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“Aha,” Katelyn says, finally producing the constant source of buzzing from her bag. Then she frowns, and hands the phone to Aaron. She vaguely remembers him thrusting his effects at her earlier in the skate park while he was tugging Jean along; she must have forgotten to take it out when she gave him his keys and wallet once they got to the nurse’s office.
Aaron, who has been locked in a staring competition with a belligerent Jean Moreau, glances at his phone and frowns at the notification screen. He taps it open, and Katelyn peers over his shoulder, reading the earlier messages in amusement. She watches as he types.
Aaron looks up at Jean, raising an eyebrow. Katelyn peers over at him. He has his phone out too, scowling down at what she assumes is the same lacrosse team group text open on Aaron’s screen. He looks up at Aaron and shakes his head.
The expression on Aaron’s face is distinctly unimpressed, but he just rolls his eyes and switches off his phone screen.
“Allison’s not going to let that go,” Katelyn says.
Jean lets out a strange exhale, but Aaron just shrugs. “When does she ever?” he asks, crooking a half-grin at her, the one that makes her think of their elbows bumping during AP Chem and him catching her eye during their respective afternoon sports practices. She knocks their shoulders together, half-scolding, half-amused. He nudges her right back.
“There,” the school nurse says, looking down at Jean’s newly-cleaned-and-dressed knee in satisfaction, hands on her hips. “Be careful where you put your elbows, they’ll be feeling raw for most of the day, but otherwise, you should be good to go. Let me just go find you some cream to take with you…” She heads over to the cabinet, humming as she bustles about.
Katelyn looks at Jean. “How are you feeling?”
Jean’s expression is unhappy, and he mutters something under his breath – presumably in French, though Katelyn thinks Cat was trying to teach him some basic Spanish the other day.
She’d like to be friends with Jean. She’s learned enough about him—from Allison, and Kevin, and Aaron, and Cat, all these people who have picked up enough pieces of Jean to be willing to show Katelyn glimpses of their closed fists—to know why that’ll probably be slow-going, but that’s okay. She’s patient. Mostly. Okay, sixty percent of the time. She’s patient when she can afford to be, and Katelyn looks at Jean with his newly-bandaged knee and skinned elbows and furrowed brow, and thinks she would save up for someone like him. It’s just -- he looks like he could use a friend, is all. It reminds her a little of Aaron when they first met, and Kevin, sometimes, when she sees him studying, and even Neil, for all that there’s never any getting him alone these days. Maybe it’s the kind of thing that doesn’t shift: Jean Moreau is a boy who could use a friend, and that remains true, no matter how many of them he manages to accumulate.
Aaron is frowning at his phone again, the screen lighting up as a new notification comes in, but before Katelyn can glance at whatever nonsense his team’s putting him through now—last week, when they were studying for their bio test, he got so fed up with some argument Matt and Nicky were having about correct methods of brewing cocoa that he handed his phone to Katelyn and told her to destroy them as she pleased—a sound catches her attention.
She looks up and blinks at the sight of Jeremy skidding to a stop in the corridor outside the nurse’s office. His hair is tousled, meaning unruly, but in a cute way. (Marissa had cited this fact in an argument with Kevin last week, when he’d called Neil’s hair a mess and she’d come to his defence. Andrew’s face hadn’t really changed as far as Katelyn could tell, but Aaron had said that was basically him laughing.) His shoes look shiny and new, and Katelyn winces a little, thinking about the newly-acquired scuff marks his little skid move must have caused.
Jeremy isn’t looking at her, though. His eyes went to Jean immediately, all big and brown and concerned, like a Disney animal. Katelyn wonders if Jean has ever watched Bambi.
She looks at Jean, as if she might find the answer written on his face, but instead finds something that makes her eyes widen. Now she probably looks like a Disney character, eyes all big and round, but she can’t help it, because Jean isn’t looking at Jeremy. He was, just moments ago, for the flash of a second Katelyn saw him before Jeremy stepped into the doorway—eyes startled, cheeks pink, everything about him existing in reaction—but the second Katelyn saw Jeremy move into the doorway from the corner of her eye, Jean looked down, as quick as she’s ever seen him move on the lacrosse pitch.
Katelyn’s not as good at math as Neil, but here’s how this equation goes, best as she can figure:
Jeremy Knox, class president with his tousled hair and shiny shoes and a smile that could make flowers grow, comes skidding down the hallway (she half-expects a hall monitor to join the crowd of them in the nurse’s office, honestly), just to look at Jean Moreau. Fact.
