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“I have something for you,” Neil Josten began without preamble when they saw each other again during the Annual Winter Banquet.
Jean had been content to stand in the cold air in silence while Neil idiotically inhaled secondhand smoke through yet another lit cigarette, but he turned his head at an angle in a reluctant question at the sound of the incessantly grating voice.
Jean stared down at the envelope Neil held out between them, then hesitantly took it between a thumb and forefinger as though afraid it might scald him. Neil shot him a baleful, unimpressed look, so Jean ripped the top open without any further preamble and cautiously peered inside.
If asked, he couldn’t have said what he’d been expecting, but there were three printed photographs inside.
As the pictures slid free of the envelope and landed on his palm, his breath caught in his throat as a fresh onslaught of emotion threatened to squeeze his heart into a painful pulp.
Elodie.
They were pictures of his Elodie.
“Where…?” he managed to choke out. It was a rather pitiful sound, even to his own ears, but he could not find it in himself to care. Not when he was looking at her for the first time since that jarring glimpse of her face on the news all those months ago.
Neil shrugged, nonchalant, though Jean didn’t miss how intently his eyes tracked Jean’s reaction, and how his shoulders then relaxed just the slightest amount, as if he hadn’t been sure how this gift would be received, but now he was.
“Seemed unfair that the only times you saw her were on the news," he went on, showcasing yet again the uncanny ability he seemed to have of reading Jean's mind. "They weren’t difficult to find.”
That was a lie.
Jean had recognized these particular pictures right away. They were from a small box under his bed in his room in Marseille. The FBI must have taken that box along with everything else from his childhood bedroom as evidence once they'd served his parents the first of many search warrants. Jean wondered what Neil had offered Agent Browning in return to get his hands on these photographs.
Because these photographs were not copies. The edges were bent and frayed from rough handling. There was a smudge in the shape of a thumb at the bottom of one of the prints, right beside Elodie's gap toothed smile.
These were a young boy's treasures, carefully excavated, meticulously delivered.
He almost asked the question but stopped himself at the last moment. If Neil didn’t want to make this gesture into a larger discussion, Jean would respect that decision.
“Thank you,” he whispered, rolling his thumb back and forth over her toothy smile.
That smile was frozen in time. The girl within these pictures would smile forever. Selfish as it made him, that was how he wanted to remember his little sister. Happy. Carefree. Looking at him like he was her whole world.
I really thought I would get to see your smile again, my little duckling. Frère aîné is sorry for being so foolish. I miss you every day. I hope you are in a world full of wild blackberries and dragons and all the things that bring you joy. I hope I will get to join you there one day.
If Neil saw the solitary tear that tracked down Jean’s cheek, he knew better than to comment on it as Jean carefully tucked the photographs into the inside pocket of his coat.
Neither of them brought up going back inside. Jean knew Neil’s previous experiences at banquets probably hadn’t endeared him to the mandatory events. For his part, Jean simply didn’t want to return in time to watch Jeremy disappear into a dirty back room with yet another of his spectacularly poor choices in men.
In a way, both men were protecting what remained of their sanity that night.
Neil crushed the butt of his cigarette beneath his boot without taking a single puff and chose to bulldoze through their carefully cultivated silence yet again. “What did you say to Andrew?”
Jean blinked, trying to recall whether he’d spoken to the miniature goalkeeper at all that day and drawing a blank.
“He stopped smoking after our match with the Ravens,” Neil said, his tone more curious than accusing.
Jean didn’t look away from those eerily piercing eyes and offered up a careless shrug. “Who says I had anything to do with that?”
Neil raised an eyebrow. “If I didn’t suspect you before, your reaction just confirmed it. You really can’t lie to save your life, can you?”
Jean scowled, tired of the tiny man's audacity. “Why don’t you ask him?”
“You think I didn’t?” Neil volleyed back, a tiny thread of frustration finally creeping into his voice. “He just stopped after our match with the Ravens and won’t tell me why.”
Jean couldn't fathom why it mattered. Surely the two of them didn’t tell each other everything. This seemed like a small enough secret in the grander scheme of things. Still, he wasn’t interested in protecting the blonde gremlin’s peace.
