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“What do you mean you'll be unconscious for a week?”
“Half a week,” Jeremy corrects, like that makes it any better. “I told you, when omegas without a mate go into heat, they hibernate. It helps to keep them safe.”
Jean blinks at him.
Surely, he cannot be hearing this right. Surely, he cannot be understanding this right. But the girls don't seem outraged, or confused. In fact, they're acting as if this is a normal occurrence. Like their omega friend telling them that he'll be one hundred times more vulnerable during the most vulnerable time of his life is nothing to be worried about in the slightest.
“How is it safer,” Jean asks slowly, “when anyone could find you like that, and hurt you?”
Judging by the look on Jeremy's face, this is not something he's ever considered. But Jean remembers how easily Grayson came into his room, how easily he got the advantage, and Jean was awake, for that. Jean was an alpha. And Jeremy is—
"Hey," Jeremy says, "hey, it's not like that. Think of it like— like a bear. You don't see a bear when it hibernates, right? Unmated omegas do the same. They stay hidden, and their scent goes low, and it's almost like they're not even there. Alphas walk right past them and don't even notice."
Somehow, this is worse. The concept of pretending Jeremy isn't there, like he doesn't exist. Like he never existed at all.
Jean shakes his head, and swallows down his nausea. "I do not like this."
"I'm sorry," Jeremy says, a little bemused. "But there's nothing I can do about it."
Jeremy goes into heat three days later.
Or rather, Jean should say, he goes into hibernation.
It's a slow thing. Jean sees it in the days leading up to it. The way his appetite and exhaustion increase, the way his energy decreases. The way he grows, for the first time since Jean's been in California, a beard. The way he collects blankets and clothes from the girls, and brings them to his mother's house, and at the end, when everything draws to a peak, gets driven there by Laila to start the whole ordeal.
Jean doesn’t trust it—the disappearing act, Jeremy’s family. Not with the little he's learned about them so far. Any of them could take advantage of Jeremy while he's incapacitated—his overbearing mother or the stepfather he never mentions. Bryson the tool. The various other siblings who Jean’s sure cannot be better than the rest.
He paces as he lists them all in his head, reciting what he knows, over and over and over again, refusing to lie down, refusing to sleep until he at least gets word from Laila on Jeremy's condition.
But when Laila gets back to the house, all she does is stare at him, gaze too knowing, head tilted to the side. It lasts a moment too long, and Jean does his best to stare back, to keep from cowering under her scrutiny, but Laila tires of the contest first.
She yawns into her hand, and then says, as she tosses her keys into the basket by the door, and heads for her own bedroom, "Try to get some sleep, Jean. Jeremy's going to."
Jean scowls after her, and paces some more.
"A blank check," Jean says when Jeremy shows up at practice a week later, "yes?"
Jeremy stares at him. And he looks—rested, for once. Brighter than normal. Confused. "Uh, yeah, Jean. But what's—"
"I want you to spend your heats with me."
Jeremy's eyes go comically wide. Jean's heart skips a beat. "I want you to spent your heats in our room," he corrects, and feels like his tongue is too big for his mouth, like he suddenly cannot speak, or breathe. But warring with his panic is the fear of having to go through this again, so he clenches his fists, and pushes through.
"I want—I am your partner. It is my job to keep you safe, to assess and handle threats against you, and I cannot do it if you are so far away," he says, and when Jeremy opens his mouth, adds, "I cannot sleep—I did not sleep, the entire time you were away. I am your partner," he repeats, a little desperately, "I need to know you're okay. I have to make sure of it."
Jeremy is still staring at him like a deer in headlights. Jean feels only a little bad for ambushing him the second he set foot in the court.
Jeremy says, "Jean, I—"
Jean says, "Please."
Down the hall, a door opens. Voices echo and grow closer, and Jean feels a sort of satisfaction at getting the last word.
"Cap!" Derrick shouts. "Oh, thank god you're back. Jean was—"
"Absolutely amazing," Derek interrupts. "God, we should send you away more often. Dude was a beast."
Jean growls. Derek holds up his hands. "Kidding, lil’ bro. We just got cap back, fat chance we'd send him off so soon."
He turns away to get changed, unconcerned, but Jeremy studies Jean with a strange look. Jean turns away too, and pretends he cannot feel the weight of Jeremy’s gaze burning holes in the side of his head.
