pushing it down and praying

by BL-lover23

when Kevin joins a team in the same city as Jean, Jean is forced to take a closer look at the choices he has, and hasn’t, made. Pairs are always destined for an eventual reunion.

"Are you nervous?" Jeremy asks, leaning against the counter beside Jean. "How long has it been?"

"We saw him in February," Jean says, a soft reminder. The last time their teams played each other was four months ago, but they've talked since then on the phone. "I am not nervous. It's only Kevin."

Only Kevin is an understatement, but there's never been a reason to be nervous about seeing him. This trade is a good thing—it puts them in the same city even if they play for different teams. It's the first time Kevin has been nearby since they played together at Evermore, and nervous is not the word Jean would use to describe how he feels about it. Antsy, perhaps, but excited to see Kevin. It's never the same to see him through a phone screen.

His apartment is under an hour ride away, maybe a little less if they take the subway. Jeremy insisted they host this time, but once Kevin is settled at his new place he wants them to visit. Jean has already been brainstorming housewarming gifts, but that's always been more of Jeremy's forte. Tonight, they only have to worry about actually seeing him.

"I'm excited," Jeremy says, pressing his lips to Jean's shoulder. "He should be here soon, right? Is dinner almost ready?"

Jean grabs a clean spoon and gathers some sauce on it, letting Jeremy taste it. "It's already done."

"Mm—" Jeremy wrinkles his nose, "could use some salt, baby."

Rolling his eyes, Jean pushes Jeremy out of the kitchen before he can offer any more critique. Jeremy stumbles over his own feet on the way out, leaving Jean to get things ready. He sets the oven to warm and slips the pan inside so they'll have time to talk first when Kevin arrives.

Jean washes his hands just as a knock on the door sounds through the apartment. He wanted to get the door, but Jeremy is closer and unoccupied.

"Kev!" Jeremy greets from the other room. Jean dries his hands quickly. "It's good to see you. How was the move? Did you—"

"Hi, Jeremy," Kevin interrupts, giving him a quick hug just as Jean comes around the corner. "Jean-Yves."

"Kevin," Jean says softly, "hi." He had more to say, but the sight of Kevin's hair stops him short. "Oh."

"Oh?" Kevin asks, tilting his head.

Before he can think about it, Jean reaches up, finding the end of Kevin's hair just at chin length. Kevin nods as Jean says, "You cut your hair."

For as long as he's known Kevin, Kevin has had hair at least halfway down his back. Jean isn't sure when it happened, but he cut off more than half its length. The shaggy mess of it sits just shorter than Renee's bob has always been, curling in on itself at the edges and toward his skin. Jean wraps it around a knuckle before letting him go.

Kevin has never visibly changed in such a drastic way, but the length suits him. He takes in the shade of Kevin's neck, the lack of sun exposure in certain places still noticeable—he cut it very recently, then. And beside that: the faint tanline of a necklace he isn't wearing anymore.

Jean clears his throat and offers Kevin a hug, which he accepts. In the crook of his neck, his cologne is at its sweetest. "It's good to see you. Come in?"

"Your hair looks really good like this," Jeremy agrees, tousling Kevin's hair playfully. He's either unaware of the frown it gives Kevin or ignores it before leading him further into the apartment. "When did you cut it?"

"Just last week," Kevin tells them. "I wanted a change. And I have gotten so tired of it getting stuck in my gear. It seemed like a good time to go for it now that summer is here."

"I've never even—" Jeremy muses, in such high spirits just by virtue of seeing Kevin again. "It's been long since forever. How do you find it now?"

Kevin shrugs. It must not feel as different as it looks. Jean has known Kevin for longer than anyone alive has, and he finds that the haircut is far more baffling than it ought to be. He can't stop looking at it. He's certain he's never seen so much of Kevin's neck before. It may not feel very different to Kevin, but it feels very different to Jean.

"Do you want something to drink?" Jeremy asks, already halfway back to the kitchen. "Water? Soda? Jean and I were having some wine before you got here."

"I'll have a glass," Kevin says, giving Jeremy a small smile. Jeremy nods and disappears, leaving the two of them alone for a moment. Kevin turns his attention toward the living room, immediately picking a magazine up off the coffee table. "Gossip magazines are useless drivel."

"Jeremy likes them," Jean snorts, but doesn't disagree. "Sit down. And don't lose his page, please."

Kevin seems to remain unconvinced by them, but he lets the magazine go, taking a seat by the arm of the couch and stretching out a long leg to rest against the coffee table. He tilts his head just so, and the snippy bits at the back of his head part around his nape. It feels like a ridiculous observation to make, but Jean has never seen Kevin's nape, he does not think. In Evermore Kevin's hair was often braided down and out of his face; in the few times he met Jean in Palmetto his hair had been loose down his shoulders. For how long they have known each other, it is quite weird to think that this is the first time he is seeing Kevin's nape.

It's quite pale from the lack of sunlight; not particularly spectacular in any way, except for the perfectly placed mole smacked right in the middle. Jean has the childish urge to poke it.

"What did you make me for dinner?" Kevin asks, leaning his head back and over the edge of the couch to stare at Jean. His neck bends back into a smooth curve, longer than Jean remembers it being. "Seafood?"

The teasing is uncharacteristic to Kevin, if you have not known him since you were fourteen years old. "I made you nothing," Jean replies, walking around the couch and pushing Kevin's leg away from the coffee table. "You are as childish and hard to stand as always."

