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It is a rare occasion that Riko leave the Nest without Kevin and Jean.
Technically, the three of them – the perfect court – are not allowed to do anything without each other, but Riko is the exception. Jean can only guess at why the master drags Riko away; he assumes it is family business that he and Kevin are not privy to, but he never knows. All Jean knows is that sometimes, when he is particularly lucky, Riko will leave for a day.
It is a sliver of freedom, sometimes not even that, but Jean revels in it. It’s never enough for Jean to be off-guard, but more settled. He knows that so long as the door to their room stays closed, and it is just Kevin seated beside him, Jean will be okay. They both will.
Still, Kevin waits at least an hour after Riko leaves before pushing off his bed and flicking on the television. He flips through the channels quickly, watching for the correct number in the corner. Jean glances at the screen and Kevin’s frantic button pressing, bored with the display. The stars have aligned for Kevin today because Riko is gone, and the USC Trojans are playing their third game of the Fall season at their home court. Kevin is desperate to watch without Riko’s scathing commentary. Riko and Kevin obsessively watching exy games is nothing new, but Kevin’s obsession with the Trojans is. Jean’s not sure when it started, but it was April when Kevin began whispering to Jean about their new players and the genius style of play every second they were out of Riko’s earshot.
Jean is lounging on his bed, idly flipping through one of Kevin’s beloved history textbooks. He’s in his last year of accelerated studies, preparing for early entry to Edgar Allan along with Riko and Kevin, and Kevin had taken it upon himself to help Jean with some of his studies, leaving notes and tips in the margins of his textbooks so Jean wouldn’t need to read as much. It’s unbearably kind and Jean tries not to think too much about it (but sometimes he can’t help himself and his throat will feel swollen and tight as his heart thumps painfully in his chest).
“The game does not start for another half hour,” Jean comments in French – always French when it is just he and Kevin these days.
“I don’t want to miss the pre-game interviews.”
“Why?”
Kevin settles on the channel, the screen lighting up with the NCAA logo before showing a woman with a microphone with the Gold Court in the background, a sea of cardinal red filling the stands. Kevin shoves Jean’s legs out of his way as he settles onto the end of his bed. The best view of the television is from Riko’s bed, but neither Kevin nor Jean would ever risk it, so they always end up on Jean’s because the angle is slightly better than from Kevin’s – or, so Kevin claims. Jean hardly ever bothers with the television, exy games or otherwise: it serves him no good.
“Their new striker is talking to the press before the game, the one who scored five times in his first game, remember?” Keven explains, already engrossed in the pre-game entertainment.
Jean does not recall this. It is an impressive feat, but Kevin could do that with his eyes closed.
“And?”
“ And he played for a total of twenty minutes,” Kevin adds with a significant glance as if Jean should already know this, which he suspects means that Kevin has mentioned this player several times before. Jean has a bad habit of tuning out when Kevin talks about exy for too long. For Kevin, exy is oxygen, but for Jean, exy is an obligation.
Still, Jean’s interest is piqued. “He plays tonight?”
Kevin nods and sits up straighter as cheers ring through the television speakers. Jean rests the textbook on his chest, turning his attention to watch as the USC Trojans’ Captain Jayme Barrera’s smiling face fills the screen. A slightly taller man stands next to the Captain, exuding an infectious type of glee; he has a warm, golden tan and messy caramel-brown hair, wavy and falling into his eyes with freckles scattered across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He is… pretty. Very pretty. Jean startles himself by thinking it, but he can’t help himself.
Jean does not listen to most of the interview, simply watching as the man – “Jeremy Knox, ” the interviewer provides – seems to bounce on his heels with an eagerness that Jean could never personally relate to. He seems like a tightly wound bundle of energy, vibrating and on the verge of bursting at any moment.
“ Thank you very much for all the kind words, ” Jeremy finally says, drawing Jean’s focus back to the interview instead of his unreasonably nice face. “ I’m not sure I would call myself the MVP yet, there’s a lot of season to go and so many great players on our team. I think I’m just one of many to contribute, and I’m still just so honoured I was able to. It’s been my dream for most of my life to play for the Trojans. I’ve learned so much from the coaches already, and Cap too, ” He claps Barrera on the shoulder, and Jean notices a discreet frown from the Captain as he eyes Jeremy. “ Yeah, it’s the dream, I can’t think of a better word for it. Just so excited to get out there are play today. ”
“He is very… Trojan ,” Jean says, derogatorily.
Kevin nods eagerly, “He’ll be Captain in a few years.”
