Archive of Our Own

Jean could have never imagined he would get here one day, never thought he would get to have this. One year into his relationship with Kevin and he still occasionally found himself struck by the marvel of it all.

Sometimes it hits him during the lull of quiet moments together, like waking up to Kevin drooling faintly into his shoulder, warm and soft and safe. Fingers clutching Jean's shirt like he could not bear to let him go, even in sleep.

Sometimes it strikes him in more mundane moments, like the prickle of irritation at having to fix yet another remote Kevin broke while gesturing too aggressively during a game review, while Kevin hovers nearby, visibly feeling absolutely no remorse whatsoever.

How lucky Jean is to be irritated at all, over something so small.

Other times it happens during small moments, brief and fleeting. Kevin peeling oranges for him absentmindedly and passing him slices because he knows Jean hates the sticky feeling on his fingers. Kevin leaning in closer to Jean when exhausted, unconsciously seeking comfort in the solidness of his body. Kevin reaching over to smooth down Jean’s hair while passing behind the couch, fingers lingering briefly at the nape of his neck before moving on.

Kevin is an attentive lover, often anticipating Jean’s needs before they could become problems. And it is nice, to be treated like something delicate, when Jean has spent so much of his life handled far less carefully.

Plus, Jean has no issue letting Kevin fuss over his hair if it means he gets to stare at that pretty face while he does it, or letting Kevin cook a healthy meal for them if it means he gets to kiss the taste of it from Kevin’s mouth afterwards.

It is better than anything Jean had ever dared dream for himself. Back in the Nest, during those rare moments he allowed himself the dangerous luxury of hope, Jean liked to picture what it would be like to be loved by Kevin. Amidst a haze of pain, he would imagine stolen kisses after practice and intertwined limbs and going to sleep together just to wake up in each other's arms. He imagined Kevin choosing him over and over and over again.

The anniversary of Riko's death comes quietly, as it always does. It has already been a long week, and the thought sits heavily in the back of Jean’s mind, impossible to ignore no matter how determinedly he tries. Kevin grows tense too, like he always does, although he would probably die before acknowledging it aloud. Every year, they move around it carefully. The media, unfortunately, possess no such tact.

In the reporter's defense, Jean supposes, the question itself is not even particularly invasive.

“Jean, we've asked you before about rebuilding your life after the Ravens. Do anniversaries like this still affect you now?”

Jean takes a moment, already feeling the unpleasant crawl beneath his skin that comes whenever reporters casually mention the Ravens, like his escape and recovery did not nearly cost him his life.

Before he gets the chance to come up with an answer, Kevin interjects smoothly beside him.

"Jean has stated before that he prefers not to discuss the Ravens publicly,” he says politely. “If he ever wants to tell that story, it will be on his terms.”

It's the exact kind of polished, practiced answer that Kevin has been giving reporters for years, and they move on immediately at the maneuver.

The irony of Kevin answering for him like that is not lost on Jean.

The drive home is silent, Jean entertaining himself by tapping his fingers on the inside of Kevin's thigh periodically and watching him twitch whenever he hits a spot that tickles. Every time, he turns to glare at Jean halfheartedly but does not push away his hand, content to let Jean mess with him as he pleases.

By the time they're both home in their kitchen and Kevin is making them tea, looking pink and lovely from his shower, Jean is tempted to just move on.

But then again, he has spent too much of his life letting things go, and he wants much, much, more than that for them.

"Why did you answer for me?" he asks.

Kevin doesn't look up from where he is measuring out the hot water into their cups, before reaching into their medicine cabinet to hand Jean two painkillers with a glass of cold water. Jean blinks, a little taken aback, but accepts the pills with a soft thank you. He had not told Kevin his knee was hurting, but he should not be surprised he noticed.

"Answer what?" Kevin asks. "Oh, at the press conference?"

"Yes."

Kevin meets his gaze now, frowning a little. "She shouldn't have asked you that. You have repeatedly made your boundaries clear, and they just keep on pushing. It's extremely unprofessional."

"Yes, reporters do tend to be noisy pests," Jean agrees. "But I could have told her that myself."

Kevin drums his fingers on the counter lightly.

"Hm. Well, I could tell you were uncomfortable. And besides, I knew what you were going to say," Kevin says, pausing to study him for a second, obviously trying to figure out why this is a conversation. "I was just trying to help."

Jean snorts, because of course he knows that. And once upon a time, Jean needed that. Once, Kevin had spoken for him because Jean physically could not.

"I know," Jean replies.

"Then what is the problem?" Kevin asks, returning to making their tea. Jean feels himself prickle at the dismissal.

"The problem is I could have answered for myself, Kevin. You jumped in and decided what I thought before I ever had the chance to say it," he explains.

Kevin leans back a little now, hands on his hips. He does not look angry at all, but he does have that look on his face that tells Jean he is going to be unbearably stubborn about this.

"I don't see what the problem is if I just said what you would have anyways," Kevin argues.

"It is not about whether what you said was right or wrong," Jean explains.

"Okay, but how does it matter if you were just going to say the same thing either way? Plus, I know you hate doing press anyways and if I can spare you the discomfort—"

"That is still not my point," Jean huffs.

"Fine," Kevin raises his arms in surrender. "Then explain it to me."

Jean sighs, trying to find the words.

"You do this all the time. You notice and anticipate and then you just…decide what others need before they ask for it."

Kevin opens his mouth to speak but Jean cuts him off, hoping to get his message across without more back and forth.

"And often it is your best quality," Jean continues, "You make me tea before I ask, you remember all of the things that I forget. You know when my knee hurts before I say anything."

When he pauses Kevin doesn't interrupt the silence.

"I just need it to not feel like there is no room left for me to speak or make my own decision," Jean says finally.

Kevin frowns at that, immediately on the defensive. "That's not fair, Jean. I know you hate talking about the Ravens, and I just wanted to—"

Jean feels irritation thrum under his skin at the deflection. This does not have to be a big discussion, but Kevin is making it clear he will not just accept it and move on.

"I already said that is not the point. And I already know you wanted to help," Jean says.

Kevin stares at him. "Then I do not understand."

"You do not understand because you have already decided that you are right," Jean snaps, turning away. He can feel himself getting truly agitated now, and he takes a deep breath, trying to calm down.

The worst part about this is that Kevin is not wrong often enough for this to be an easy disagreement to have. Most days Jean likes the certainty of him. Most days he loves that Kevin wants to shoulder burdens before they can reach him.

Today, however, something about it catches on an old wound. Something about being spoken for before he can speak for himself leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He tries to explain himself again.

"You make decisions on someone else's behalf then and then refuse to listen when someone objects," Jean says, bringing his hand up to rub his forehead. "You cannot just decide what is best for everyone and think it is fine because you call it love."

He turns to meet Kevin's gaze, expecting a rather fiery rebuttal, but his expression has already shuttered off.

Feeling like he has misstepped somehow, Jean studies his blank expression.

"Kevin," he starts, before even knowing what he wants to say.

Kevin brings his hand up to silence him. "No, no it's…it's fine, Jean. Obviously I didn't mean it like that. I won't do it again."

Jean keeps watching him, still feeling uneasy.

Kevin passes him his tea, pressing it into his hand, before walking around the counter to kiss the side of Jean's head in apology.

"Come now, surely you're not angry enough with me to let your tea go cold," he cajoles. He's still not meeting Jean's eyes, so Jean grips him by his waist and holds him there.

"But I am not angry," he clarifies, trying to meet his gaze.

"Alright," Kevin replies.

"Is that all you have to say?" Jean asks. Kevin purses his lips.

"Are you really asking me to argue with you?" he asks, making Jean laugh.

"No, I suppose not."

Kevin's shoulders relax, and before Jean can say anything else, he reaches over to steal Jean's tea, taking a sip despite having his own cup sitting three feet away, immediately making a face.

"Yours has too much honey."

Jean rolls his eyes and pecks his pouted lips. "You are the one who made it."

They have such a busy schedule the following week that Jean doesn't think too much more about the Ravens or Riko's death. He also barely sees Kevin, who is traveling for a photo shoot for a new brand deal, and by the time they are out for dinner on Friday, he feels like he's missing a limb.

The second Kevin slides into the passenger seat of Jean's car, Jean reaches over to grab his face and kiss him. Kevin makes a surprised sound into his mouth.

"Hello to you too," Kevin says when Jean finally lets him breathe, small smile on his face.

"Hm. You have been gone for six days."

Kevin laughs lightly. "It was four."

"Are you sure? It felt like six," Jean says, pouting to be cute.

Kevin's expression warms immediately, and he leans in to give Jean a kiss. Bingo.

When he pulls away, Jean takes him in. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his hair is longer than it usually is, curling slightly at the ends, falling in his eyes. He is wearing a dark green sweater that Jean recognizes as his own and a pair of sunglasses that makes him look like an off-duty model. Suddenly the last week feels very long indeed.

"What is it?" Kevin asks, catching his stare. Jean reaches over and fixes the collar of his sweater, resting his fingertips beneath the collar to feel the thrum of Kevin's pulse.

"Nothing."

Kevin tilts his head, looking concerned. "You are being strange," he says.

Jean smiles wolfishly. "Just admiring. You get lovelier with time."

Kevin immediately flushes red and bats Jean's hand away. "Don't be like that. Now come on, we're going to be late."

Dinner is actually quite pleasant, despite some of the Foxes attending. Dan and Matt are in town, along with Neil. Jean can admit it does warm his heart to see that they are as loud as ever, Neil and Matt arguing over something Jean can't bother to follow, while Dan, rather than attempting to restore any order, just eggs them on.

Jean finds himself watching Kevin more than participating in their rowdiness, drinking in his presence, their knees brushing beneath the table.

Eventually, the waitress appears beside them, and Jean feels a brief moment of humiliation on the Foxes' behalf for the way she startles at the commotion in front of her. Lord know that they never feel the appropriate amount of embarrassment for any situation ever.

"I'm glad to see you guys are enjoying your appetizers! What can I get everyone for the main course?"

Orders begin moving around the table, and when she reaches them, Jean glances automatically toward Kevin, expecting him to give her their usual order. It's a Thai place they come to fairly often, and usually Kevin either orders their regular, or if he is satisfied with the nutritional value of the special of the week, he orders them that. Jean hasn't even touched the menu in months.

The waitress waits. Kevin is silent.

Jean blinks.

The waitress is staring at him.

"Oh, apologies. I'll have the—" Jean glances down at the menu quickly, picking the option that sounds the most familiar. "Pad Thai. Medium spicy."

The waitress nods and moves on, but Jean pauses for a second, feeling unsettled. Before he can register the feeling, he is immediately distracted by Kevin stealing a piece of shrimp off Jean's plate that he accidentally served himself from the appetizer.

"That was mine," Jean says dryly.

"Oh? Have you developed a sudden taste for shrimp?" Kevin challenges, smug smile on his face. "Last I checked, you despise it."

Jean should probably at least pretend to be annoyed with him to discourage this type of attitude from Kevin. But Kevin looks so beautiful and pleased in the dim restaurant lighting that Jean lets himself smile back, rolling his eyes. He watches Kevin spear another bite of food, and feels something warm settle in his chest. Four days is not particularly long in the grand scheme of their lives, but it is long enough for Jean to ache for him.

The conversation drifts around them. Matt is trying and failing to convince Neil to order dessert, but Jean is more distracted by Dan, who is taking Polaroid pictures of everyone without permission. Kevin occasionally contributes to the conversation, particularly when the topic turns towards Exy, but he's a little quiet most of the evening, probably feeling the exhaustion of the week sink into his bones.