Jean, instead of nodding in greeting—like Aaron—or smiling distractedly—like Katelyn, but only because she’s busy doing relationship math here, she swears that any other time, her reaction would be much more focused—or any other sort of acknowledgement, goes pink and looks down at his shoelaces instead of looking at Jeremy directly. Fact.
Jeremy skids = Jeremy cares. Jean can’t look at him = Jean cares.
Jeremy cares + Jean cares = ….?
Oh.
Katelyn feels kind of giddy about it.
She can tell Aaron’s giving her a sidelong glance, flicking between her and Jean and Jeremy and his phone, but she pays him no mind. She’s too busy turning over her new discovery in her head, this little jigsaw piece she can slot into the puzzle of Jean.
Maybe that’s why she looks at him. That fleeting thought.
She looks at him, and finds him still studiously avoiding Jeremy’s gaze, instead meeting her eyes briefly. There’s something a little apprehensive in Jean’s eyes, so she tries to make her smile as reassuring as possible.
Katelyn’s not going to tell anyone, honest. Not even Aaron or Dan, both of whom might already know as teammates to both boys, but that’s not the point. This is: here is a piece of Jean Moreau she’s picked up, and now it’s her turn to hold it safely in her palm, and not let it slip.
“Hey, Jean,” Jeremy says. It’s as pleasant as always, of course, but Katelyn has known Jeremy for years now, and even if they’re not as close as he’s always been with Laila or Kevin or Cat, she knows him well enough to detect the hint of awkwardness in his voice. He’s bashful. Katelyn has to practice meditative breathing for a moment to make sure she doesn’t squeal. “I—”
But he never gets to finish his sentence, and Katelyn never gets to find out whether it would have joined the canon of Great Romantic Lines, because that’s when Nurse Winfield comes back in the room with the ointment for Jean. Upon seeing Jeremy, she pauses.
“Are you feeling all right, Jeremy?” she asks.
Jeremy starts. “Oh,” he says, then, “Yes, Abby.” He pauses, cringes, then hastily corrects himself: “Nurse Winfield.”
She rolls her eyes at him. “You know I don’t care about that,” she says, flapping the hand not holding a tube of cream at him. “But if you’re not here for treatment, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” She frowns at the assembled crowd. “Actually, most of you should clear out,” she says. “First period is almost over, and I’m pretty sure you don’t all have study periods right now.” She claps her hands. “If you’re not currently injured, please make your way to class. Aaron, Katelyn, you can tell your teachers that you were accompanying Jean. But if anyone asks me why any of you weren’t in second period, I’m not covering for you. Got it?”
Aaron shrugs, getting to his feet. “Yeah, sounds good,” he says. He glances at Jean, who glares half-heartedly at him. Aaron seems fine with this, because he just nods at him, then raises an eyebrow at Jeremy. “Coming, prez?”
Katelyn blinks at his tone. He’d sound bored to almost anyone else—she thinks maybe only herself, his relatives, and probably Neil and Kevin could tell the truth—but she can hear the slightly wry edge to it. So. He’s probably figured it out too.
“Yeah,” Jeremy says, still looking at Jean, who has finally looked up at him. “I hope you feel better soon, Jean,” he says, smiling kindly.
Jean’s shoulders stiffen a little, but before Katelyn can think too much about that, he nods. “Thank you,” he says.
It’s quiet, barely audible with the sound of the buzzer for end of first period ringing out at that moment. It doesn’t matter. Jeremy’s smile brightens anyway, warm and real and raw.
Yeah, Katelyn thinks, trying to fight down her own smile as she follows Jeremy and Aaron out the door, leaving Jean to listen to Abby’s instructions by himself. I know how this equation goes.
🥍
Nobody has ever accused Allison Reynolds of being an unobservant person.
A few have accused her of being self-obsessed or shallow, but they’re all people who don’t really know her. Anyone who actually knows Allison knows how perceptive she is, and also how much she loves using that specific talent to her own advantage.
Take now, for instance.
It’s lunch time, which means the lacrosse team and a handful of assorted extras have taken over the two tables closest to the window, both smushed together to make one long bench.
Allison is currently sandwiched between Matt and Neil, which isn’t particularly helpful for her main goal of the day (arguing with Kevin), because Kevin is sitting directly opposite Neil, which means they’re talking about lacrosse and mostly ignoring everyone else on the planet.
The unexpected upside of this is that Jean is sitting opposite her. This almost never happens, because Jean Moreau is six foot something of wary glances and skittish kitten behaviour, at least when it comes to social situations. On the field, there’s nothing shy about him. Allison, as a lover of taunting opponents, greatly appreciates this dedication to the defensive zone. There are few things as satisfying as riling up one of the opposing attackmen, only for them to be stopped completely before they can even get near the goal.