Jean grimaces, “Okay.”
Kevin finally seems to notice the disdain in Jean’s words, but all he does is nudge Jean’s leg with his foot and shake his head. He is in too good of a mood to engage, so he quickly moves on, wrapped up in his new favourite team and player. “Barrera is a fool for not putting him on the starting line.”
Jean frowns. If Jeremy is as good as Kevin says he is, then... “Why is he not?” Jean asks and knows immediately it is a mistake.
Kevin tilts his head and points at the screen, “He just said they don’t let first years start.”
Jean’s panic is obvious, his eyes hovering over Jeremy as he listens to Barrera and the interviewer speak with a jittery impatience, the wider shot showing off his trim waist and lean muscles under a too-tight t-shirt. Jean grimaces and stops himself while Kevin looks between the screen and Jean.
“English, sometimes,” Jean waves a hand near his ear as he purposefully looks at his lap, trying in vain to deflect desperately, hoping for Kevin’s general inattentiveness to anything outside of exy works in his favour.
But of course, Kevin is only naive when it is painfully inconvenient for Jean. “Jeremy? Really?”
Jean breathes in loudly, he should ignore it and continue to pretend, but he’s annoyed enough at being caught that he can’t stop himself from snapping, “You, who cannot shut up about Jeremy and his five fucking goals, should not judge. It is Thea all over again.”
Jean waits for the blow to land, waits for Kevin to lash out in return, but instead Kevin smirks and looks back at the television where the Trojans are starting their warm-ups. “I just didn’t think that was your type,” Kevin comments.
Jean scowls, he’s being teased, and he doesn’t appreciate it. Not over this, not when… “Well, he is exactly your type, and I am tired of hearing about him.” Jean rolls off the bed, hanging on to the textbook, and sits on the floor with his back against the bed frame. He is as far from Kevin as he can get without leaving his bed and facing away from the television. As curious as he is, Jean will not watch Jeremy Knox just to be ridiculed for it.
Kevin doesn’t say anything, Jean doesn’t know what he wants Kevin to say, or if he wants Kevin to say anything, but that doesn’t stop the silence from driving Jean mad. The game starts, and Jean knows Kevin won’t say anything now, nothing else can exist at the same time as exy for Kevin. Jean tries his best to move on and focus on the textbook, but even though he only reads Kevin’s tips, his head is starting to throb with the effort. He needs a break, but he has nothing else to do, other than watch the game with Kevin, and he can’t watch it now.
But as time passes and Jean’s head continues to hurt, his resolve starts to dwindle. Finally, Kevin says, “Jean, he’s about to play. I won’t say anything, I swear, you just need to watch this.”
Jean wants to say no, just to see the look on Kevin’s face, but no one knows exy like Kevin Day. If Kevin says someone is worth watching, Jean knows they will be. Despite his dig at Kevin for watching Thea, hiding in the stand and failing to work up the courage to introduce himself, Jen has always been equally enraptured by her style of play.
Jean hauls himself back onto his bed as Jeremy enters the court. The cheers from the crowd are booming, even through the television speakers – he is a fan favourite already, something he appears to revel in as he waves at the crowd while jogging to his spot. Jeremy carries himself with the type of arrogance that Jean is so used to from Kevin. Except, is it arrogance when you know you’re better than anyone else on the court?
Jean is suddenly certain that Jeremy Knox is very good.
A moment later, the second half starts, and it is all the confirmation Jean needs. Jeremy snags the ball in his racket immediately and dashes down the court. He dodges the strikers and dealers, swivelling past the backliner with finesse, ignoring as his teammates position themselves to be passed to. Jeremy is less than a meter from the goal when he feints to the left, sending the goalkeeper flying, but spins at the last second and slams the ball into the lower right corner of the goal. The wall lights up red and the stands explode into cheers, Jeremy has single-handedly scored the first goal of the second half in less than a minute. Jean can feel Kevin’s eyes on him, a slight ‘I-told-you-so’ , but Jean ignores him as the camera follows Jeremy waving his racket at the crowd and high-fiving a couple of his teammates. The other Trojans seem enthused by the goal, but less than Jean would expect for the feat that Jeremy just pulled off. Jeremy settles back into his stance, ready for play to resume, rocking side-to-side.
“The Trojans are not happy,” Jean comments, finally glancing at Kevin.
Kevin shrugs, “Jealous, probably.”