“I simply told him to take better care of you.”
Neil raised an eyebrow. “Somehow I think that’s not all.”
Jean scowled. “I didn’t drag you through three months in the Nest just for him to be careless with you once you were his. I told him that next time you actively tried to get yourself killed, he wouldn’t be fast enough to save you. And I was right.”
Neil’s jaw ticked once. “He’s not my protector.”
Jean snorted, a clear sign of his disbelief. “And does he know that?”
To be perfectly clear, Jean knew they were each other’s protectors. Even he could admit, it was quite a beautiful bond they shared (if you could look past how perpetually annoying they both were).
Neil looked like he was going to say more, but a grating voice interrupted them from behind.
“Look what the cat dragged in. And here we were beginning to think that you were too big of a coward to show up."
Jean turned just in time to face the full force of the Longhorns’ captain’s sneer. He wasn’t alone - half his team flanked him, looking just as menacing and eager for a fight as their frontman.
Jean sighed and turned to Neil with an unimpressed frown. “How did you already find time to antagonize someone? Did you not just get out of your no-touch jersey?”
“This one isn’t just on me,” Neil shrugged nonchalantly. “The Foxes just thoroughly trashed them.”
It was the wrong thing to say, judging by the way the Longhorns began blowing smoke from their noses like raging bulls.
Jean pushed off the wall, folding his arms to his chest with a grumpy frown. “And now you’ve gone and made them mad.”
As the first fist swung, Jean turned his cheek into the hit and resigned himself to his fate.
Jeremy was currently reaping the consequences of his own actions, and it was making him thoroughly miserable.
He hadn’t seen Jean since he had disappeared out of the banquet hall with Renee nearly an hour ago. Jeremy had told himself—repeatedly—that the twin smiles on their faces, the way they’d leaned in close, the way their hands had nearly brushed by their sides, meant nothing.
Jean had said more than once that Renée was one of his closest friends. More importantly, Jeremy knew she was the reason Jean was here with them at all. Without Renée, Jean would never have escaped the Nest. Jeremy would never stop being grateful to her for that.
However, that knowledge did absolutely nothing to quiet the jealous knot tightening in his stomach with every passing minute they remained gone.
Jeremy knew Jean could take care of himself.
Additionally, Jeremy forced himself to remember that it wasn’t truly any of his business.
After all, Jean was not his. Not to keep, protect, and certainly not to love.
None of these thoughts stopped that tight, nauseating coil of anxiety in his chest, and that feeling only heightened once Renee reappeared in the banquet hall half an hour later, making a beeline straight for the Fox table, with Jean still nowhere to be found.
Jeremy missed his partner like he would a lost limb. He kept catching himself turning to the space directly at his right, expecting Jean to be there, only to be met with a harrowingly empty space. Every laugh around him grated. Every moment without Jean by his side stretched too long.
Three weeks ago, he’d come to the frightening realization that his feelings for Jean far surpassed the physical attraction he had previously suspected and foolishly hoped for.
Jeremy realized, with a force of longing that threatened to bow him from his roots, that what he wanted from Jean was so much more. Jeremy wanted everything.
Naturally, he reacted to this revelation with debilitating panic.
What followed was a series of catastrophically bad decisions, beginning with Jeremy pulling away from Jean and ending with him in the beds of men whose faces blurred together, whose touch he found harder and harder to remember, or seek out again.
Worst of all, he knew Jean had noticed.
Jean had slowly begun to withdraw, widening the space between them until it felt like an unbridgeable chasm. His expression now settled into one of maddening blankness whenever Jeremy was near—a face Jeremy once knew by heart now offered him nothing, no matter how long he stared, pleading for a sign of recognition, of the easy closeness they had once shared.
Jeremy hadn’t known it was possible to feel worse about the situation than he already did. Then, that morning, Jean had asked, in that straightforward way of his, whether Jeremy would prefer he room with Cody instead, so Jeremy could have the room to himself. For your men, was the unspoken undertone. The thought of inviting another man into the room he was meant to share with Jean made Jeremy want to be violently ill.