Childish, yes. The other part Jean does not linger on, because he knows an obvious lie when it comes from his mouth.

"But really, what is it?" Kevin asks. Jean takes a seat next to him, their shoulders brushing just so. They should have asked to take Kevin's jacket, but they'd been too happy to see him to care. "Betsy tells me I should stop being a picky eater. I tell her she should be more vigilant about what she puts in her body."

Jean has not spoken to Dr. Betsy Dobson since his senior year at USC, and does not plan to bridge that gap again. He is, however, quite interested in why Kevin and her would still be in contact with each other. "Do you still have sessions with her?" Jean asks. "After all these years?"

Kevin waves a hand dismissively. "Every now and then. I cannot outrun her when she is at every Christmas party and birthday dinner we throw Andrew." The name is so old Jean has to double check he's heard it right. He has not thought about Andrew Minyard in years. Damn Kevin for making him break his streak. "You have not answered me."

He opens his mouth to answer, but Jeremy is back with a glass of wine for Kevin and half of one for Jean. A wise decision—Jean has never been good at holding his drink, and having Kevin around lowers his inhibitions. He already had a bit before Kevin arrived anyhow, and should avoid too much more.

Jeremy leans down to peck Jean's lips before he moves to sit on the other side of Kevin, both of them eager to see him. Like Kevin, he instantly props a foot up on the coffee table. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing," Jean hums, taking a sip. "Kevin was just pestering me about dinner. Won't you tell him I didn't make anything for us?"

"I don't think it's nice to tease our guest," Jeremy says, still smiling. Jean reaches behind Kevin to pinch Jeremy on the shoulder. It's rare he refuses to play along. "I'd give you an answer, but I taste tested it and couldn't tell you what he made, honestly. It's good, though. You'll like it."

"What kind of hosts invite someone for dinner and refuse to even tell me what we're eating?"

"He spent over two hours watching it on the stove," Jeremy tells Kevin. "You'll have to try it anyway. We'll eat soon—how are you settling into your new apartment? Have you done anything in the city yet? How's your new team?"

"I've only been here for a week," Kevin reminds, leaning on the couch. He tilts his head back, the light shining off a bit of sweat on his exposed throat. "New York is… busy. I think it will be fun. The team is nice enough. We don't officially start training for another week and a half, so ask me again once I work with them on the court."

"We see them sometimes. They're fine, but you will have to whip them into shape," Jean says, giving Kevin a warning. "The Knights are good, if lazy. You'll fix them within a month."

Kevin, never one to shy away from a challenge, perks up at this. "Give me three weeks. The New York Knights will look like a different team when we meet on the court. I'll have them ready for you guys."

"Do we wanna place bets?" Jeremy grins. "I don't know if the summer is enough time, Kev. Even for you. We beat the Knights in every game last season. It was a little embarrassing for them."

"What happened to your Trojan spirit?" Kevin asks. He crosses his arms, thinking on Jeremy's challenge. "I'm not betting. I would feel bad when you lose."

"You wouldn't," Jean says, "are you worried you'll lose?"

"Absolutely not."

"I guess we'll see in September," Jeremy taunts, up on his feet. "I'm going to the bathroom and then we can sit down for dinner. Be right back. Don't have too much fun without me, okay?"

Jean watches him go for just a moment before turning back to Kevin, who has kicked his feet up on the coffee table again. Jean stands and pushes them off. "Come on, you can help me set the table. It is the least you can do."

"I'm a guest," Kevin protests, but he follows Jean into the kitchen anyway. "Is your apartment always this clean?"

"Are you asking if we cleaned for you?" Jean grabs a stack of plates, shaking his head. Truth be told, it's a struggle between his Nest habits and Jeremy's growing up with a butler, Jean trying to keep things in order and Jeremy never thinking twice about it, but it's not so bad. He's not admitting they cleaned for Kevin, though. "The silverware is—really?"

Kevin has already distracted himself with some of the carrots Jean left on the counter, following Jean around with a small handful. He will be little help while he's snacking. Jean puts their plates out and sighs.

Not at all apologetic, Kevin holds out a small carrot for Jean to take. Jean tsks, leaning down and biting it right out of Kevin's hand.

He sets the dining table for dinner while Kevin has a pre-dinner snack, just watching and quietly crunching on the raw carrots. Jean silently shows him where to find things in the kitchen when he's grabbing them so Kevin isn't lost when he comes over more. Kevin only lives in Manhattan, it isn't so far. He'll hopefully be over often.

Jean pulls dinner out of the warm oven and lets Kevin peer inside of the pot finally. His brows furrow, so Jean offers, "Blanquette de Veau. You will like it."

"Hm. Will I?"

"Yes. Trust me."

Kevin grabs another carrot off of the counter and holds it up to Jean. Jean takes another bite, seeing Jeremy out of the corner of his eye. He stands up a little straighter and offers his boyfriend a smile, taking a step away from Kevin and toward Jeremy.

Jeremy's lips curl up as Jean gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Ready for dinner?" His eyes dart back to where Kevin is still chewing on a raw carrot, unperturbed. He's placed his mouth right where Jean's was just a few seconds ago, but the observation feels redundant and strange to make. "You could've asked him to at least sauté them, Kev. You're eating them raw?"