The following month, Jeremy plans to spend his heat at Laila's.
Jean doesn't know the reason—Grayson's visit, Jean's plea, Derek's revelation, or something else—and he doesn't care to find it out. All he cares about is that Jeremy is within sight, within reach, and that his alpha feels far more settled this time around.
Or at least it does, until Jeremy starts showing symptoms.
Jean watches it like the edge of the cliff as it fast approaches. But just like Jeremy could do nothing to stop it, there is nothing Jean can do to stop it.
Not true, a voice in his mind whispers, but Jean is quick to cut off that line of thinking before it can fester.
Mating with Jeremy is not an option. Is not now, and would not ever be. The rules may have changed, but they had not changed for him. And Jean would rather gouge out his eyes than have to witness Jeremy mate with another man.
So for the time being, he will have to endure, and settle for the middle ground of losing Jeremy for another three days.
"Jean," Jeremy says, hovering in the doorway, "are you absolutely sure you—?”
"Yes," Jean tells him. It is the thousandth time Jeremy has asked the question, and the thousandth time Jean has given the answer. "I am absolutely sure I do not mind staying on the couch, and that I would prefer you to stay here.”
Jeremy doesn't seem convinced. He worries his bottom lip into his mouth, and Jean hates that he cannot smell him to know what he's thinking, just as he hates the beard—as good as Jeremy looks with it—and the fact that Jeremy will be gone again. Just as he hates that Jeremy's nest only includes Cat and Laila. Just as he hates that even though he got what he wanted, even though he will only be a door away instead of an hour, his alpha has never been more unsettled.
"I feel bad," Jeremy tells him. "This is your room, too."
"My room, yes?" Jean asks, and waits for Jeremy to nod. "Then I get to decide when I want to offer it up, and who I offer it up to."
Jeremy laughs a little, but it falls short of his usual mirth, and falls somewhere into self deprecating. Jean's alpha squirms.
"Okay," Jeremy yawns. "Well, I should probably get to it, then. I can feel myself fading."
Jean can see it, too. The way his speech is slurring, the way his breaths are slowing. Jean wants to herd him into bed, and tuck him in, but before he can do something foolish like offer to do so, Jeremy says, "Thank you, for this. Heats are a lot easier when I can spend them here."
Jean's heart soars. His alpha perks up a little. His scent goes pleased, and judging by the flush on a Jeremy's cheeks, he can smell it. "Goodnight, Jean."
"Goodnight, Jeremy," Jean returns, and then watches, with a heavy sadness weighing him down, as Jeremy shuts the door, and him out.
"Your heats are getting longer," Jean tells Jeremy on the way to class that Friday. "Four days, this time, instead of three."
He waits, is unsurprised by the lack of response, and presses, "Is that normal?"
Jeremy shrugs. "Could be," he says. "I run long between cycles, so I guess it makes sense that my heats would run longer, too."
"You guess," Jean repeats.
"Yeah," Jeremy says, and turns to him. His gaze is a little too searching to be knowing, but Jean still doesn't trust the look in his eye. "Laila told me you didn't sleep again."
Jean's face burns. Jeremy says, "She said you spent the entire time pacing outside of the door. And Derek said you were back to being a nightmare on the court."
He waits a moment, and when Jean doesn't offer anything up in answer to his imaginary question, sighs. "Talk to me. What is it about these heats that makes you so nervous?"
Jean waves him off. "It is nothing."
"It's something," Jeremy counters, and pulls him aside before he can open the door to the art building. "When you asked me to stay at the house, I thought it was a mix of things. Grayson, and the partner system, and I thought it would help, to have me closer, to let you see that nothing was coming through that door to hurt me, but I feel like all I did was make it worse."
"You didn't," Jean says, and feels his alpha riot at the prospect of Jeremy going back to spending his heats at his mother's. "It was better. It helped."
"Doesn't seem like it," Jeremy returns, and reaches up, bringing his thumb a hairs breadth away from from the bags under Jean's eyes.
He looks upset—expression twisted, mouth pulled into a frown. And that's not…that's not fair at all.
Because here Jean is, making Jeremy's heat about his unsettled alpha, instead of Jeremy's safety. Here Jean is, inserting himself and his discomfort into something that has nothing to do with him.