Socially, though, Jean mostly sticks to the patterns he built early: he’d known Kevin before he transferred here, so being comfortable with him wasn’t that surprising, and Renee is the best person Allison knows, so that was to be expected too. He’s close to Cat and Laila, and forged pretty good friendships with Neil and Andrew, at least after their rocky start.
And, of course, there’s Jeremy.
It wasn’t exactly a surprise, Jeremy being assigned to the new kid as his tour guide. Class president, friendliest varsity jacket-wearer in the entire school, possessor of manners whose problem with authority figures extends specifically to cops and not academic faculty: Jeremy was the obvious choice, even if Jean already knew Kevin.
(“Probably why he wasn’t chosen,” Seth says, snorting. “Knowing him might make him worse.”
Renee nudges him gently in the ribs, the kindest chiding on the planet, and Seth rolls his eyes at her, but raises his hands in surrender.
Matt, to the side, muses, “I wonder if Kevin knows anything about the history of the school.”
“Ten bucks says he does, and makes you listen if you ask,” Allison says immediately.
Matt makes a face at her, then says, “Deal.”)
(Allison won, obviously. Matt said it was kind of interesting, though, so there’s that. Still. Loss is a loss. Pay up, Boyd.)
Even if he hadn’t made the cut for tour guide—which, frankly, might have been more for Kevin’s benefit than Jean’s; Allison’s not sure he would have survived showing Jean the basketball court, considering his scathing opinion of their team and general sport—Allison had still dragged Kevin with her when she’d gone to scope out the new arrival. All she’d known about him was that he was a defenseman and taller than most of their team, because that had been all that Kevin felt worth conveying.
Honestly, she could strangle him sometimes.
The two of them had stood back, watching as Coach led Jean up to the foyer where Jeremy was waiting. Kevin’s eyes had tracked his father’s movements the way they so often did, like he was still getting his fill of them. Allison had meant to look at Jean, and she did, at first: clocked his height, the way his hair fell and framed his face, the quiet way he bowed his head as he listened to whatever Coach was saying, the tentative curiosity as he took in his surroundings.
So Allison had looked at Jean, at first. But then the rhythmic thwack of Jeremy’s yo-yo against his palm had faltered, and she’d flicked her gaze to him immediately.
He’d been standing stock-still, eyes fixed on Jean. He’d been raised too well to openly gape, but Allison had known him for years now, running interference on him in lacrosse practice and exchanging beleaguered glances when dragged to social events by their parents and that one time she pushed his first crush into the pool—still-clothed—back in junior high because he was being a fucking asshole about Jeremy’s shy-but-friendly smiles.
Allison had known him for years, so she’d known what it meant when Jeremy’s eyes shifted that fraction-too-wide and his smile quirked up a little higher on the left than the right.
Ah, she’d thought, watching sharply as he’d offered a hand and an easy grin in greeting to Jean, the first in a long line of casual, slowly-building touches to come. I know what this is. And then, half a second later: “Does Jean have a boyfriend?” she’d asked Kevin, who had blinked at her, thrown.
“What?”
“Never mind,” she’d said, flicking two fingers dismissively. “I’ll figure it out.”
In the time since, she’s determined that not only is Jean a) single, and b) swings both ways, but she’s also pretty certain that he’s just as interested in Jeremy as Jeremy is in him.
“Is there something on my face?” Jeremy asks suddenly. He’s sitting next to Matt, not-quite-diagonally opposite Jean, but he’s looking across the table at Jean anyway.
Jean flushes. “Your nose,” he says quietly, raising his pinky finger to rub at the tip of his own in indication.
Jeremy frowns, then rubs at his nose, finding a tiny bit of cream from the bit of doughnut Cat shared with him earlier. Luckily for everyone, Kevin’s on the opposite end of the table and cannot launch into a lecture about dietary plans. Again.
“Oh,” Jeremy says, looking at his finger, then absently licking it. “Thanks.”
Predictably, Jean’s flush darkens and he mutters something, nodding tersely at Jeremy before elbowing a serene Renee in the side for whatever she whispers in his ear.
Yeah, make that extremely certain.
🥍
Kevin can’t say he’s thrilled with this turn of events.
All of his classes have at least one of his teammates in them, but most have two or three. It’s just his luck that history, his favourite class, is one he shares with almost all of them.
Some days, Kevin even thinks it’s a good thing. Despite their various personality flaws, his teammates are the people he’s most comfortable with in the world. Even when they’re all at odds, he never doubts that if push came to shove, they’d all fall in step to have his back. He complains a lot, anyone on the team could tell you, but at the end of the day, they’re his people, and he’s theirs.