Every time Jean looks up, Kevin is already looking at him. Eventually, Jean nudges him beneath the table.

"Stop staring. You are being rather obvious," he says, a little flustered at the attention.

"I'm not staring. I'm resting my eyes. I've had a long week."

Jean rolls his eyes, and Kevin reaches over and smooths down a piece of Jean's hair that had fallen into his face.

"You look tired," Kevin comments, letting his finger stroke Jean's cheekbone once, where his number is.

"I am."

"You should have gotten more sleep this week."

"I am so glad you have returned," Jean deadpans. "How would I have ever come to that conclusion on my own with you in another state?"

Kevin rolls his eyes, pinching his ear lightly in retaliation, but smiles despite himself, the way he always does when Jean makes a joke. The sight of his dimple peeking out in the candlelight is enough to make Jean momentarily forget about whatever had been bothering him.

Over the next week, Jean begins to notice things, filing them away in his memory as they happen. Nothing particularly large or alarming, but enough to leave an unpleasant feeling beneath his skin. Either he is losing his mind or something is absolutely wrong.

The first time it happens, he has just come home after a workout, feeling sticky and sweaty from the unforgiving heat, looking forward to taking a shower and seeing Kevin. Usually, Kevin presses an almost nauseatingly healthy smoothie that he has somehow perfected the art of making delicious into his hands as soon as he walks through the door.

Today, Kevin just looks up from where he is reading his latest history novel on the couch.

"How was your workout?" he inquires.

"Hot," Jean huffs, taking off his shoes and dropping his workout bag unceremoniously next to the couch. "This weather is deplorable." Kevin smiles to himself, ever amused at Jean's ongoing hatred for humidity.

Jean leans over the edge of the couch to press a kiss to Kevin's forehead, making him wrinkle his nose.

"You're gross," he complains.

Jean presses in even closer, laughing when he feels Kevin squirm away. When he pulls away, Kevin is scowling at him and Jean pokes at his cheek to dispel the expression. Kevin bats his hand away.

"No manners whatsoever, Jean-Yves," he scolds halfheartedly. He reaches over and grabs a bookmark, saving his place in his book before he looks up again.

"Would you like a smoothie?" Kevin asks.

Jean snorts. "Since when do you ask? I thought they were an irreplaceable part of an athlete's diet," he says, making air quotes with his fingers.

Kevin raises a brow in challenge. "Do you not always complain?"

"I would not say complain, mon cherí. They are just inhumanly healthy." Jean searches Kevin's eyes. "You know I like them," Jean reassures.

Kevin shrugs. "I just thought I should ask. Maybe you didn't want one this evening."

Jean frowns a little but nods. "I would like one, thank you."

Kevin nods, getting up immediately. "Alright."

The exchange leaves him oddly dissatisfied.

The second time it happens in a crowded grocery store.

Shopping together for ingredients has become one of Jean's favorite domestic activities. He likes to debate with Kevin over a new brand of oil or bread, and although he really couldn't be bothered with the nutrition facts he's sincerely amused by Kevin's passion. Kevin protests so earnestly, frowning up at Jean and reading over the labels with absolute seriousness, and Jean cannot help but find it endearing how much care Kevin gives every activity he ever does. It must be exhausting, but then again, he does not know any other way to be.

Sometimes, Kevin leans against him while they wait in line and they exchange amused expressions every time they encounter a particularly chatty cashier. Sometimes he reaches over Jean's shoulder for something on a high shelf and lingers there for a second longer than necessary, expression teasing.

Jean adores it. Maybe the realization of just how much should embarrass him, but he is long past his days of feeling shame about finding pleasure.

Today, Jean feels Kevin draw closer automatically when a cart nearly clips his hip. It is awfully busy for a weekday, and a woman with what seems to be countless screaming children brushes past them apologizing, looking harried. For a second he expects the familiar pressure of Kevin leaning into him, but instead, Kevin stops himself. Jean watches his hand twitch once at his side before dropping entirely.

Jean stares at him, expecting some sort of explanation, but Kevin just continues pushing the cart.

The third time, they are eating lunch together between practice and a dinner event in the evening. Jean has already angled his plate so that the carrots are on the side closer to Kevin, knowing his partiality towards the vegetable. Jean watches Kevin reach towards his plate, before dropping his hand in between them.

"May I have one?" he asks.

Jean blinks, a little confused. "No, Kevin. I am going to eat them all."

Kevin immediately withdraws his arm, going back to his own lunch.

"Kevin," Jean says, reaching out to gently grip his wrist. "I am only joking."

Kevin meets his eyes, looking lost in thought. Jean pushes the entire plate towards him.

"You know that I was joking," he says again, feeling off-balance.

"Right, thank you," Kevin says, grabbing two carrots, dipping them sparingly in ranch.

Jean studies him, unable to tell if he is trying to be humorous. Sometimes Kevin's jokes are almost humiliatingly unfunny, but he persists regardless.

Kevin picks up their conversation like nothing has happened a minute later, and Jean lets the moment go.

That night, Jean wakes briefly around three in the morning. He sleeps better these days, and it's a testament to how far he has come that him waking up in the middle of the night does not necessarily mean a nightmare. He reaches over to grab his water bottle from the nightstand and takes a sip.

When he looks over to the other side of the bed, Kevin is fast asleep, facing away from him and curled toward the opposite side of the bed, not touching him at all.

Jean frowns sleepily at being denied his cuddle. Normally, he wakes to Kevin halfway on top of him, warm and heavy, head tucked into the crook of Jean's neck with Jean nearly suffocating on his hair.

The thought irritates him enough that he reaches over, blindly groping in the dark, and wraps one arm around Kevin's waist, dragging him backwards. Kevin lets out a startled noise, then settles in, relaxing and Jean immediately falls back asleep.

It is around Thursday that Jean begins to suspect he is losing his mind.

His final straw arrives in the form of a grocery list.

That morning, their fridge is woefully empty when Jean checks it, so he shoots Kevin a text about getting groceries in the evening, with a frowny face emoji and a picture of the empty shelf.

Once they both are home, Jean changes quickly, ready to go. He is halfway through pulling on his shoes when Kevin looks up from the couch.

"Where are you going?" Kevin asks, pausing the crossword he is doing.

"The grocery store," Jean replies. "A little bunny rabbit seems to have eaten all our carrots again. Perhaps we should start growing them ourselves."

Kevin snorts. "As if either of us have anything close to resembling a green thumb, Jean-Yves. Alright."

Jean waits a little, and Kevin returns his attention to his crossword. Perhaps he is working on a particularly difficult one and wants to finish it before they leave.

Jean leans against the counter, still waiting, and nothing happens.

Eventually Kevin glances back over.

"Did you forget something?"

Jean feels something in him snap and drops his bag, marching over. "You are not coming?"

Kevin looks up at him, wide-eyed and surprised at the outburst.

"…No? I can if you want me to."

Jean stares, the words settling heavily between them. He can feel unease rising up in him, unbidden. He does not think Kevin is joking anymore, does not think there's any humor to be found in this anyways.

I can if you want me to.

Like it is something he needs permission for, like accompanying Jean to the grocery store is some tremendous burden he has been graciously released from. Like they have not spent the last year attached at the hip.

Jean sighs heavily, and sits down next to him.

Kevin immediately sits up straighter and angles himself towards Jean. "What's wrong?"

"I feel I should be asking you that," Jean replies dryly.

"What do you mean?"

"So all of a sudden you do not want to come with me? Even though we always go together? Why are you acting as though this is not abnormal?" Jean questions.

"It's not that I don't want to, I just realized I never actually asked if you want me to come with you, and you always complain that I nag about—"

"What is this really about?" Jean interrupts. "You have been acting strange all week."

"No I haven't?" Kevin asks. To his credit, he seems genuinely baffled.

Jean rubs his forehead, exhausted by the peculiarness of the week, the distance, the carefulness. If he has upset Kevin somehow, he needs to know, needs to fix it immediately.

"You have been acting differently towards me," Jean explains. "Whatever is going on, whatever this is," he implores, gesturing between them, "Please. Tell me why you are upset, mon cœr, and I'll fix it."

Kevin's expression only grows more confused, and Jean has the sinking feeling that Kevin genuinely has no idea what he is talking about.

"But I'm really not upset, Jean? I don't understand."

Jean flexes his hands, feeling himself grow agitated. There is no way Kevin is unaware of the strange atmosphere between them. Kevin has never been truly oblivious a day in his life, typically he just ignores ninety percent of what goes on around him because he deems it insignificant.

He tries giving Kevin the benefit of the doubt and begins to explain, counting off on his fingers.

"You wouldn't order for me at dinner, you didn't make me a smoothie after my workout. You were acting strange about taking my food during lunch," he explains. "You have been distant too. You—you avoid my touch," Jean says with an sudden pang of sadness, voice growing quiet. "You sleep so far away at night…and now you won't come with me to the grocery store?"

Jean can't deny he feels a little like a conspiracy theorist, but feels validated when Kevin draws back into himself, going still. Apparently he has hit a nerve.

"Jean," Kevin says softly. "I—I'm not being distant and I'm not upset. I just thought that's what you wanted," he says. Jean blinks at him, confused.

"Why would I ever want that?" he asks, baffled.

"After the press conference last week? You said you wanted me to back off let you make your own decisions," Kevin explains, wringing his hands together.

Jean thinks back to their discussion. If Kevin's behavior really is about that, then Jean has spent the past week worrying that he has hurt Kevin, only to discover that Kevin had apparently taken one honest comment from him and twisted it into something else entirely. He feels irritation curl low in his stomach.

"That is what this is about?" Jean asks. "I told you that because I trust you, and I wanted to be honest about something that bothered me."

Kevin furrows his brow. "Yes, I know. I'm glad you did."

"Then why are you acting like this?" Jean asks, growing more upset.

"You asked me to!" Kevin argues, voice raising to meet Jean's.

"Mon dieu," Jean huffs, getting up off the couch, facing away from Kevin. "You know what I meant," he accuses, frustrated at Kevin's insistence.

He could tell at the time that Kevin did not fully agree with what he said and left that conversation feeling a little unsettled. Still, he could not have predicted Kevin would apparently resort to withdrawing his affection to communicate his displeasure. He is not typically so reckless with Jean.

"Fine," Jean snaps, exhaling heavily. He turns around to meet Kevin's eyes. "Message received. You did not like what I said."

"That's not true," Kevin says, voice small. His eyes flit over Jean's face, studying his expression. "Of course I want you to tell me when I've done something wrong."

Jean is not in the mood to do this back and forth with him right now.

"If that is really true, then you do not get to punish me for being honest with you," Jean argues.

Kevin's green eyes widen at that, immediately hurt at his words. "Punish you?"

"Yes, Kevin. Passive aggression is childish, even for you," Jean snaps.

The words hang heavily between them. He has no idea how the conversation has gotten so out of control, and for a moment Kevin seems speechless. Then something shutters behind his eyes.

"I wasn't being passive aggressive."

"Oh? Then what would you call it? I told you how I felt, you didn't like what I said, and then you withdrew your affection because of it. What exactly is that called?" Jean asks tiredly.

Kevin opens his mouth and closes it, trying to find the words. Finally, "I really was just trying to do what you asked."

Jean sighs, exhausted by this line of reasoning. "I do not believe that you seriously think that is what I meant."

"Well maybe I don't know what you meant then," Kevin snaps.

His teeth are worrying at his lower lip and Jean resists the urge to reach out and stop him. He does not look defensive anymore, if anything he just sounds tired.

