, did you like it? The song, not my singing.”
Jean didn’t know. He had barely paid attention. In all honesty, he was still a little dazed from the experience. “I’m not sure.”
For a second, he thought Jeremy was going to be disappointed, but then, he looked at Jean with renewed interest. “Well, that’s alright. It’s hard to know at first. The more songs you’ll listen to, the easier it will get. We just need to find your clear yeses and no’s. There are many genres out there, I’m sure we’ll end up finding something you like. Maybe even love!”
Jean didn’t get the time to come up with a reply; Jeremy’s phone went off at full volume. It was an unpleasant sound, the unmistakable chord that announced a text from his family.
Jean watched as all signs of joy swiftly withdrew from Jeremy’s face, like sand escaping a hand. They all watched it happen, powerless.
“Oh,” Jeremy said evenly, putting his phone back in his pocket as fast as he had gotten it out. “I have to go. I thought I had time to stop here, but I didn’t realize how late it had gotten already.”
Looking defeated even with a smile on his face, Jeremy started packing his things. He was very clearly avoiding Cat’s worried stare. Laila was aggressively looking for the salt, reminding Jean of his abandoned tomatoes. He forced his attention back on the task at hand and threw them into the bowl.
Jeremy must have noticed the tense atmosphere, because he let out an exaggerated yawn.
Then, with the face of an angel, he reached for the tomato bowl to steal another slice. Jean gently slapped his hand away before he could succeed.
“Thief,” he uttered, and winced because it somehow sounded like he had said teeth—English and Jeremy were going to be the death of him. “Fine, I'll humor you. Help me find my music taste.”
A bright smile found its way back on Jeremy's lips and he offered it wholeheartedly to Jean. “I’ll try to think of something,” he promised. “It will be fun!”
Jean knew better than to argue with Jeremy’s notion of fun. He might have, on a better day, but Jeremy looked dejected enough to be going home. All Jean could do was let him have this—a little hope. Real hope.
Even if that bizarre little quest led nowhere, as Jean thought it fatally would, it might at least be enough to occupy Jeremy’s mind during the nights. And sooner or later, Jeremy would move on to other preoccupations. Preferably exy-related.
Or dog-related, Jean thought, watching Jeremy tearfully say his goodbyes to Jabberwocky.
The door closed behind him, and Jean ate the tomato slice the other man hadn’t managed to steal.
It’s Thursday, he told himself.
By the time the weekend came around, Jean had thought he was safe from the entire ordeal.
On Friday, Jeremy had yet to mention it. Even when he had run into Jean and Cody on campus. Even when they had gone to practice together. Even by text.
He must have forgotten, Jean had assumed, quite naively.
Hence why he had not been expecting anything when he had come back from his weekly morning ride with Cat on Saturday. At the very least, he had surely not expected to walk into their bedroom and find Jeremy patiently waiting for him.
He was sitting cross-legged on his own bed, his iPod in hand, and Jabberwocky silently resting with his head on his thigh. Strangely, Jeremy had traded his headphones for smaller earphones, although he was not using them.
The new bedroom seemed less bleak now that he was back in it.
The gentle morning glow filtering in from the window seemed to drape over him, making him look intangible, like he was nothing but a trick of the light. It was such a candid vision that it made Jean stop to take it in.
His blond hair was made lighter by the brightness of the room, making his roots stand out all the more. Jeremy kept saying he needed to make an appointment to take care of them, but Jean didn’t mind them—not that he’d ever tell him.
“What’s on your mind?” Jeremy asked sweetly.
Jean shook his head in dismissal. “You need to stop letting the dog get on your bed. He already has too many bad manners as it is.”
“No way,” Jeremy answered in that sickeningly soft voice that was meant for Jabberwocky. “Jab is a good dog. Aren’t you? Yes, you are. No bad manners at all. See? He’s a gentleman.”
Jean took off his jacket and sat down on his bed, facing Jeremy. He watched as the other man lovingly patted the sleepy dog’s head.
“You’re spoiling him,” Jean mumbled grumpily.
Jeremy did not answer the easy accusation. Instead, he waited for Jean to put his jacket away before speaking again. “What do you want to do?”
