Chapter Text
There was too much sky in California, Jean thought. So vast and cloudless and blue, it was was if it could swallow him whole and the world itself would be none the wiser for his absence. Neither would anyone in it. Ten years ago, five even, that realization would have struck him as cruel and disheartening, but nothing struck him now. Nothing penetrated the numbness that coated him both inside and out.
He wondered faintly at the lack of anger and betrayal, the emotions he'd felt so potently the last time he'd been shipped off to place he didn't want to be against his will. Maybe the impulse had been so thoroughly beaten out of him along the way that he couldn't feel it anymore. That sounded about right. Marseille to Evermore. Evermore to Palmetto. Palmetto to here. Each a decision not of his own making.
Not that he expected to have a choice. Jean hardly knew what the word 'choice' meant anymore. He'd tried to make his own, twice, in his attempts to run away from Palmetto. They hadn't let him until now, until they'd chosen for him. Again.
"Want a drink before we leave? Traffic here is bullshit. We might be in the car for hours."
Jean looked aside to the man accompanying him, meeting him eye-to-eye since they were roughly the same height. Coach David Wymack of the Palmetto State Foxes eyed him without reproach, though his tone dripped with disdain at the mention of traffic. Jean shook his head in answer, keeping to his usual silence. The coach, and the nurse who'd taken in him, were accustomed to his lack of speech so Wymack only nodded and led them both from LAX, a carry-on bag in each of their hands.
One of the few times he'd spoken had been to protest Abby's insistence that she wouldn't allow him to move to Los Angeles with only the clothes on his back. Each of the carry-ons was filled with items she'd bought him. There was a phone in his pocket programmed with her number, as well as the coach's and a few of the Foxes. Jean planned to delete all but Renee's. There was a bank account too (just to 'tide him over' Wymack explained) but Jean had drained nearly all of it the day before, shoving the cash under the mattress of Abby's guest room for her to find later.
He was alive. They'd done enough. Actually, they'd done more than he wished they would have on that front.
Jean hardly noticed the scenery of the city's downtown around them as Wymack muttered curses at the other drivers. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to not wake up. He wanted the other shoe to just go ahead and drop already because he knew it would and he wanted to get it over with.
In the last two months, the shoes had dropped over and over again: Renee showing up at the Nest after Riko's beating, Ichirou's new stranglehold on his future, the Ravens lost championship, Riko's death, the Master's resignation. All events that happened around him, to him, without his say. Jean was a ship tossed on waves he had no power to steer through and he was tired. So, so tired, all the time, sleep acting as his only escape. He'd slept for days after Kevin told him of Riko's death. First, there'd been relief. Then shame. Then loss, loss, loss so deep and consuming because Jean knew he'd lost what mattered so many years beforehand.
"You sure you're okay with this, kid?"
Jean turned to look at Wymack, his gray eyes half-closed against the glaring sun. He said nothing.
"I'm not going to make you play for the Foxes," Wymack continued, "but if you don't want to be here, say so. I'll find somewhere else."
Jean turned back to the window, pulling his seatbelt tight enough to cut into his stomach and leaning his head against the glass. Wymack turned back to the road with a sigh.
Much like the city itself, much like how Jean assumed the Trojans themselves would be, the campus of the University of Southern California was too much: too tidy with its trimmed verdant hedges, too bright with its dashing red-brown brick and limestone buildings, too picturesque with its many decorative fountains and palm trees. It looked like a lie. Jean waited for whatever truth they buried beneath the pristine lawn to come to light as he stepped out of the car in the parking lot behind the exy stadium. It was only a matter of time.
Wymack led the way with confidence, bag in-hand as he held the back door open for Jean to follow. Even the tunnels here weren't dark. The shadows were broken up by banners of maroon fabric and swirls of gold paint across the cinder block. He turned away from it all, staring at the coach's back instead as they turned from the larger tunnel into a smaller well-lit one. It wasn't long before Wymack paused at a door, knocking on it despite it being open.
"David!" called a deep voice from within, "Come on in. How was the flight?"
Jean followed Wymack into the office. James Rhemann, head coach of the USC Trojans, stood from behind his desk to shake Wymack's hand and pat him on the shoulder in a friendly way that had Jean keeping his distance. The Mast...Tetsuji had called Rhemann spineless, a man too weak and soft to discipline players as he should. Jean wouldn't have admitted he disagreed, not even to himself back then, because that wasn't the measure of the man before him.