The offer had felt like a quiet severing of what remained of the bond between them.
Jean had looked unconvinced, even after Jeremy’s emphatic refusal of his offer. The way Jean had merely nodded, mumbled something about letting him know if he changed his mind, and then turned and walked away had quietly gutted him — like Jean couldn’t bear to be close to Jeremy for a moment longer than absolutely necessary.
He had to fix this. He had to. But Jeremy had no idea how to bridge the gap he’d so ruthlessly created — at least, not without cleaving his heart open and spilling everything that lay within for the world to see.
He was staring blankly at a message from the Tornadoes’ goalie he’d hooked up with a few times after away games when a vaguely familiar Fox freshman skidded to a stop beside their table.
“Your backliner,” she panted, clearly out of breath. “He’s hurt. You need to come.”
Jeremy was on his feet before she finished speaking. What he hadn't expected was for most of his team to surge up with him, their chairs scraping loudly across the floor in a clatter that drew every eye in the ballroom. One glance at their faces, with emotions ranging from anger, concern, and in some cases something sharper and more hostile, told him there was no point in telling them to stay behind.
“Lucas,” Jeremy called, already moving, “get the coaches. They’ll want to check on him.”
He didn’t wait to see if Lucas obeyed. He was already running after the freshman, heart pounding too fast, too loud, taking over everything else. He knew that throbbing in his heart would not stop until he could make sure Jean was okay with his own two eyes.
They found the Foxes clustered around one of the lobby couches. The group shifted at the sight of the approaching Trojans, parting just enough to let them through.
Jeremy’s first look at Jean had him stumbling back in horror.
A dark bruise was already blooming beneath his cheekbone. His lip was split, a thin line of blood dried at the corner of his mouth. There was crusted red flakes of dried blood scattering his hairline. And those were only the injuries Jeremy could see. From the way Jean was hunched forward, one arm drawn protectively to his side, there was something wrong with his ribs.
When he finally shifted his eyes off his partner, he was taken aback when he noticed the redheaded Fox slumped beside him on the couch.
If Jean looked bad, Neil Josten somehow looked worse.
One eye was swelling rapidly, skin flushed and angry. Faint red marks circled his throat. His shoulder hung at an unnatural angle, his arm limp against his side.
Kevin crouched in front of them, speaking in low, urgent tones, his composure visibly fraying at the edges.
Neil rolled his eyes. “Fuck off, Kevin. Yes, we can still play.”
“Your breath smells like rancid alcohol,” Jean added flatly, shoving him away by the shoulder.
“What the fuck?” Cat shoved past them and dropped to a crouch beside Jean. She cupped his face between her hands, her movements heartbreakingly gentle. “Who am I killing, and where do I find them?”
“Let’s wait for your coaches while Abby tends to them,” Coach Wymack said from where he leaned against the banister, arms crossed. “She’s gone to get her kit. We’ll let her patch them up before we start the interrogation.”
Those instructions finally signaled the end of Jeremy’s restraint.
He shoved past the others without apology and dropped onto the edge of the couch beside Jean, close, but careful not to jostle him. Close enough to touch. Close enough to be certain Jean was still here.
Jean's soft grey eyes lifted to meet his, and of course this man could still steal the breath from Jeremy's lungs, even when battered to an inch of his life.
“I’m fine,” Jean said gently, an overused refrain that Jeremy had stopped believing months ago.
One of the Foxes behind him sighed. “Good God, there’s two of them now.”
Jean didn’t look away from Jeremy, and he could only begin to guess at how heartbroken he must have looked, because Jean placed a hand on his thigh and gently squeezed. Jeremy put his hand on top of Jean’s, carefully avoiding the spots on his knuckles where the skin was torn, and twined their fingers, trying not to cry.
When would it end? When would Jean stop getting hurt? Why was Jeremy never able to protect him?
Abby arrived moments before all four of their coaches, and Jeremy let out a quiet breath of relief when he noticed Lucas had thought to drag Nurse Nguyen along with them as well.
Both teams waited in a strained, impatient silence while the nurses tended to their respective patients.