Jean sits back down next to him and they are both quiet for several seconds.

"You said I make decisions for people," Kevin says. "You said I decide what people need before they ask."

"Yes."

"And you said it makes you feel like there is no room left for you to speak."

"Kevin—"

"No, I really am trying to understand." His voice remains calm, but Jean can see how tense his body language is. "I obviously fucked it up and now you are upset at me."

Jean looks away, anger fading as quickly as it came. He is forever weak to that look on Kevin's face.

"I am not upset, just frustrated."

"With me."

"Yes, because you were not listening."

"But I was listening, and I tried to change my actions accordingly," Kevin says.

"I don't think you were. I think you heard one thing, interpreted how you wanted, and ignored the rest."

Kevin falls silent. He bites at this lip anxiously, working over what Jean said.

Eventually he says quietly, "I wasn't trying to be passive aggressive…or punish you."

Jean feels himself grow even softer. Kevin sounds sincere, and he looks worn out, and Jean hates hates hates arguing with him.

He sighs. "I believe you, mon cherí," he says, poking Kevin's brow to smooth out his frown.

Kevin brushes away his hand gently. "Do you?" he asks miserably. "Clearly you don't. Don't just agree because you cannot stay mad at me."

Jean laughs humorlessly. He doesn't really have a good answer for that. The truth is that Kevin has been acting strangely, but it is possible none of it was actually done in malice.

"I have been plenty mad at you before," he informs Kevin dryly, before sighing. "I believe you. I think. I just do not fully understand."

Kevin lowers his gaze. Something about it is more devastating than if he had just argued with Jean more.

"Right," he says softly. "I'm sorry, Jean."

The words have always sounded strange out of the mouth of someone like Kevin Day, and Jean immediately hates them.

His defeated apology immediately breaks what little resolve Jean has left and he pulls Kevin into his arms. Kevin resists a little at first, but eventually he brings his arms up around Jean and buries his face in the crook Jean's neck, squeezing him back even tighter. Jean breathes in the familiar scent of him, enjoying the way Kevin's warm breath tickles his skin.

"It is no big deal. These things happen," Jean soothes, rubbing his back. "Couples fight. We are becoming terrifyingly normal," he jokes.

When Kevin doesn't respond, Jean shakes him a little, hoping to get a laugh out of him. Kevin nods into his neck but doesn't say anything more.

"Maybe we should just get groceries delivered today?" Jean suggests after a moment.

Kevin shakes his head, sending some of his hair into Jean's mouth. He still won't break their embrace.

"No, they always pick the worst vegetables. Just give me minute and we can go."

Jean places a kiss on the top of his head. "Whatever you want."

Later that evening, when Kevin is in the shower and Jean is busy responding to some emails he's been putting off, he sighs, remembering the three missed calls on his phone from Jeremy.

He is not really up for company right now, still worn out and confused after his argument with Kevin, but talking to Jeremy always lifts his spirits, and oftentimes gives him a new perspective on things.

Jeremy picks up on the second ring.

"Jean!"

Jean pulls the phone slightly away from his ear. "Hello."

"Wow. Enthusiastic as always, man."

Jean closes his eyes. Perhaps this was not the best idea. "I am hanging up."

"Nonono, hold on," Jeremy protests dramatically, although he probably knows it was an empty threat.

Despite himself, Jean feels the corner of his mouth twitch. Jeremy has always had an unfortunate talent for being difficult to dislike.

"How are things?" Jeremy asks. "You sound like you've been busy."

"They have been fine."

Jeremy immediately groans. "Oh, no."

"What?" Jean snaps, defensive.

"That's your something is definitely wrong voice."

Jean scoffs. Is Jeremy a damn mind-reader?

"That is not a thing."

"Absolutely is. You're really very obvious, Jean."

Jean huffs, debating ending the call for the third time.

"You only use that voice when something's bothering you," Jeremy continues.

"That is not true."

"Jean. Come on, tell me. Maybe I can help," he tries.

Jean bites his lip. "Alright. Kevin has been acting strangely."

Jeremy hums understandingly. Something clangs in the background. He must be doing dishes.

"Well Kevin is a pretty strange person. How so?"

"He is..." Jean trails off, trying to figure out how to put it into words.

Jeremy waits patiently on the other end, humming a pop song. Jean feels a sudden rush of fondness for his old friend. He talks enough for ten people, but Jeremy always knows when to wait and listen.

"We had a…disagreement after a press conference a couple days ago," Jean says.

"About what?" Jeremy asks.

"A reporter asked an invasive question, and Kevin responded for me," Jean explains. "I know he was trying to help, but I would have rather answered it myself. And I told him as much."

Jeremy makes an understanding noise. "Well, I'm proud of you for communicating how you feel, I know it can be difficult. And it's important, especially to maintain a happy and healthy relationship. Nobody benefits at all if things are buried under the surface," he says.

"Yes," Jean agrees. "But after that he started acting weird. At first I thought he was upset at me for something else, but it turns out it was because of what I said."

"Weird how?" Jeremy asks.

Jean hesitates, not wanting to give away something Kevin would not want him to. "Little things. We talked about it and he apologized. The actual actions were not all that important but…" he trails off.

Jeremy waits.

"Sometimes it feels like I do not understand him," Jean sighs, rubbing at his forehead.

He supposes that is what unsettles him the most. He does believe Kevin was not being deliberately malicious. He can be a rather petty and dramatic person, but always to others. Kevin has never been able to bring himself to truly hurt Jean. It stands to reason there is something Jean is missing about this.

Jeremy is silent on the other end.

"Jeremy."

"I'm just thinking."

"Do not hurt yourself."

Jeremy snorts.

"I mean I can't tell you how Kevin is feeling. But I will say I don't think he's the type to try and purposely hurt your feelings. Chances are something just got lost in communication," Jeremy reasons, echoing what Jean is already thinking.

"No matter how close you guys are you can't actually read each other's minds," he continues. "I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually."

Jean hums in consideration. Jeremy is right.

"Profound," he teases, knowing Jeremy will hear the gratitude in his voice.

"I know. I should start charging for my services," Jeremy laughs. He pauses for a moment before continuing to speak.

"Really, though. I've never seen two people as in love as you two are. You'll definitely work it out."

Jean feels his cheeks warm.

"I suppose," he says noncommittally.

"You suppose?" Jeremy teases.

"I am hanging up now."

Jeremy laughs so hard Jean has to move his ear away from the speaker of his phone to avoid permanent ear damage.

The next morning, Jean wakes up first. Sunlight streams in through the sheer curtains on their window, turning the room a warm shade of light green. The summer heat had him kicking the blankets off during the night and Kevin has evidently stolen them all, curled up like a little dumpling.

He has an arm and a leg thrown over Jean's body, skin slightly tacky where they meet. Asleep, he looks so much younger, long lashes fanning out against his cheeks, chest rising and falling steadily. He's sleeping on his side, the angle covering up the tattoo on his cheek and smushing his cheek in slightly.

He really is the most lovely thing Jean has ever seen, the most precious thing he has been trusted with.

Jean makes a move to get up, intending to make them breakfast, and feels the limbs on top of him tighten around him like an octopus. Not so asleep then.

"Stay," Kevin demands, voice low with sleep. He doesn't bother opening his eyes.

Jean stays, drifting off to sleep lazily.

When he wakes up again, it is with the groggy haze of someone who has slept too long. He can see that Kevin has already gotten up, so he takes a moment to stretch out his limbs, bones creaking unpleasantly, before making his way to the bathroom to freshen up.

Jean can hear the faint sounds coming from the kitchen, meaning Kevin has made himself busy with breakfast. Or is it lunch? A quick check of his phone tells him it's early afternoon.

The smell of cinnamon fills their apartment—Kevin must be making pancakes. Is it Sunday? Jean drags a hand across his face. He's obviously barely awake.

Slowly, he makes his way to where Kevin is mixing batter, listening to something on his phone. He's wearing a pair of loose shorts, and one of Jean's old Trojan jerseys, worn out enough that the neck is loose, exposing the delicate slope of his neck. He pulls out the headphone he has in his ear when he hears Jean come up behind him but doesn't turn around. Jean takes the opportunity to drape himself across his back, letting Kevin carry quite a bit of his weight, and hooks his chin across his shoulder.

"Bonjour," he murmurs, nosing at his neck. Kevin smells faintly of oranges so he must have already showered. Jean gives into the urge and bites him lightly where his neck meets his shoulder. Kevin pinches his side lightly in retaliation.

"Ow," Kevin complains halfheartedly. "Good morning to you too, Jean. How did you sleep?"

"I am still asleep," Jean complains. He shamelessly shoves his hands under Kevin's shirt, stroking at his sides. Kevin hisses a little at the chill.

"Yes that tends to happen when you wake up and fall asleep again," he replies.

Jean brings his hands to Kevin's stomach, tracing the divots of muscle there, and Kevin wiggles around a little, but lets Jean do as he pleases.

"How are your hands cold?" he complains. "It's summertime."

"Warm me up then," Jean murmurs, placing a kiss on his shoulder and pulling him against him tighter.

It makes Kevin's hand jostle where he's mixing the pancake batter, and a glob of it ends up on the counter. Kevin shoots him a dirty look over his shoulder, and Jean immediately takes advantage of the opportunity and captures his lips in a deep kiss.

Jean breaks away first, remembering his comment from earlier. "Whose fault is my mediocre sleep? I had woken up just fine, but I distinctly remember someone trapping me in bed this morning," he says into Kevin's mouth.

"I haven't the faintest clue what you're talking about," Kevin deflects. "You must have been dreaming."

Kevin squirms in Jean's hold. "I'll make them now," he says, starting to fry the pancakes, movements practiced and graceful. "I was waiting for you to wake up so you can eat them warm."

Jean smiles softly, and kisses the nape of his neck, touched at the consideration. "You could have woken me."

Kevin waves a hand dismissively. "I haven't even been awake that long. Plus, you looked tired."

"I am still tired," Jean complains again, hooking his arms around Kevin's waist and squeezing him. He hopes Kevin fusses over him some more.

Obviously deciphering his intent, Kevin extricates himself from his hold and turns around to place a soft kiss on the corner of Jean's mouth.

"I know what you're doing," he warns. "But you'll make me burn the pancakes, and there will have been no no point in me waiting in the first place. Make yourself some coffee meanwhile," he instructs, stroking Jean's cheek once. "And orange juice for me."

Jean hums in acknowledgement, getting started on their drinks.

"What were you listening to?" Jean asks, gesturing at the discarded headphones.

"Oh, just some commentary on our last game."

Jean snorts. "I am surprised you want to hear anyone's opinion besides your own. What could they possibly know that the darling queen of Exy does not?"

He doesn't turn around from where he's making his coffee, but he can feel Kevin's flat glare.

"Maybe I will not tell you about how much they were praising you then, Jean-Yves," he snipes.

Jean turns around, grinning wolfishly, and leans on the counter behind him.

"Who cares what they think? I would much rather hear you praise me."

Kevin flushes a little and looks down, then drums his fingers a little in contemplation.

"You did play exceptionally," he says after a moment. He looks up, emerald eyes glittering like jewels in the afternoon sunlight. "It was amazing. I have never seen anyone play like that before."

In moments like this, Kevin is so earnest he almost reminds Jean of a child. He wonders if Kevin knows how easy his expression is to read, how telling the glimmer in his eyes is. Sometimes he looks at Jean with such wonder, Jean wants to die. He wants to be worthy of it, of all that impossible attention. Wants to be pinned in that all-consuming gaze for the rest of his life.

Jean has to look away first, before he embarrasses himself.