Thanks to Riko's ranting, he knew Rhemann's campaigning was the reason the Foxes could even play last season. The Trojans consistently placed in the top three year after year and sent more players to the US Court than any other. Jean had watched enough of their tapes to know Rhemann had a clever mind for exy. He just wasn't willing to strip the skin and soul of his players to get that first place title. If winning was the goal, he supposed Rhemann didn't do his job well. Jean didn't particularly care one way or another.
"Jean?"
He refocused to see both coaches looking at him. Wymack was frowning (his default expression, Jean had learned) but Rhemann's eyes were warm as he held out a hand.
"Glad you're steady on your feet, Moreau," Rhemann said, "Don't worry about jumping into things too fast. There's plenty of time before your teammates show up to work your way up to snuff. We can't have you getting injured before the fun starts."
As if he wouldn't play regardless.
Jean took the coach's hand with a firm shake, refusing to cow his eyes to the floor. Do not show weakness, exhaustion, pain. Show no indecision. No trepidation. You are Three.
Except he wasn't. Not anymore.
Rhemann smiled as he took his hand back, nodding to the door, "Don't let us old men keep you. Knox is out on the court. He'll show you the dorms and whatnot. Has your keys too. Feel free to come and go as you want in the complex. There's some kiddos on the court weekday mornings but otherwise it's all yours and Knox's. You're the only two here until training starts next month."
Why was Jeremy Knox here as well? Jean had expected to be alone. He'd wanted to be.
"If you need anything, call us," Wymack said, holding out the second carry-on bag, "Phones exist for a reason. Abby and Renee will get worried if you don't."
Jean took the bag from Wymack, nodded his head once, and left without a word. He didn't stay long enough to overhear any gossip the coaches might share about him. It didn't matter in the end; he was here regardless.
The tunnels were easy enough to navigate, especially considering Jean had been there before on the visiting side. Soon enough the sound of an exy ball against hardwood echoed toward him. The light at the end of the tunnel grew brighter until it seared his eyes. Jean stepped forward, blinking to adjust his sight. Then, there he was.
Jeremy Knox.
The man who had claimed Jean on national television before they'd ever spoken to each other. They still hadn't, in fact. Renee had tried to pass along Jeremy's number multiple times (after Kevin's many failed attempts) but Jean refused it. He'd never needed to speak with his teammates outside of practices before and there was no reason to start now.
Jeremy didn't see him, which Jean was more than fine with. He watched the striker move through a series of solo precision drills, his movements precise and strong without sacrificing finesse. Jean had watched enough of Jeremy's tapes in preparation for games against the Trojans to know he was well worth his top two recruit status in next year's professional draft. Some commentators insisted he was a better pick than Kevin Day, considering his years of leadership experience and sportsmanlike conduct on and off the court. Jean called bullshit on that; teams would always take the best they could get, regardless of how 'nice' a player was.
Jeremy's steps slowed as he used the corner of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow, his brown-blond hair plastered against his skin. He stopped mid-motion, dropping the fabric as his megawatt oceans-part-for-me smile lit up when his brown eyes connected with Jean's. Jean felt the urge to step back, to shrink into the tunnel's semi-darkness again, just to get away from that look as Jeremy jogged over to him.
"Jean!" Jeremy called as he approached, smile steady and face flushed, "Man, I hope I didn't make you wait long. Just got lost in it out there. Coach said you'd get here in the afternoon." He glanced at the clock above the tunnel, "Which it is. Time flies!"
He let himself through the door in the plexiglass wall separating the court from the players' box and held out a hand, "It's great to finally meet you. I've heard so much!"
Jean looked from Jeremy's hand back to his face, unmoving. Jeremy's smile didn't waver as he dropped his hand.
"Only good things, I swear," Jeremy said, filling the silence.
Well, he must've not heard much at all then, Jean surmised.
Jeremy nodded toward the tunnel behind them, seemingly unbothered by Jean's lack of engagement. "Give me a few minutes to put the cones away and change. I can show you the locker room now, then we can head over to the dorm. I'm sure the trip was exhausting. Flying across country is no joke!"