"I like them," Kevin simply answers. In Evermore he'd favored mild snacks because they were within their diet, and often Kevin would sneak Jean bites of food if he thought Jean's meals didn't look good enough for a boy his age. By the time Jean was seventeen, he was practically sharing every lunch with Kevin. "We are eating dinner, anyway. No use."

Kevin takes the last bite out of his carrot and washes his hands at the sink, then finds himself a spot at the dinner table Jean had just prepared. Jeremy takes the seat next to Kevin, so Jean serves the stew and slots himself across from him, the three of them making a strange constellation. For all that they all have been close individually, Jean does not think they have ever spent much time together as three. It's a bit too much on Kevin, it seems—he is following Jeremy's unending line of thought, but each subject jump deepens the frown on Kevin's brow. Jean is used to it, but when excited, Jeremy often goes on tangents that leave others a bit overwhelmed.

Jean clears his throat. The reprieve in conversation offers Kevin the chance to take a sip of his own wine glass, and both him and Jeremy look back at Jean expectantly. He had not really meant to say anything; he just wanted Kevin to be reminded of his presence again.

Put on the spot, Jean's gaze darts back to Kevin's neck, the tanline where Kevin's chain with Thea's initials used to be catching his eye. He asks, "How's Thea? The Sirens' season this year is bound to be a mess without you, so I don't imagine she's happy about the trade."

It feels like a very stupid thing to say at once—of course Thea is not happy about her boyfriend being traded to a team across the country. At the brief mention, Jeremy is reaching across the table and resting his hand on top of Jean's, the two following the same line of thought. Jean can't even imagine the feeling: he and Jeremy have been playing for the same team since the Trojans, and have not parted for even a second after that. Unwilling to be alone, Jean did not think twice before taking the contract for the New York Demons. He's still not sure how Jeremy pulled that off, but he imagines it's easy to get anyone on any team when you have that much money to blow.

But Kevin's cheeks turn a light shade of pink at the question, lips pursing ever so briefly before he smooths his expression into neutrality. "We broke things off, actually," he says, fingers coming up to where his necklace would have been as if he is still getting used to being without the weight of it. Kevin's gaze darts to Jean and Jeremy's interlocked hands, the display feeling insensitive now. Jean slowly untangles their fingers, Jeremy catching on and pulling his hand back while frowning at Kevin. "It was—oh, do not make that face, it was fine. We are still friends. We might still try again," Kevin adds. "I'll see her at the Olympics in a few years. We said we could think about it then. But we are friends for now."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Jeremy says, sounding genuinely upset by the news. Jean knows firsthand that Jeremy had not cared much for Thea's personality, but then again, she had not cared much for his, either. He doesn't doubt that Jeremy is upset in Kevin's stead, though: anyone who'd known Kevin and Thea thought they were in it for the long run. No two people have ever been so alike, and once, that thought had hurt Jean more than he cared to acknowledge. "How are you dealing? So many big changes in your life, lately. It must be so hectic."

It's strange, really, to hear Kevin say it. He and Thea had been seeing each other for years. Even when she graduated, they wanted to try when they could. Jean had accepted—assumed—he would never see a single Kevin Day again in his lifetime. It's nothing, breakups happen regardless, but it is an odd turn of events he can't help focusing on for a moment.

Kevin lifts a shoulder, but he's still brushing his fingers against his neck, fidgety and unsure. It annoys Jean—both because of the feeling that causes it and because it draws unnecessary attention to the line of his throat. "Thea was the hardest part," he limits himself to replying, which Jean doesn't doubt, "but the team was overdue and I had already grown weary of Houston. Plus, I have not been single since I was eighteen. Perhaps it was time to see the world. It's nice to have friends here, at least."

He says it like it is such a long time, but Jean himself has not been single since he was nineteen. It had not occurred to him how long of a time that is to spend tied to another person. If Jean and Jeremy were to break up now, would Jean take it as gracefully as Kevin does?

Jeremy nods, encouraging. "That's true! Have you—do you plan—uh." He smiles sheepishly. "I know Kevin Day does not date around, but do you have plans to try it out? It's a big city, you know. In fact, Jean, didn't Cindy from our team just say the other day that her dream date is Kevin Day?"

Jean's mouth slants meanly. "She is not good enough at her position for Kevin to consider it."

To Jean's horror, though, Kevin tilts his head in consideration. "May I tell you something?" He asks, unusually polite. "If you make a big deal out of it I will leave, but I don't mind you knowing."

"I promise," Jeremy immediately replies, because he is nothing if not a gossip, and Kevin sharing anything out of his own volition is hard to come by. "Promise him, Jean. Quick, please. I'm curious."

Jean rolls his eyes, but concedes. He nods and motions for Kevin to get on with it.

"I've gone on a few dates already since the breakup," he says, which doesn't seem like anything to make a big deal out of. "It has been two months since, and I was bored in Houston. Thea told me I should try dating around a bit, so I went out with Bazilio. Ah, from the Sirens."

For a moment it means nothing at all, because Jean does not remember who that is. It is only when he digs far enough to match a face to that name that he realizes Bazilio is a man.

Jeremy doesn't take so long to notice. "But Bazilio is a dude—oh. Oh." His eyes nearly bulge out of his head. "You like guys?"