The Kayleigh Day Memorial Scholarship rotates host universities every year.

Jean learns this approximately three minutes after arriving, courtesy of a volunteer who mistakes him for someone significantly more interested in event logistics than he actually is.

Apparently the NCAA established the scholarship nearly seven years ago in honor of Kayleigh Day's contributions to collegiate Exy. Every summer, a different university hosts a fundraising gala and awards scholarships to promising youth players from across the country. Sponsors donate equipment and training grants, professional players attend, and local press inevitably follows.

This year, the ceremony is being held in Atlanta, and Kevin has been invited as a guest speaker and asked to present one of the scholarship awards. Jean watched him get ready that morning, looking beautiful as ever in his suit, before Kevin, naturally, picked out his clothes as well. He left nearly an hour before Jean, insisting he wanted to arrive early to speak with the organizers, and Jean has yet to find him in the crowd.

The room is enormous. Round tables fill the space beneath glittering chandeliers, white tablecloths interrupted by centerpieces in the NCAA colors. Sponsors have set up displays along the perimeter of the room, banners advertising everything from equipment manufacturers to youth training programs. At one end of the ballroom stands a stage, complete with a podium and a projection screen large enough to be seen from the back wall.

The moment Jean enters, he notices the photographs. They are everywhere—along the walls, printed in the event programs, projected onto screens.

Kayleigh Day smiles from every corner of the room.

Jean has seen photographs before, of course, everyone who knows anything about Exy has. Still, the resemblance catches him off guard every time. The same eyes, same cheekbones, same lovely smile Kevin gets when he forgets himself and truly laughs.

Kevin does not talk about her.

In all the years Jean has known him, he can count on one hand the number of stories about her Kevin has volunteered. The wound is still too deep, too raw, too unhealed, and Jean hesitates to ask. Even now, a year into their relationship, Jean still does not know much about the woman who raised him.

A short woman carrying a stack of programs pauses beside him.

"Crazy, isn't it?"

Jean glances away from a photograph. "What is?"

"The resemblance." She gestures across the room and Jean follows her gaze.

Kevin is standing near one of the sponsor displays, currently engaged in what appears to be a heated discussion about youth development programs. One of the NCAA representatives looks trapped. Jean smiles despite himself.

"Ah."

"Every year somebody points it out," the woman says. "He looks exactly like her."

Jean continues through the ballroom, making his way over to Kevin, who gives him a small smile when he sees him. By the look of it, it is his first real smile of the night.

Families have already begun arriving and children dressed in borrowed suits and dresses hover nervously near their parents. Some carry racquets. Others clutch folders containing scholarship essays and recommendation letters.

A boy that cannot be older than twelve stops dead in his tracks when he notices Kevin and Jean and the tattoos on their faces. He immediately bumps into a table. Jean hides his smile, and Kevin pretends not to notice.

The event begins an hour later, people give speeches, sponsors thank other sponsors, university representatives congratulate one another.

Jean tunes most of it out while Kevin sits beside him at the front table, looking impossibly uncomfortable. Jean reaches beneath the tablecloth and squeezes his knee.

Kevin glances sideways. "What?"

"Try not to appear as though you would rather be hit by a bus," Jean whispers.

"Well, what if I would?"

The scholarship presentations begin shortly afterward. One by one, recipients are called to the stage: some receive equipment grants, others receive travel funding, and a handful receive full scholarships to elite training camps.

Eventually Kevin's turn arrives, and the room quiets almost immediately. The effect is rather ridiculous, Jean thinks. No matter how many years pass, people still drop everything to listen when Kevin Day speaks.

Jean watches him rise from his chair and walk to the stage. Above him hangs another photograph of Kayleigh.

Kevin's speech is brief and practical, somehow heartfelt without becoming overly sentimental, exactly as Jean expected. Naturally, the audience adores it.

Afterwards, scholarship recipients gather near the stage for photographs. One young girl lingers after everyone else has dispersed. She cannot be older than 10, with a gap where one of her front teeth should be and a scholarship medal hanging awkwardly around her neck.

She approaches Kevin with the determined expression of someone attempting something extremely terrifying, and Jean sympathizes from where he watches, too familiar with the feeling.

"Mr. Day?"

Kevin turns around, and looks down and smiles softly. He crouches so they're eye level.

"Yes?"

The girl grips the edge of her medal, and sucks in a breath before blurting out, "Iwanttobejustlikeyousomeday."

Jean watches Kevin pause imperceptibly, before he smiles again. It's less genuine this time, and the difference makes Jean narrow his eyes.

"I think," Kevin says carefully, "you should try to be yourself instead. You'll have much better luck."

Then Kevin smiles again, this one gentle and kind, and pats her head once lightly.

The girl beams as if this is the greatest advice she has ever received, then runs back toward her parents.

Kevin remains crouched for another second after she's gone, then stands, turning to look at Jean. His expression is unreadable.

At some point between the endless procession of photographs and speeches, Jean finds himself trapped at one of the children's tables. Well technically he could leave whenever he wants, but to his misfortune, the children appear to have collectively decided that he is interesting. How baffling.

"Mr. Jean Sir?"

Jean looks down at the boy seated beside him. Children really are so small. "Yes?"

The boy fidgets with his scholarship medal. "What's it like being famous?"

Jean stares. "I am not famous."

Several children immediately protest.

"You are!"

"You played in the championship!"

"My dad has your jersey!"

Jean regrets sitting down. For the next ten minutes, he is subjected to increasingly absurd questions.

What is the fastest shot he has ever taken?

Has he ever punched anyone during a game?

Has he ever knocked someone out in one punch?

How many racquets does he own?

Does Kevin Day really eat all his veggies before each game?

That one is particularly confusing—Jean suspects a desperate mother may have blurted it out once as motivation for her child. It is followed by six other children demanding confirmation. Jean eventually nods, seeing no harm in agreeing. Kevin would probably approve, anyways.

One girl asks whether Kevin is actually as good as everyone says he is, and Jean laughs despite himself.

"Unfortunately."

The children giggle. Another boy leans forward conspiratorially. "Mr. Day came to our camp last year."

Jean glances over. The boy cannot be older than eleven, with unruly auburn hair that, against his will, reminds him of Neil.

"Did he now?"

The boy nods enthusiastically. "Mhm. He stayed back late."

"Late?"

"Yeah. Everybody else left, but he stayed because some of us wanted help with serving." The boy shrugs. "My mom kept telling him he could go."

Jean feels such an intense pang of fondness he can't help but smile.

The boy brightens, straightening up again. "And, and, he remembered me today."

Jean tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

The boy points across the ballroom. "From camp."

Jean follows his gaze to where Kevin is currently speaking with a representative near the stage.

"He only talked to me for like fifteen minutes, he was so busy," the boy continues. "But when I saw him earlier he remembered my name." The pride in his voice is impossible to miss. "He asked if my shoulder was doing better."

Jean blinks, not following. The boy is still smiling.

"My shoulder got messed up during drills," he explains. "It was so scary. But Mr. Day helped me with physical therapy exercises! And he got even better after what happened with his hand, so maybe I can be just like him!"

There had probably been hundreds of children at that camp, maybe more. Somehow, Kevin remembered this child's name, his injury.

The boy fiddles with the edge of his medal. "My coach didn't believe me when I told him."

Jean looks across the room again. Kevin is laughing at something somebody said, head tipped back slightly, completely unaware of how Jean is falling in love with him all over again.

"He remembers a lot of things," Jean says quietly.

The boy nods immediately. "Yeah. Julie told me he's super smart, and that he remembers a ton of stuff. That's part of why he's so good."

Across the room, Kevin catches him looking, and he must read something in Jean's expression because his expression changes instantly. He raises one eyebrow in silent question.

Jean shakes his head. Kevin gives him a small smile, then returns to his conversation.

Jean can't help but watch Kevin for a moment longer. There are so many people waiting to speak to him: children, parents, sponsors. Each of them clamoring for Kevin Day's attention. Kevin greets each of them with the same amount of care he gives everything.

Later, during the audience question segment, someone asks rather boldly, "Do you think your mother would be proud of what you've accomplished?"

The room falls quiet. Kevin looks toward the stage lights, toward the audience and the enormous photograph hanging behind him.

Something unreadable flickers across his face, and his smile slips for a fraction of second.

"I hope so."

The next two weeks pass quietly. Jean still catches himself watching Kevin sometimes, waiting for something he can't name, perhaps another strange moment, another piece of whatever puzzle he seems determined not to explain. But life continues on, uneventful and calm.

They practice. They travel. They meet friends. Kevin attends meetings and sponsorship obligations with the same grim dedication he gives everything else. Jean almost convinces himself he imagined the strangeness.

The weather grows steadily worse.

It is the kind of summer heat that settles over the city like a punishment. By the end of conditioning that morning, every member of the team is drenched in sweat and visibly miserable.

Kevin, per usual, insists on running extra sprints, and Jean doesn't even bother telling him off, not wanting to waste the oxygen.

Practice afterwards is equally uneventful, and by lunch, Jean is eager to get home.

He only notices Kevin is quieter than usual once. During film review, Kevin leans back in his chair and pinches the bridge of his nose. Jean nudges his foot beneath the table, and Kevin immediately nudges him back. That seems explanation enough.

After, Kevin heads home first and Jean takes a detour to run an errand, wanting to get a gift he can send Laila for her birthday. He spends an awfully long time deliberating, and he walks out of the store empty-handed with a resolve to ask Jeremy for advice as soon as he can. By the time he unlocks the apartment door, the sun is beginning to set.

It is unusually quiet. Jean sets his keys on the counter.

"Kevin?"

No answer. A small crease forms between his brows. Usually Kevin notices him before he even really gets his key into the lock. Jean follows the silence down the hallway, to where their bedroom door is partially open.

He finds Kevin curled beneath the comforter, only a tuft of black hair sticking out for him to see. Jean pauses. It is six o'clock in the evening and Kevin does not take naps.

His laptop sits abandoned on top of the blankets beside him, open to the lock screen. Reading glasses rest crookedly on the pillow near his shoulder.

Unease curls low in Jean's stomach, and he pushes the door open and steps closer. There is no sign Kevin is aware of his presence at all, and that is what finally makes Jean nervous.

"Kevin," he prompts gently, not wanting to scare him.

Kevin startles so violently Jean nearly jumps himself.

His eyes snap open, and the laptop slides dangerously toward the edge of the mattress as Kevin jerks upright. For one brief second, genuine panic flashes across his face, before recognition settles in.

"Jean?"

His voice sounds awful. Jean is already crossing the room to come sit next to him on the bed. Kevin unconsciously reaches out a finger to grasp at Jean's shirt.

"How come you did not hear me come in?" Jean asks, worried.

Kevin blinks once, disoriented. "I..." The single word comes out rough, and Jean reaches out automatically and presses the back of his hand against Kevin's forehead. Kevin immediately tries to duck away, but it's too late.

"Mon dieu. You are burning up."

"No," Kevin says, just to be contrary. "…Did you find something for Laila?"

"Did I…what? Forget that, how—how long have you felt ill?" Jean asks, bewildered.

Kevin's expression twists, and he thumbs the blanket. "I'm not ill."

Jean stares at him, unamused, and brings his hand up to Kevin's neck this time, feeling the feverish skin there. Kevin doesn't bother dodging this time.

"You absolutely are ill. You are too warm and you look awful."

Kevin frowns at that, vain man that he is. "Awful?" he mutters to himself.

"How long have you felt like this?" Jean asks, feeling the insane urge to shake him. He still cannot help the panic that floods his veins at the sight of Kevin sick or injured."Why did you go to practice? Why did you not tell me?"