So. There are days when Kevin enjoys this quirk of the schedule, this combination of both his favourite subject and the people he co-exists with best.
Today, when they’ve all been granted a study period to prepare for their upcoming midterm, he thinks it’s possibly the worst thing the universe has ever inflicted upon him.
Okay, probably not worst. Definitely top ten, though.
To his right, Allison and Nicky have their heads bent over Nicky’s textbook, discussing something in quickfire whispers. Kevin would be more forgiving of this if Nicky’s textbook were open to the right page. Or even just the right way up. Kevin’s standards are slipping. The trials and tribulations of being on a high school lacrosse team.
The table to his left is only about a metre away, but Kevin looks at the gap with longing. Matt, Seth and Renee are revising notes about agricultural policies during the Great Leap Forward. Kevin already covered that last night, and he usually actively avoids revising with Seth (because they argue) and Matt (because his highlighting habits piss Kevin off), but still. He’s tempted to jump ship.
Jeremy is opposite Kevin. This is normally an optimal arrangement. Jeremy is good at studying, and active listening, and Kevin enjoys his company more than almost anyone else’s. So any other day, Kevin would be quite pleased to be sharing his space with Jeremy during a study period.
Unfortunately, today is the day that Jean missed first period because he was in the nurse’s office, so that means Jeremy is distracted.
“Do you think it was serious?” Jeremy asks, looking across the room to where Jean, Cat and Neil—a combination that literally made Kevin shudder when he first spotted them; what Jean is thinking, Kevin has no idea—are studying.
“The ramifications of Mao not consulting experts before launching a nation-wide irrigation overhaul? Yes,” Kevin says.
“I mean, he missed all first period…” Jeremy is now sitting sideways in his seat, one of his legs pulled up at the knee. Kevin can see him chewing his lip.
“Just like how the government’s central economic planning led to missing materials due to coordination failures,” Kevin says. Perhaps his tone is getting slightly desperate. Slightly.
“And both Katelyn and Aaron were with him…”
“A misallocation of resources, very similar to how the PRC allocating towards exports and the cities…” Look, Kevin is doing his best to get them back on track here, but even he has to admit that last one was a bit of a stretch.
“What?” Jeremy asks, finally turning back to Kevin. His brow is furrowed, expression concerned. “Are you okay?” Oh, like Kevin’s the one whose behaviour is of concern right now.
“History midterm,” Kevin reminds him, picking up one of his study notecards and flapping it a little. He looks very pointedly at Jeremy’s study materials, still stacked neatly in front of him.
Nicky taps Kevin on the shoulder.
“What?” Kevin demands, turning to look at him.
“It’s a library,” Nicky says, straight-faced. Allison is smirking beside him. “You’re being pretty loud for a study period, Kevin.”
“Your textbook is upside down,” Kevin retorts. He looks back at Jeremy, who is looking back at Jean. What a shock.
The thing is, it’s usually a good thing. Or at least not a bad thing. Kevin likes, for the most part, that Jean and Jeremy are like this. Sometimes when people have crushes, it’s a detriment on the field; they’re too busy being useless and having feelings to remember the way their legs are meant to move and to connect their brains to their hands. It’s really embarrassing. Back in middle school, when one of Kevin’s teammates was tripping over his feet mooning over some girl on the sidelines, Kevin paid some random eight-year-old ten bucks to film it so he could show him how unhelpful he was being. Dan had made him delete it before he could actually showcase it and Neil had muttered something about the ethics of bribing grade schoolers, but the point stands. Kevin is very familiar with how irritating it can be when crushes cause havoc on the field.
Jeremy and Jean aren’t like that. If anything, Kevin thinks they make each other play better. Jeremy’s awareness of Jean leads to enhanced synergy, and Jean’s protectiveness of Jeremy assists in his defensive utility. So Kevin actually approves.
Dan’s voice pops up in the back of his head. Also, you want your friends to be happy, she reminds him. Which, yeah, of course, that too.
So. Normally it’s a good thing. But today, Jean came to school late, and had to go visit Abby in the infirmary, and so – Jeremy is unprecedentedly useless. Kevin is displeased by this turn of events, though he supposes it’s marginally better to be happening now rather than during a game. Marginally.
“Abby wouldn’t have sent him to class if it was serious,” Jeremy says. He sounds like he’s reassuring himself. Kevin has never had a less productive study period, and he’s had to be lab partners with Andrew before.