Jeremy’s gaze flicked to the back of the couch, where Andrew Minyard stood sentry over Neil like a tiny but supremely pissed-off guard dog, hands loose at his sides but eyes as sharp and lethal as always.
“I see blood. Open your mouth,” Nurse Nguyen instructed Jean.
Jean winced. “It’s—”
“Just open your mouth so we can get this over with,” Neil droned from across the couch. “I saw you spit out blood.”
Jean sighed, and then he shifted a fraction towards Jeremy, a movement small enough that no one else would have noticed, but Jeremy did. He always would, when it came to his Jean. And he would always understand what Jean needed from him. His hand found Jean’s back, drawing slow, careful circles, a quiet attempt at comfort.
Jean winced again, and then he reluctantly opened his mouth wide. He flinched into Jeremy's side when Nguyen gently used a finger to widen his jaw further.
“Riko liked putting knives in our mouths,” Neil announced, entirely too casual, into the uneasy silence now permeating the room.
Jean hissed, a sharp, unmistakable warning to the redheaded striker coming far too late.
Jeremy felt his body turn to stone, and it was as if the room stilled alongside him.
He lifted his head slowly and took in his team. Their expressions ranged from confusion to disbelief to dawning horror. Of course, none of them had known. They’d believed Jean’s injuries were the result of brutal scrimmages, of hazing gone too far.
Every time Jeremy thought he finally understood the extent of Riko's cruelty, some new bit of information always surfaced to prove him wrong.
“What did you just say?” The demand had come from Cody, but every Trojan was staring at Jean in anticipation of his answer.
Neil sent Jean an incredibly patronizing look. “Don’t tell me you’re still protecting him. Still, Jean-Yves? Surely even you know better.”
Jean shoved Nguyen’s hands out of his mouth ruthlessly, despite her muted sounds of protest. “Shut up.”
But the damage was done. They all knew it. Jean knew it, from the way his shoulders slumped in defeat.
Pandora's box had been opened, and the Trojans would never let the matter go without answers.
“Jean?” Xavier’s voice cut through the silence, calm but edged with a dangerous undercurrent. “Is it true?”
Jean’s eyes flicked to Jeremy, searching — for an answer, for an out, for something. Jeremy tightened his hold at Jean’s waist in quiet encouragement.
You can trust them, he attempted to say with his eyes. They're our friends. They love you. You're safe with them.
Jean seemed to fold into himself, and then he admitted, in a small but steady voice, “It is all true.”
Clearly not finished speaking, Neil chipped in: “Jean’s scars are, to the best of my knowledge, fifty percent Riko, twenty-five his parents, fifteen Tetsuji, and ten that monster — what was his name?” Neil tapped his own neck and snapped his teeth. “Johnson.”
In the back of the huddle, Jeremy saw Lucas flinch. Jean hissed in furious French, so quick Jeremy could only make out the word brother within his tirade. Neil subsided with a shrug, entirely unrepentant.
“They’re your team,” he pointed out. “It’s their job to protect you now.”
“Why don’t you worry about your own scars,” Jean retorted, his voice gone thin with exhaustion, before he opened his mouth again at Nguyen’s gentle insistence.
Jeremy felt Jean begin to tremble, so he shifted closer without thinking, bracing Jean's body against his more firmly and taking as much of his weight as Jean would give him. His hand steadied at Jean’s side, anchoring him close.
He looked up over Jean's head and met Laila’s eyes.
‘Knives in his mouth?’ She mouthed at him, looking just as horrified as he felt. Beside her, Cat fumed with obvious fury, looking one wrong turn away from exhuming Riko Moriyama's ghost just so she could kill him once again.
“It was the Longhorns,” Neil told the room once the nurses had finished bandaging them up. “Not the entire team, maybe thirteen or fourteen of them. They were upset the Foxes humiliated them during our match.”
"So it was your fucking mouth getting you into trouble once again," Andrew grumbled from behind the couch, as Jeremy noticed a vein throbbing angrily where his arms were tightly folded to his chest. "I thought I told you to keep your mouth shut."
The mouth in question turned upward into a knowing smirk, even as the redhead didn't turn around to glance at his boyfriend. “Unfortunately, Jean was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
“Unfortunately,” Jean echoed with a sneer, “they would have beaten you to a pulp.”