Jean looked up at his friend. He had gotten used to those kinds of broad questions, but he still wasn’t sure what type of answers Jeremy was expecting out of them.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean today,” Jeremy clarified. “Is there anything you want to do? Do you have any plans?”
Jean gave his phone a quick look. It was still rather early in the morning. They wouldn’t be eating for another hour and a half, at least. Maybe two.
“I ought to study. I have some notes to sort out. Did you take that four-legged faucet out to pee?”
Jeremy nodded pensively, like that was something he could work with. “Twice, already. I took him for a run, he’s exhausted. He went out like a light. So that leaves us…” After a few seconds, he leaned forward and gave Jean a toothy grin. “How about a little jam session?”
Jean was so underwhelmed he almost let out an audible sigh. “I don’t think we should be eating snacks this close to lunch. Or at all. And I would rather have the real fruit instead.”
Jeremy raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh. Not this kind of jam! Cat would kill us if we got breakfast this late.”
“Ah. Then, I do not know that word.”
Jeremy shook his head. “It’s alright. I should have—it’s when musicians get together to play music without having rehearsed. But that's not how I meant it.”
Jeremy was not helping with Jean’s confusion, but he kept going. “I just thought we could listen to music together for a little while. We could do it while we study, if you want. What do you think?”
Jean considered the offer for a little bit. He wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“I’m not against it. But why?”
Jeremy shrugged like it was the easiest question in the world. “Why not?”
Jean wasn’t particularly convinced, so Jeremy went on. “Just think of it as putting the fun in function. Combining business with pleasure—and in your case it really is Business you’re studying so…”
“Alright,” Jean agreed, because he had no real reason to refuse his partner. “How does it work?”
Jeremy gently moved a snoozing Jabberwocky to the side before attempting to get up. “Well, for starters, it’ll be easier if we study on one of our beds. The desks are too far apart to share earphones.” He showed him the cords in his hand.
Jean nodded. That seemed fair, somehow. Usually, studying on a bed would have seemed like a terrible idea, one that was bound to distract him. But seeing as music and Jeremy were to be involved, it was already doomed to be an impressively inefficient study session.
Foutu pour foutu, he thought. Might as well.
Jean’s eyes landed on the little dog snoring peacefully on the other man’s bed.
“We can use mine,” he told Jeremy.
With no further comment to make, he left the room to get his notes and a few pens. By the time he came back, Jeremy was already sitting comfortably on Jean’s bed, book in hand.
“You’re reading?”
“I’m an English major,” Jeremy reminded him. “I do have a list of works to read through. But, you know, this year it’s not that long.”
Studying Business required some occasional reading, but he supposed Jeremy’s books were less theoretical. Perhaps more interesting. “What is this one?”
Jeremy showed him the cover. “A Modest Proposal by Jonathan Swift.” He flipped the book so he could read the complete title. “A Modest Proposal for Preventing the Children of Poor People In Ireland from Being a Burden to Their Parents or Country, and for Making Them Beneficial to the Public.”
“Lovely,” Jean snickered. “Maybe you’ll find a use for Kevin, after all.”
Jeremy grinned at that, and shook his head. “Isn’t he the Queen of the court? I don’t think it gets more beneficial to the public than that.”
“Unsure. My country beheads queens.”
Jeremy couldn’t help but laugh. “Thank God it’s the US court, then. They would probably find him more useful with his head still attached to his body.”
Jean neither could nor would argue. The very idea of Kevin being a burden on the United States was a travesty—if anything, no country deserved his talent and dedication. As for him being a burden to his parents… Jean could only pity Coach Wymack, but the man had brought it upon himself. Willingly, too.
Jean sat down on Jeremy’s right side and started organizing his notes. “What is the modest proposal?”
Jeremy leaned back against the wall, his head dangerously close to Jean’s. “Well, basically, that poor people should sell their children as food to the wealthy. Literally. Like, actual cannibalism. This way, the starving children are fed… to fatten them up. And, uh, the rich get a luxurious meal. And the parents are freed from the burden of the child, or something like that.”