It’s not like Kevin needs the study period, exactly. He’s pretty confident about the midterm, especially if it’s graded on a curve. It’s more the principle of the matter. History is fascinating, and Kevin knows he can’t make anyone like it, but it drives him crazy how half of them are using their time today. In Kevin’s opinion, gossiping—presumably about how useless Jeremy and Jean have been about each other today, if Allison’s last text is any indication—and staring at Jean for half an hour are notably inferior options to actually using their study period as intended.
“Why don’t you just ask him?” Kevin suggests, exasperated.
Jeremy looks at him, open-mouthed, like that’s somehow an inconceivable suggestion. Which is ridiculous. If anyone can ask something in an unobtrusive, non-threatening way, it’s definitely Jeremy. Renee and Matt are the only real contenders, and Kevin supposes Betsy is all right at it too, but Kevin would put money on Jeremy any day. It’s his earnestness, Kevin thinks. He’s not really honest, because he’s even better at sidestepping sticky questions than Neil, but he’s – sincere. When he does say something, he means it.
“And you should be studying,” Kevin says, turning to Nicky and Allison, who have resumed their hissing. “I’ve seen your grades.”
Allison scoffs. “I’ve seen you spend half a chem period drawing up lacrosse plays,” she says.
“Yeah, and I have the best grades on the team,” Kevin points out.
“Only because Aaron’s taking all the AP sciences,” Nicky says. “He does more homework than you.”
Kevin huffs, about to snap back, before he pauses. Aaron. Of course.
Instead of replying, he pulls out his phone, opening his texts and tapping on the thread with Aaron.
Kevin clicks his tongue, irritated. When he glances up, Allison and Nicky are back to their huddle, though the textbook has at least been oriented correctly. It’s absurd that Kevin feels pleased about it. Jeremy is still looking in Jean’s direction. Kevin follows his gaze, and finds Cat openly staring back, fixing Jeremy with a judgemental look. Deserved, probably.
Kevin huffs. He clicks his phone screen off, rolling his eyes. They land on Jean’s table again, and Kevin’s eyebrows shoot up. Most people wouldn’t be able to tell, he thinks, but Kevin has known Jean for a while now, which means he can absolutely tell that Jean is sneaking sidelong glances at Jeremy. He’s holding his pen a little too tight, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Kevin knows what that means too.
Jean is flustered.
For a moment, Kevin considers Allison’s group text from earlier. Obviously, her clocking the nature of Jean and Jeremy’s dynamic hadn’t been a surprise; Kevin suspects even the wait staff at the team’s favourite diner have theories about them. It’s more the fact that she’s instigating a bet now, and the easy acceptance that it’s a ‘when’, not an ‘if’.
Their slowly-blooming camaraderie and the way they’d fallen into orbit with each other had been such gradual, long-brewing things that Kevin had forgotten that, eventually, it might pass a threshold for change.
Appraising them both—the way Jeremy’s sitting sideways in his seat, his whole body tilting towards Jean, a sunflower seeking the sun; Jean’s quiet glances, like they’re something he thinks he needs to hide, but still can’t quite contain, despite himself—Kevin thinks, Yeah, this might be it.
In that second, he makes a split second decision.
“Go study with them,” Kevin says to Jeremy, who starts, looking at him. “Or gossip with these two. Whatever. But you’re not getting anything done over here while you’re worrying about him,” he says, packing up his stuff. “And yes, Abby would have sent him home if it was serious.”
“Where are you going?” Jeremy asks.
“Somewhere with contained emotions,” Kevin mutters, but he squeezes Jeremy’s shoulder on his way past, then takes out his phone.
Aaron frowns when Kevin walks in, then looks at Dan accusingly. “I told him no,” he complains.
Dan just shrugs, uncapping her highlighter with her teeth and outlining a border around a paragraph. Aaron sighs, but he moves his books over to make space for Kevin.
Yes, Kevin thinks. This is much better.
🥍
If it had been any other day, Jean would have gone straight home after practice to lick his wounds, maybe even been recruited by Cat for the task of developing his cultural education (read: dragging him to watch romantic comedy films with her).
Today is Friday, though, which means that after practice, the team piles into various vehicles and makes their way to the diner to while away the rest of the evening. Jean finds himself contained in one of the booths, squished between Renee and Andrew. Allison, on the other side of Renee, is half-sitting on Renee’s lap to continue her ongoing debate with Kevin. Renee does not seem to mind. Jean considers making a quiet comment—a tiny revenge for earlier, in the lunch room—but instead settles for raising an eyebrow. Renee shrugs imperceptibly, her hair brushing against his face from the movement.