But no matter how hard he tries, he can't get himself to drop it. And Jeremy had asked him, after all.
"It's just," Jean says, "I cannot see you, when you're…hibernating. And I cannot smell you. And even if I know logically, that you are safe, it is like you said. I can not be sure. I can't even be sure you exist, that you are where I left you, that I did not just dream it all."
It is too much. It is—insane. Jean flushes, and looks away.
Jeremy says nothing.
Jean has the terrible feeling that he should've just kept his mouth shut. That he revealed too much. That he revealed a part of himself that he should've kept hidden, a part that Riko couldn't quite cut out years ago.
But instead of mocking him, or telling him off, Jeremy only asks, "What if you could?"
Jean whips his head back to him, and when he does, he finds that Jeremy's sporting a flush just as bright as his own.
"It's not very exciting," Jeremy says. "I literally just sleep for three days, and then wake up wondering where I am, and what I missed. But if you wanted to, you could…stay in the room with me, while it happens. You'd be able to see me, and make sure I'm still there. And maybe you'd even be able to get some sleep of your own."
Jean stares at him, feeling oddly like Jeremy's just handed him his heart on a platter, and repeats the other man’s words from the other day, "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Jeremy tells him. "I trust you."
The next month, Jean sits cross legged on his bed, and watches Jeremy build his nest.
It is the last thing he does before he sleeps, if Jean remembers correctly, and as Jeremy goes about, placing pillows and blankets and clothes in what looks like a random order, Jean finds himself oddly entranced.
But maybe Jeremy feels Jean’s eyes on him, because he turns, and blushes pink. Says, "Sorry. I told you, it's pretty boring stuff."
Quite honestly, Jean could sit here and watch Jeremy all day. And he has been, quietly taking mental notes on Jeremy's pre-heat routine. "It’s interesting,” he says, “to me."
Jeremy flushes again. His faint scent goes flustered. Jean closes his eyes at the sweetness of it, and tries to breathe through the longing washing over him.
When he opens them, Jeremy is shirtless.
Jean squeezes his eyes shut again, counts to ten, and then further, until he hears the soft rustle of the bed, and the sound of Jeremy crawling into his nest.
Only then does he look. He opens one eye, and then the other, and finds Jeremy curled up and facing him. He's burrowed under a blanket up to his neck, and watching Jean with uncharacteristic sheepishness, and Jean's heart pounds so loudly in his chest that he wonders if Jeremy can hear it.
He has always found Jeremy cute, but like this, he looks—adorable. Jean wants to squeeze him, to climb into his nest and wrap himself around him, to press his lips to every inch of that blush on his face. It is such a startling desire that he blinks, shocked with himself. But Jeremy must misread his surprise, because he shifts, as if to get up, and says, "If it's too weird, I can—"
"No," Jean interrupts, too quick, too fierce. He clears his throat, and tries again; says, at a much more normal volume, "No, it's—I am glad, that you are here."
Jeremy flushes even deeper. He bites his lip.
"Me, too," he tells Jean, and then tugs his blanket over his head, and falls asleep for five days straight.
"Something is wrong," Jean tells Cat and Laila on the fifth day. "Something has been wrong. His heats keep getting longer. June was three days; July, four. And now, now it has been five, and—"
"Cycles are like that sometimes," Cat says between bites of her lunch. "Irregular, annoying. And he's tired all the time. I'd be more surprised if he didn't start sleeping longer. Two years ago Laila slept for six days during midterms, and I was about to have a heart attack."
Jean's about to have a heart attack. And maybe that shows on his face, because Laila gives Cat a look, and then Cat stops mid bite to shoot Jean a look, and Jean has to look away.
"What I mean is," Cat backtracks, "is that it's not as unusual as you think. If it was something to worry about, we'd tell you."
Jean shoots her a look. Cat insists, "We promise."
"You promise," Jean echoes.
"Yes, Alpha," Cat says, and now she's grinning. "We promise to tell you if your omega is in danger."
Jean recoils automatically. "Jeremy is not my—"
But he can't get that last word out. His lip curls back into a snarl, and his alpha growls inside of him, and Cat's grin only grows wider. "Does your alpha know that?"
Jean scowls at her, and storms off, heading to check on Jeremy for the thousandth time.
