Work Text:
The Trojans had done it! They had won the finals, taking home first place just before Jeremy graduated, proving to the world and proving to Jean that cruelty and aggression weren’t the answer to success.
Everyone was celebrating, enjoying drinks and snacks in Coach's backyard, basking in the adrenaline that was the most successful game the Trojans had ever played: everyone but Jean.
Jean was sitting on a barstool, nursing a soda, trying his best not to dump it down the drain across from him. Jean was trying so hard not to turn around and watch the blonde-haired boy surfing the party, putting laughter into people's words, enjoying the moments of success before the world caves in and Jeremy returns to his spot as a Wilshire, returning to his death sentence.
He heard the glass door open but remained facing away. It was too loud outside, too many people, too much happening, and Jean was feeling his skin try to crawl off his own body. The intruder rounded the countertop and stopped in front of Jean. A beer bottle clinked on the counter, and a silent, unbothered stare met Jean’s eyes.
Andrew Minyard crossed his arms and settled against the counter. The smaller man grunted, and for what felt like hours, the two sat in silence. No one came into the kitchen; the noise from outside was drowned out by insulation and the ringing in Jean’s ears.
The Foxes were specially invited as soon as the Trojans realized they were making it to the finals. Jeremy felt that after the year they had had, they deserved to be invited, and Jean deserved to have Kevin there as his family support. They all knew Kevin wasn’t going without Andrew, Andrew without Neil, and before anyone knew it, the entire Foxes team was on a flight to California.
“Renee asked me to talk to you,” Andrew said, taking a drink from the bottle, “so talk.”
Jean met Andrew’s glare with his own.
The blonde rolled his eyes, “If you won’t talk to me, I’ll go get Neil instead—”
“Don’t.” Jean huffed, “He-he doesn’t understand. He’ll just tell me to talk to you.”
“So talk, dumbass,” Andrew snapped, “they’re only going to stay out there so long.” He motioned to the door, and Jean felt himself tense up.
The silence engulfed the room again. Jean knew Andrew was losing his patience; he himself was getting frustrated, but how could he ask this question? How can he lay himself so open and raw for someone who’s spoken maybe thirty words to him in all their meetings, including this one?
Renee hadn’t given Jean any information, didn’t tell Jean that Andrew was gay; he figured that out all on his own. Renee hadn’t shared anything personal about Andrew, just told Jean that Andrew would understand if he needed to talk, needed to ask—
“Figure it out yourself,” Andrew grumbled as he headed for the door.
“How do you let him love you?” Jean burst at the seams, “How do you let yourself love him?”
The god-awful silence was back, but this time Andrew wasn’t looking for an exit. He was behind Jean, staring into his head. If Jean didn’t know better, he would say Andrew was being sympathetic… almost.
Andrew stepped forward, slamming his hand on the counter in front of Jean’s face, “I don’t love him,” his face leaned close into Jean’s, “he is nothing to me, you get that?”
“I’ll believe that when you do.” Jean spat.
“He is nothing,” Andrew repeated. “Every look, every touch, every word means nothing to me. He does as I tell him to, and he always asks, always.”
Jean nodded along, “Do you do what he tells you to?”
“Yes.” No hesitation, no thought, pure open honesty that makes Jean’s head spin.
Was it possible? Was it really possible to let Jeremy love him, every broken piece and bloody scar? Sometimes Jean thought about the idea of openly bleeding for Jeremy, reopening all of his healed scars and having the man of his dreams restitch them thread by thread so he could see, feel, and understand all the pain Jean is feeling trying to love him, trying to be whole enough to love someone as great as Jeremy.
“So, you love him,” Jean smirked; he took a sip of his own drink and tried not to wince at the carbonation. “You love everything about that tiny freak.”
Andrew knocked Jean slightly on the head with the glass bottle he was holding. It was playful, unthreatening, almost kind, “Neil is nothing to me. And that’s something he and I can live with.” Andrew headed back outside without another word.
He is nothing
Because if Neil was something, then Andrew would be vulnerable. Andrew would have to face whatever he hadn’t healed from yet. If Neil is nothing, he can be whatever Andrew needs him to be in that moment.
The door opened again, and this time Jean turned, meeting his favourite shade of brown eyes.
“Hi,” Jeremy smiled, his back resting on the glass door, a room of space between them feeling like miles and millimetres. “You’re missing a great party, Jean.”
Jean looked over Jeremy, taking in the beautiful sight that was his best friend, his exy partner. Perhaps Andrew was right. If Jean let Jeremy be nothing, Jeremy could be whatever Jean needed in that moment, a lover, a friend, a crutch, even a stranger when the nights got too dark and thoughts too extreme. Perhaps nothing wasn’t the right word for them, but it was a good place to start.
“I know.” Jean replied, “It’s better in here, especially now.”