Kevin clears his throat. His cheeks are pink. Jean thinks this might be the worst moment of his life, years of cultist abuse be damned. "Only Andrew knows for now," he says, "not even Neil. So do not—make a big deal out of it. I am telling you because I am giving you my permission to set me up with your friends, if you want to. I trust your judgment." Then he looks at Jeremy, and corrects, "I trust Jean's judgment."

For his part, Jean has nothing to say; nothing to add. He thinks his vision might have gone black for a moment, an insistent prickle to his scalp.

This is not fair. Jean has spent—he was—for five years of his teenage life, Jean had prayed for Kevin to even spare a glance his way. He'd hoped beyond hope, hoped enough to never hope again, that Kevin could take his eyes off the court for a single moment and look at him. The only comfort in any of it had been that Kevin could not like Jean back because he did not like men. To hear now that Kevin does makes the truth of the situation impossibly harder to bear. Fifteen years old Jean-Yves Moreau would have shaken out of his skin at the new bit of information.

Twenty-four year old Jean Moreau feels his mouth go dry.

It is shameful, but impossible, not to wonder for just a moment what would have happened had Kevin realized this sooner. In teenage Jean's mind, there was never a chance, never anything to reach for. How different would things be if he knew there was the smallest one?

Pushing the useless thought away, Jean reaches for his wine. There is a negligible chance it would have changed anything. Kevin would never have felt the same way about him. Jean slides his gaze back to Jeremy and takes a deep breath, digging a nail into the palm of his hand for just a moment. What an awful thought to have—it does him no good to dwell on, and he's been in a happily committed relationship for five years. Things have worked out well, better than Jean ever had any right to ask for. Kevin's confession briefly ignited something Jean quickly snuffs out again, hooking his ankle with Jeremy's under the table.

"I have options for you!" Jeremy argues. "You can trust my judgment. You should. We have plenty of friends who would be interested."

"We do not," Jean scoffs, "none that would be worth his time."

"Don't say that," Jeremy scolds, tone forbidding. "Our friends are nice."

Our friends is a bit of a stretch. They are Jeremy's friends, and they do not mind that Jean tags along sometimes. Jean cannot in good faith vouch for any of them, and he would not entrust Kevin to someone he does not know well. Would not entrust them anything, really, but even less so the one good thing Jean had as a teenager; the most valuable piece of his past. If Jeremy cannot see this, he has severely misjudged Jean.

"They are fine," Jean counters, "but that is all. We cannot set Kevin up with someone who is just fine. He deserves better than that."

Jeremy frowns, and Kevin's eyebrows jump nearly high enough to reach his hairline. Perhaps sensing an argument, Kevin carefully intervenes, "Forget I said anything. It would be awkward, anyway, to date a rival. It was inappropriate of me to even suggest it in the first place."

But Jean knows that Kevin does not give a damn about that, and for some reason, the thought annoys him even more. He doesn't need Kevin walking on eggshells so that it does not set off an argument in Jean's relationship—Kevin has no right to even think he had to in the first place. It is not like anything would have come from it; no one hates arguing more than Jeremy, and he is always looking for a discussion and a way out of them. They rarely argue. Jean and Jeremy are happy. No one has the right to judge them, least of all Kevin Day, famous for screwing relationships left and right.

Ever the mediator, though, Jeremy takes it lying down. "Well, you can always ask again if you feel like you want it, Kev," he grins, the look of it almost real. "And it doesn't have to be from our team, right? Listen, there's this guy at our gym who's a Soviet Studies professor. I think you could really hit it off."

Jean feels his temper rise all over again. Could Jeremy have said anything more obviously tempting? Kevin's eyes sparkle in interest, and of course they do. Of course Kevin wants to date a Soviet Studies professor.

Resigning himself to a lifetime of having to deal with Kevin's stupid future boyfriend, Jean excuses himself from the table. "I'll get more wine," he says, really only needing a way out of this conversation. Jeremy and Kevin can discuss this guy without Jean being there to hear it.

Jean leaves the table before they can complain about his absence, beelining for the liquor cabinet. He and Jeremy don't drink often, if at all, but their teammates have a filthy habit of gifting each other bottles every time someone comes to visit. In the past two decades Jean has not felt an urge to drink as intense as he feels it now, staring at the labels and wondering what could get him the most fucked up in the least amount of time.

There's no good reason for this behavior. Jean has not been in love with Kevin since he was eighteen. It does not matter to him whether Kevin dates a guy or not—it did not matter to him when Kevin dated Thea. Jean learned his place early on, and he knew Kevin would never reciprocate his feelings. The new bit of information changes nothing about this. Even if Kevin had known he liked men at the time, the chance that he would have gone for scrawny, beaten-down Jean Moreau is close to none: he would have chosen to experiment with someone who was more of a person and less of a frightened pet. Maybe Luke, or Zane.

Thinking about Zane puts Jean's entire brain on lockdown. His mind clamps down hard on the thought, suffocating it before it ever gets to form. Kevin still bends him so out of shape—still makes Jean the bitter teenager passing love notes between him and Thea. It is never a good idea when they are in close proximity, and this doesn't change even now, when they are both adults. Jean should stop trying to make this work out; he should give up on being Kevin's friend altogether. It only ever leaves him bleeding.

But the thought of not trying is almost unbearable. Kevin was the sole focal point of his life for five years—even in the destruction of that, he was still going out of his way to make sure Jean was in good hands. Jean owes him this much, at least.