In September, Laila's house burns.
The FBI gets the four of them an apartment instead, but it's not the same. It is cold and barren, and not even remotely an ounce of the home the house had been.
Jean is used to having the floor ripped from under him, his home taken away, but his friends aren't. And as much as he hates feeling this way again, he hates that they have to feel it, too.
He watches Laila storm out of every furniture store they enter, watches Cat stare longingly at every motorcycle that passes; watches Jeremy, when the time comes, mourn his nest, though he tries not to show it.
But the house was his home, too. Even if he hadn't said it outright, even if he hadn't lived there full time. And Jean knows he thought the house was easier, knows he was far happier to be there than at his mother’s, just as he knows what Jeremy will do now that it is gone.
He will put his pain behind his friends', and retreat out of their space; will say that they don’t need the burden, that he doesn’t want to take supplies they don’t have. He’ll go back to his mother's, spend his heat alone, and give Jean an aneurysm in the process.
And, well, Jean can't have that.
He does what he can—he finds Laila a painting that looks like her old ones, and motivates her into rebuilding properly. He buys himself and Cat matching bikes with the money he gets from selling his car, and uses some of the rest for rent, for clothes, for starting over yet again, and prays that this time, it sticks.
With what’s remaining, he buys things for Jeremy. Blankets, mostly, but also a couple hoodies and pillows that Cat and Laila can scent for him, as well. Cat gives him a soft look when he asks them to do so, and Laila gives him the same knowing one as always, but Jean gamely ignores them both until he's got what he needs, and then heads back to his room, kneels on the floor, and gets to work.
Save for two, he places the pillows down first, softening up the hardwood, and then lays a blanket down over them. On the sides of the pillows, he rolls up the extra blankets and hoodies, making walls, and interlays them so they don't fall over when Jeremy lies down inside them. And then, to finish off, he places the two pillows he saved at the top of the inside of the nest, and tosses the remaining blanket over the bottom half.
But the moment he sits back to admire his work, Jabberwocky comes running into the room, and over to him.
Jean snatches him up before he can ruin the nest, but when he gets to his feet, and goes to return the nuisance to the girls, he runs into Jeremy instead.
"Hey," Jeremy says, with a grin as wide and bright as the pacific in the sun. "Hope you don't mind me dropping by, I—"
His eyes go to the nest. His smile flickers on his face, and after a moment, his voice goes small. "Jean?"
"So you can spend your heats here," Jean tells him, and feels his heart in his throat. "It is not much, and I cannot promise it will be all that comfortable, but if you want it, it is yours."
"Oh," Jeremy says, and swallows thickly. His scent goes surprised. Jean wonders if he overstepped. If he made the nest wrong, or if it's ugly, or offensive, or if he’s committed some other omega faux pas he’s unaware of, but just as he starts to squirm, Jeremy says, "Jean, this is—you bought all this?"
"Yes," Jean tells him. And adds, before Jeremy can do something like ask to return it all, "and I lost the receipt. So you have to keep it, even if you do not want to keep it here."
Jeremy is looking at him oddly, now. He opens his mouth, once, twice, and on the third try, his voice cracks. "I—I don’t know what to say. This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."
"Say you'll stay," Jean tells him. "If only for your heat."
It takes a minute. Jeremy searches his face like the answers to the universe are just out of reach, but eventually, he says, "I'll stay.”
And this time, sleeps for an entire week.
By October, Jean is officially worried.
Because it's no longer just Jeremy's heats that are getting worse, it's his preheats as well.
Jeremy falls asleep in class, and at practice when he's on the bench. He falls asleep on Jean when they're on the bus to and from games, and when they're between classes, and is just tired all. the. time.
A week earlier than normal. More so than normal. So much so that Jean's petrified every night when he drives home, so much so that he eventually gives up on being too overbearing, and into his alpha, and convinces Jeremy to get driven home instead.
And he expects to be called overprotective. He expects to be called paranoid. He expects for Cat and Laila to tease him about his alpha, and the way it treats Jeremy, but instead, all he gets is the relief in their scents, and the gratefulness on their faces every night when they get home, and somehow, that's worse.
Because the girls had been the ones to tease him about acting like this in the first place, because if they're starting to get worried, then that means there's something to worry about. Because if Jeremy's preheats are starting to get bad, his heat is going to be even worse.
