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Jean has been attending the school of Neil Josten “I’m fine”isms.
He’s waved off his friends’ concern no less than four times today. Truthfully, he woke up feeling pretty poorly, nauseous and over-tired, so he picked at his breakfast and said he wasn’t hungry. This sparked Cat’s concern since she is always adamant that he’s eating enough after learning about how strict the Nest was on their eating.
An “I’m fine,” and she conceded to his judgement, still too wary to overstep and make him shut down. So for once he is thankful for his flighty nature.
The second time was when Jeremy caught up with him at Lyon and furrowed his brow in that level of concern only Jeremy was capable of at not even 6:30am. Big brown eyes are not easily swayed but Jeremy will always give ground if the conversation gets a little tense. Jean pretended not to notice the glances that were occasionally tossed his way for the rest of morning practice.
Then Xavier stopped him on his way to his first class with a hand on his chest and asked in that captain-ly voice if he was feeling alright, which Jean shrugged off with a “didn’t get enough sleep” and Xavier took that answer and gave him instructions to take it easy.
Lastly is Jeremy again, during pottery when he catches Jean staring off into space and turning the vase he had been carefully shaping into a collapsed lump. Once again he turned those deep eyes on Jean as if he could strip him to the bone without ever touching him, and he could. “You good?” he asked and Jean bit his tongue, smiled at Jeremy and waved him off. Ignoring the way Jeremy’s returned smile made his stomach flip.
That leads him to now, breaking out in a cold sweat before he’s even hit the court.
He wipes his palms on his shorts before sliding into his thinner gloves, tucking the thicker padded ones into his helmet for when he’s actually on the court. It’ll be fine, he’s played through worse than an upset stomach. There’s only three hours left of practice and he can get through feeling a little bogged down.
Maybe he’ll even nap before dinner so that he can stomach it.
His stomach cramps painfully but he grits his teeth and bears it. He settles a palm over where it hurts and waits for the discomfort to pass, which it does. He’s just having an off day, nothing to worry about.
Dropping his hand, he checks that his arm guards are fastened well enough and after a few knocks and twists he is satisfied. He dodges Jeremy’s eye as he passes the striker’s row and heads out to the court.
He makes it through warmups easily and drills with a little difficulty. The scrimmage is where he really struggles. Lots of running and sharp movements that leave both his head and stomach spinning while the rest of him isn’t.
He manages to intercept a pass and send the ball upcourt to Xavier before his feet snag and he stumbles.
In the throes of dizziness, Jean hits his knees. Bracing one hand on the court, he uses the other to tug off his helmet and toss it to the side. He can’t breathe quite right, the air catching in his lungs as his stomach twists and turns.
Two heaves wrack his frame and he’s throwing up on the court floor.
“I’m sorry,” he gasps between gags.
“Oh, Jean,” someone says as they kneel beside him, rubbing a hand between his shoulder blades.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up.”
The hand freezes for a split second before trailing the length of his spine as he throws up once again. “No, no, it’s okay,” Jeremy says.
“I’ll clean it up,” Jean promises as his gagging eases enough for him to catch his breath.
“Someone else will get it,” Jeremy says. “Are you okay?”
Jean shakes his head. “I feel bad.”
Jeremy brings up his other hand to Jean’s cheek and turns his head so that they’re looking at each other. “I bet. Do you think you can walk?”
“Yes,” Jean says, leaning back on his haunches, pulling out of Jeremy’s touch and feeling frozen to the core. He didn’t mean to do this. “I think I’m done.”
“Okay.” Jeremy nods. “Nurses’ office?”
“Please.”
He lets Jeremy help him to his feet and hangs his head as the older man guides him to the court door. “Feel better soon!” someone shouts as he steps off-court.
As soon as they’re further from the court, Jean finds his voice. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I know, Jean,” Jeremy says. “No one is mad at you.”
Jean can’t bear to look at him, he can already hear the concern in his voice and if he sees it on Jeremy’s face it will surely break him.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know, Jean.”
They make it out of the locker room before Jean lurches and slaps a hand to his mouth. His stomach is cramping again and something unpleasant is forcing its way up his throat.
“Are you going to be sick again?”
Jean nods.
With calm efficiency, Jeremy grabs him by the shoulder and hurries him into the bathroom and onto his knees in front of a toilet before he is sick all over himself. Jean heaves into the bowl, clinging to it as if it is all that will keep him from toppling as Jeremy makes a noise of sympathy in the back of his throat.
“Do you think it is something you ate?”
Shaking his head, Jean sighs. “The girls ate what I did.”
“Maybe they don’t have your fragile French disposition,” Jeremy says.
Jean lifts a hand from the toilet bowl to flip him off. “It’s not something I ate.”
“Stomach bug, then? Sebastian was off with vomiting last week.”
He doesn’t get the luxury of responding to Jeremy before he’s retching again. They stay there for a few more minutes before Jean, satisfied that he must surely be empty by now, reaches up and flushes the toilet.
Ignoring Jeremy, chest hot with shame, Jean shuffles out of the stall and over to the sink where he washes his hands three times. He watches the soap bubbles lather and rinse away, lather and away.
“Wanna try again?” Jeremy asks.
Jean grunts an affirmative before trailing after Jeremy who looks over his shoulder every few moments to make sure Jean is still on his feet and not keeled over.
Eventually they do make it to the nurses’ office with Jean in mostly one piece. Nguyen takes Jean’s vitals and runs through his list of symptoms before handing him a paper cup of water and telling him to just lie down and take it easy for the rest of practice until Jeremy can take him home. The nurse also threatens that if Jean doesn’t stop throwing up that he’ll have to go to the hospital for dehydration.
He and Jeremy get Jean set up in the nurse’s office. Taking off his armour and forcing him to lie down in the cot with his arms around a small rubbish bin. Just in case.
“Are you going to be all good here?” Jeremy asks.
Jean nods. “Go practice, your footwork could use work.”
“Hey,” Jeremy objects, shoving Jean’s shoulder playfully. “You’re mean.”
“You didn’t know this already?” Jean asks.
“Ass,” Jeremy says before turning around and following Nguyen out the door. “Feel better, Jean.”
Jean hums and lets him go. Nguyen turns off the light and Jean swears he won’t fall asleep but finds himself stirring a while later to Jeremy back again, changed out and with wet hair shaking him by the shoulder.
“Good morning,” he says when he notices Jean is awake.
“It is evening,” Jean says pointedly.
Jeremy ignores him. “You didn’t throw up again, that’s good! Are you feeling better?”
Jean just grunts and sits up. “Is practice over?”
“Yup, just came to get you because I figure you don’t want to spend the night in the stadium, and I’m sure Jab would love to cuddle with you for the next few days you’ll be spending in bed.”
“I never agreed to that.”
“You’re sick,” Jeremy says. “Don’t fight it.”