Neil turned on him with a scowl. “I’ll have you know—”
“Bringing us back to the point of this conversation,” Coach Wymack drawled with long practiced patience, “do I want to know what the rest of them look like?”
Neil smirked, looking entirely too happy with himself. “Don’t corner two alley cats and then act surprised when they play dirty.”
“By that he means we went for the eyes and the balls,” Jean drawled. “Nothing some ice will not fix.”
“Don’t forget the biting and hair-pulling,” Neil added, flashing his teeth in a dangerous smile.
“That was just you,” Jean informed him, rolling his eyes before turning back to Coach Wymack. “But to answer your question, yes, they are in similar shape. We left them outside.”
There was a smug assurance in Jean’s voice that sent something sharp and dangerous racing through Jeremy’s veins. He immediately chided himself; this was definitely not the time or the place for such thoughts.
“Miller is as vindictive as his students,” Coach Rhemann said, his gaze burning with anger as he thought of the Longhorns' Head Coach. “We won’t get anywhere by talking to him.”
Coach Wymack nodded his agreement. “Why do you think I already sent one of my kids to get someone from the ERC?”
“Are they still outside?” Derrick demanded, looking half ready to sprint for the door. “Because I’d like to go check if there were any balls you didn’t step on.”
A low murmur of agreement rippled through the Trojans, a chorus born of their shared protectiveness for a broken Raven that had fallen into their laps, a young man they now loved with all their hearts. A Trojan, one of their own, that they would stop at nothing to protect.
Jean shifted against Jeremy to look up at his team, surprise flickering across his face as more voices joined in, shouting out orders to march on the Longhorns. Then his gaze flicked to Coach Rhemann, and his expression turned faintly chagrined.
“If you’re about to apologize for using violence to defend yourself against thirteen Exy players intent on harming you,” Coach Rhemann said sharply, “don’t.”
Jean stilled before he could even begin speaking, obedient as ever.
“There was nothing else you could have done,” Coach continued, "and besides, defending your friend is a very Trojan thing to do.”
Jean’s mouth twitched in distaste at the word friend, but he didn’t correct his Coach. He made to stand up and then immediately winced, falling back onto the couch.
“What is it?” Jeremy asked, poised to jump into action at any inkling of his partner's discomfort.
“My head,” Jean grumbled, sounding incredibly put out by this entire ordeal.
Nurse Nguyen glanced up in concern. “Concussion?”
Jean opened his mouth in blatant denial, but before he could, Neil cut in, “He hit the pavement pretty hard.”
Jean sighed and went back to sullenly sulking into Jeremy’s shoulder as the medical examination resumed.
In the end, the ERC’s hands were tied, especially once they reviewed the hotel cameras that clearly portrayed the Longhorns as the aggressors.
Jeremy stayed glued to Jean’s side through the entire investigation. The building they were in crumbling over his head would not have moved him from his partner at that moment. In fact, idea of letting Jean out of his sight ever again made something abjectly sick twist within his stomach.
It wasn’t until he shut the door to their room behind them that he finally felt like he could breathe again.
Jeremy couldn't help but notice immediately upon entering their shared space that Jean had barely unpacked. He tried very hard not to ponder if Jean was still expecting to be asked to leave in a rush.
But then, Jean turned to him and his expression began to shutter closed once again right before Jeremy's eyes. “I’m just going to sleep," he informed, perfectly matter of fact. "You don’t have to stay.”
Jeremy’s heart sunk to the pits of his stomach. “You don’t want me to stay with you?”
Jean shrugged, attempting to appear unaffected. “It is your room. Stay if you would like.”
He still sounded so sure Jeremy wouldn't stay. Jeremy’s hand clenched around his phone so tight he was surprised he didn’t crack it in half, as he thought to himself, look what you've done.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Jeremy announced, attempting to force lightness into his voice and failing at it spectacularly. “I’m exhausted.”
But Jean still wasn’t looking at him. “You can shower if you want. I do not think I can with all these bandages. I will ask Cat to help me tomorrow.”