That last thought spikes Jean's panic. What did worse even look like? Jeremy is already hibernating for a week straight. Did this mean he'd be out for two? Three? Four? Did it mean—did it mean that one month he just…wouldn't wake up at all?
A noise Jean has never made before comes out of his mouth, and immediately, he slaps a hand over it, like somehow, that'll push the sound back in. Like that will get rid of the truth he's been hopelessly trying to avoid since he arrived in California.
But there is no denying it, now—his alpha has chosen Jeremy. And the thought of losing him, even just to sleep, makes Jean feel like he’s being torn apart from the inside out. Jean presses a hand to his chest, trying to smother the all consuming ache there, but can't quite get it to go away.
He doesn't know how to fix this. Doesn't know how to stop it. He isn’t a doctor, and Jeremy won’t go to one, anyway, regardless of how much the girls try to push him to do so.
Maybe, Jean thinks, if Jeremy gets enough sleep beforehand, he won't need as much during the heat itself? Maybe if he eats enough, and is warm enough, and if he falls asleep surrounded by the scent of his pack, he'll have something to follow back to the land of the conscious?
…But he's been falling asleep with the scent of his pack. He has both Cat and Laila's scents in his nest, he sleeps in Jean's room. And Jabberwocky has lived with them long enough now to get his scent on everything.
But maybe…maybe residual isn't enough? Maybe Jeremy needs something from Jean physically in the nest itself. Something small, maybe, that he could keep close, and smell, that didn't take over the nest entirely?
Jean flushes. His heart kicks up in his chest. But it's not technically against the rules, to do such a thing. It wouldn't be giving into his alpha, or claiming Jeremy as his omega.
And omega or not, Jeremy is still Jean's partner, and Jean promised to protect him, to take care of him. And if putting himself into Jeremy's nest is what Jeremy needs, then putting himself into Jeremy's nest is what Jean will do.
"I have something for you," Jean says, "before you sleep."
Jeremy turns to him, curious, and Jean's hands fiddle with the sweatshirt he's holding behind his back. His palms are sweating, he can feel it. And he worries that the sweat will make it gross, that it'll wash off his scent, that Jeremy won't like it. That he's making a fool of himself, by doing this.
After all, if Jeremy wanted Jean's scent in his nest, he would've asked, wouldn't he have?
Suddenly, Jean feels like throwing up.
This was a bad idea. And he never should've thought of it, or gone through with it, but it's too late to go back now. Already, Jeremy is stepping over to him, and looking up at him so sweetly with those beautiful brown eyes, and asking, "What's up?"
And Jean can't deny him.
So, instead, he opens his mouth. Closes it. Takes the sweatshirt out from behind his back, and hands it over, wordlessly.
Jeremy blinks down at it.
He doesn't take it. Jean shifts his weight, feeling unbearably stupid, and mortified, and clarifies, uselessly, helplessly, "For your nest."
Jeremy blinks some more.
Jean's nausea increases.
So this is it, then. He's embarrassed himself completely. Wore his love on his sleeve and got himself caught yet again. His heart pounds in his chest, in his ears. Words tumble out of his mouth with no filter.
"You don't have to use it," he says. "I just thought—"
"It," Jeremy interrupts, and Jean shuts his mouth as Jeremy lifts the sweatshirt to his nose. Jeremy breathes in once, twice, and then blinks up at Jean again. And somehow, his eyes have gotten even wider. Even brighter. His pupils are as wide as saucers. "It smells like you."
Jean's heart pounds harder. But Jeremy doesn't look disgusted, or appalled. Rather, he looks like he has every other time Jean has wanted him closer, or shown concern for him—like he can't believe it.
So Jean squares his shoulders, and musters every ounce of courage he's got, and says, "I thought it would help, with your heats. To bring you back to us at the end."
He expects Jeremy to wave him off. To assure him that there’s nothing to worry about. That this is normal, and Jean’s being crazy for thinking otherwise. But similar to the girls this time around, he doesn't. He just hugs the sweatshirt close, and says, "Thank you, for this. For everything.”
And it feels—it feels like the end of the world. It feels like a goodbye.