Kevin had previously been contained at a separate table with Matt and Laila, but has since pulled up a chair to sit on backwards, straddling the back, gesturing animatedly. Jean thinks he originally came over to discuss something with Aaron and Neil, both sitting opposite Andrew, but Kevin, for all his strengths of character, is not immune to Allison Reynolds.
“Why cheerleading uniforms?” Kevin is demanding.
“We’re athletes. It’s on theme,” Allison says. Kevin’s expression goes derisive, and she lifts her finger to point. “They’re aerodynamic and a breathable material,” she says, which Jean is not convinced is true. He keeps quiet, though. He is not inserting himself into this conversation. “And you’ve got about half a foot on the tallest Vixen, so it’s going to be absolutely killer for your legs.”
Kevin actually looks like he’s contemplating this. Andrew makes a scornful noise—less, Jean thinks, about the actual concept, and more at how much headway Allison is making by appealing to Kevin’s vanity—and gestures impatiently at Kevin, who leans back from where he’d been crowding the booth exit to talk to Allison. Andrew slides out, undoubtedly on a quest to obtain another milkshake, and Jean takes the opportunity to move closer to the edge. Kevin, distracted by Andrew heading to the counter, pauses mid-debate with Allison to follow him and, presumably, argue with him.
Jean looks at Neil and Aaron, to see if either of them intend to intervene. Aaron shrugs at him. Neil says, “His funeral.”
Seth snorts from the table behind them. Allison reaches over and swats him lightly upside the back of his head.
“Neil,” Matt calls over. “C’mere, help me explain the coin trick to Laila.”
Allison and Aaron raise twin eyebrows at Neil, who shrugs, sliding out of the booth. Aaron follows him out, but diverts towards the cashier, where Andrew is sipping a milkshake through his straw and maintaining eye contact with Kevin, who looks aggrieved.
“He’s had three,” Kevin says.
“I’m here for a burger, not for him,” Aaron says, which makes Andrew’s lips twitch and Kevin’s eyebrows knit closer together.
Allison and Renee spread out in the booth, moving towards the area Aaron and Neil abandoned so they can talk more easily to Seth and Dan. Jean inhales, long and low.
Perhaps the ‘rom-coms’ would have been calmer, he thinks. It’s not a word he would normally apply to them, what with their dramatic gestures and acts of emotional violence between the leads and somewhat alarming levels of intentional psychic damage inflicted upon every character by each other, but they might win out today.
Jean doesn’t really mind the chaos. He’s not used to it—at least not like this, where it’s overlapping conversations and open disagreement that doesn’t graduate to anything physical, where all these people like each other more than they don’t—but it’s not a bad thing.
He kind of likes it, he thinks. It took a while to come to that conclusion, overwhelmed as he was by it when he first arrived, but –
They carved out a space for him, and let him move into it when he was ready, slowly padding it with the things he enjoys: lacrosse, obviously, and doing crosswords in the mornings with Renee and the twins, and making faces at Laila’s increasingly egregious boba orders, and rom-coms with Cat, and cycling through the city on weekends with Kevin and Jeremy, and being dragged with Neil by Nicky to the cinema every second Wednesday of the month because they’re playing old flicks, and all these other little things that have made up his life here. Allison loudly correcting his name pronunciation to their calculus teacher on his first week, refereeing arm-wrestling matches between Seth and Matt because they both insist the other one cheats, the way Dan offers her fist up for a bump after a good play and would never dream of using that hand for anything other than support.
Jeremy’s smiles, and the comics he borrows from Aaron and sneaks into their study periods sometimes to show Jean his favourite characters, and the way he didn’t hesitate before pulling off his letterman jacket last week and offering it to Jean, who had been biting back a shiver.
(Jeremy’s lips quirk up a little more on the left than the right, and his canine teeth are sharp enough that he complains that the dentist had to file them down slightly every visit for ten years, and Jean thinks the huffiness in his voice when he talks about it is so endearing that sometimes he wants to sit down, he’s so overwhelmed by it. Jeremy likes Spider-Man a lot, and talks about how important his friends are to everything he achieves and perseveres, but Jean thinks his favourite is the Human Torch: bright and shining and golden, the warmest thing in the sky, beautiful and kind and silly and good at some very visible things, but even better at some other things he thinks the world would be less proud of. Jeremy had told him about Johnny’s head for mechanics and how he’d helped build Peter’s Spider-Mobile, and Jean had thought about Jeremy’s sketches in the margins of his notebooks during boring classes, and everything in his chest had ached for a long moment. Jeremy’s letterman jacket smells like him, and even though it had been a little short on Jean’s wrists, it had completely encompassed his shoulders, and when Jean tried to give it back before they left practice, Jeremy had smiled at him and said, so easily, “Just give it back to me tomorrow. I don’t want you to be cold.” Jean hadn’t been able to do anything but stare at him, wide-eyed, as Jeremy waved farewell and only looked away when Allison honked her horn for the third time, summoning Jeremy to her car.)
