Chapter Text
Jean’s backpack is hanging listless from his fingers. It is almost empty, carrying only a bottle of water, an opened bag of chocolate chip cookies and a lined college block. No pens. His left hand keeps straying to the table to tap out a nervous pattern on the wood, his leg chiggling along. The chair he is sitting in is not uncomfortable, but it isn’t enough to subdue his restlessness. Jean’s eyes flit across the room, checking exits and tracking people walking across the space. Few people would be able to tell he is nervous.
The University of South Carolina is not at all what he had expected it to be. Granted, Jean had never ventured far outside the Major Arts department at Edgar Allen’s, preferring to stay close to his projects and Riko. He hadn’t been allowed to stray far anyway. He does remember the tall, looming hallways, how the university had seemed infinitely cold, the interior kept in dark wood and severe colours, stone and marble, remembers arching doorways, and Riko, always, everywhere. He recalls the weight of this place permeate every cell of his body until he overflowed, dripping hot and heavy onto the pristine floor. Leaving him a mere shell. It had always hurt to be there—in a beautiful, devastating way. Neil and Kevin had made it more bearable if only slightly so.
This university bounces off sounds in all colours you can imagine, creating waves in the rippling ocean of people. The interior design is kept simple and modern, keeping only the bare essentials as if to not overcrowd the space. Students are hustling about, talking animatedly with volume and gestures alike. There is no sense of suffocation anywhere and Jean takes another deep breath. It is almost past lunch, people are still hunched over the half-eaten meals. Tables around him are full of leftovers, drinks, paper and discarded napkins. Writing utensils, most likely forgotten, are everywhere. Jean itches for pen and paper.
He looks away instead. He isn’t allowed anyway, not yet.
He doesn’t understand why Kevin has sent him here of all places. Why Kevin had bothered at all. Jean remembers the aftermath of the exhibition—he had been a mess, most of the survivors had been. Riko had ripped a hole into them when he’d died and for a while, he hadn’t believed it could be filled again. Kevin had only barely gotten away from the edge himself. Looking back on the last three months he spent in and out of therapy, craving to paint and having shaking hands at the thought of it, he did not see himself back at a university of the Fine Arts. Crashing on Renee’s couch and hiding under blankets for days at a time, that had been his plan, mostly. Survival, somehow. Looking back on his weak attempts trying to find a way to live again, he cannot say he would’ve taken the chance with him. But Kevin had, and now he was here, after weeks of talking and therapy sessions and cookies.
“Jean?” a voice asks and he stands up quickly to turn around. Jeremy Knox is standing in front of him, a bright green shirt framing his upper body over faded jeans and a brighter smile on his face, a silver camera slung over one shoulder. He fit in perfectly into the scenery of USC.
“It’s great to see you again,” he continued as if the terrible aftermath of Riko’s semi-public suicide had not been branded into everyone’s head and had certainly not been a pleasant affair. “I was quite excited when I got a call from Kevin about you. We are certainly happy to welcome you to the team. Let’s do a tour first, then we’ll discuss specifics. Come on, let’s start with the main building.”
Jean... doesn’t hate USC. He had thought he might not fit in and feared he had not gotten his life into a semblance of order to manage school work but he’s doing okay. He’s free to choose most of his classes and the teachers aren’t too bad. He has his own nook in the Arts department now with the other painters and builders. So far it’s only filled with blank canvases and his collection of brushes and paint tins and other assortments and a bunch of papers. His therapist is trying to cement the process they have made which was her reason in the first place to ban him from painting. Now his recovery is well on its way and he still hasn’t been cleared to do paintings again. She says only sketches and other simple tasks are allowed. It had driven him mad the first two months, not painting, his fingers seeking out pens and brushes and paper. Only Kevin, Neil and Renee combined had gotten this problem under control. Now, the ache is a littler softer, less biting. It is more manageable.
He isn’t even sure if he can still paint anymore, now with Riko gone. Sketches are fine for now.
At least school is a distraction. And so is Jeremy. As unofficial head of the Arts department, he had taken Jean under his wing. First, walking Jean to classes, keeping up a light chatter on the way. Joining him for lunch. Dragging him to tag along with his friends during free periods. Staying around to keep an eye on Jean when he feels like painting.
While the topic was avoided at first, it’s inevitable they start talking about art sooner or later. Even though they share different mediums - camera and canvas - Jean is intrigued. Jeremy talks about his love for colours and lighting arrangements when doing portrait shoots and his hands don’t stop moving once during his rambling. Jean can’t look away. Jeremy talks about different focal points and camera settings Jean can only pretend to understand. It’s not important anyway when he can still offer input when it comes to colour balances and can watch Jeremy’s lips curve into a smile as he agrees.
It takes several questions and prompts from Jeremy for Jean to offer up some more than simple advice. He is soft spoken about it, unused to sharing his ideas with other people. It’s been a long time, since he’d want to. He tells Jeremy about his love for watercolours and a preference for smooth canvases over rough ones. He shares a lot, more than he has in a long time. It does not feel like a death sentence.
A month passes, and things are starting to look up. His therapy sessions are reduced to twice a week. A feeling is starting to set in that Riko is actually gone and that that is not a bad thing. It doesn’t make him want to hide in fear, it’s simply... a fact. His therapist calls it progress.
The first time Kevin calls via skype it is awkward for both of them. Jean’s answers consist mostly of hums and nods, while Kevin keeps looking past the screen to avoid eye contact. Neither are interested in talking about Riko and the shady circumstances surrounding his suicide. But what else is there to talk about when Riko was all there was more than a decade? What else is there to Jean than Riko?