Kevin's eyes flick away like a child that has been caught stealing candy. Alarm bells ring in Jean's head.

"Kevin," Jean coaxes, willing to resort to dirty methods to get it out of him. "Tell me."

Kevin sighs heavily, probably aggrieved by the entire concept of accountability. "Well, it started last night."

Jean stares. "Last night," he repeats flatly.

"Yes."

"And the next morning you happily tumbled out of bed and ran conditioning before going to practice."

Kevin shrugs.

Jean closes his eyes briefly. "Kevin."

"It really wasn't that bad then," Kevin protests, then catches Jean's expression. "I'm not lying!"

Jean thinks back to the heat, the extra sprints, the way Kevin had leaned against the wall after practice while everyone packed up, the way he had rubbed at his temples during film review. How had he missed it?

"You should have told me. We could have gone home."

Kevin's frown deepens. "But why? It wasn't that bad, I was fine to play."

Jean is momentarily speechless. The idea of Kevin dragging himself through an entire day while feeling miserable makes something ache in his chest.

"Because you had a fever," Jean answers after a second. "Typically people try and avoid highly strenuous activities. I don't know why you're making me tell you this, you know this."

"I do, and my fever wasn't that high. Thirty-eight point three."

Jean rolls his eyes. The fact that Kevin knows the exact temperature is somehow making this worse.

"What was your genius plan exactly?" Jean asks sarcastically. "Work until you collapsed?"

"I was not going to collapse, Jean, now you're just being dramatic—"

"No? You are in bed at six o'clock."

"I was just shutting my eyes for a second. Besides, I have played through much worse, Jean, you know that. I don't need to be coddled."

Jean scowls at the mention of the Nest, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. Kevin calling receiving basic care from his partner coddling is saddening.

"That is not the defense you seem to think it is."

The sudden movement makes Kevin wince a little, and he draws his hand away. Jean's irritation drains away, and he reaches over to stroke Kevin's temple, gentle. Kevin leans into his touch.

He really does look awful. The fever has painted his cheeks pink and left his eyes slightly glassy. His hair is flattened on one side from sleep. Even sitting upright seems to require more effort than Kevin wants to admit.

The sight makes Jean's heart ache.

How many times has Kevin dragged Jean into bed?

How many times has he pressed medication into Jean's hands before Jean even realized he needed it?

How many times has he noticed something was wrong before Jean himself did?

How many times has he insisted that Jean treat himself gently, with care?

And yet here Kevin sits, clearly having decided that none of that applies to him.

"Please don't be mad at me, Jean-Yves," Kevin says after a second, voice small.

Jean hates that voice. It's entirely unfair, he can never refuse him anything when he asks like that. Besides, Kevin rarely asks for things directly anyways, and apparently all it takes is a fever for him to start weaponizing it.

"Kevin—"

"You can't be mean to me right now. I'm sick," Kevin interrupts, pouting.

Never mind, Jean's irritation returns in full force.

He shuts his eyes. "Yes, Kevin, I am aware. Evidently, you were aware as well."

"So you have to be nice to me right now."

Jean gives him a flat look.

"I am being nice. More than you deserve, right now."

Kevin looks down. "Yeah."

Jean sighs. "Kevin. I will be as nice as you need for as long as you need. For the rest of our lives. Do not look like that," he pleads.

He tips Kevin's face up by his chin and presses a gentle kiss under his eye. Kevin immediately pulls him into an embrace, burying his warm face into Jean's neck. Jean brings a hand to his back and strokes his spine in soothing motions.

"You should have told me," Jean tells him after a moment.

"I know, I'm sorry."

Jean pulls back to study him for a second. Kevin does look genuinely apologetic, not defensive or irritated. Just tired and guilty. Something twists in Jean's chest.

"Why?" he asks.

Kevin blinks.

"Why did you not tell me?" Jean clarifies. "I could have…I would have helped you."

Kevin squirms. "I don't know, it's just…We had things to do, practice and then…then you were going shopping for Laila, and you've been talking about what to get her for her birthday after she got you such a thoughtful gift, and I just didn't want to…" Kevin trails off shrugging a shoulder.

"It was just a little fever."

As if Jean would not drop everything for him. As though a birthday gift and a free afternoon could ever compete with Kevin, sick and in need. It's a quite strange feeling, to realize that the center of his world does not seem to understand the space he occupies.

Jean feels something sink in his chest.

Kevin immediately misinterprets the expression on his face.

"Please don't be mad. I really am sorry, Jean," Kevin pleads, tugging at his wrist.

Jean pulls him close again and kisses his temple once, before nuzzling his nose into the soft hair at his temple, breathing him in.

"You really thought I would be upset if you interrupted my day because you were sick?"

Kevin's fingers clench a little where they're grasping the back of Jean's shirt. He feels so small in that moment that Jean doesn't wait for his answer.

"You will tell me next time," Jean demands. "I will take care of you."

Kevin nods, sending some of his hair into Jean's mouth.

"Okay. Sorry," he agrees, voice muffled.

"I know you are."

For a moment neither of them moves, and Kevin relaxes further into Jean, obviously dazed after being awoken so suddenly. Jean pulls back slightly.

"Sleepy?" he murmurs. "Have you taken any medicine?"

Kevin eyes droop as he blinks up at Jean. "….Yes. This morning."

Jean hums and starts to rise. Kevin clings at his back, pulling him closer.

"No," he whines, evidently given up all pretenses of acting tough.

Jean hides a smile. "I am just going get you medicine," he explains.

Kevin frowns, but lets go, probably not wanting to argue again. Satisfied, Jean gets up and heads toward the kitchen. A moment later he hears Kevin call:

"Can you also bring water? And…the softer blanket from the living room? And maybe an orange too?"

Jean smiles to himself.

Back in their bedroom, Kevin accepts the medicine and fruit with surprising grace, but when Jean motions to tip the glass into his mouth, he frowns.

"I can drink it by myself."

Jean sighs. Of course he knows that Kevin can, but God forbid he gets to indulge himself and fuss over Kevin for once.

"If you do not let me do this for you right now, you will hurt my feelings," Jean says, keeping a perfectly straight face. "I will cry."

"You will not." Kevin scowls. It is much less intimidating than usual with his watery eyes and red nose.

"I will, mon cherí. Don't you know? I am a deeply sensitive soul," Jean deadpans, making Kevin giggle a little. He mutters out a tiny fine, cheeks pinking when he accepts the water.

Kevin sleeps for most of the evening, and Jean spends it beside him, catching up on a few emails and texts. He resolves himself to online shopping for Laila instead, and sends Jeremy a couple of links to get his opinion.

Every few hours he wakes Kevin long enough to bully medicine into him, force water into his hands, and determine whether his fever has finally begun to break. Kevin complains a little, but for the most part he seems content to let Jean do as he pleases.

By the second day, Kevin has gotten worse, and all complaints go out the window as he leans into Jean, desperate for comfort. Seeing Kevin so ill does bring up an almost irrational sense of panic in Jean, never mind that now they are free to rest as much as they need to, to take time to heal when they hurt. He probably is hovering more than a mother hen, but he can't bring himself to be too bothered by it with Kevin so subdued. It's such an unnatural look on him that by the third day, Jean drags him to the doctor.

The diagnosis turns out to be mild pneumonia. Jean considers this a perfectly reasonable consequence for running extra sprints with a fever. Kevin is beyond appalled, insisting that it's impossible for anyone to even catch pneumonia in the summer. Unfortunately for him, the doctor sides with Jean, and so does Coach.

For the rest of the week, Jean follows him around with water bottles, cold medicine, and increasingly ridiculous levels of supervision, and Kevin suffers through it with the long-suffering expression of a man being terribly persecuted. Kevin spends the next two weeks recovering, occasionally behaving as though being temporarily barred from conditioning is a gross violation of his human rights.

Jean catches Kevin smiling to himself more than once. The sight makes something warm settle in his chest.

He wonders when the last time someone took care of Kevin like this was. If Kevin insists on taking care of everyone else, then Jean supposes it is only fair that somebody return the favor every now and then.

The recovery itself is slow. The fever breaks after a few days, but the exhaustion lingers stubbornly.

Jean doesn't care much for anything except the fact that Kevin is recovering, albeit slowly and stubbornly.

By the end of the second week, he is cleared for light practice, to his relief and Jean's as well.

Rather surprisingly, the event that tips everything over is a lunch with Jeremy.

He is visiting for the weekend, and apparently has become fixated on a tiny sushi restaurant downtown that requires reservations three weeks in advance and serves portions so small that Jean suspects one must stop for a second meal afterwards. As he is not even particularly fond of seafood to begin with, Jean passes on this one and Kevin and Jeremy go instead.

Besides, he has already seen Jeremy the day before when he joined one of their practice scrimmages. The entire thing warmed Jean's heart more than he cares to admit. It reminded him of college, of long afternoons spent sharing a court with people he loves, and with Kevin there too, it had felt almost nostalgic.

Unfortunately, Jeremy and Kevin spent most of the scrimmage united in their campaign to embarrass him. Kevin, with absolutely no regard for truth or accuracy, recounted several stories about Jean's behavior while sick, and Jeremy, the little traitor, laughed so hard he nearly had to sit down. Jean is still considering revenge.

While the two are at lunch, Jean spends the afternoon at court reviewing some footage with one of the assistant coaches, who seems determined to dissect every defensive mistake made in the last scrimmage frame by frame.

By the time he gets home, he is tired, hungry, and fully prepared to spend the evening draped across Kevin like an affectionate blanket.

When Jean enters the living room, Kevin is sitting exactly where he expected him to be, curled into the corner of the couch with a book open in his lap and a cup of tea balanced on the armrest. His brow is creased in the way it is when he's solving a difficult problem. At the sound of Jean dropping his bag on the counter, Kevin looks up.

"Oh. Hello."

"Hello," Jean returns. "How was lunch?"

"Good," Kevin mumbles.

"Is that all? I refuse to believe Jeremy did not talk your ear off," Jean calls out, making his way to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. "Was the food at least good?"

He turns to glance at Kevin, who is staring off to the side, expression pinched.

"Kevin?" Jean asks, prompting him to meet his eyes. Finishing his water, he walks over and bends down to place a soft kiss on Kevin's head.

"Something you are trying to figure out?" Jean asks, amused at how lost in thought he seems to be.

Kevin looks up at him, still frowning a little, and Jean uses his thumb to smooth out his brow.

"Sorry, what?"

"You are scowling," Jean informs him. "Very frightening. Boo."

Kevin blinks up at him. "I'm…oh." His eyes flit off to the side, distracted. "It's nothing."

Jean raises a brow, making himself comfortable next to him. "Is that so?" he asks in a tone that makes it clear he is not buying the weak deflection.

Kevin turns to look at him, a puzzled expression on his face, green eyes clearly searching for something in his expression. Jean tilts his head, a little taken aback. He was teasing before, but it seems like something really is bothering Kevin.

"Kevin?" he prompts.

Kevin shakes his head, looking away again.

"Sorry. I'm not—nothing is wrong. I was just lost in thought."

It is definitely a non-answer, and Jean does want to push, but Kevin can be relentlessly stubborn about things like this. Plus, Jean has to have faith these days that if it is something truly important, Kevin will tell him. He sighs.

"You would be such an atrocious actor," he teases, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Kevin gives him a small smile.

The strangeness persists throughout the evening, although it is not enough to start a fight, and barely enough to justify concern. Jean is afraid he really may be turning into a conspiracy theorist wherever Kevin is concerned.

