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Jeremy should have gone home.
His skin is still buzzing even though there is not an ounce of substance in his blood. Splotches of purple, blue, and yellow swirl all around his wrists and forearms – Jeremy would have lingered on the beauty of the color if not for the leftover soreness. This week’s guy – Shaun? Shane? Jeremy hadn’t caught it the first time and didn’t bother asking again – was not exceptionally strong, per se, but left his portion of marks all over Jeremy’s body.
Maybe he should have just shown up at the Lofts. Laila and Cat would give him a few pointed stares, but wouldn’t go as far as reprimand him in front of Kevin, who was staying over. And Jean–
Jeremy isn’t ready to handle Jean. A splash of gray, a lingering look full of concern and barely disguised anger. Facing Jean meant facing the fact that something is wrong and Jeremy isn’t ready for that today.
Instead, he stumbles into the first bar that he sees on his way. It smells like sweat and cheap beer, but Jeremy can’t find it in himself to care. He orders a cider and sits at the bar, mindlessly drawing patterns with his sweaty fingers on the wooden countertop.
“What the fuck is your problem?”
The commotion is loud enough to catch Jeremy’s attention. A group of people is crowding a table at the very corner of the room, pushing someone around. Jeremy stretches out his neck to get a view and almost spits out his beer as a familiar face gets into his line of sight.
“My problem is that you can’t fucking walk,” a very angry and very inebriated Kevin Day replies. Or, more like, barely manages to slur the words out.
“Are you fucking serious? Where the fuck–”
Jeremy downs his cider and heads towards where Kevin is currently caged between two rather muscled and physically apt men.
“I’m so very sorry,” Jeremy says, grabbing Kevin at the shoulders. “My friend here had a little too much to drink.”
Kevin looks up and blinks at him owlishly. Two other men scowl.
“Tell your friend to watch his fucking mouth,” the taller of the two says.
Kevin attempts to free his arms from Jeremy’s grip and frowns. “Who do you think–”
“Will do,” Jeremy cuts in, plastering his best media-friendly smile on his face.
He grabs onto Kevin with a bit more force and starts leading him towards the exit. It’s not an easy task considering Kevin himself towers a few inches over him, but his coiled muscles seem to go slack under the influence of alcohol.
Jeremy scrunches his nose. “You smell like you drank half the bar here.”
“I probably did,” Kevin huffs. His breath smells like vodka and lemon.
“Weren’t you supposed to be with Jean?” Jeremy asks. Somehow he managed to maneuver both of them to the street and away from the angry voices that kept shouting a variety of curses at their backs.
Kevin’s eyes glaze over. “We had an argument,” he offers in lieu of explanation.
“So you decided to chug all the alcohol in the state of California?”
“That is physically not even possible.”
Jeremy snorts.
They walk aimlessly for a few more minutes, and Kevin manages to stumble every two steps that he takes. It’s a little amusing – Jeremy is so used to Kevin as this image of control and competence that it’s more than a little odd to see him deprived of it.
“Did you plan to stay at the Lofts?” Jeremy asks.
Kevin shakes his head, but it looks like neither yes nor no. “My hotel is a few blocks away.”
“You have an address?”
Kevin shoves a half-torn piece of paper into Jeremy’s palm. The address is scribbled there in smudged handwriting.
“It’s a five-minute walk from here,” Jeremy says. “I’ll take you.”
Luckily, Kevin does not have the same reservations about elevators that Jean has, and they manage to get to Kevin’s room without Jeremy having to haul him up to the ninth floor. As soon as they step inside, Kevin stumbles out of Jeremy’s hold and onto the bed, almost dragging Jeremy’s body with him.
“Okay– hold on.” Jeremy untangles his arm and turns Kevin’s body so he lies on his side instead of his back. “Feeling alright?”
Kevin nods. His face is flushed, and his damp fringe is curling around his ears and forehead, long due for a cut. A glassy shine of Kevin’s eyes reflects the light of the overhead lamp, making his eyes greener.
Jeremy understands Jean – it’s quite easy to get enamored with beautiful boys like Kevin Day.
Jeremy pulls out the phone from his pocket.
“Do you want me to text Andrew?”
Kevin sways his head from side to side. No.
“Neil?”
Kevin’s head snaps more aggressively. Definitely no.
Jeremy purses his lips. “Jean?”
Kevin seems to consider it for less than a second. Then his jaw tightens, and he shakes his head in denial, albeit more solemnly.
“Okay.” Jeremy sighs. He probably should text Jean anyway, but he files that thought for later. “Though you will need to let him know that you are fine, eventually.”
Kevin grimaces in reply. It’s almost endearing.
Jeremy starts to get up from where he crouches near the bed, but Kevin catches his wrist in a hold.
Jeremy frowns.
“Stay,” Kevin says. No– asks. “I don’t–” His eyes widen, almost pleading. “I can’t be alone.”
Can’t or don’t want to? Jeremy wants to ask. “I can stay for an hour or so,” he says instead.
Kevin’s jaw slacks, the grip on Jeremy’s wrist weakening until he fully lets go. Jeremy looks around to find a place to sit, but the room is small, with a single chair tucked under the table that looks broken. Jeremy’s back hurts even looking at it. He prompts Kevin to lie on his other side and circles the bed to sit against the headboard opposite him. The bed is big enough to fit two of them without touching.
“Thanks,” Kevin croaks.
“Sure.”
The sound of the air conditioning fills the silence with an insistent buzz. Kevin grabs a remote from the bedside and turns on the TV, promptly switching to the sports channel. As soon as he finds a rerun of an exy match, his whole body shifts and relaxes. As if placating him.