But they manage. Jean revels in speaking French again and looking at a familiar face. It ends well enough that they decide to do this again soon.
He meets Laila and Alvarez who both love music with a fiery passion that almost rivals their love for classical art. He meets Thomás, another friend of Jeremy’s that takes photography as well. He meets Delilah whose favourite activities are making pottery and sculpting stone. While they are friends with one another, they all have different opinions about almost everything, so group discussions are a hazard and Jean loves it. Compassionate advice and support is thrown around like it was a ping pong game. Lunch becomes an exercise in keeping his grins to a minimum.
Halfway through the semester, his therapists gives him the green light for him to pick up brushes again. Jean doesn’t know what to do with himself. Without Riko’s rules, without his shadow lurking over him at every turn, Jean second guesses his every move. He is finally allowed to start painting again, but he can’t decide on a subject. Everything he thinks of doesn’t seem - right. He spends hours staring at the blank canvas, brush held in a bruising grip.
He eats chocolate cookie chips by the dozens. It was something his therapists had gotten him into and weirdly enough, they sometimes helped keeping the panic attacks away.
He is still staring at the canvas when Jeremy bounds into the room. “What are you doing?”
“...painting.” It’s tentative and soft spoken.
“Are you sure?” Jeremy quirks an eyebrow.
“My therapist cleared me for painting, but I can’t -” Jean struggles to find the words. “I really want to but I can’t take the first step.”
“How about a different medium? You said, you always painted, right?” The ‘Riko made me only do paintings’ goes unsaid. “Here, try my camera. I was gonna go in the park anyway, might as well have someone take some pictures.” Jean has spent enough time in Jeremy’s presence to know it is hard to say no to him on a good day. It’s not a good day, so he only nods.
The park is sun-drenched and beautiful. Jeremy stays close and explains different settings and pointers for the nature photos and Jean tries to listen while basking in the warmth Jeremy gives off. They spent three hours in between trees and flower beds, the last of them sitting on the grass, pressed up close together, looking at the pictures Jean has taken.
It takes the pressure off of performing well and it’s... fun.
They start to spend more time together. Jeremy calls him whenever he has and they walk together while Jeremy takes photos of whatever his focus finds. More and more that seems to be Jean. He doesn’t mind.
Jean starts to seek out Laila and Alvarez during lunch hours even when Jeremy will not be there. He makes a mess of himself trying to make pottery with Delilah. He has a heated debate with Thomás about grey-scale pictures and he feels alive. Time passes and it begins to blur the edges and soften the corner of Jean’s morbid past. He keeps forgetting about Riko and his rules, deciding against oils and trying new things instead.
Kevin’s skype calls come as no surprises anymore. They have established a pattern by which Kevin calls and their conversations have turned from stilted into a smooth rhythm. Jean talks more about his new found friends than his art projects and Kevin nods approvingly. In turn, Kevin shares how his therapy is going and how it is to spend time with his dad.
Water colours become a constant in his life. His fingertips are always colourful and his paint water in use. He picks up sketching again (mostly charcoal) and dreams about painting on body parts rather than linen.
It takes another month before Jean builds up the courage to draw a classical oil painting on smooth linen with a 12.6 oz. The ensuing panic attack that follows is cushioned by Jeremy and an unholy amount of chocolate chip cookies.
Jean takes a class in philosophy next semester, something he had always found interesting. Riko had not approved of it. Alvarez engages him in discussions about Plato’s soul theory and Hobbes’s assumption about human nature. The class actually inspires to do a new series of paintings he calls Philosophy’s Coulours.
Lunch is still a loud affair, but Jean has gotten used to it. He is still laughing about Laila’s failed attempt of a food fight before her girlfriend dragged her away. The others are getting up as well, only Jeremy is staying behind, chewing his apple and a pensive look on his face. Out of nowhere, Jeremy asks if Jean would be willing to model for him. They have an assignment in class to do portrait pictures of people in different coloured light.
They go to Jeremy’s place for the shot since he has “a perfectly white wall with the right light anyway” as he says. Jeremy’s place is light and full of photographs. They hang from the wall and the frigde, cover his table and fill several thick photo albums. There are tripods and lenses and flash diffusors. The bed is covered in a throw blanket. It’s not the first time he’s there but the photos keep changing and there’s always something new do discover.
Jean finds it surprisingly easy to model for Jeremy. He simply sits there for a few minutes while Jeremy adjusts light sources and decides on a colour. After a few practice shots, Jeremy is ready for the real deal. He has Jean face to the side, looking down at a slight angle.
“Can I...?”
Jean nods and feels Jeremy’s finger gently raise his chin and gently muss his dark hair. His shaky exhale is quiet in the room. It feels like an eternity sitting still despite it probably not being more than ten minutes. Several times, Jeremy comes back to adjust his posture or his hair. It’s electrifying.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jeremy is nodding along while looking at his laptop screen. “They came out perfect, thanks.”
Jean still doesn’t dare to move. Jeremy comes closer again to smile brightly at Jean. “Thanks,” he repeats. Jean is helpless and smiles back. Jeremy raises his hand again strokes over his cheek; it’s different from the time before when his touch had still been warm but not as personal. The question in his eyes is answered in Jean’s slight nod.
He had been waiting for this. Had wanted it, too afraid to risk it himself but more than welcome to risk the jump with someone: together.
Slowly, Jeremy bends down and kisses Jean on the mouth. Soft pressure on his lips, a gentle warmth cursing through his body. They share several more kisses before Jean stands up to even the playing field and initiates the next kiss, wrapping his arms around Jeremy’s waist. Another eternity passes, but neither notices.