Jean's alpha keens, and as Jeremy turns to head for his nest, that sound from the other day comes out of Jean’s throat. He reaches out without thinking, hand clasping around Jeremy's arm to draw him to a halt.
"Wait," he says when Jeremy turns back to him. "Wait, I—before you—Can I—?"
He's not making sense. He knows it, but he can't stop it. He feels like he can’t breathe, like he’s burning up, like he’s dying.
He tugs Jeremy close, and holds him tight, like if he holds tight enough, he can keep Jeremy here, can force his heat away. Can keep this reoccuring nightmare from taking place, can keep from losing his light, his love, his mate.
Jeremy stiffens against him, and then slowly, slowly, relaxes. He wraps his free arm around Jean's waist, presses his forehead to Jean's collarbone, his nose into Jean's chest. Jean presses his lips to the crown of Jeremy's hair, and breathes in heaving gulps of his fading scent, trying and failing to calm himself, his alpha.
Maybe Jeremy realizes that, or maybe he's just trying to convince himself, because a moment later, he says, "It'll be okay, Jean."
Jean hears the tremble in his voice, and in his body; feels the way Jeremy's fingers tangle even tighter in the back of his shirt.
But when he pulls away, he's almost perfectly composed. The only thing that gives him away is the slight twitch of his smile. Anyone who knew him less would look right past it, but Jean's been by his side for far too long to miss it now.
Jean reaches up, then, and cups Jeremy's face in his hands. He studies his expression, holds his gaze, and when he's almost committed every detail to memory, tentatively leans in, and presses a kiss to Jeremy's forehead.
Jeremy gasps softly. When Jean pulls back, his eyes are shut.
"Come back to us," Jean whispers. "Come back to me."
Jeremy's eyes flutter open. "I'll do my best," he says, and this time, his smile is nowhere in sight.
A week goes by.
Jean handles it as best he can. He checks on Jeremy each morning and night, and stops by the Lofts between classes to make sure he's alright. He scans the perimeter. He paces in front of the door.
But as Jeremy's heat grows longer and longer, Jean's alpha becomes more and more unsettled.
By the start of week two, Jean stops eating. He stops sleeping. He skips every other class, and then stops going to all classes entirely. It's too much, to be away from Jeremy. His skin itches, and burns, until it feels like he might claw it off. His anxiety skyrockets, and his mood sours as a result, and after a third Trojan gets checked into the wall so hard they get sent to Davis, Rhemann sends Jean home, and bars him from practice until Jeremy’s heat is over.
Jean should be worried, he should be beside himself. Exy is all he is and all he has, and it should be all he's focused on. Instead, he is just—relieved. Relieved to be able to tear off on his bike toward his omega, relieved to watch over him. Relieved to be able to take up a post as his guard, and prepare to kill anyone that tries to get past him.
Jean doesn't know how long passes before someone tries to encroach on his territory. He just knows that when they do, he is immediately alert. His hackles rise, his lip curls; his fangs elongate. He repositions himself in a way that puts Jeremy more firmly behind him, and sniffs the air.
An alpha is coming—Jean knows their scent, but he can't place it.
Their footsteps are soft, their knocks are softer. Jean snarls at them in warning, but it hardly matters—the alpha turns the knob anyway.
This isn't unusual. It’s not the first time an alpha hasn't listened to him, but it’s also not the first time Jean has had to make them. He poises himself properly as the door opens, ready to move, to strike, to protect, and—
"Jean?" The alpha asks, and pokes her head inside.
And Jean recognizes her, too. She's not a threat, he thinks. Not yet, anyway. But her eyes go wide as she takes in the sight of him, and her face goes pale, and her scent flares cold and tangy with panic.
"Oh fuck," she says. "Oh fuck, fuck—Laila!"
More footsteps. The door opens wider. Another person pokes their head in—an omega. Jean recognizes her dark brown curls, her all too knowing eyes, and watches her carefully. She's not a threat either, and her scent stays deceptively calm, but Jean doesn't like where this is headed. Doesn’t like this many people this close to his omega.
Jean growls louder. The omega grabs her alpha by the arm, and hauls her back, away.
The door slams shut.
But Jean can't settle again. The room is tainted, now. He gets up, and scents the perimeter. The window, the door. The nest where his omega lays, and then he turns, and checks on his omega once more.