Something must have shown on Jean’s face, because Jeremy quickly added, “But don’t worry. It’s not a serious proposal. It’s part of the syllabus for my class on satire and political comedy. So it is supposed to sound horrible.”
Jean couldn’t help but let out a choked laugh; the sound quiet but awful. Satire, of course. Political comedy. Because, who would sell their children? His life was a joke.
“I’ve read it before, but I needed a refresher,” Jeremy went on, carefully eying Jean. “Next one on the list is Candide, or Optimism, by Voltaire. Have you read it?”
Jean made sure to sound unimpressed. “Are you asking because it’s French?”
Jeremy remained unapologetic. “Well, have you?”
Jean gave him a pointed look but resorted to telling the truth. “I have…” And then, because he needed to wipe the smug smile off Jeremy’s face, he added, “It tells the story of how blind optimism screws you over. Actually, I believe it should be mandatory reading for the Trojans.”
If that was the exact sentiment of the book, Jean did not remember. He had read it as an unwilling and disinterested thirteen year old. But his little taunt had the intended effect on the team’s captain; Jeremy protested and gave him a playful nudge.
“Funny,” he grumbled, but there was no heat to his words. “What are you studying?”
Jean glanced at him. “Are you sure you want to know about applied business statistics?”
Jeremy marked a pause. “Yeah, maybe not.”
Jean was amused by that easy admission. He finished settling in, basking in the comfortable silence. Only then, after a minute of calm, did he remember what they were supposed to be doing. He turned toward Jeremy. “Are we not jamming?”
Jeremy’s eyes went wide, and he tried to suppress an infectious smile. He nodded, as seriously as he could. “We are. Let’s jam the heck out.”
Painstakingly, he started untangling his earphones. Jean wasn’t sure how he had managed to make a mess of their cords when they had been fine minutes ago.
The disentangling was taking a moment, and Jeremy had politely refused Jean’s help.
“I’ve got a playlist for everything,” Jeremy explained, once he was almost done removing the knots. “And I have the perfect one for this occasion. It’s called All work and no play.”
He sounded terribly proud. In spite of himself, Jean was intrigued.
“You make your own playlists?”
“All the time!” Jeremy replied, working away at the last big knot. “I like super specific ones. I have pretty broad taste in music, so I can listen to anything. Pop, Hip-hop, R&B, Rock… Hell, I’ll even dabble in some Country if the beat is right!”
“Sounds like you’re just easy to please,” Jean mused, his thoughts derailing.
He had gotten lost in contemplation, watching as the muscles in Jeremy’s forearms shifted with each movement—unrelenting, like the crashing of waves. The hair there was the color of wet sand, and Jean’s eyes followed the enticing trail of skin to the tips of long fingers.
“Playlists allow me to find exactly the kind of music I’m in the mood for, no matter the genre,” Jeremy continued, unaware of Jean’s distraction. “And it’s easier to sort songs that way. Besides, they’re really fun to make. The sillier the name, the better.”
Jean watched on as the final knot was removed, but only Jeremy’s victorious cheer managed to break the spell he was under. “There we go!”
Jean came up from his thoughts with a jolt. Jeremy was showing him the result of his hard work, blissfully unaware of the other man’s mental turmoil.
“Better like this, eh?”
Jean gave him a noncommittal shrug.
Undeterred, Jeremy brought his iPod into view, right between them.
He dragged his thumb over the wheel of the device and the screen instantly lit up. “See what I meant about silly names?” he said, as if Jean had heard any of it. “I have one called Having an existential crisis at the drive-through, and another one called In need of a chill pill.”
Jean had no idea what any of that was supposed to sound like. But Jeremy’s finger was already moving, revealing a rather long list of playlists. Jean turned his attention toward the screen, reading some of the names.
“What does Feeling myself at the gym mean?” he asked.
Jeremy jumped at the question. Looking away, he turned the wheel until the playlist was out of sight. “Uuuuh, what?” he tried. “I don’t remember that one.”
Jean barely had time to catch sight of two more names before Jeremy clicked on the wheel and changed the screen; one was called Romantic walk on the beach, and the other one Another day in captivity.
Jeremy put in the right earbud, and offered him the other one.