Yeah, Jean likes his life here.
“Hey, soldier,” Jeremy says, sliding into the space Andrew left.
Jean looks at him, and swallows. “Soldier?”
Jeremy smiles, small and bashful and with just a peek of teeth. Jean resists the urge to poke at his canines. “Y’know, wounded soldier, coming back from war,” he says, then bumps their shoulders together, gesturing down at his knee. “You hurt your knee, right?”
“Does that make you the loyal wife awaiting his return from the war?” Allison asks archly, glancing over from Renee, Dan and Seth to look at Jeremy.
Jean doesn’t think he can cope with an answer to that question, so he quickly says to Jeremy, “Sort of.”
Allison raises an eyebrow at him but turns back to the others, her hair flouncing in her wake.
“Sort of?” Jeremy prompts.
Jean sighs. “Hurt is a strong word,” he says reluctantly, thinking back on the morning at the skate park. Aaron kept his word, and Jean suspects Katelyn did too, as nobody else seems to know what happened, and Jean intends to keep it that way. It was not one of his more successful endeavours.
“Show me?” Jeremy asks, tilting his head. His hair is falling into his eyes. Jean’s hand shifts without his consent, moving to brush it out of his face.
He falters once he realises what he’s doing, hand stilling between them, but Jeremy’s eyes are patient, kind. Like he doesn’t mind. So Jean resumes his action, tucking one of Jeremy’s curls behind his ear.
It’s the right move, because Jeremy smiles at him, eyes crinkling at the corners.
Jean swallows, and retracts his hand. “I just skinned it,” he says, gesturing to the knee in question. “Abby bandaged it, and gave me some ointment for my elbows. It’s fine.” He thinks about it for a second, then mutters, “Just embarrassing,” because if he can’t tell Jeremy, who has always been willing to hold all his uncomfortably-shaped and hard-edged pieces, then who can he tell?
Jeremy absorbs this. “When I was seven, I broke my arm because I fell off a car,” he says.
Jean blinks at him. “What?”
“I fell off a car,” Jeremy repeats. “It was slippery.”
“That’s not—” Jean starts, then cuts himself off, trying to recalibrate himself to the conversation. “What do you mean, off a car?”
Jeremy grimaces. “Okay, so, at our school, there was this car in the playground. Bright pink, Allison would have loved it. It didn’t run or anything, but it was there for the younger kids to pretend they were driving. It was buried in bark.”
“The younger kids,” Jean echoes, and Jeremy makes a face at him.
“One of the other kids got Laila’s ball stuck in the tree,” he explains. “We were trying to work out if it was actually in the tree, or if it had knocked out over the fence into the neighbouring property. We thought we might be able to see it if we got on top of the car, and I was the oldest, so I went.”
There’s a smile tugging at the corner of Jean’s mouth. Just a little thing, barely-there, but he can feel it. That’s just so Jeremy, he thinks. Something isn’t his fault, but he’s there to take care of it anyway, to look out for everyone else. Even at seven, he was all heart.
“Unfortunately, it had rained earlier,” Jeremy says, and Jean snorts.
“And so you slipped,” he says, putting it together.
“And so I slipped,” Jeremy confirms. “Landed funny on my arm. Cried about it. One of the other kids ran to get a teacher, the rest ran off, and Laila stayed with me and gave me her – God, so she used to be obsessed with crickets, right?”
“With – what?”
“Crickets,” Jeremy says. “Knew all these facts, watched Pinocchio every weekend, protected them from the other kids in the class when they were in their experimenting-on-bugs phase.” Jean blinks. Jeremy shrugs. “She knew a lot, is what I’m getting at. She was telling me all these weird things, like how crickets have ears on their legs and don’t have lungs, and I was like, gross, tell me more.” He grins, fond and soft and nostalgic. Something in Jean’s chest thuds against his ribs. “And she had this handkerchief that she loved, like, pride and joy. And she gave it to me to wipe my face while she told me random facts and we waited for Xavier to get back with a teacher.”
“Is that how you became friends?” Jean asks.
“Yeah, mostly,” Jeremy says. “Like, we knew each other already, but that sealed the deal. I tried to give her back the handkerchief, because she loved it so much, y’know? But it was so gross that she was like, no thanks. You can keep it. So I saved up my pocket money for a few weeks and went with my sister to find her a new handkerchief and whatever cricket-related stationery we could find. I think she’s still got some of it.”