First, Kevin burns dinner because he forgets something on the stove. Then, he asks Jean to repeat himself twice during a conversation about the footage he reviewed that afternoon. At one point, Jean catches him staring blankly at the television despite clearly having no idea what is happening on screen. Every time Jean asks if something is wrong, Kevin insists he is fine, and Jean bites his lip, not willing to ask for more than Kevin wants to give.

By the time they go to bed, Jean is no closer to understanding what is happening than he was when he walked through the door.

Kevin falls asleep eventually, curled against him, fingers clinging to the collar of his shirt. Jean lays awake for an hour afterwards, uneasy.

The next morning, Jean wakes to an empty bed. Bewildered, he looks around sleepily. It is still dark outside, and a glance at the clock reads six thirty. Then he notices the light beneath the bedroom door.

Jean blinks at it, not sure he is fully conscious and processing things correctly. That means Kevin is awake and in the living room. Voluntarily. At six thirty in the morning.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he blindly reaches into the drawer next to him for a pair of fuzzy socks, wanting to spare himself the chill of the tile on his feet. He glances down and discovers he has somehow chosen the pair covered in foxes.

An inauspicious start to the day.

He finds Kevin sitting on a bar stool in the kitchen, a mug of coffee untouched beside him. He isn't doing anything, just sitting there there, staring out the window. Jean watches him for several seconds before speaking.

"Kevin."

Kevin startles so violently he nearly knocks the mug off the counter. Jean flinches at the sudden motion, and Kevin turns to look at him, eyes wide.

"Fuck. You scared me," he accuses, bringing a hand to his heart.

Jean scoffs, his heart rate still elevated. "You scared me. What are you doing sitting like a ghost in the living room in the middle of the night?"

Kevin looks away. "It's hardly the middle of the night," he mumbles, rubbing at his chest in soothing motions.

"Maybe not, but for you? On a Sunday?" Jean challenges.

He walks over to sit down on the couch, folding his legs and pulling a throw blanket over his lap. The little light that is coming in from outside has turned the living room a pale blue color, so Jean flicks on the lamp next to him.

There is no point in pretending anymore.

"You have been acting strange since yesterday."

Kevin doesn't reply, still looking away from him. His fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around the mug.

So Jean will have to push, then. So be it.

"Was it lunch with Jeremy?"

Silence.

"Kevin," Jean prompts, feeling impatience enter his voice.

He never does react well when Kevin ignores him, old wounds from their youth aching in ways he would rather not examine. For a moment, he thinks Kevin is going to dismiss him again.

Then Kevin exhales, long and slow, getting off the bar stool and padding over to the couch. He sits on the opposite edge, leaning against the armrest and pulling his knees to his chest. Jean turns to face him too, placing the edge of the blanket on Kevin's bare feet so he doesn't get cold.

When Kevin finally speaks, his voice sounds tired.

"I think I need to ask you something."

Jean's stomach twists, the seriousness of his tone immediately putting him on edge. "What is it?"

Kevin stares down into his lap, fingers tracing the scar on his left hand. For a moment, Jean wonders if he is going to lose his nerve and go silent again.

It has been a while since he has seen Kevin so unsure and before he got out of the Nest, he would have died on the hill that Kevin was incapable of such a human emotion.

He can still remember the first time he saw that look on Kevin's face, can picture it like it was yesterday. It was at the beach, the first time Kevin had come to visit Jean at USC. Jean had demanded Kevin get in the ocean jokingly, and Kevin, still unsure of where they stood in their relationship, got in immediately. Attempting something he had never done, probably expecting Jean to ridicule him, and doing it anyways. For Jean. 

Granted, Kevin only got in up to his ankles, but when he turned around to look back at Jean, beautiful and unsure and backlit by the setting sun, it felt like Jean was seeing Kevin fully, perhaps for the first time ever. A little awkward, a little unsteady. Earnest. Young.

"Are you going to leave?" Kevin's voice cuts through his thoughts.

Jean blinks, a little confused. With how serious Kevin was being, Jean was prepared for some sort of question related to their debt, or Ichirou, maybe even the Nest.

"Non. Where would I even go? The sun has barely risen."

"No." Kevin's fingers tighten around the mug. He will not meet Jean's eyes. "I mean are you going to leave me?"

There's a pause, and any trace of sleep still left in him leaves Jean's body immediately.

"Kevin," Jean says slowly. "Leave and go where?"

"You know what I mean," Kevin replies, voice small. "I just…I can't bear it anymore, I can't keep waiting. I have to know."

After that devastating statement, Kevin looks up to meet Jean's eyes. He's obviously expecting an immediate answer, body tense like he's waiting for a death sentence.

Jean feels like his thoughts are moving through molasses.

He is so dumbfounded by the question, he's completely silent for a few seconds, before panic starts to rise in him.

"You want me to leave you?" he blurts out.

"What?" Kevin shakes his head in frustration. "No, of course not."

"Then I do not understand what you are asking. What—" Jean breaks off, wanting to reach out to Kevin but almost sure his touch would be unwelcome right now. He heard Kevin. But what he asked makes no sense.

"Explain," Jean demands weakly. Surely he is misunderstanding.

Kevin breathes in, obviously bracing himself.

"Okay. Well, you know I had lunch with Jeremy. He mentioned how you had talked to him a while back. About us fighting, after the press conference. He said…well…"

Kevin stops, looking down at his hands where he's clenched his fists.

Jean feels something cold settle in his stomach. He does remember speaking to Jeremy about their disagreement, but he has no idea how Kevin has gotten from that conversation to here.

"He told me that you were frustrated, and that you felt like you didn't understand me."

Kevin raises a hand when Jean opens his mouth, ready to explain.

"Sorry. Just…let me finish. He asked if you'd figured it out yet. And I—obviously I know Jeremy wouldn't…or that you wouldn't—"

Kevin cuts off, exhaling harshly, obviously frustrated over how he's tripping over his words.

"Sorry. It's just, I had already been thinking about it, and I had a bad feeling and I just…I just want to know if you've decided yet."

"Decided," Jean echoes back.

"Yes. If this," Kevin gestures between them, "is worth it to you." His voice breaks a little at the end, and he looks away.

Jean doesn't remember the last time he has felt this caught off-guard. If he is understanding Kevin correctly, this has been going on for the past few weeks, ever since the press conference. Kevin has been waiting for Jean to decide…if he wants to leave him? The question is so absurd he hardly knows how to respond.

He takes a deep breath in, trying to calm down. This will get out of hand very quickly if they both lose their heads.

"Kevin," he says gently. "Can you explain more? How have you come to this conclusion?"

At that Kevin's hands shake a little, and he brings one up and presses it to his chest like his heart hurts.

He clears his throat. "After the press conference you told me that I decide what I think is best for other people and call it love."

Jean flinches at that, his own words feeling unbearably harsh thrown back at him in this context. He feels a little sick at the way Kevin is obviously reciting them back at him verbatim. Jean can barely remember his exact phrasing, but Kevin must have been playing it over and over again in his head.

Kevin catches his expression and shakes his head.

"I'm not upset at you, you were right. You're hardly the first person to say that I make decisions for others," he snorts. "I…well, after that, I thought about all the things I do without ever asking you. I know what week that was, I know who I must have reminded you of and I don't want to be—"

"No, no. Kevin, mon cœr," Jean cuts in, unable to help himself. "Listen to me. I should not have said—"

"Jean, please," Kevin cuts him off, slightly breathless. "Please, I—I need to apologize to you properly. You were well within your rights to tell me off. After that I kept thinking about all the things I do without asking."

Kevin laughs miserably.

"Not just answering for you, or ordering for you, or coming to the store with you and harassing you over groceries. Even just…being in your space. I know that I'm pushy and demanding and…well, you understand."

Jean absolutely does not understand, but Kevin continues on.

"Anyways, when I did try and adjust my behavior you thought—you thought I was punishing you." His voice cracks, and Jean feels the situation spiraling out of control faster than he can follow.

"Punishing you just for sharing how you felt with me—do you know how wrong I must have gotten it for you to think that? How awful I am at loving you correctly? And after that, I just couldn't seem to get anything right. Then I couldn't help but think that…that you could see it too. And I've just been…been—"

"Kevin, wait, wait, please," Jean pleads, giving into the urge to move closer so he can just hold Kevin, but Kevin backs away. The tiny action cracks Jean open in a way he hadn't known possible. Kevin has never refused his touch in this way.

"Kevin," Jean chokes out. Kevin blinks back at him, chest rising unsteadily. Jean can hardly think.

"Please don't look at me like that," Jean says weakly.

"Like what?"

"Like…like you don't trust me."

"Of course I trust you," Kevin replies immediately, voice steady for the first time since he started talking. "There is no one I trust more."

"Then, just come here," Jean begs, moving the blanket over his shoulders and opening his arms. Like a skittish stray dog, Kevin crawls over, and Jean wraps him in against his chest.

He's sure Kevin can feel how fast his heart is beating—Kevin himself is trembling, pulse fast against Jean's neck. Jean buries his face in Kevin's hair, breathing him in, the familiar feel of him slowly calming Jean down. He runs a hand down Kevin's back, urging him to relax as well.

Jean shuts his eyes, breathing in and feeling the way his heart rate slows. He tries to sort out his thoughts.

Jean is used to knowing Kevin entirely: his likes and dislikes, his temper, his petulance, his passion. For years, Jean has understood Kevin with an ease that borders on instinct. To discover that for weeks Kevin has been thinking Jean is going to leave him feels a little like missing a step in the dark.

He thinks back to everything he has learned from his time at USC, about people and forgiveness, about the strange ways love changes when given room to breathe. It is possible there are still sides of Kevin he has never seen, sides that never would have had the chance to exist at Evermore.

Kevin has always had an immovable sense to him, a force of nature more than a person. Someone who bends the world to his will instead of yielding to it. Simply the sight of him still evokes some ancient belief in Jean that everything will be alright if Kevin is there to handle it.

Perhaps Jean has placed too much faith in Kevin's ability to see clearly, at least as it pertains to himself.

It never occurred to him that he may have progressed further than Kevin in some ways, although it makes a certain kind of sense. The Foxhole Court was hardly a place to heal. Of course, Jean knows the Foxes care for one another, but they all arrived carrying their own wounds and histories. He doubts open communication was ever a cornerstone of their environment, never mind something as elementary as talking about their emotions.

Perhaps Kevin never learned what Jean did with the Trojans: that mistakes are not fatal, that people can disappoint one another and still be loved afterward. That forgiveness is not something that must be earned through suffering.

Jean has always known Kevin is less lenient with himself than anyone else. His standards have always been impossibly high, but if he's taken little mistakes he's made as some sort of verdict that he cannot…love Jean correctly, it is much worse than Jean ever understood. As though Kevin has already condemned himself, and every mistake is merely more evidence.

In his arms, Kevin's breathing has slowed, and he's sniffling softly into Jean's neck. His fingers are clutching at Jean's sweatshirt, clingy in a way he usually is not.

"Kevin," Jean murmurs, heart breaking when Kevin tenses.

"Sorry," Kevin whispers, sitting back.

His eyes are red-rimmed, expression defeated. Jean doesn't let him move back to other end of the couch, keeping him close enough that their knees are touching, but gives him enough space so they can talk properly.

"Do not apologize," Jean says first. Then, "I love you."

He has loved Kevin as long as he has known him. Some days it feels like the only true certainty in his life.

Kevin gives him a small, sad smile. "I know, Jean. I've known."

Good.