He was off before Jean could respond. Not that he planned to. Jeremy seemed quite capable of filling space all on his own. He watched Jeremy scoop up the supplies as he darted around the court before waving over his shoulder to have Jean follow him into the tunnel to a small room.
"Equipment here," Jeremy said, quickly dropping the items into labeled spots on the shelves and locking up again, "Grab whatever you need when you want. Usually your racquets would be in here too but I put them in your locker when they got in last week. We ordered the specs Kevin sent over but I'd feel better if you said you were good with them. It's not a problem to reorder if you're not."
Jeremy didn't seem to stop moving. Or talking. Jean felt bad for his roommate.
"And the locker room," Jeremy said, pushing open the door with one hand and gesturing for Jean to go in first, "I mean, I guess you've kinda seen it on the other side so nothing really different here since they're pretty much identical." He walked them through the lounge and pointed toward a row of lockers along the far wall, "Yours is over there. I'm going to take the world's fastest shower, then we can head out."
Jeremy barely paused on his way to the showers, grabbing a handful of items from a locker opposite Jean's, and the water clicked on only a minute later. Jean sighed, dropping his bags to the floor and padding over to the lockers Jeremy had indicated.
"Take a look at your racquets!" he shouted from the showers, "Let me know what you think!"
Jean scanned the names on the placards above the lockers until he found: MOREAU, 29.
29.
29.
Jean sat on the bench facing the locker, his hands white-knuckled on his knees. It wasn't that he expected the number three. Not really. It wasn't even that it mattered. Of course it didn't. It was a number. Nothing more. He didn't even want the three, the memories of it, the weightiness of it. But it still stung, somehow. The maroon and gold seemed more garish because of it, even if he would never take the black and red willingly again.
He stood from the bench and yanked the locker open with too much force, the metal slamming into the door beside it with a sharp clang. Gear, still stinking of newness. A pile of folded practice clothes, edges creased crisp. Two racquets, heavy wood frames on the longer side to accommodate his height. Jean didn't touch them before closing the door.
He grabbed his bags and went back to the lounge since he didn't want to be in the locker area when Jeremy got out of his shower. He frowned at the entertainment center across from the couch where he sat. Why were there board games in here? Why a basket of snacks? Why a volleyball of all goddamn things?
"So," came a voice from behind him, "What'd you think of them?"
Jean turned to see Jeremy towel drying his hair, his damp shirt clinging to his stomach and riding up a touch at the motion.
"Why a volleyball?" Jean asked, his voice cracking from disuse. Had he talked today? Yesterday? He couldn't remember.
Jeremy raised an eyebrow, surprised by the question, and glanced at the item, "Oh. For team meetings. Whoever holds the ball gets to talk. It keeps things from getting too rowdy with so many people in one room."
"Childish."
"Organized," Jeremy countered with a shrug. Even when he wasn't smiling outright, it seemed to linger in his eyes somehow. "So, the racquets?"
"Adequate."
"Awesome," Jeremy said. He tossed the towel into a nearby hamper and pulled a set of keys from his pocket, "Let's blow this joint and go home. I haven't seen the sun in years!"
Jean highly doubted that, as someone who'd gone months without seeing it himself. He stood and went to grab his bags, jerking back sharply when Jeremy's hand grazed his own as the striker picked up the other.
"Sorry about that," Jeremy said with an apologetic wince, "I figured you heard me. Just wanted to help."
"It is fine," Jean snapped. Usually he would have noticed Jeremy's movement but he hadn't been paying attention. He generally wasn't these days. "You are not exactly quiet."
Jeremy chuckled, "Nope. I've never been accused of that."
"Not surprising."
Jeremy's grin widened but he didn't reply, for once staying quiet as he led them out to the parking lot Jean had arrived in. He squinted against the harsh afternoon sun, the heat heavy through his black long-sleeved shirt, as he walked beside Jeremy. The shorter man hummed without care, twirling his keys with one hand and holding Jean's second bag in the other. He paused at an old model Toyota Camry in the far back of the lot, its frame painted black except for the dark green hood.
He patted it fondly, "Keep meaning to get her paint redone. The latch rusted so bad it snapped while I was on the highway. I do not recommend driving on the 5 with your hood wrapped over the windshield." He shrugged, "But, well, busy busy, you know?"
"Her?" Jean asked, puzzled.
"Yeah. Jean, meet Vivienne. Her name's the only elegant thing about her. She's more a dependable workhorse than anything."