Jean took it in his hand and slowly brought it to his left ear. He froze instantly: the cord was hanging between them, outstretched just enough that one movement would send any earbud flying right out of their ears. It made Jean tense up, worried about ripping the earphones from Jeremy. He tried bringing his notes up to eye level, but the cautious motion was taking ages.
Without a word, Jeremy inched closer and closer until Jean could no longer feel the tension in the cord. Their shoulders were pressed together, making Jean hyper-aware of the warm body next to him. Jeremy made no comment, careful to leave Jean enough time to retreat if he wished to.
“There we go,” he finally announced, setting the iPod aside after pressing play. “Let me know if it’s too loud.” He waited for Jean to nod before adding, “And if there's any song you like, you tell me, and I'll give you the name.”
The music started, but Jean wasn’t paying attention.
He tried focusing on his notes but failed on the first and second tries. He wasn’t used to reading while a song was playing. The lyrics kept trying to grab his attention, and his mind was elsewhere.
Next to him, Jeremy was dutifully reading. How he could do that while someone was vocalizing in his ear, Jean didn’t know. For a fleeting moment, he wondered what it would take to shift his focus.
Jean blinked away the thought and forced his eyes back on his index cards.
Belatedly, he identified the root of his distraction: Jeremy was sitting so close that his scent hung around them, gently submerging Jean, depriving him of all other senses.
Jeremy smelled like summer; a sweet blend of fruit and flowers. It was a familiar fragrance, soft enough to pull Jean in and let him peer into the lost past.
Once, on one of the rare occasions he had been brought out of the neighborhood to be paraded around, he had found himself in a fruit orchard full of that aroma. He remembered wandering through rows of dense trees, wondering how long he had before his parents dragged him back to their side. The land was lush and filled with life. Unlike Marseille’s urban landscape, which was a kaleidoscope of whites, blues, and terracotta, everything within reach was green; from the sun-kissed grass to the thick foliage. And yet, his eyes had been drawn to the vibrant speckles of orange contrasting the verdure; plump and ripe, just waiting to be picked—apricots.
He hadn’t been allowed to touch then; he wasn’t allowed to touch now.
And yet… he had, back then.
In secret, when there was no one in the world to see it… he had given the fruit a gentle twist. And he had watched, in awe, as the apricot smoothly came free. Dizzy with fear and hunger, he had cracked its flesh open and eaten it in a rush. But the thrill was short-lived—this little act of self-determination could never be exposed. And so, in the chilling shade of the tree, he had hidden the pit into the ground, overcome by shame, and a joy so great it left him grieving. He could no longer recall the sweet illicit taste, but the bitter feeling had stayed with him.
Jean dug his nails into his palm, trying desperately to hold onto the present. But just as his mood was turning sour, he was pulled right out of his thoughts: a new song was playing.
Jean had barely noticed it at first, as quiet as it was. But after a few seconds, it had suddenly picked up in intensity, startling him. And now, it was quiet again. Jean hadn’t expected any of it.
Out of misplaced curiosity, he tried to listen to the lyrics. They weren’t that difficult to understand on first try, which he appreciated. The stars were mentioned. The singer went on and on about everything being yellow, for some reason. A terrible choice of color, if Jean was being honest; but somehow, it reminded him of the Gold Court, of the pale yellow house they all shared before the fire, of painted daffodils and little ducks.
The song wasn’t that bad.
Next to him, Jeremy was still focused on his reading, book in one hand. The only indication that he was listening to the same music as Jean were his fingers; they were resting on the mattress, right between them, drumming quietly to the beat.
When the song ended, Jean opted for a simple “This one was alright.”
Jeremy’s head turned so fast he almost fell off the bed. “You liked it?”
He looked so delighted by the thought that Jean couldn’t help but look down at his own hands. This felt a little embarrassing, although he wasn’t sure why. “It is fine.”
“I need to write it down,” Jeremy said with urgency, already pausing the music and rummaging through his pockets. After finding nothing but gum packs and his godforsaken yo-yo, he leaned over Jean to take one of his pens. “Stealing this. It’s for a good cause.”
