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In retrospect, Kevin should have expected it.
It starts as it usually does – with him swearing to have only one drink. It seems almost possible, almost tangible as he looks at Jean and Neil in front of him, rapidly whispering into each other’s ears.
Jean's face is in a perpetual state of frown, and his legs are tucked close to his chest, as if in an attempt to look smaller. Jeremy lingers a bit further away, but still in Jean's orbit, gesturing with his hands at Dermott and Alvarez who are hovering in the kitchen.
An empty plastic cup smelling like vodka stares at him with its bottomless end. Kevin stares back, as if to convince it that this is a bad idea. That Jean wouldn't like it, that Jeremy would linger his gaze full of concern for longer than necessary.
Kevin swallows and crushes the cup in his grip.
The sound cuts through the air like a goddamn siren. Maybe Jeremy has been right about putting on music.
Kevin gets up, his legs wobbly. His temples throb and it’s an odd sensation. Not quite hungover, but with his guts full of vomit and regret.
Fuck this.
He starts making it towards the door, chest heavy. Someone calls his name – Jeremy or Dermott – and Kevin's hands instinctively reach for the throat.
He knows Jean is looking at him. Kevin doesn't turn back. It’s for the best.
The outside is humid and damp in a way that California usually is. Kevin hates it, but the feeling seems to be quite mutual these days.
The footsteps are hesitant and the hand that holds out a glass of water to him is digging the nails into the smooth surface.
“I am not drunk,” Kevin says. Still, he accepts the glass. A fragile beacon in a vast black hole. “Thanks,” he adds.
Jean hovers for a couple of seconds and then sighs, taking a sit on the porch next to Kevin.
“This was nice of them. To throw you a surprise party.”
“It was not a surprise party. I was well aware I would be unfortunate enough to deal with your company.”
Despite himself, Kevin laughs.
Jean stares.
“What?” Kevin asks.
“Your hand was–” Jean vaguely gestures towards his throat. “Why?”
Kevin is suddenly overcome with a sense of hysteria. His insides are bubbling, almost spilling over as laughter sips out of his lips.
“Of course. You don’t know.” Kevin shakes his head. “Sometimes I keep forgetting how–” he gasps, as if words are suddenly glass stuck in his throat.
“How?” Jean prompts. His expression is flat but the tension in his jaw is on the verge of breaking bones.
“We don’t know each other anymore, do we?”
“I think you spent too much time with your tiny goalkeeper. You keep talking in riddles.”
Kevin doesn't grace this with a reply. Simply shrugs, twirling the empty glass in his hand.
“I don’t think it’s possible,” Jean says.
Kevin's eyes snap to meet his. “What is?”
“For us to not know each other.”
“You fucking hate me, Jean. You won’t even look at me anymore.”
Jean laughs, devoid of any humor. “Because the last time I did it ended up well for me, didn't it.”
Kevin winces. “I'm sorry.”
“There is nothing to be sorry for.”
There are so many things that Kevin has to feel sorry for but he swallows them down. “Maybe if everything was different.”
“Nothing would fucking change, Kevin.” Jean clicks his knuckles, the sound of cracking bones sharp in Kevin's ears. “You were born for this. For the sport. I was broken and remade and shoved into the mold that never fit me. It wouldn't have worked.”
Kevin's vision swims. His hand itches, longing for a drink to drown in. Maybe if he gets to alcohol quick enough the words would be not too distant to forget.
“This was too far,” Jean says.
Kevin knows that Jean doesn’t apologize because there is nothing to apologize for when the truth is as sharp as knives that used to cut his skin.
“I am grateful. For this,” Jean waves his hand distantly towards where Jeremy and Dermott and Alvarez laugh, and it drowns the somber mood that Andrew and Neil always carry with them. “You gave me this. I will always owe you for that.”
“You don’t owe me shit,” Kevin snaps.
I already owe you too much, is what he doesn’t add.
On the other side of the street a thin strip of light cuts the darkness in half. It's bright but Kevin can't stop looking at it. His eyes itch and he welcomes the pain and wishes there would be nothing else left.
“So,” Kevin starts, blinking as tears well up. “You and Jeremy. When is it happening?”
Jean blushes. It blooms pink, makes him look like he is fourteen again. “I don’t–”
“Threw anyone else into windshields for him yet?”
Jean scowls, his knee nudging Kevin's leg a bit harsher than a regular playful banter.
Kevin can't help but smile. There is something grounding in talking about boys and crushes amongst the usual chaos of everything else dragging them by their throats.
“He is good.” Jean says, still red in the cheeks. “But I don’t know how to help him. He wouldn't let me.”
Kevin doesn't know what to say to that so he settles on, “I'm sure it will work out.”
Jean rolls his eyes. “Let’s get back. Your guard dogs will start to worry soon.”
Kevin blinks watching Jean getting up. “Excuse me?” he asks, fixing Jean with a pointed stare.
Jean flashes him a half-grin and turns on his heels.
The room is a bit louder than when he left it, the sounds of music spilling from the speakers. Dermott and Alvarez are twirling on their tiptoes around each other and Jeremy's mouth is half-open as he listens to something that Neil is rapidly spewing at him.
Andrew's expression is bored as he looks from Jean to Kevin. “Good talk, your majesty?” he asks, corner of his mouth twitching just with minor enough angle for no one else to notice.
Kevin rolls his eyes.
Jeremy's head lifts and his face is instantly split by a grin when Jean approaches. “Neil was telling me that he once crossed the border between Romania and Bulgaria by foot.”
“Do not trust anything that cockroach tells you,” Jean grunts. “You know how Europe works, do you, Jeremy? Crossing on foot is not uncommon.”
Jeremy ducks his head, blushing. “I do know that,” he mumbles.
Jean looks over his shoulder at Dermott and Alvarez. “What are they doing?”
“Waltzing,” Jeremy replies. “Or rather, attempting to. Can you waltz?”
Kevin laughs as Jean is sent into a stupor. “I doubt that,” Kevin replies in his stead.
“Come on, it's easy,” Jeremy gets to his feet and stretches out his hand.
Jean's eyebrows shoot up. “You can?”
“Family,” Jeremy offers in lieu of an explanation. “Let’s go.”
Kevin watches as Jeremy drags Jean towards the wide space between the couch and the kitchen island. They link hands, and Jeremy giggles, fully unaware that he is an object of Jean's undivided attention. They are both flushed and pink, but can't quite look at each other as they watch their feet stepping from corner to corner.
Neil props himself on his elbows to look at Kevin. “Maybe you should open a matchmaking agency. Consider switching careers?”
Kevin flips him off, almost grabbing at the small cocktail bottle on the table. His fingers twitch and he glances back towards where Jeremy and Jean are, and shrugs, drawing his hand back.
“Good,” Andrew says, not bothering with context or an explanation.
Neither Kevin nor Neil seem to need it.