“I can,” Jeremy blurted out before he could think better of it. “I can help. If you want. If—if you’re okay with it.” He cleared his throat to stop before he could embarrass himself any further.
Jean's eyebrows arched in surprise. “I don’t… Are you sure?”
Jeremy finally smiled, unable to help himself at the sight of Jean standing at the center of their hotel room, his face the picture of bewilderment. “Of course, Jean.”
“Then…” Jean still hesitated, before offering him the tiniest of nods. “Thank you.”
Jeremy stopped his partner before he could begin tugging his jacket off himself. “Don’t irritate your ribs. You’re lucky they’re just bruised and not broken.”
Jean grumbled something decidedly rude under his breath, but he obediently let Jeremy guide him into their shared bathroom so he could help meticulously peel away layers of clothing until Jean was down to his boxers.
Jeremy tried very hard not to stare, but at the end of the day, he was but a man.
Jean was beautiful in a way that almost hurt to look at, a picture in contrasts. Sharp edges softened by kind wrinkles near his eyes, and pale porcelain skin marked by bruises and scars Jeremy ached to erase with kisses scattered over the broad expanses of his chest.
But more than that, it was the trust of this act that threatened to unravel him completely. Jean stood still beneath his careful touch, allowing himself to be cared for by another pair of hands, even after everything he had been through.
It meant more than he could ever express in words.
He realized he didn’t have anything waterproof to cover the bandages with, so he ran a towel under hot water and used to gently wipe Jean clean. He tried to stick to the task at hand, but when he looked up at Jean from where he’d been wiping Jean’s legs, he caught Jean taking Jeremy in with hungry eyes. He didn’t look away when he realized he’d been caught, and they stared at each other as the air around them turned charged by the heat of their mutual desire.
Emboldened by the clear indication that Jean wanted him, Jeremy pressed a soft kiss to Jean’s stomach, under his bandage. Jean shivered under his ministrations, especially as Jeremy’s mouth instinctively began to travel lower.
“Jeremy.” Jean hissed as Jeremy reached the bulge in his boxers, a clear warning that immediately had Jeremy freezing. When he looked up in question, Jean folded his arms and glared down at him. “You’re not sucking my dick before you kiss me for the first time, Jeremy.”
Jeremy couldn’t help it; he fell back onto his ass in the bathtub and laughed. But just as quick, he was back to his feet, with Jean’s face in his hands.
If Jean was giving him a chance, Jeremy wasn't going to wait another moment.
“Can I kiss you, Jean?” he asked, his heart threatening to explode.
Jean rolled his eyes and pulled him in until their lips met. Jeremy moaned at the warm press of Jean’s lips against his, moving eagerly when Jean knotted his hands behind Jeremy’s head to keep him close. The kiss turned hard, until they were eating at each other’s mouths like this was the first meal they’d had in months.
“Jeremy,” Jean whispered, the word full of awe, right into his lips. Jeremy opened his mouth wider to swallow Jean’s moans whole.
God, he could die just like this, and he would die a happy man.
He didn’t know how long they stood there, grinding against each other, their tongues fighting for dominance inside the other’s mouth, before Jean finally pulled away.
“My ribs,” he said regretfully, sounding thoroughly put out. “I think I need to sit down.”
“Of course.” Jeremy immediately cursed himself for getting carried away, but Jean pressed a soft kiss to his forehead and Jeremy’s worry melted away at the warmth in Jean’s eyes as he helped him get dressed.
“I think it’s time for bed, don’t you?” He asked, brushing a wet curl over Jean’s forehead.
Jeremy would always fondly remember the baffled look on his French man's face when Jeremy gestured for him to sleep on top of his chest. Careful to avoid his injuries, Jean eased himself onto Jeremy, until it felt as though Jeremy was surrounded by a blanket of warmth, smothered in Jean's scent.
Jean closed his eyes and fell asleep almost immediately, but Jeremy stayed awake, afraid he would lose this fairytale if he closed his eyes.
As he finally drifted off into the best sleep of his life, Jeremy knew, with an irrevocable certainty, that there was no place else he would rather be than by Jean's side, for the rest of their lives.