"You named your car."
Jeremy nodded, "Lesson one of life in LA: you'll spend more time with your car in traffic than you will with your family at home. Might as well make friends with it." He popped the locks, "Come on, let's get you in some AC before you melt. That shirt is insane for this time of year, you know?"
So was what was under it but Jean wasn't about to voice that. Jeremy brought the car to life with a steady rumble, flipping on the AC with one hand as he grabbed sunglasses from the visor with the other. He leaned over the center console and Jean froze at the nearness of him. At least he didn't flinch this time.
Jeremy snorted in amusement as he pulled a second pair of sunglasses from the glove compartment. He handed over the black pair nestled in his hair to Jean as he straightened up, "Here, you wear mine. I don't think these are your style." He grinned from behind a pair of large baby blue cat-eyed frames, "Alex must've taken my other pair."
"Who is Alex?" Jean asked, slipping the glasses on as Jeremy began to drive. It was a welcome relief to be able to see without burning his retinas.
"My little sister," Jeremy said, "One of two and Emme wouldn't steal my stuff without asking first."
"It is not stealing if she has permission."
Jeremy laughed. The car halted at the red light. Something else stopped too. Jean wasn't sure what precisely. The inside of the car just felt too...small for the sound.
"Good point!" Jeremy said, shaking Jean from the thought. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel in an undefinable rhythm, "Technically we could walk to the stadium since the athletes dorm is close but I figured you'd have stuff with you. We can take that route tomorrow, if you want."
Jean didn't respond but it didn't seem to matter. They were only in the car a handful more minutes before Jeremy pulled into another lot beside a tall brick building, its white pillars encircled by maroon and gold ribbon.
"Home sweet home," Jeremy said, hopping out of the car and grabbing one of Jean's bags from the backseat with entirely too much speed. Jean followed sedately as Jeremy showed his own keyring in example of the various places to unlock (i.e. dorm room, dorm roof, court back entrance, locker room, equipment room) and pointed out different common areas of the dorm building before they boarded the elevator.
"We're all on the top floor," Jeremy explained, "Most other teams are with us in this dorm, called West, but basketball, baseball, and football have their own building closer to their fields in East." His smile was charm with a mischievous edge, "And, since we have to take the extra stairs, we have claim on the roof. I don't even know which previous captain it was that got the keys but bless their soul for it. There's only a few of them but I made sure to put one on your keyring."
The elevator slid open as Jean asked, "Why?"
Jeremy cocked his head, "Why what?"
"There are twenty-nine people on your roster this year. Why do I have a key?"
"Because I wanted you to have one?" Jeremy said slowly, "Everybody knows I have one. Xavier has one as vice-cap too. Then Laila and Pat." He smiled gently, "No one will come bug you for it, don't worry. One of the four of us is always around somewhere."
He paused by a door at the end of the hallway, nodding to the stairwell across from it, "Roof access is up there. Call it captain's privilege that our room is the furthest from the elevator. You do not want to hear that thing dinging at two a.m. Trust me."
Our room?
Jean's body felt tense enough to snap as he followed Jeremy into the dorm room. Why was he rooming with the captain of the team? It made no sense. He wasn't even a starting player. He was nothing. It was so hard to hear Jeremy speaking over the scream of alarm in his mind.
"Kitchen right there obviously," Jeremy said, gesturing to the right, "I should've gotten more groceries. Oh well, that's for later." He stepped forward, "Living room. Not sure why I'm pointing out rooms you can obviously see. Bathroom to the left, down that little hallway. My room's there in the back right. Come in whenever, it's always unlocked so anybody can get to me if they need me. And this," Jeremy walked to the back left of the living room, opening the door with smile, "is yours."
Jean was confused. He could clearly see over Jeremy's head that the room had stuff in it. There were sheets and pillows on the bed, a stack of clothes on the dresser, some notebooks and pens on the desk, a pair of shoes in the open closet.
Jeremy stepped inside, looking around, "I guessed on the sheets. I mean, they're really great. The pillows too. I have the same in my room. You'll love them. But I didn't have your number so I couldn't ask what color you wanted." He opened the blinds, sunlight flooding in, "Figured you'd had enough reds and blacks in your life. Forest green is nice for a bedroom. Mine are plum."