He hears the sound of a careful footfall behind him, and Jean sighs. "I'm fine, Jeremy," he says. "I think I just had too much to drink."

Kevin clears his throat. "Then it's best to walk away from the liquor cabinet."

Jean straightens at the sound of his voice. It sounds soft in the silence of Jean's kitchen. "You do not have to babysit me," Jean replies, bitter. "I am fine and I do not need whatever lesson you think you're about to teach me."

He does not turn to see Kevin, but he does not need to to know Kevin is raising an eyebrow. "I don't think you are a child," he simply answers, unperturbed by Jean's attitude. "I think you act like one, sometimes, but I am willing to put up with it because of some misguided sense of responsibility." Kevin slots himself beside Jean, their arms brushing. He looks up at Jean, but Jean refuses to look down at him. "Why are you upset with me?"

"I am not," Jean protests. He isn't. He's never—been, really. He has been angry at the whole world trying not to be angry at Kevin. "I am happy you moved. I want us to be friends."

"Again, like you mean it this time," Kevin dryly says.

"Fuck you, I mean it. I've always wanted to be your friend. You're the one who kept making it hard."

"You will not even look at me, and you think I will believe that you want me to be your friend?" Kevin asks. "Look at you. This grown man cannot even look me in the eyes?"

Jean turns on him with a vengeance, but he is unprepared for the reality that Kevin Day is on the other side. He tilts his chin up just so, searching for Jean's eyes, and the years come rushing in in one fell swoop. Jean is old enough now that he has spent more time out of love with Kevin than the opposite, but the five years of staring at Kevin are still perfectly ingrained into him; immutable and definitive. Yes, Jean remembers it—he remembers French lessons and magnets. He remembers looking at Kevin from across a room and getting a secretive little smile back, like they were doing something they knew they shouldn't be doing. He remembers blood, yes, but also the hands that carefully cleaned it off of him.

Fifteen years old again, Jean has nothing to say anymore. He doesn't have it in himself to fight with Kevin. He never did.

"There you are," Kevin says. Jean hates the familiarity of that tone—the way Kevin knows him, even now, years away from the Nest. "Whatever silly thought put you in such a disarray, forget about it. It's not worth dwelling on. Come back and have dinner with us."

"Fine," Jean replies, at loss for arguments. By all accounts Kevin is insensitive and arrogant—Jean should punch him for talking down to him like he is a child in need of guidance. But then again, if Jean could ever stay mad at Kevin, his life would have been much easier. "Our dinner must be getting cold by now."

Kevin squints at Jean like there is something else he wants to say, but in the end his lips only twitch in amusement as he inclines his head toward the other room. Jean decides he does not want to know whatever it is Kevin deemed not to ask. It probably would have pissed him off again.

At the table, Jeremy is finishing off Jean's glass of wine and pretending he couldn't hear every word of the exchange. Their apartment is nice—nicer than they need—but has thin walls and close quarters. They can always hear each other in the next room over. Their lives have been so entangled for the past five years that privacy doesn't really matter. Jean rarely minds, but tonight it would be nice.

His hand is grabbed on his way back to his seat. Jeremy brings the back of it to his lips. "Are you okay, baby?"

"I'm fine, Jeremy," Jean promises, unsure if he's telling the truth or not. "Let's eat, yes? I've had too much to drink on an empty stomach."

"You guys haven't really done much drinking together, have you?" Jeremy muses as they take their seats again. Jean sips on the water Jeremy got him while he was out of the room. "Kevin wouldn't know that you're a lightweight."

He's not wrong. Most of Jean's drinking career was at USC, and though they slowly grew back to being friends over the distance, it wasn't something Kevin ever saw. Jean let himself be dragged to a few parties and drank with their friends at the apartment on occasion. Nowadays he usually gets a soda when they go out with the team and has a drink or two at home with Jeremy sometimes, uninterested in being too drunk in public.

"Is he?" Kevin hums, all too intrigued for such a harmless statement. "I wouldn't have guessed. When did you find that out?"

"His first year," Jeremy says with a smile. "One of the parties after a big win. We really wanted Jean to celebrate with us, so we kept it quiet. He'd been careful around alcohol at all of the other parties we took him to, and at home. I promised not to drink to keep an eye on everyone, so he did. I don't think I've seen him that drunk again since."

Jean rolls his eyes. "It was nothing. It was college. Eat your meal, both of you."

Kevin and Jeremy exchange a look, something amused and fond, but they do as they are told. The rest of the dinner goes by smoothly—Jean locks whatever thoughts he'd been having far where he cannot reach them, and focuses on Kevin's stories from his two and a half years with the Sirens. In many ways, it is like nothing has changed: they are twenty-four and twenty-six, but they could just as well be fourteen and sixteen, gossiping about the Ravens behind Riko's back. Jean almost wants to ask Kevin to write down some of his thoughts on the Sirens' playstyles, but finds himself strangely shy of making the question.

Later, Jean takes all of their plates and puts them in the sink, and Jeremy chases him out into the kitchen. His footsteps are so silent Jean startles at the press of lips against his shoulder, mistaking the touch for Kevin's for one single horrifying moment before it smooths into the familiarity of Jeremy's warmth.

"I'm going to be watching my show in the living room," Jeremy tells him ever so softly, resting a hand on Jean's waist. "You should call Kevin over so you can have some time to hang out alone. I'm sure you've missed each other."