Jean exhales, trying to figure out where to start. It does not seem like enough to just reassure Kevin, so he decides to take a different approach.

"You act as though you have never had to forgive me for anything," he starts, making Kevin tilt his head, probably a little thrown off by this line of conversation.

"Jean—"

"Just hear me out," Jean pleads. "Answer me. Have I never hurt you?"

Kevin blinks back at him. "Well, of course you have."

Jean waits a little. "And?"

"And what?" Kevin asks, doe-eyed and slow.

Jean huffs. Apparently he will have to connect all the dots.

"And, you forgave me."

Kevin looks increasingly bewildered. "Of course."

"As I am attempting to forgive you right now. As I already attempted to, since you are more than forgiven."

Kevin's expression twists. "This isn't the same thing."

Jean studies his expression, truly trying to understand. "Okay. Then, why everything is different when it is you?"

Kevin opens his mouth, then closes it, at a loss for words. Jean presses forward before he can regroup.

"I have snapped at you before. I have lied to you. I have shut you out. I have taken my anger out on you when it belonged elsewhere."

"Jean."

Jean shakes his head. "Just listen to me."

He searches for something large enough to make his point, something ugly enough that Kevin cannot simply wave it away.

"Once I told you I used to wish you were dead," he says quietly. The memory still feels bruised when he presses on it. "If we are keeping score, surely that should count for something."

Kevin falls silent.

"You still forgave me," Jean says.

Kevin's expression softens immediately.

"Jean." His voice gentles in a way that almost feels unfair. "There was nothing to forgive."

Jean lets out a disbelieving laugh. "There absolutely was. See? This is exactly my point."

"Well you know that was different, don't be obtuse on purpose," Kevin argues, rolling his eyes.

Jean is reminded, rather abruptly, that feeling sorry for Kevin and wanting to strangle him are not mutually exclusive experiences.

He resists the urge to scoff in frustration. "Why? How is that different?"

"Because you were suffering," Kevin says, steady and without hesitation. "I would never fault you for that."

"And what?" Jean asks, offended. "You think I would?"

Kevin looks away. "No, I don't. That isn't what I said."

"It is exactly what you said."

"Jean—"

"You were able to understand where it came from," Jean stresses. "You understood that I was hurt, that I was angry and grieving and trapped, and that it was horrible that I wished that, but it was not because I hated you."

Kevin's expression is terribly compassionate. "Yes."

Jean waits a little and they stare at each other for several seconds before Kevin sighs.

"You're just going to get mad at me again, but that really is different," Kevin whines, a little petulant now.

"Not mad," Jean responds automatically. He thinks over what Kevin said and tilts his head. "Fine. Explain it to me, then."

Kevin is silent again.

Jean leans forward, grasping at his wrist and thumbing the fragile bone there, tone gentler than before.

"When I make mistakes, you understand where they come from. You know they are never made with the intent to injure. I know you too, Kevin. Why is it so impossible for you to believe I would extend you the same grace?"

Kevin's jaw tightens, and he looks away. "I know you would. That…that isn't it."

Kevin is being impossibly stubborn about this. Worse, he is one of the smartest people Jean has ever known, so if they are still going in circles, then there is something here Jean has not yet understood.

"Well then, please. Explain it to me," Jean demands again. "Explain why apparently everyone else is allowed to be human except you."

Jean watches something uncertain flicker across his face.

"That isn't fair," Kevin protests, quiet.

Jean lets out a humorless laugh. "No," he agrees.

He brushes a tuft of hair behind Kevin's ear before pinching his cheek lightly, right over his tattoo, leaving the skin there a little pink. Kevin wrinkles his nose.

"It is not fair," Jean repeats. "That is exactly the problem. You are not being fair to yourself at all."

Kevin's eyes shine suddenly, a strange expression crossing his face. Jean has caught glimpses of it a few times the last couple months—after their fight, at the scholarship event, when Kevin was ill. Jean doesn't know how he ever mistook it for anything other than a mask for pain.

"You forgive everyone else," Jean continues quietly, throat tight. "You forgave me for things I still struggle to forgive myself for."

Kevin watches him, tense.

"Why is it different for you?" Jean shakes his head. "One argument and suddenly you are incapable of loving me correctly?"

His chest aches with how false that statement is, how wrong Kevin has got it.

"Why do you keep reaching for conclusions that you would never draw about anyone else?" he asks helplessly.

Kevin's voice is almost inaudible. "It's different," he says like a broken record. "Please, don't make me explain it to you."

Jean closes his eyes. Kevin says nothing.

Jean opens his eyes and studies him for a long moment.

"You really believe that, don't you?" Jean says, breaking the silence. "Won't you tell me why?"

Kevin's eyes flit over his face, glassy and distressed.

"It's different because it's you, Jean." He gestures helplessly in Jean's direction. "You're endlessly kind."

Jean feels something in his stomach sink, but doesn't bother responding to that yet, waiting him out.

"And you have always been that way." Kevin wrings his fingers together. "Do you understand now? That's what I've been trying to say. Everything awful you've ever done has been despite yourself."

Jean stares.

"And you think that is where we differ?"

Kevin laughs. The sound is miserable, and echos in the morning quiet.

"Isn't it?"

Jean finds himself speechless at the insinuation, so Kevin just continues.

"You came into the Nest daring and defiant and frustrating and impossibly kind," Kevin explains. "Even he could not beat that out of you. Of course you thrived once you left. Of course you became someone wonderful—you already were."

Kevin laughs self-deprecatingly.

"You've always been so easy to love."

Jean feels out of his depth, unmoored by the gravity of what Kevin has revealed.

"And you think you're not?"

Kevin sighs, sitting back a little. "I don't know. What does it say about me that—" he cuts off, turning his face to the side.

"I'll explain, but I won't ever be able to take it back, Jean. You'll never look at me the same," he warns, voice shaking.

Jean feels like he might cry. He pulls Kevin in, pressing his lips to his temple. He is the most precious thing Jean has.

"It will not change anything, Kevin. I promise. Please trust me," Jean says into his hair.

Kevin sighs, acquiescing, and pulls away.

"Okay. Fine. People always talk about the Nest like it was something that happened to me…and it did, obviously, but sometimes I think that's too simple."

Jean holds his breath, feeling the weight of how important this is, how Kevin has never spoken these words to another living soul.

"I barely remember who I was before," he says, voice going quiet. "I do remember my mother. I mean…I remember some things." His eyes well up and he immediately looks down. "At least, I think I do."

The admission seems to cost him something. The tears in his eyes stun Jean into silence. He can count on one hand the number of times he has seen Kevin cry about something like this.

"Sometimes I can't tell anymore," he says voice trembling. "Whether I'm actually remembering real memories or whether I'm just recounting stories people told me later, or something a reporter wrote."

The first tear spills from the corner of his eye as his breaths come faster. Jean's heart clenches in sympathy, feeling Kevin's pain like it is his own.

"I know I loved her. And I know she loved me. But the details..." He shakes his head, gesturing vaguely. "They're blurry."

Kevin's cheeks are flushed, mouth trembling, and he folds in on himself like a marionette without strings.

"Everything else in me is the Nest. I was a child. So whatever I learned about loyalty or success or love, I learned there. I knew how to be what they wanted, and I was good at following orders. Good at winning, and good at being exactly what they wanted me to be." Kevin can't look Jean in the eyes now. "I thrived there."

Jean can't help but interrupt here. "You—"

"You saw it for yourself, Jean," Kevin cuts in. "You survived, you escaped and persevered. But I was good at it, and if someone can spend that many years in a place like that and succeed…what exactly does that say about them?"

Jean feels like he is underwater. "Kevin."

"What do you think it says?" Kevin asks bitterly. "Probably that maybe the reason I fit there so well is because there is something fundamentally wrong with me."

Jean feels ill. This is not a fear born from their argument—it is far too practiced for that, worn smooth from years of handling.

"Once I got out, I barely knew what to do with myself," Kevin continues. "I didn't know how to make decisions that weren't about Exy. I didn't know how to talk to people. I didn't know how to...be a person."

Kevin pauses to scrub at his tears roughly, and Jean catches his wrist. He reaches behind himself to grab a tissue from the side table and uses it to dab at Kevin's face gently. Kevin sniffles at the gentle gesture, and Jean thumbs over his temple, trying to wordlessly give him the strength to finish.

Kevin looks away, voice hoarse when he starts speaking again.

"Everyone else seemed to understand things I didn't. That I still don't." Kevin meets his eyes. "That's what I was getting at Jean, what if this is just who I am? What if all the awful things about me aren't just damage from childhood trauma?"

Jean winces, but Kevin carries on, voice dropping to almost a whisper.

"What if this is just how I am? I can't tell where the Nest ends and I begin." He laughs dryly. "Maybe there isn't much of a difference either way."

Kevin takes a moment before letting out a heavy sigh and drawing himself up, taking in Jean's stunned expression.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to just dump this all on you. What I was trying to say earlier is if I can't give you what you need, if I can't… love you right, the way you deserve then—"

Jean can barely even hear him over the blood rushing in his ears.

Kevin is still talking.

"God knows I'm selfish but…" Kevin brings a hand to his chest, gasping wetly. "I can't bear to be selfish with you, Jean. I can't bear to…to do you more harm than I already have. I…" he trails off, tears streaming down his face now.

Kevin scrubs uselessly at his tears. "What right do I have to shackle you to me if you've finally seen me for what I am?" he asks helplessly.

Over the years, Jean has seen Kevin afraid, has seen him anxious and irritated. He has never seen him look like this. Jean hates it—hates the defeated look on his face, hates how frightened he seems.

Jean has no idea what to say, but he needs to say something, anything to make him listen— "Kevin, that's not true. None of it is—"

Kevin presses his hands to his eyes, overwhelmed. "You're not listening to me. If I can't do this for you properly—"

"You mean if you're not perfect," Jean says hoarsely.

"Don't say it like that," Kevin says softly, looking to the side. "I know what you're thinking, and this isn't your fault." His voice breaks.

"I know you love me, Jean. I know you do. No one in my entire life has ever loved me as much as you have. I have never doubted that. But how can I trust myself to be what's best for you?"

After a moment, Kevin turns to meet his eyes and his expression drops. "Oh, Jean."

He comes in closer, bringing his sleeves up to Jean's face, drying tears Jean didn't realize had slipped out. Kevin cups Jean's face, gazing at him with emerald eyes that hold so much love, Jean cannot believe Kevin thinks he cannot feel it.

"Please don't cry," Kevin pleads gently. "Please don't. I can't bear to see you cry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he soothes.

Jean cannot help it, feeling heartbroken in a way he hadn't thought possible. He knew on some level that Kevin harbored certain thoughts about himself, about the way he is, but he had no idea it ran this deep.

Kevin pulls him into his embrace, running his fingers through his curls. It's not all that comfortable for either of them, leaning over the way they are, but his touch his grounding and familiar.

Jean sniffles, breathing into his neck.

Loving Kevin has single-handedly been the greatest challenge of Jean's life. The greatest privilege too.

Nothing and no one has ever inspired such extremes in him. Jean has hated Kevin, envied him, admired him, resented him, and loved him so fiercely it is woven into the fabric of who he is. He has spent years orbiting Kevin in one way or another, pulled along by a force he never seemed capable of escaping.

It feels like Jean is walking through the world with his heart living outside his body, unguarded and delicate. And if the thing he loves most exists beyond the reach of his own hands, Jean cannot protect it.

He cannot decide whether Kevin is happy, cannot carry every burden for him. He cannot shield him from grief, disappointment, illness, heartbreak, or himself.