He pointed at the other items, "This is the usual stuff. The university kinda throws it at us at the beginning of the year. If you want more of anything, let me know. There's loads of it at the stadium. I already snagged another pair of the sweats for myself."
"Who paid for this?"
Jeremy cocked his head at Jean's harsh tone, "The team."
"Why? Do you decorate all the players' rooms?"
"Well, no. I mean, everybody gets the swag." He waved a hand casually, "USC is a generous school. We make them money, get them good press. They take care of us in return."
"A pleasant way of saying 'ownership'," Jean spat.
Jeremy shrugged, "I'd say partnership. There's give and take to it. Coach works hard to make sure we have what we need and aren't expected to do more than to be good players and students." His voice softened, "Jean, it's different here, okay? I wouldn't allow anything like..."
"Do not," Jean cut in. He wasn't entirely sure what he was demanding. Do not mention Evermore here? Do not act like you're anything different? Do not assume to have any clue where Jean came from, who he was?
Jeremy closed his mouth with a short nod but there was no defensiveness to him as he put a hand on the doorknob.
"Leave," Jean bit out, sharp enough to cut. He kept his eyes trained on the made bed.
"Okay," Jeremy said gently, "I'll let you get settled. Take your time. If you don't feel like dinner, that's cool. I always make a ton of leftovers. Anything in the kitchen is up for grabs, alright?"
Jean nodded once but he didn't meet his eyes. He listened to Jeremy's feet padding across the carpet of the living room for a minute before closing the bedroom door harshly. Jean left his bags where they lay beside the bed, choosing the farthest corner to sink into. He pulled his knees to his chest and closed his eyes, breathing deeply though the sound was ragged in his lungs.
He knew better than to trust a helping hand. It was always the same hand that struck him later. There was no such thing as meaningless kindness. There were always prices, whether or not you were willing to pay.
Jean opened his eyes and surveyed the room. Gratitude was what a normal person would feel. Acceptance even. Jean felt only embarrassed by the idea that Jeremy had gone through the trouble of setting it all up, that he'd spent time on it. Jean was just here to play, nothing more. He didn't need any of this to do that.
Distantly, he realized he was glad Jeremy had opened the blinds. He'd rather be scorched than sit in the dark.
Jean's nightmares were things that came while he was awake, his mind playing through images tainted through red glass and framed by dark wings.
It was worse that he and Riko had been friends once. It was brief though since both of them knew their places from the start. Jean, fueled by rage at his family, was determined to fight back and he did, for so long, but Riko eventually wore the impulse away with his violence. Riko had been his first friend too, if Jean were being honest, and oh how he waited for that boy to return. How Jean clung to those small glimpses of caring warmth behind the twisted mask. How much it hurt when the monster returned and, in time, never left again as it consumed the boy he'd known.
It didn't just break Jean's body to watch that transformation. It broke his heart too.
When his urge to disobey faded, Jean took the pain quietly. If he were docile enough, accepting enough, he could give Riko the outlet he needed when everyone else left him behind. He could do that for him. Jean was the only one still there.
Then, it grew to be too much and he begged. Jean begged for it to stop as he wrenched another one of his own fingers to mangled brokenness. He struggled as water poured down his throat, turning his lungs into wet suffocating fire. He pleaded for help as his head cracked into the concrete at the bottom of the stairs. He cried himself hoarse when Riko forced him into another Raven's bed on his sixteenth birthday.
Please do not do this to me. Riko, please. Please do not. Riko. Please. Please!
Then, Jean went numb. He thought maybe that was the most unnatural of all. A person fought. A person tried. A person begged. It was only something inhuman that didn't feel at all.
It hadn't mattered. Jean lost track of the swings of the cane and the count of stitches and the weight of other bodies atop him. Every morning, regardless of the pains lingering from the day before, Jean got up. He kept getting up.
Why did he keep getting up?
__________
Jeremy stood in the middle of the kitchen for a long moment, resisting the urge to stare at the closed door of Jean's bedroom. He'd told himself not to have any expectations about Jean's arrival and he truly hadn't. Jeremy assumed it wouldn't be all sunshine and roses though. Not when considering how the Ravens played, not with all the information that had trickled out about the Evermore program since their championship loss. Still, he hadn't been prepared for this.
