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Jean relearns water. Jeremy learns French.
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🌟 so good
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Uugurhrrgrgehhhfggggrhrgrgrhhhhhhhh
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‘Did you like being in it, or just looking at it?’ Quentin asks one Tuesday morning.
Jean tries not to bristle, tries not to bite of course I liked being in it. The question isn’t all that silly, he knows, and he gives precious little to Quentin to work with as it is.
Still, the answer is fishbones in his throat. ‘No, I liked being in it. I liked…’ Feeling weightless and weighted at the same time. The gentle cut of the waves against his skin where his body rose out of them. The dirty foam near the shore, the squirming sand under his toes. And, most of all, the decision that he wasn’t quite done yet— that he wanted one last dive, one last swim, that the sun wasn’t quite down yet. That there was time. ‘I liked knowing it was always there.’
‘The sea?’
‘The water.’ Jean inspects a brittle fingernail. ‘Wherever it came from. And wherever it went. I liked knowing it was always there’
God the emotions this fic makes me feel. I’m incredibly unwell (complimentary) about it
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‘What’re you painting today?’
‘Sunsets,’ Jean replies. Forty-and-five