It's a terrifying thought, especially for someone like Jean, who has spent most of his life surviving through sheer force of will. The knowledge that no matter how fiercely he loves Kevin, no matter how vigilant he remains, there are battles he cannot fight for him, sorrows he cannot carry.

He leans back, trying to string together his thoughts.

 "Kevin," Jean starts, voice weak and unsteady. "Are you unhappy in this relationship?"

Kevin's head whips up, shaking his head passionately. "No, Jean. Never."

"Kevin," Jean protests hoarsely. "It sounds like you are."

But Kevin is still shaking his head.

"No. I swear, I've never been this happy in my life—sometimes I still can't believe it's mine. I promise," he says.

Kevin studies him.

"I'm not saying I'm unhappy," he continues after several seconds of silence. "I'm talking about you."

"Don't tell me how I feel," Jean snaps.

Kevin's hands come up placatingly at his tone.

"I'm not—you don't understand," he stresses. "It just—sometimes it feels like I've tricked you somehow. Like you look at me and see someone better than I really am. And every time I mess up, every time I hurt you, you find a way to excuse it because you love me, you can never stay mad at me, even when I really, truly deserve it. And now you're stuck with me and—"

Stuck with him?

"—sometimes I think if we'd met later, if we'd met now, you would look at me and see me for who I really am and realize that—that you could have so much better."

Jean can hardly believe what he is hearing.

"You're so lovely, Jean. You should be so—" Kevin's voice breaks. "So happy."

"Stop," Jean cuts in, furious. The words echo, sharp and harsh. Kevin falls silent.

"You would let go of me that easily?" Jean demands, rising off the couch so fast their shared blanket falls to the floor. Kevin gazes up at him, startled at his reaction.

"You, Kevin Day, who has spent his entire life clawing your way through impossible situations," Jean says, "You, who has never accepted defeat a day in your life. This?" Jean gestures helplessly between them. "This is where you want to surrender?"

Kevin gets up too now, reaching towards Jean. "But I—"

"Forget about yourself," Jean snaps.

Jean has no idea if he is saying the right thing, but he just cannot listen to Kevin talk this way about himself anymore.

"You are sitting here telling me you love me and then asking me to believe you would simply step aside because you've decided something else could make me happier."

Kevin's hands drop uselessly to his sides. He looks so young like this, unguarded and surprised.

"You arrogant idiot," Jean says. "Can you not forget yourself for one second?"

Kevin can't help but wrinkle his nose at that and Jean loves loves loves him so. His chest aches with the enormity of it.

"You said you trust me, then trust me."

The words land hard between them.

"Trust me when I tell you that I know my own mind. You make me happy."

Jean can't help the way his voice shakes a little.

"I know you love me. I feel it every day. In every ridiculous smoothie, every cup of tea, every time you remember something I've forgotten, every time you notice I'm hurting before I've said a word."

Kevin's expression crumples.

"You have no idea what you give to people," Jean says, feeling something akin to pity. "You saved my life."

Kevin immediately shakes his head. "No—"

"You did." Jean presses forward relentlessly. "Not just mine. You dragged Andrew out of the dark and gave him something to live for. You plucked Neil from obscurity and gave him something worth fighting for. You took a shit team everyone had already written off and dragged them to Nationals through sheer stubbornness."

Jean reaches out now, gently grasping at his forearms. Maybe he should have told Kevin this years ago. He just thought he already knew.

"Everything you touch turns to gold, Kevin. Despite the Nest, despite Riko, despite everything that happened to you. That is who you are."

Kevin has a stunned expression on his face, mouth dropped open. Jean studies his expression, and tightens his grip on his arms.

"Kevin," he says soft and slow. He needs to make sure Kevin hears this, hears every single word, internalizes it and never forgets.

"I have known you since we were children. Do you really think there is a side of you I do not see?"

Kevin flinches, but Jean doesn't let him go, he never will.

"I know you are stubborn, I know you like control, and I know you can be difficult."

He softens his words by peppering kisses on Kevin's face between each adjective.

"Somehow you have convinced yourself that these are revelations to me. Besides, you are being so unfair to yourself. Where you see obsession, I see someone who loves with his entire heart."

He brushes a tear from under Kevin's eye, feeling unbearably tender.

"What you call selfishness, I call a child who did everything he could to keep me alive, so that one day we could walk under the sun together," he continues, throat tight.

"Where you see control, I see someone who spends every waking moment trying to make life easier for the people he loves. I see it all Kevin, I love it all," he looks deep into Kevin's eyes, praying he can see how deeply Jean means every word.

"I have always loved it all," Jean repeats, voice breaking. "There is nothing you could ever do to me that I would not forgive."

Kevin sniffles, unable to speak.

"Please believe me," Jean begs, more desperate than he's ever been in his life.

He never has been able to let go of his protective instinct when it comes to Kevin, even when Kevin himself is the one he needs protecting from. Jean has always been stubborn in this regard. He will keep reaching for Kevin until he finally lets himself be caught.

Jean cups Kevin's face, gazing into those green eyes that have haunted him his whole life, and feels his resolve harden.

"I'm not letting you go," he tells Kevin firmly. "Not now, not ever. Not unless you want me to."

Kevin shakes his head, eyes watering.

"Never, Jean."

"Then listen to me. One time, you made me promise you something," Jean starts, making Kevin's eyes widen.

"Now I want something from you."

Kevin's wide eyes flit over his face, drinking in his expression. He nods.

"Yeah, okay. Anything," he promises, voice rough.

"If you ever feel like this again, promise me you'll tell me. Promise me you won't just sit and suffer. Promise me you'll let me help you."

Perhaps it is not what Kevin was expecting because he's silent for a moment. After a moment, he nods.

"I promise."

Jean feels relief course through his chest. He's not foolish enough to believe that they are done with this, but the agreement is a weight off his chest.

Jean loves him so dearly. He will convince him if it's the last thing he does.

Jean exhales and collapses back onto the couch, exhausted. Kevin crawls on top of him, resting his head on top of Jean's chest. Jean brings his arms up around him, and they both sit like that in silence for several minutes, coming down.

Eventually, Kevin pulls back, calmer now. He searches Jean's expression.

"Are you angry with me?"

"No," Jean assures him.

"For…hiding this from you," Kevin clarifies.

"Yes," Jean admits. "I hate that you kept this to yourself and suffered for weeks without telling me."

Kevin nods. "I guess I did get a little in my head," he says, making Jean huff.

"A little? You are an idiot."

Kevin snorts despite himself.

"I guess I don't like making mistakes," he muses. Jean barks out a laugh, and Kevin bites back a smile. "Don't laugh at me right now, what the hell?"

Jean can't help but laugh harder.

"You guess? I could have told you that years ago."

Kevin rolls his eyes, but gives him a small, watery, precious smile. Jean's breath catches. How long has he gone without seeing that lovely smile?

Unable to stop himself, he leans in and gives him a closed-mouthed kiss, hard, then soothes the sting by kissing him gently, long and slow.

"I want to see you smile like that. Always," he murmurs against Kevin's lips.

When Jean pulls away, Kevin has a devastatingly adoring expression on his face. He grabs Jean's hand and brings it to his chest, placing it over his heartbeat.

"I just wish you could feel how I feel," he says quietly.

"I feel it," Jean reassures him, brushing some hair off his temple. "I know your heart, Kevin. You are the most kind, loving person I have ever met. I have always thought that. Even when I hated you."

Kevin nods. "Okay. I'll take your word for it," he teases.

Jean flicks his nose in reprimand.

"Do not joke with me. You scared the hell out of me," Jean complains.

Kevin's expression softens, and he kisses Jean's cheek.

"I know. I'm sorry, darling," he says apologetically.

Jean's heart squeezes, and he pouts, hoping to get coddled some more.

"I am still upset," he sulks, making Kevin laugh.

"Alright, you big baby. I'll make it up to you," he promises.

Kevin settles back onto his chest and for a long time neither of them speaks.

Jean listens to Kevin's heartbeat beneath his palm. The apartment is silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional car passing outside.

Kevin remains sprawled across him, warm and heavy, as though exhaustion has finally caught up to him now that he no longer has anything left to hold upright.

The apartment grows steadily brighter around them, pale morning light creeping across the floorboards and up the opposite wall. Jean watches it happen over Kevin's shoulder and thinks over their conversation.

It is strange, in a way. Jean has spent years learning Kevin. His habits, his moods, the subtle shifts in expression most people miss entirely. He thought he knew every corner of him.

Now he is forced to accept there are still parts of himself Kevin keeps locked away. Maybe the realization should unsettle him, but instead, all he feels is relief. At least now he knows where to start looking.

Eventually, Kevin drifts off to sleep, snoring softly against his shoulder, apparently satisfied that his emotional crisis has been dealt with for the day, and Jean follows not long after.

A few weeks later, a package arrives from Dan.

Jean discovers it sitting on the kitchen counter when he returns from practice, unfamiliar looping handwriting scrawled across the front. It's addressed to both of them, so Jean opens it and inside is a stack of Polaroids and a note.

Since none of you ever remember to take pictures yourselves.

—Dan

Jean snorts.

By the time Kevin wanders into the kitchen, damp from the shower and dressed in one of Jean's sweatshirts, Jean has already spread the photographs across the counter.

Most of them are terrible. Dan has apparently been amassing this collection for a while, and the photos feature all the foxes from multiple different events. Matt appears mid-sneeze in one, Neil is blinking in quite a few, and Nicky somehow manages to look aggressively cheerful in every single photograph.

Kevin pads up behind him and looks over his shoulder, snorting.

"Some of these needed to be deleted," he comments.

"They are physical photographs," Jean says dryly.

"Burned, then."

Jean hums noncommittally and places any pictures with Kevin in a separate pile.

They continue sorting through them together, and surprisingly there are actually quite a few photos with Jean in them, although most of them he has absolutely no memory of being taken.

Kevin pauses when he finds one from their dinner with Neil, Matt, and Dan a few weeks ago. He falls silent, thumbing thoughtfully at the photograph.

Jean looks over. The photograph is unremarkable at first glance. Matt is speaking, caught mid-story with his hands thrown dramatically into the air, and Neil looks profoundly unimpressed. There is sauce on the tablecloth and nobody is looking at the camera.

"Oh," Jean says, feeling his mouth twitch.

Kevin and Jean are sitting next to one another, Jean looking down at his plate of food. But Kevin is gazing at him, expression soft and unguarded in a way Jean has never seen from the outside.

If a stranger saw this photograph, Jean thinks they would know immediately. No explanation required, no context or history.

Kevin looks hopelessly in love.

"This is embarrassing," Kevin says after a long moment.

Jean snorts. "You are quite transparent," he muses. "Evidently you are madly in love with me."

He glances over at Kevin with a smug grin, faltering a little when he sees Kevin already looking at him.

"I am," he agrees easily.

Jean feels his cheeks warm and he shoves Kevin's face away, making him laugh.

"Now you're embarrassed?" Kevin asks, still giggling.

"Shut up," Jean mumbles. "Have you no shame?"

Kevin laughs harder. Jean wants to bottle up the sound.

"You really are very cute, Jean-Yves."

"Enough," Jean says primly, "I will not be bullied by you further."

He snatches the photo from the pile and reaches for a magnet before securing the photograph to the refrigerator.

"What are you doing?" Kevin asks, voice amused.

"I'm putting it up on the fridge, Kevin. As one does," Jean deadpans. "Proof of your love for me."

Kevin comes up next to him, leaning his head on his shoulder.

"You need proof?" he asks.

"No," Jean says, kissing the top of his head. "I know."