Jean swallows. "That is unnecessary. He is your friend too."

Jeremy gives him a little smile. "He was always more yours than he was mine. I don't mind. You should catch up while you can." He strokes Jean's back for a minute, the touch familiar and comforting, then he steps away. Before Jean can answer, Jeremy calls out, "Kevin, can you come here and keep Jean company? My show's about to start."

Kevin pops his head in the doorway, suspicious. "Jean never needs company for anything."

It is not quite true, considering the last five years spent hanging off Jeremy's arm, but Jean is not interested in correcting him. Jeremy grins, then does as he said he would and makes himself scarce, giving them all the empty room needed for their complicated past and what friendship they have managed to make from it.

Uninterested in helping Jean clean but plenty nosy, Kevin opens the door to their fridge, standing in front of it with his arms crossed.

"What are you looking for?" Jean asks, slotting himself beside Kevin and holding the door open before it closes in on him. Kevin is still just as miserably stupid as he was when they were teenagers, it seems.

Kevin's eyebrows furrow in thought. "Dessert, I think. Theodora gave me the filthy habit and now I cannot have a meal without eating something sweet afterward." He reaches a hand behind their prep tupperwares, and snags a can of peaches from a hidden little spot. "Can I have this?"

Jean scoffs, but allows it. "Those are not sweetened." He takes the can from Kevin. "Get the condensed milk and I will make you a dessert."

"Really?" Kevin asks, surprised by Jean's easy acceptance. He takes the sweetened condensed milk Jeremy keeps on hand for French toast and looks up at Jean expectantly. "What are you making me?"

That damn question again. Jean tugs him out of the way and lets the heavy fridge door fall closed. "I will just slice them. You pour however much of that you think you need."

About as useless in the kitchen as Jean has always known him to be, Kevin finds no reason to argue, jumping up on the counter as Jean takes a knife from their cutlery drawer and cuts the peaches into thick slices. Seemingly unperturbed by the thought of losing a finger, Kevin steals a piece about a second after Jean's knife comes bearing down, the peach juice dripping down his knuckles as he pops the slice into his mouth.

Annoyed, Jean stills his knife to glare at Kevin, but finds himself watching a droplet of juice make its way down Kevin's hand and chase a path down his wrist. Unrepentant to the last, Kevin licks away the juice from his fingertips, a pink tongue darting out to collect every last drop before he makes a mess out of his shirt. Jean turns his gaze back to the cutting board so quickly he nearly gives himself whiplash.

"You are acting childish," he snarls. "Get a napkin."

When Kevin just blinks at him, Jean tears one from the roll they keep by the sink and roughly wipes off the remaining juice from Kevin's hand. Kevin allows him this, though the look he gives Jean is curious.

After, he puts the sliced peaches in a bowl and stabs one of them with a fork, passing it to Kevin, who drizzles some of the sweet condensed milk on top of it then ever so happily chows down a bite.

Kevin hums, pleased. "This is good," he tells Jean. "A little too sweet, though."

The look Jean gives him is long-suffering. "You should not have poured so much condensed milk, then."

Kevin concedes to this without argument, because it is true. "Share with me?" He asks, "I cannot eat a full bowl. I shouldn't, anyway. Not this close to the season."

Jean rolls his eyes. Before he can think better of it, he sticks his neck towards Kevin, and Kevin picks a slice with his fork before popping it into Jean's mouth. He was right—it is sweet, almost sickeningly so, but there is a tanginess to it, too; Jean watches Kevin's teeth close in on the white flesh, and feels it like he is the one who just took a bite. The entire room smells like peaches. When Kevin fishes another bite for him, Kevin's hands smell like peaches, too.

He goes back to washing dishes, accepting a slice of peach from Kevin every so often. They do not really talk, but Jean does not mind the silence: living with another person in such close quarters means that he never gets much of it, anyway, and even now they hear the faint humming of Jeremy's show from the TV. He and Kevin do not need to talk much, if at all—they are good like this, doing much of nothing together. Jean feels himself settle on Kevin's side like he has never left it at all.

"Are you really friends?" Jean finds himself asking after a while, wiping some condensed milk from the corner of his mouth. Kevin makes a sound of question, so Jean clarifies, "You and Thea. You really stayed friends?"

Kevin hums, but he goes off, briefly—somewhere inside his mind Jean cannot follow him to. "Yes," he replies at last. "It is not like we did not want it to work. We just thought—long distance again, after all that time apart… it wasn't going to be easy. And," Kevin adds, looking away into the clutter of Jean's and Jeremy's kitchen, "I have been with Thea since I was eighteen years old. I wanted—I have to see more. I was upset when she told me to, but she was right: I can't make a good choice if I don't know my options. I cannot make a life for myself if I do not know all the ways that could look like."

Jean straightens lightly. "So that's it? You let go of a relationship of eight years because you wanted to see more?" He frowns. "What else is there to see?"

Kevin shrugs. "That is what I am trying to find out." He puts another piece of peach in Jean's mouth to shut him up before continuing, "I needed to see who I was without her. I think she needed to see who she was without me, too. Eight years is a long time for nothing to change. Do you and Jeremy never talk about these things?"