There were no marks he could see on Jean but the hauntedness of his gray eyes, the wary inward turn of his shoulders, the distrustful ice of his voice, all spoke of something that Jeremy hadn't prepared for. It was all more, heavier and darker, than Jeremy had thought it would be. He grabbed his phone and keys and went up to the roof, dialing the number as he stepped out into the sun.
He took care of his teammates. That was his job, his duty, and he wouldn't shirk it just because he'd been caught off-guard. He needed answers.
"Hello?" came a voice when the dial tone stopped ringing.
"Hey there, Kevin," Jeremy answered, "Just wanted to let you know Jean got here alright." He ran a hand through his hair, "Or, well, as alright as expected, I guess. He didn't know we were rooming together."
"I didn't tell him," Kevin said.
"Why?"
"He would've freaked out."
Jeremy sighed, "That's not a good reason, Day. I'm surprised he didn't run right out of the dorm." He paused, "He's...not well. I mean, I know about the injuries from Riko, obviously. Coaches talk and then Rhemann talks to me. But, this? I wasn't prepared, Kevin. Do you get that?"
"I don't know what you want from me, Jeremy," Kevin said coolly, "He'll play fine."
"I don't care about his performance on the court. I care about the human here, the one who clearly needs help." He considered, "Look, I need to know more. You trusted me enough before our game to tell me he needed somewhere safe to be and I'm happy to make sure he has that here. But how can I do that if I don't know where the landmines are?"
"You don't know what you're asking."
Jeremy frowned. Kevin's voice was small, shaken. He'd never heard him like that before.
"I'm asking anyway," Jeremy insisted, "We're both adults here, Kevin. I'm not asking about your stuff, I'm asking about Jean. He's my priority."
Because Jeremy knew about the broken hand, of course. Kevin had seen to it that anyone with two brain cells could piece the truth together. If that had been allowed against the best striker in the game, if what the reports from anonymous Raven alumni were saying was true, Jeremy needed to know the truthful extent of what he was dealing with. He couldn't protect Jean, or his Trojans, without that knowledge.
"I can't," Kevin said, straining, "You don't understa..."
Muffled words were exchanged on the other end, then a rustling as the phone was passed over.
"Jeremy Knox," said a voice.
"Neil Josten," Jeremy replied, "How's it going?"
"Fine. I'm guessing Jean showed up in one piece?"
"One piece but not whole."
"Are you sending him back?"
Jeremy startled, "What? No, of course not. I just, it wasn't what I expected but that's on me. I was hoping Kevin could clear some things up. Jean's my responsibility now and I want to do right by him."
An argument broke out on Neil's end in French, which Jeremy couldn't understand but the tone made the meaning clear enough. Kevin Day was afraid but Neil Josten was not. There was a short pause of silence before Neil spoke again.
"What are the Trojans to you, Knox?" Neil asked.
"Family," Jeremy said, instant and without hesitation.
"And how far would you go for family?"
"As far as I need to." Jeremy tilted his head back toward the sky, letting the afternoon sun bake his skin. "Look, Josten. Neil. Your news was all over the place a couple months back. Have I lived through something like that? Of course not. But that doesn't mean I haven't seen other things."
Neil's chuckle was dark. It raised goosebumps on Jeremy's arms, and yet he found himself oddly intrigued by the sound.
"Are you saying the Sunshine Captain thing just an act?"
Jeremy shrugged even though Neil couldn't see it. "No. It's true most days but sometimes it's less so." He paused, "Poor kids from bad neighborhoods don't come out unscathed, even if a lot of people care about them. I'm lucky to have those people but they haven't always been good people and they didn't lie to me about it. Does that make sense?"
The silence was long on the other end of the phone.
"Kevin trusts you," Neil said eventually, "which means I kind of have to, since Jean's there. The three of us are all tangled up together in this."
"This?"
"In that 'bad neighborhood' of yours," Neil said, making the phrase almost sound like a joke, "what was the organized crime like?"
"I didn't say there was any."
"Bonus points to you for keeping your mouth shut."
Jeremy's jaw tightened. He'd seen Josten's interviews. Getting under people's skin was a pastime of his. It didn't matter in the long run though. He just needed what he called for and Neil seemed more willing to talk than Kevin had, even if his tone was too light for such a serious topic in Jeremy's opinion.