He put Jean’s ballpoint pen between his teeth so he could look through his book with two hands. It took him only a moment to find what he was looking for. He retrieved a single scrap of paper from the pages; his makeshift bookmark, Jean assumed. On it, he wrote down the name of the song.
“Yellow by Coldplay!” he announced with glee, showing it to Jean and sending his book flying off the bed in the process. Then, without another word, he traced his thumb over the piece of paper, completely enraptured by it.
“What is it?” Jean asked, his thoughts erratic.
“Nothing,” Jeremy shook his head, still bright-eyed. “It’s just—I feel like I just got to know you a little better. That’s all.”
He lifted his gaze to meet Jean’s eyes, and it became a little harder to breathe. What was there to know about him, Jean wondered. Apart from strict rules, ugly secrets, quiet loss and resentment? When all of it was taken away, what was left? If you were to pick him apart and look inside, what would you see? Was it worth knowing?
His skin prickled with the ache for complete and utter understanding.
“Is it good or bad?” The earnest words had escaped him before he could help it.
“Hmm?” Jeremy looked a little dazed. His gaze had dropped a little; he dragged it back up to Jean’s eyes.
“My taste in music. Is it good or bad?”
He watched as Jeremy slowly blinked his confusion away. Although he seemed puzzled, he was taking the question seriously.
“It’s not about it being good or bad,” he explained, straightening up. “I’m not going to use those words. It’s just your taste. As long as you like it, it’s all that matters, right?”
This wasn’t the answer Jean had hoped for; but then again, he wasn’t sure what he had wanted to hear.
Maybe Jeremy noticed his disappointment, because he tried again. “Nobody agrees on what good or bad mean, so it’s pointless to compare. I mean, you can judge—we all do it—but, at the end of the day, to each their own!”
“You act like tasteless isn’t a word that exists for a reason,” Jean remarked. “You mean to be respectful, but I’m the one asking for the assessment. Your integrity should remain intact even if you judge me.”
Jeremy chuckled softly. “You know, you could just ask if I like it too.”
Jean looked away, and the other man poked his shoulder until his eyes were back on him.
“Alright, listen up,” Jeremy said with authority, “even if I wanted to, I couldn’t judge your entire music taste based on one song you like. You’ll need to find a lot more than that. So ask me again once you have a playlist full of them. Deal?”
“Deal,” Jean conceded, after only a moment.
A gentle smile illuminated Jeremy’s face as he spoke again. “But, you know, for what it’s worth, I obviously think it’s a great song. I mean, I liked it enough to download it and put it on my iPod. So we clearly agree on this one!”
And then, for good measure, he gave Jean a thumbs up and a wink. “It’s Jeremy approved! Not that you need my approval.”
Except that maybe he did. It was hard to navigate this confusing journey of musical discovery without guidance. It was like going back in time; a child, lost in a foreign land.
Sometimes, it was easier to have someone tell him where to go, what to do, if he was doing it right. And he trusted Jeremy to do it.
“It will have to do,” Jean concluded, somewhat reassured. He tapped the back of Jeremy’s hand with two fingers. “Now, back to the jamming.”
His captain nodded fervently. “Anything you want!”
Jean made a genuine attempt at focusing on his work. But, next to him, Jeremy was shifting in place, looking puzzled. Jean didn’t even get to ask him what was wrong; the next thing he knew, Jeremy was leaning in to get his book from the floor.
The eager movement ripped the earbud right from Jean’s ear.
It hadn’t hurt—not one bit—but the abruptness of it had made his body flinch.
“Oh god,” Jeremy breathed, tripping over his own words. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to do that!”
That was enough to wake Jabberwocky up. The little dog seemed to eye them curiously as Jeremy sat back on the bed.
With an apologetic expression on his face and his book in his lap, Jeremy waited for Jean to be the one to scoot over.
It took half a minute, but he eventually did.
“It is alright,” Jean affirmed as he settled next to him again, close enough for their shoulders to brush. “It just took me by surprise.”
He waited for Jeremy to break the uneasy silence Jean had plagued them with. But Jeremy did nothing except give him a few tentative looks.
When Jean only raised his eyebrows in response, Jeremy put in one earbud, and showed him the other end of the cord.