If Jeremy brought that up to him, Jean is sure he would start spiraling just as soon as the words 'without me' came out of his mouth. What nonsense—is there even a way for two people who live and play together every day to be their own individuals? He and Jeremy are partners; two halves of a whole. Just as Jean could not function without Jeremy, Jeremy could not function without Jean. There is nothing else to see. There is no more to chase.

"We do not need to talk about such things because we are happy as we are," Jean replies, perhaps a bit too forcefully, but he does not want to hear Kevin make those questions about his relationship. He does not like what they imply. "There is no need to see more. This is it, and we are happy that way."

Kevin frowns. "Do not talk like Thea and I weren't happy. It is not a matter of being happy. It's not even about the relationship in itself. It's about—" he motions vaguely. "I wanted to see what kind of person I became when she wasn't around. I had forgotten. That is not a good thing to forget."

Kevin does not ask the question, but Jean hears it in the silence—do you know who you are without Jeremy?

Jean knows that person quite well. He just does not like him, nor does he imagine anyone in his life bar Kevin would like him either.

"We do not need to see more," Jean repeats, done with this conversation, "but I hope you find whatever it is you are hoping to find."

Kevin accepts this without argument, but Jean doesn't like the look Kevin gives him. He doesn't like anything about this conversation, really—the idea that someone could be in a relationship for eight years then one day just decide to up and leave seems preposterous to Jean, if not downright sociopathic. Almost an entire decade left behind: what in the world could be worth losing the safety of that for?

And then, a smaller, more childish part of him, cannot understand how Thea would let this happen, either. How she could just allow Kevin to walk away like this—how she could have Kevin, then lose him, and not lose her mind too. Who could not want Kevin? Whose most demonic appetite could Kevin possibly fail to answer? Jean spent five years of his life looking at him, and he cannot understand how someone who had the chance to have him could simply let him go. He knows she must have her reasons, and that they must be good, too, but it still stings. Once, Jean would have done anything to be in her place.

Jean does not want Kevin anymore, but he can still find his way around it if need be; like a blind man knows the insides of a house he has lived in for years, if Jean were asked to navigate that path again, he would not find himself lost.

He puts away their dishes in silence, and then there is no reason to be in the kitchen anymore. Kevin does not move from the counter, though, so Jean does not move from where he leans against the sink either. Being around Kevin is the opposite of being around Jeremy—he is too unpredictable now, has changed too much from the boy Jean knew when they were teenagers. If Jeremy is familiar, is comfortable, Kevin is a constant prickle of memory; the one thing in the world still capable of messing Jean up the way the Nest did, years ago. Jean thought he'd be done with this feeling by now.

Like a peace offering, Kevin offers Jean the last slice of peach, and Jean accepts it without much thought. Kevin drives him insane, true, but Jean cannot stay mad at him for anything, and he knows it is not Kevin's fault that everything he does affects Jean this much. The shared story between them makes their relationship harder than it need be, but the only alternative to it is not having any relationship at all, and Jean could not let go of Kevin if he tried. He does not think anyone could, really. Riko kept Kevin's room intact up to the day he went down.

They join Jeremy in the living room. Jean doesn't like Jeremy's show at all—something silly about roommates and their daily trysts—but being in Kevin's proximity had left him so off kilter Jean does not mind it tonight, pressing into Jeremy's side like he could be made stable again from the touch of Jeremy's hand. Jeremy rests his arm around Jean's shoulders, and there it is again: that familiarity, that safety, the knowledge that someone is in his corner. Jean leans into it.

Later Kevin excuses himself home, offering both of them a quick hug before disappearing down the hallway of their apartment complex like he'd never been there at all. Jean watches him go from the doorway, then stares into the dark corridor for a second more than usual.

It is only when Jean has passed the acceptable amount of time to be standing in the hallway that Jeremy leans against the other side of the doorway and muses, "It's nice that you guys are still friends, you know." Jean can feel Jeremy's eyes on him, but it makes him feel no less conflicted. He hates to see Kevin leave. He does not know why he made himself watch. "After all these years, you guys are still so close. He must really love you."

Jean locks up. "What?"

Jeremy shrugs, unperturbed. "Kevin's a hard guy to be friends with sometimes, but he always makes time for you. I think he must love you quite a lot."

The pathway is so forbidden in his brain that Jean immediately shuts it down, clamping down on the thought until he suffocates it out of existence. Tense like a livewire, Jean says, with force, "Do not say that. Kevin does not love me."

Jeremy's eyebrows raise up to his hairline. "Do you really think that?"

Jean has to think that. The subject of Kevin's feelings for him is so dangerous to the poorly-repaired construct of him that Jean has quarantined it in his mind—has pushed it far enough that no one could stumble on it unless they had poked it on purpose. Even now, Jean's entire brain locks down at the mere mention: remains of the Nest he cannot erase, raising shivers up his arm and upping his heartbeat. "Do not say such things to me," he insists, clenching his fists. Jean has spent years trying not to think about Kevin's feelings for him, or lack thereof; he will not let Jeremy bring that up again. "I do not want to hear it."

"I think he does, Jean," Jeremy says, ever so softly, like Jean wants to hear any of this, "you're a dear friend to him. He loves you."

"Stop it, Jeremy," Jean snarls, fighting the urge to curl into a ball and protect his kidneys. "I do not want to talk about it. That is not true and I do not want to hear it."