"It's local," Jeremy said, "The same group's held the territory for decades. Everyone knows who is into what. Who sells what drugs. Who owns what properties. Who smuggles what across the border. Those sorts of things. It isn't a secret. But, my sisters and I trick-or-treated at the same house that dealt out the back door every other night of the year. The guys on the corner taught me how to ride a bike. My mom cuts their wives hair. My dad hires them when they get out of jail because no one else will. It's not good, I guess, but it works."
"That doesn't really fit the squeaky clean picture of you out there."
"No one asks. It isn't a secret where I'm from but it just doesn't sell like the exy captain story does. What does this have to do with Jean though? Don't get me wrong, I'll talk your ear off, Neil, but that wasn't the point of my call today."
"Let's say you take that little local small-time gang of yours," Neil said, "and blow it up. Make it international with fancy suits and a strict hierarchy. Make it so their fingers can reach into any jurisdiction in the country because they have as much money as they have power. Nothing is off-limits: kidnapping, assault, slavery, torture, murder, whatever you can think of. Then, add in exy."
"I don't...," Jeremy began, "That's what...but Edgar Allen is a school."
"A school with an exy program funded by and tied to the strongest yakuza crime family in the United States." Neil broke off when a cry came from someone on his end, him hissing in response in French. Jeremy needed the breather anyway, his mind spinning even as the dots tried to connect.
"The Moriyamas?" Jeremy asked, barely above a whisper, "Yakuza are Japanese, like Riko's dad. And he was rich. Really rich. The reports say Tetsuji ran Evermore however he wanted. That's why? Because the people supporting him were too big to say no to?"
"You're smarter than you look," Neil said.
"That's why nobody stepped in," Jeremy continued, "All those former players talking about the beatings, the hazing, the brutal practices. Being stuck underground. The...rape." He exhaled shakily, "Are they still in charge of it?"
"Less now. Edgar Allen is taking a lot of hits and the new family leadership wants to clean house now that his uncle has retired. Tetsuji let things get too messy with Riko. It looks bad."
His uncle, Neil had said. Family leadership. Jeremy guessed that meant Riko's older brother, the one the press said he was estranged from. Jeremy couldn't remember the man's name.
"How does Jean fit into this?" he asked.
So, Neil told him the rest. More than Jeremy ever wanted to know about that darker side of the world, but not more than he needed to know. Neil spoke of his time at the Nest briefly and of what being a Raven was like for only a few weeks. He told Jeremy about the violence of Tetsuji and Riko and how the partner system turned teammates against one another through punishment. He explained the two branches of the family and how Jean was bound to the main one, along with him and Kevin.
"He has to go pro," Neil said, "and then hand over most of his money while he plays until Ichirou says the debts are paid. We're investments. We have to prove we're worth keeping."
Jean's words rang out in Jeremy's mind, 'A pleasant way of saying 'ownership'.' Jeremy swallowed the bile at the back of his throat.
"How much debt?" Jeremy asked.
"I don't even know," Neil said, sounding weary for the first time, "but we don't have a choice. It's better than the alternative."
Jeremy didn't need him to clarify what that alternative was.
"What can I do to protect him?" Jeremy asked.
"Why would you?"
"I told you," he said, "Trojans are family. They're my responsibility. I take care of all of them. How do I do that for Jean?"
Neil was quiet for a long moment, "Show him he has something to live for. He doesn't think he does right now."
Jeremy could've doubled over from the pain of those words. Instead, he sucked in a harsh breath and nodded.
"Will do. I'll do my best. I swear it."
"I don't need your promises," Neil said, "but, for what it's worth, Kevin was right in sending him your way. At least, I think so. And, Knox?"
"Yeah?"
"You should retire the Sunshine Captain thing sometime. The neighborhood kid could be fun to see on the court."
Jeremy laughed, loud with the surprise of it, "You wouldn't know what to do with it."
"It'd be fun to try though."
"Maybe another time," Jeremy said, "Thank you, Neil. I appreciate your telling me all this stuff. I know it wasn't easy but it'll be a big help."
"I hope so," Neil said, "Kevin's, uh, disappeared somewhere. Want me to tell him to call you back?"
"No need. I wouldn't want to stress him out more."
They gave each other quick goodbyes before hanging up. Jeremy threw himself into the nearest lounge chair, focusing on the muscles in his body one by one to release the tension in them from his toes to the top of his head.