“Here, let me—let me put it back,“ he spoke softly, gesturing towards the side of Jean’s face. “If it’s okay?”
He remained perfectly still as he awaited an answer. Jean said nothing; instead, he obediently pivoted his face in offering.
Jeremy inched closer and cautiously brought his hand up to Jean’s ear. He hesitated, then, his fingers frozen in place as he searched for something on the other man’s face.
But Jean’s eyes were fixed on the dog in front of him, though he wasn’t seeing him. His vision was a blur he failed to make sense of.
He didn’t know how to act when he was watched like this. He was keenly aware of his own traitorous body, of the pulse in his jaw, and of his hand, curled into a fist.
How strange it was, having to think about breathing, as if you had never done it in your life.
Whatever sign Jeremy was looking for in Jean’s expression, he did not seem to find. And so, gingerly, he brushed the hair away from the other man’s ear, using only the back of his hand. Then, gently, he put the earbud back in.
“There you go,” he breathed before retreating from Jean’s space.
Jeremy had been careful not to touch his skin directly, but Jean still felt the trail of the other man’s fingers in his hair.
Neither of them spoke after this; leaving each other to their thoughts and the music. But when Jean looked over where Jeremy was diligently reading, his eyes caught sight of a novelty.
Jeremy had goosebumps all over.
The realization came with a sense of satisfaction so heavy it frightened Jean. He wanted to bask in it as much as he wanted it gone. His mouth went dry with the awareness of it.
He couldn’t—shouldn't—dwell on it, so instead, he closed his eyes and listened to the music.
The time passed, marked by the procession of songs and Jabberwocky’s gentle snoring.
Although the rest of the playlist did not particularly move him, Jean was amazed to find that he did not dislike it.
The knowledge that the two of them were listening to the same music together troubled Jean a little. Yet, in spite of it, the presence of the man next to him still felt reassuring.
He didn’t stop it, and neither did Jeremy. Not when Jean was finally done going through his notes. Not when the playlist was over and started replaying everything from the start. Not when Jabberwocky ignored Jean’s stern look and joined them on the bed. Not even when Jeremy closed the book after reading the last page.
It was strange, in a way, Jean thought. It felt intimate, deeply personal; yet, it looked so ordinary. And when noon came and Cat knocked on their door, finding them like this—silent and peaceful—she did not even bat an eye.
That evening, Jeremy was gone again.
Even with Jabberwocky following Jean around most of the time, his partner’s absence made the bedroom feel desolate, all too quiet.
Jean had just finished watching a movie with Cat and Laila after dinner, and there was nothing left for him to do but rest.
Feeling strangely lonesome, he sat by the window and watched the clouds slowly change colors.
By then, Jeremy would usually be talking about their day, asking him questions that Jean would either dodge or idly answer.
He couldn’t believe he had ever complained about Jeremy talking too much. This silence was unnerving. He felt the urge to break it, but he was alone. Their dog was still cuddling with the girls in the living room, and Jean did not want to risk bothering any of them.
With purpose, he got his laptop out of his bag, turned it on, and placed it on Jeremy’s bed. It took him a few tries to figure out how to spell “MIKA”, but from there it was a smooth process. He started with the first video he could find; it had the lyrics on the screen. It was exactly what he needed. Jean settled on his own bed and listened intently.
A few songs went by. He didn’t fully get it, at least at first; but he understood why Jeremy liked them. The songs were lively, upbeat and colorful; but where he had thought they sounded cheerful, the lyrics had proved, for most of them, to be rather melancholic, maybe even a little bitter.
Still, Jean felt like he couldn’t really tell what the songs were really about. He wasn’t sure he liked it too much, this openness to interpretation. Weren’t songs supposed to have a clear story?
In spite of it, the third song caught his attention. It seemed to tell the story of a person who had been abandoned by someone else.
That, Jean thought he understood; be it the leaving or the being left behind to deal with the consequences.
Like clockwork, he felt the bite of fingernails dig into his palm.
That was a dangerous line to tread. Now that he had acknowledged it, it was hard not to let it become personal. Those were complicated feelings he did not want to unearth. And yet, with each lyric, he felt his mind wander further and further down that path. But Jean could only survive one of those memories.