He's still sleeping, features slack, and he looks peaceful, beautiful, but Jean can't stop feeling like this is the end.
That pain in his chest is back; that noise, as well. Jean reaches out, and brushes the hair off his omega's face; hears that sound in his chest grow louder, and louder, the echo of his heart breaking, and then he turns back around, and takes up his position as guard again, before he breaks, too.
For a while, nothing happens. Jean lets his eyes shut in the meantime, resting lightly. His breaths come short and fast, his heart beats faster.
And then he hears it—footsteps.
Jean's eyes snap open as they come closer, quick and hurried, and his body snaps to attention as the door opens again.
It's a Beta, this time, but Jean knows the damage Betas can cause. Knows that no designation is innocent.
And this Beta is no exception. Jean knows him, knows his scent, knows his intention, even before he opens his mouth—he's here to try and take Jean's omega away, to separate them, and the only way Jean intends to let him do that is over his dead body.
"Hello, Jean," the Beta says, but before he can finish the rest of that sentence, Jean cuts him off with a growl.
"Get out," Jean warns, and doesn't recognize the sound of his own voice. "Get away from us."
The Beta doesn't move. "Jean," he repeats. "I'm only here to help."
Jean stares at him, at his feet as he tries to take a step closer, and prepares himself to lunge. But maybe the Beta hears the intent in his snarl, because, suddenly, he stops in place. "Jean,” he says, a third time. “Jeremy’s been in heat for nearly three weeks now. His parents are worried. His friends and teammates are worried. I'm worried. And I'm sure you're worried as well. But I can't help him, or you, if you don't let me—"
"No."
"Jean—"
There's commotion. The alpha and omega from earlier come back, ushering the Beta away, and Jean snarls louder, curling his body toward his omega as they retreat and close the door behind themselves.
He stays locked in place even after they’re gone, body trembling with adrenaline, growls getting so loud and so ugly it’s a wonder his omega doesn’t wake up. But he can’t relax, now. Can’t get his body to unlock. His mind to unfocus. All around him is dangerdangerdanger, and his thoughts echo that back. His vision flares red.
The door opens again.
It’s the omega, alone. She's more cautious than she was before, and Jean can smell a bit of fear in her scent. But she doesn’t show it. She just stands in the doorway, shoulders squared, and says, "I'm sorry we didn't listen to you when you tried to tell us something was wrong, and for not telling you when something was when we promised to do so. We should’ve. But Jeremy said he had it covered, and…you know how stubborn he can be, sometimes. How evasive. But that doesn’t excuse it. We should’ve known better, should’ve pushed more.
“And maybe it wouldn't have stopped…this from happening, but maybe it would've helped. Either way, I'm sorry. We let you both down."
Jean huffs at her. The omega peeks behind him, trying to get a glimpse of his omega, but when Jean growls again, studies him instead.
"You know,” she says, “Davis was telling the truth when he said we just wanted to help. No one's going to take Jeremy away from you, but we also need to figure out what's going on with him, so we can get him back. And Davis is the most qualified among us.”
She waits a beat, letting Jean digest that, and then presses on with, “He has some theories he said I could share with you. Do you want to hear them?"
Jean stares at her, and considers. His mind is running slower and faster than normal, and it takes him a minute to parse through the words. But eventually, he thinks he understands.
Slowly, his growling subsides to a low rumble in his chest; his lip uncurls, and his fangs retreat. He nods once, tentatively, warily. The omega nods back.
"Good," she says, and rubs her hands up and down her thighs. “The first theory is that Jeremy just needs the extra rest. That he's running himself into the ground, and that once his body recuperates, he'll wake up. And if it's right, it should only be a couple days more."
And if it’s wrong? Jean thinks, but can’t get himself to say. It hardly matters, though. Clear across the omega’s face is that she doesn’t quite believe in that theory either. "And two, is that something’s throwing off Jeremy’s cycle, and making his heats worse. Like stress. Or…a compatible alpha. Like you.”
Jean stares at her, uncomprehending, and then, suddenly, horribly, understands. How Jeremy's heats started getting longer when Jean asked him to stay. How they kept getting longer each month, after Jean bought him nesting materials and made his nest and gave him something with his scent.
Davis was right. And this omega is right. This is all Jean's fault, and he has no idea how to fix it.