“Is there something you want to talk about?” Jeremy asks, mostly out of politeness.
Not like he wouldn’t offer his shoulder for Kevin to cry on, but just like with Jean, he knows that the offer would be refused.
“Yes,” Kevin replies.
Jeremy's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Oh.”
Kevin tilts his head to look at him, serious. “Are you really planning to be a lawyer?”
The question would usually set dread in the pits of Jeremy’s stomach, but instead he laughs at the absurdity of the situation.
“Is that really what you want to talk about?”
“You’re good at avoiding questions,” Kevin observes. He darts his eyes back to TV. “I’m also good at that.”
Jeremy doesn’t know how to reply to that, so instead he just stares. Some of the alcohol seems to clear out of Kevin’s system as his skin comes back to its regular pale coloring. There is a mole just below his temple and another one on the shell of his ear.
Kevin looks up, and Jeremy ducks his head, blushing. The last thing he wants is to make his friend uncomfortable.
“The bruises– are they from your family? Are they forcing you to go?” Kevin asks.
Jeremy blinks at the indents on his wrists. He completely forgot about them. “No,” he says. “Not family.”
Kevin keeps staring at him, and Jeremy tries not to wither from such insistent attention.
“You’ve heard the rumors, probably,” Jeremy adds. “From– well– other teams.”
Kevin’s lips part. “I don’t care about that. They can run their mouth when they play as well as you do.”
“You flatter me.”
“It’s not flattery. Those are facts.”
Jeremy is well aware of that, and the praise shouldn’t affect him as much as it does. But the isolated hotel room paired with his friend’s insistent gaze that keeps lingering on his face does something funny to his fuzzy brain.
“We used to watch your games. Me and Jean. Pissed Riko the fuck off.”
Jeremy is not sure how he is supposed to react to that.
“What?”
Kevin attempts to sit up, but ends up half-slumping against the headboard. “Your games, since you have been a freshman. Those were the better parts of the Raven routine.”
Jeremy’s heart gives a violent thump. He is not sure if it’s from the idea of Jean being aware of him long before they had met, or Kevin describing it as the better part of his day. Or both.
“He didn’t tell you?” Kevin asks.
“He doesn’t talk much about the nest. Or you.”
Kevin grins, teeth on display. “He’s embarrassed.”
“He’ll tell me if he feels the need,” Jeremy replies, firm. “What happened today?”
Kevin laughs, devoid of humour. “Me, probably. He hates me.”
“He does not.”
“You don’t know even half of it.”
Jeremy rolls his eyes. “I might not, but I am also not stupid.”
Kevin winces. He keeps turning the remote in his hands, twirling it between his fingers in a way that hits the top of his palm, right where the scar runs wild and wraps around his hand like a wire.
Jeremy reaches out, halting the movements of Kevin’s fingers.
“You probably didn’t expect Jean to become as close to us as he did, I get that. But you’re my friend, too. You can be angry.”
“I really can’t.”
“That’s not true.”
The hand under Jeremy’s palm twitches. “I left him. You know that, right?”
Jeremy is not aware of the specifics, but knows enough pieces of the puzzle to fill in the gaps. His heart hurts for Jean more than it does not, fills him up with rage that rises to his throat like bile.
“You both were kids,” Jeremy says. Because he does believe that. “I might not understand all of your choices, but I also don’t think I can be your judge or executioner. Or anyone, for that matter. We all fuck up.” He pauses, squeezing Kevin’s fingers. “Me included.”
Kevin stares at their linked hands. “Since when do you curse?” he asks.
Jeremy giggles and lets go of Kevin’s hand with a soft pat.
“Shut up.”
Kevin shoots him a smile that can only be described as dazzling.
Jeremy looks up at the clock above the TV. “It’s quite late,” he says. “You seem to have sobered up.”
“I guess.” Kevin nods. “Can you stay till the end of the match? I’ll call Jean after.”
Jeremy really shouldn’t. “Okay,” he agrees regardless.
Kevin’s gaze is glued to Jeremy’s open palm. His fingers twitch again.
“Can I–”
They really, really shouldn’t. But Jeremy can’t really care about that – not tonight. Not when he needs some comfort, in his own way.
Wordlessly, he grabs Kevin’s hand and darts his eyes back to the match. Around half an hour is left till it ends. Kevin exhales and slumps further into the comfort of the bed. He falls asleep in approximately seven minutes, his hand still clinging to Jeremy’s.
Jeremy fishes his phone and opens his chat with Jean.
Jeremy
ran into kevin at the bar
he’s fine but drunk
Jean
He was not answering anyone’s calls.
Thank you.
Jeremy
sure
Jean
Are you coming back home?
Jeremy starts typing that no, he is driving back to the house, but then another message appears.
Jean
Laila prepared clean sheets for you.
Jeremy
yes
too tired to make the drive to house anw
Jean
Good.
Is that imbecile okay?
Jeremy looks over at his side. Kevin’s face is relaxed in his sleep, less angular. Makes him look almost ephemeral, as if he will dissolve at any second. His scarred hand is still gripping Jeremy’s for dear life.
Jeremy
will be
Jean
Are you?
Jeremy stalls. He hovers his fingers over the keyboard. Glances at the bruising on his wrists.
Jeremy
of course
Jean
Liar.
Jeremy chuckles.
Jean
I will wait for you. Do not stay for too long.
Jeremy’s insides flutter, as if Jean graced him with the softest touch. Carefully, he disentangles his hand. Kevin mumbles something in his sleep and turns to the other side. Jeremy finds a piece of paper and a pen on the table in the corner of the room and leaves a small note at his bedside.
He almost doesn’t linger at the door and almost doesn’t look back.