He couldn't imagine. He couldn't imagine all those years, more than a decade, in a life like what Neil described living for less than a month. He couldn't imagine the fear, the isolation, the dread, the pervasive hopelessness.
Jeremy lived on hope, on pushing toward it. Hope encouraged him to put in the grueling hours with exy that resulted in his full-ride scholarship. Hope, combined with his hard work, was going to take him pro and earn him enough money to take care of his family for good. He couldn't imagine being here without it.
His phone buzzed but, after seeing his mother's name on the screen, Jeremy silenced it. Any other day he'd pick up and let her complain as long as she needed about the state of the house, about what his twin sisters were up to, about the ladies at the salon and her customers. And about his dad. Always about Dad. He just couldn't do it today, not right now. Later, he promised her in his mind, he'd call after dinner and listen twice as long to make up for being a bad son in that moment.
Jeremy stretched as he got to his feet, taking his time back down the stairs. He slowly opened the dorm room door but it was still and silent inside. Jean's door remained closed. Jeremy walked heavier than he normally would have as he approached it. The memory of Jean flinching away from his hand when Jeremy reached for the bag earlier was even more distressing in the light of what Neil had told him.
He knocked against the door lightly, calling out, "Hey Jean. I gotta run out to Target before dinner. You wanna come with?"
It was a long minute before a single word reply came through the door. It was the one Jeremy expected.
"Okay," Jeremy said, "I'll be back in a bit. Gonna make tacos for dinner. You allergic to anything?"
No reply to that. Jeremy decided it was a no. He hoped it was. Poisoning Jean was definitely not the right foot to start on.
"Alright. See you soon. My phone number's on the fridge if you need anything."
He didn't hover, choosing instead to grab his wallet and head out the door a minute later. Jeremy didn't want Jean to feel trapped by him. The partner system Neil described was so many levels of unhealthy in how it placed so much outside the control of the people involved. Jeremy wanted Jean to know that he was in-charge of himself here. He had choices, about whatever he wanted or didn't. He could come to Target if he wanted, or not, and Jeremy wouldn't judge him either way. But, he wanted Jean to know he could reach out to Jeremy too if he wanted. It was a bit of a tightrope but not impossible.
Jeremy wandered the aisles of the red-clad store. He picked up an extra blanket for the couch. He bought a value pack of plastic nightlights, one for every room of the dorm, and planned to plug them in as soon as he returned. He picked up several candles too. The dorm had never lost power while he'd lived there but it was best to be prepared. He didn't want Jean to be in the dark.
He stood entirely too long in the snack aisle. He wished he knew what Jean liked to eat. He wished he had his phone number so he could ask.
Jeremy grabbed an assortment of options and carried on through the rest of the store, stocking up on the usual stuff for laundry and cleaning since he needed to do both the next day. He was confident he'd gotten all he meant to as he stood in the checkout. He'd started doing the weekly shopping for his family as soon as he was legal to drive and shopping for one (well, two) was easier than a household of four.
Half an hour later, Jeremy stumbled into the dorm room with overly-full hands as he refused to make two trips. He very nearly tripped over the old plaid couch in an effort to carry his prizes to the coffee table, pulling out the nightlights first and opening the packaging.
The click of Jean's door lock cracked like thunder in the silence.
Jeremy glanced at the door for a long moment, repressing his sigh. Patience. He could do that. It was a skill he'd been honing his whole life.
He plugged the nightlights in each room and put everything else in their places. He kept the radio low as he browned the meat for tacos, bumping his head to the beat as he hummed along to the Spanish he only knew every fourth word of. He plated his own, choosing to eat at the counter as he scrolled exy news on his phone, then cleaned up as he called his mother. (The conversation went as expected.)
Jeremy saved the leftovers, put a sticky note on top of the container, and slid a piece of paper under Jean's door. He propped a nightlight against the frame, beside a bottle of water, and hoped Jean would see both before he stepped on them.
Night was fully settled by the time Jeremy closed his own bedroom door, doing so louder than he usually would. He wanted Jean to know the coast was clear, in case he wanted to come out. He hoped he would, even if he didn't want to while Jeremy was around. Maybe if he thought it strongly enough, loudly enough, Jean would sense what Jeremy was trying to tell him:
It's going to be okay. You're safe here. I'll make sure of it. I promise.