"Out," Jean tells her. "Get out."
The omega crosses her arms over her chest. “No.”
Jean snarls. But the omega doesn’t budge. “I’ve known Jeremy longer than you have,” she tells him, “which means I know how he shuts down and self sabotages when he thinks he doesn’t deserve something he wants more than anything; how badly he wants someone to choose him over everything.
“And I’ve known you long enough to know that you’re doing just that. But I need you to choose now, Jean. Either you’re Jeremy’s alpha, or you aren’t. It can’t keep being like it’s been. Because this middle ground, this in between—it’s hurting him. And it’s hurting you, too.”
Jean feels himself deflate with each word, feels his alpha slowly recede and cower like a kicked puppy. The omega sighs, and uncrosses her arms.
“I trust you,” she says, “to do right by yourself. To do right by him. And whatever you choose, we’ll all be here for you. Okay?”
She waits, seems unsurprised by his lack of response, and then leaves him to Jeremy, and his thoughts, and to fix this.
But it’s not as simple as she makes it sound—if it was, Jeremy would already be his, and none of this would be happening.
But there are rules. There are rules, and Jean cannot—
Whose rules? A voice in his mind asks. The dead kid’s?
Jean claws at his temples, and tries to drown the question out. The rules may have changed, but they hadn’t changed for him. He is still property. He is still Moriyama property, and even if Riko and the Master could no longer try to rid Jean of this part of himself, Ichirou could come at any time, and know exactly where to strike him to make it hurt.
But—maybe he wouldn’t.
Jean thinks of Neil, and of his goalkeeper; of his easy I’m sure he knows, and wonders about ifs versus reality. Because sure, Ichirou could come and hurt them at any time, but this is happening now.
Logically, Jean knows he should retreat. Logically, he knows he should give up on his fantasy of being Jeremy’s alpha, and free Jeremy from this in between, and himself from the possibility. But every time he’s tried, his alpha has rebelled. And it rebels now, loud and fierce inside of him.
Losing Jeremy is not an option—not to another alpha, and not to sleep.
Jean has lost too many things in life, to lose Jeremy, too.
So he chooses, like Laila asked. He takes a breath, another, and then turns, and looks down at Jeremy’s nest.
The omega is still sleeping, as he has been for the last three weeks, beautiful and still. Twice, Jean reaches out, and twice he pulls his hand back, afraid his touch will make this worse.
But he has to wake Jeremy somehow. Has to let Jeremy know his choice, too. That he meant it, when he said he’d choose him every time.
But…how? A hand to his shoulder seems stupid, and too easy. And brushing his hair off his face hadn’t worked the last time around.
But perhaps…perhaps a kiss could work. A kiss started this heat, after all. Maybe a kiss could end it.
Jean’s heart pounds in his ears, his head, his chest. He swallows thickly, rubs his hands nervously on his thighs, and then leans forward, brushes the hair gently from Jeremy’s face, and presses his lips to Jeremy’s forehead, the way he had three weeks ago.
And—nothing.
Jean waits, and waits, for something, anything. But Jeremy stays as still as he has been, and Jean’s alpha starts to keen.
Maybe he’s too late. Maybe he took too long to get on board, maybe he wasted weeks being an idiot, a coward. Maybe—
Jeremy makes a noise. It’s small, a puff of breath, but it’s followed by movement. A fluttering of his eyelashes, a slight shift of his shoulders, his fingers.
Jean holds his own breath. Jeremy’s eyes blink open. He rubs at his face, pushes himself to his elbows, and then realizes he’s not alone. "Jean?" he asks, and frowns a little. “Are you—?”
Jean doesn't let him finish. He catches Jeremy by the face, and crashes their mouths together. Kisses him slow, and deep. Jeremy makes a surprised noise, and when Jean pulls back, stares up at him with wide eyes.
Jean stares back.
“I want to be your Alpha,” he says. Desperate, breathless. “But before you decide if you want that, too, there are things I need to tell you.”
Jeremy’s gaze drops to his mouth, and then back up again. He swallows thickly, and his fingers tangle in Jean’s shirt possessively. His pupils are still wide as ever.
“Or,” Jean says, and swallows, too. “Or I can tell you later.”
“Yes,” Jeremy agrees, and tugs him back in.