Jean doesn’t think that is why, but as usual, Kevin is only observant when it is inconvenient. Jean suspects Kevin is missing something, blinded by his love of the game and adoration of anyone who excels this much at it. Jean could press, but the lacklustre reaction of the Trojans does not matter, not as long as Jeremy continues to play like this. He ignores the sense of unease.
“He is very good,” Jean says.
“He did an interview when he was first selected for the Trojans, he said that he thinks so much of exy is intuition, that he steps on the court and mostly lets it take over. So incredible, that technique is just natural – I don’t know how he does it, did you see the feint?” Jean doesn’t have time to answer before Kevin is once again engrossed as the play starts. This time, the backliners are quick to cover Jeremy, and he passes to the other Trojan striker. Jeremy easily becomes a cohesive part of his team, a pattern of passing and shooting on goal, capturing the ball back before it reaches their side of the court. When Jeremy scores again, the celebration with his teammates feels more authentic.
The game ends with the Trojans racking up an impressive score, albeit against a team that never stood a chance against them, but it makes Jeremy’s two assists and four goals, two without any assistance, no less impressive. Jean will never admit it to Kevin, but he very badly wants to see Jeremy play in person – he wants to play against him even more, to test if Jeremy would escape his defence as easily as he did the backliners in the game. Jean understands, he thinks, why Kevin is so suddenly obsessed.
“I would like to watch their next game,” Jean says, the words feel like their being torn from his throat, but he reminds himself that sometimes it is okay to want things when it is just he and Kevin, especially when those things align with what Kevin wants.
That doesn’t stop Kevin from being an ass. “I bet you do.”
Jean shoves him hard, “Shut up.”
“You know I don’t judge you, Jean, if I – he is –”
“Shut. Up.” Because Jean does not need that image in his head at all. He needs Kevin to stop talking.
Kevin sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. He meets Jean’s eyes, holding them for a long, heavy moment. “I won’t say anything, it’s okay, Jean. You can look when no one else will see. Just – no one else can see, Jean. You know that, right?”
Jean clenches his jaw, “You were not supposed to see.” He never had before, not when – well, he never had before.
“Jean –”
“I know,” Jean snaps. He swallows and nods once, “No one else.”
Kevin nods in return and turns back to the television, “Good.”
Two weeks later, Kevin is turning on the next Trojans game. Jean is relegated to his bed while Riko and Kevin watch from Riko’s, attached at the hip, while Riko mocks the Trojans’ soft-hearted play during the pre-game. Kevin and Jean laugh along, unable to do anything but agree, even as Jean sees the ticks of tension in Kevin’s jaw. Jean waits patiently. He wants to see Jeremy again, but he is trying not to watch too intently, trying to hide any lingering looks from Riko. As it turns out, he doesn’t need to.
Jeremy is absent from the game.
He’s absent from the next one as well.
And the one after that.
Jean stops watching.
Kevin seems jarred by the continued absences through the Fall season, tense every time the lineup doesn’t include Jeremy – benched, but he’s not on the bench either. In late November, Riko is away again, and Kevin drops a magazine on Jean’s desk. The cover is of the Ravens' last victory, but in the corner, there is a small photo of Jeremy looking far too serious and professional in a navy suit and tie, and the promise of a tell-all interview.
“No one else, remember?” Kevin says, tapping the picture of Jeremy once. Jean frowns, unsure how he should interpret this odd gift. Jean looks up at Kevin, his brow furrowed. Kevin shakes his head, “You’ll see.” Then, “He’s going to play next week.”
Jean nods as Kevin goes to lie in his bed with a book about some ancient city that Jean couldn’t possibly care less about. Jean picks up the magazine, idly flipping through until he reaches Jeremy’s interview. The words are small and the pages have a sheen, so Jean doesn’t bother trying; instead, he looks at the photos. Jeremy has the ease of someone comfortable in front of a camera, the photos are all good, but their each far too serious for the cheeky arrogance Jean had seen so many weeks before. There is one picture that stands out; it’s a close-up, his jacket and tie are off, and his shirt is unbuttoned at the collar. He’s more at ease and smiling, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s a smile nonetheless, and it’s captivating. Jean traces the edges of Jeremy’s jaw with his finger as his thoughts spin. He wonders what it might be like to see that smile in person, he wonders how soft those lips might feel against his – Kevin nosily turns a page in his book. Jear tears his hand back and slams the magazine shut, quickly shoving it under his mattress.
He shouldn’t have looked at it; he definitely shouldn’t look again.
Jean taps his thigh and chews on the inside of his cheek, trying to think of anything other than Jerem Knox’s freckles and failing miserably.
He shouldn’t look at it again.
But he will.