He could not—would not—imagine how she had felt when he had left, so Kevin Day would have to take the fall instead.
It was easier being angry at him than it was being eaten alive by guilt.
But the anger was so mild it surprised him. It felt distant, like the recollection of it, rather than the feeling itself. He understood the song, but that was no longer him.
Slowly, he unclenched his fist.
Now that Jean had regained some mental clarity, he felt a little embarrassed at his initial reaction. Why had the song triggered such a foolish emotional response?
It had felt authentic, he supposed. Jean wondered if that was what Jeremy liked about music. But why would he ever want to willingly subject himself to that kind of introspection?
Against his better judgment, he texted him.
Jean
“Happy ending” is not happy at all.
It was all he sent. He trusted Jeremy to connect the dots.
As expected, it didn’t take him long. After a minute, Jeremy had already replied with a series of texts.
Jeremy
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Listen to Stuck In The Middle
Sooo good :^)
Jean chose to ignore that distasteful smiley in favor of focusing on the task at hand.
He turned to the laptop and searched for the title.
By the time he got to the chorus, Jean was frowning. It wasn’t at all that the song was awful, not really. The reality was far simpler: it was putting him in a foul mood.
It didn’t take a genius to know exactly what drew Jeremy to this song. The lyrics spoke for themselves.
Is there anybody home
Who will believe me, won't deceive me,
Won't try to change me?
Is there anybody home,
Who wants to have me just to love me?
Not in that home, Jean thought. He remembered the cold lifeless mansion. There was nothing for Jeremy there.
The very idea that the other man could be thinking about his undeserving family while wistfully listening to that song was making Jean sick to his stomach.
He truly could not understand the appeal.
He read Jeremy’s texts again, trying to find anything else to comment on.
Jean
So you do know how to use the word “good”.
Jeremy
Oops you got me
Well my point still stands, it’s good to *me*
But my taste is immaculate ;-)
Jean
Doubtful. You seem to have questionable taste in men.
Jeremy
???
WOW
I’m going to pretend you did not just say that
Did you like the song?
Jean
“Happy Ending” is better.
Jeremy
Am writing it down!!
Jean had nothing to add to that, so he left no reply. Instead, he turned the computer off and prepared for bed.
Then, once he was ready for sleep, he grabbed his phone and started typing again. This time, the recipient was someone else, but the answer came just as fast, in spite of the time difference.
Jean
What is your favorite song ?
Renee
I don’t believe I have one right now! What about you?
For a reason he could not decipher, Jean felt a little disappointed. He wondered what kind of music Renee would enjoy. If she liked songs that were sad, happy, or angry. If she even cared about music at all.
He was starting to understand why Jeremy had longed to know.
Jean
I don’t. Jeremy wants to help me find one.
Renee
Do you want to?
Find one, I mean.
He sat back for a moment, pondering his answer to her question. Then, finally, he typed out something that felt like the truth.
Jean
I think so.
Two minutes went by, and Jean thought that was the end of the conversation. He was about to turn off his bedside lamp when his phone lit up with a new text.
Renee
I like Jeremy.
Jean furrowed his eyebrows in consternation. He knew she was making fun of him, although the idea wouldn’t be so foreign.
He thought of Kevin, his eyes lit with an admiration even the Nest had not managed to suffocate. He thought of his fellow Trojans, a boisterous crowd that always went silent to hear their captain speak. He thought of himself, too, allowing him in his room, wanting him there.
But he wasn’t stupid enough to miss the barely-hidden meaning behind Renee’s words. And he was not taking the bite.
Jean
Do not start. I am blocking your number.
Renee was quick to reply, quicker to dodge the empty threat.
Renee
Oh, don’t block me yet! I’d love to know what your favorite song is when you find it.
I’ll think about mine and share it with you once I’ve decided.
Sleep well, Jean!
He rolled his eyes at the obvious change in subject, but it suited him just fine.
Jean
You too.
He closed his phone, then flipped it open again. In a swift motion, before he could think too much about it, he sent Jeremy a plain “Goodnight.”.
The answer was immediate.
Jeremy
Sweet dreams :-)
Jean didn’t think they would be, but he smiled anyway.