He glances over to where Laila’s sitting with Matt and Neil. Jean watches him, tracking the rueful amusement etching itself into his face. He’s so – expressive. Neil says Jean is too, but Jean thinks he just means when Jean is confused or appalled. With Jeremy, it’s – everything. Jean has never been any good at containing his heart, but it’s like Jeremy doesn’t even try. He just gives away his emotions for free, unless he thinks it’s better for someone else to tamp them down.
“So, yeah,” Jeremy says, turning back to Jean, all crooked grin and tucked-back curls and shining eyes. “Broke my arm when I was seven.”
“Wow,” Jean says. “That’s really embarrassing.”
Jeremy laughs. “Hey!” he exclaims, lightly swatting at Jean. He lets his hand linger, a too-warm imprint against Jean’s arm, searing him even through his sleeve.
Jean can’t help but look at him fondly, smile tugging at his lips.
“I can’t believe that’s your response to my very sensitive confession,” Jeremy complains, but he’s still laughing, just like Jean knew he would. It’s why he said it. He likes that he knows Jeremy enough to be right about these things.
“It is embarrassing,” Jean says with a shrug, unrepentant. Then his expression softens. “It’s also very sweet.”
Jeremy’s ears go pink, and he mumbles something Jean can’t decipher, swaying a little so he can bump their shoulders together. Jean goes with the motion, swinging out, then coming back. Their biceps are pressed against each other, just a little.
“Mine is less embarrassing, perhaps,” Jean says after a few moments of quiet.
“Mm?”
Jean likes that about Jeremy. He wishes to know, raises his hands to volunteer to climb up the fence, then waits for Jean to throw down the rope. Someone else might scale it against Jean’s wishes. Another might walk away entirely. But not Jeremy.
“The details aren’t important,” Jean says, trying not to feel too pleased about the light huff of Jeremy’s laugh, more an exhale than a sound. It warms him to his toes, though. “But it was at the skate park.”
“Ah,” Jeremy says. “So that’s why Aaron.”
“That’s why Aaron,” Jean confirms. He taps on his knee. “It’s fine, though. Bruised, and needs some care to prevent infection, but fine.”
“That’s good,” Jeremy says, and pokes at the knee in question. It’s light, not painful, and soon turns into Jeremy tracing the contours and grooves of Jean’s knee through the bandage and his trousers. There’s so much fabric between them, and still, Jean feels it like an electric touch.
“Here?” Jeremy asks, his finger finding the edge of the bandage through the cloth of Jean’s trousers. His finger runs down the line of bandage-to-skin, that space of Jean’s leg where thigh meets knee.
“Yes,” Jean says, and then, moving Jeremy’s hand to the point of impact, “Here is where I fell, though.”
“Battle wound,” Jeremy says quietly, because he’s completely ridiculous. He taps on Jean’s knee. “Wounded soldier coming home.”
“It was a skate park,” Jean says flatly. He hopes his neck isn’t flushing.
Jeremy shrugs. “Well, I think you were very brave,” he says. Jean scowls at him, shoving lightly at his bicep, and Jeremy laughs, knocking back into Jean’s side. He relaxes his hand, resting it on Jean’s knee instead of tracing all its ridges.
Jean wants to combust.
He doesn’t move it, though. Neither does Jeremy. They just both keep looking at it, and holding their breath.
After a few moments, Jeremy exhales. Jean glances at him, furrowing his brow at what he finds. Jeremy looks – determined. It’s the way he looks when he steps onto the field, or gets between Seth and Kevin, or talks a teacher out of giving Andrew detention.
Jeremy flips his hand over, palm up, waiting, and Jean suddenly gets it.
It takes him a moment to realise what Jeremy’s asking for, and another moment to steel himself to do it. I think you were very brave, Jeremy had said, and he’d been joking, but Jean thinks it’s true of Jeremy in this moment. So Jean will have to be brave too.
Jean places his hand into Jeremy’s, palm-to-palm, resting against Jean’s knee. After a second, Jeremy laces their fingers together, leaning against Jean’s side more as he relaxes into him.
It’s such a small fucking thing, a tiny little moment compared to all those sweeping gestures in the rom-coms Cat’s been showing Jean. No boombox outside a house, no proposal to prevent deportation, no running to the Empire State Building, or breaking past airport security.
Just Jeremy’s open palm, waiting in offer. Just Jean’s hand meeting his, fingers lacing together. Just the two of them, holding hands beneath a table in a loud diner, filled with all their teammates, being loud about something or other.
Jean can’t stop smiling.