There is a stunned silence from Jeremy's part as they both stare at each other. Jean cannot even begin to think of how deranged he must look right now, baring teeth at his partner of five years for so innocent a suggestion—but that is a pathway Jean himself refuses to go down, and he will not accept being dragged through it even if Jeremy is the one who does it.

When Jeremy says nothing, Jean breathes out, forcing himself to relax, "Once I told you not to ask me about Riko." He wrings his hands. "Kevin is the one other thing that I cannot, will not answer if you ask. Everything else is yours. Everything, but not these two things. Do you understand?"

Jeremy is not in the business of taking disagreements to heart, and this time it is not different. Jean has no idea if Jeremy has truly accepted this condition—he will lie before ever considering picking a fight—but at last Jeremy nods, still a bit stunned. Feeling guilty for losing his temper, Jean lets the door fall closed behind him and moves closer to press his lips to Jeremy's cheek.

"You are a good man," he reminds Jeremy, because at least this he believes. "Leave the past for me to handle."

Jeremy nods again, letting out a breath that at last relaxes his shoulders. "Okay. I trust you." He interlocks his fingers with Jean's, tugging lightly. "Let's go to bed."

Jean allows himself to be tugged away, heart still pounding in his chest.

Jean runs a towel through his wet hair as he pulls his phone out of his locker, taking a seat on the bench as his teammates get dressed to leave. Jeremy is still in the showers, and probably will be for another ten minutes at least, so he leans his head up against the wall while he waits. Waving goodbye to a few of his teammates, he scans his texts from friends.

There are a few messages from Cat and Laila about their new apartment, some pictures he looks at. After years of trying to get on the same pro team since college, they've finally managed it. They are all the way in Colorado, but there's plenty of time for visits during breaks and the off-season. The two of them are always welcome to visit and all of them are in the process of planning something, so Jean knows he'll see them often enough.

A text from Kevin catches his eye, too. An invitation for dinner if Jean will help him with something. He doesn't particularly need to be bribed, but it isn't a bad offer. Jean will have to check with Jeremy if they have any plans for the night.

Jean's estimation of ten minutes is nearly doubled, but Jeremy eventually returns. Mid conversation with Nabil, Jean can assume they got too distracted, which is what prolonged the showers. Jean gives Nabil a small wave and beckons Jeremy over with a tilt of his head. Jeremy grins and pats Nabil on the shoulder, then grabs his shirt and crosses the changing room to sit beside Jean.

"Jeremy, wait," Nabil calls. Jeremy's head cranes back, his arms not in his shirt yet. Jean frowns and tugs his collar—it's backwards. "I'm dreadfully busy this weekend, but next weekend? Text me later, please."

"I will," Jeremy promises, "I think it would be fun, though! We'll talk about it more soon."

"Thank you. See both of you tomorrow!"

Jean does not bother to ask what plans Jeremy is making for them with Nabil. He'll be going regardless, so it doesn't seem important right now. Nabil getting traded to the Demons last year with them was a pleasant surprise. Jean was never very close with him when they were on the Trojans, but he's always been nice, and it made Jeremy happy. They go out with him and some of their other teammates regularly, so the likelihood of this being anything more than that is low.

"Hey, baby," Jeremy greets, leaning in to kiss Jean. As Nabil exits, they're the only two left in the changing rooms after Jeremy's long shower. "What's up?"

"Your shirt is on backwards," Jean says, tugging on his collar again.

"Ah. I guess it is," Jeremy laughs softly, pulling it off to fix it. "What would I do without you?" Jean feels his phone buzz with another message from Kevin and puts it down. "That was a good practice today, Jean. You looked like you're feeling better. No more knee pain?"

"It's fine. The break was good for it." Jean shrugs, reaching down to rub the knee. Even five years later, too much use after his sprained LCL causes lingering pain. It hurt toward the end of last season, but not enough to be a real issue. Jeremy worries far too much. "What are we doing for dinner tonight?"

"Hungry already?" Jeremy asks, glancing at the clock. It's not even quite five yet—summer training practices don't eat their entire day. "Cindy asked some of us to join her for dinner in a couple of hours. I told her we could probably make it. We could go have a snack at home first?"

Jean shakes his head. "It's not that. Kevin asked if I would be willing to go over and help him with something and said I could stay for dinner. He said you could come too," Jean adds, "I believe he's still unpacking, but he did not mention the issue."

"Oh, fun!" Jeremy nods. "You should go see Kevin. I shouldn't back out of plans, but if he needs help, go help him. Tell him hi from me. Come home with me first and pick up our housewarming gift? I already wrapped it."

While Jeremy definitely did not wrap it himself, nor did it need to be wrapped, Jean doesn't bring that up. He gives a slow nod. "Are you sure you don't mind me going alone—that you want to go to dinner alone?"

"I'll miss you…" Jeremy hums, "but absence makes the heart grow fonder, right? I'll be home when you're finished."

"You really don't mind?"

"Jean, it's fine. Kevin asked you for help, go hangout with him. And I really want his espresso machine out of our kitchen before I'm tempted to open it."

With permission given, Jean texts Kevin that he'll be over in about an hour for whatever he needs, letting him know Jeremy is busy.

It takes Jeremy another ten minutes of debriefing practice with Jean to finish getting dressed and get his shoes on, and five to decide to give up on his wet curls, but they eventually make it out of the training facility. Driving in New York always feels useless, and it's no different tonight. Thankfully their apartment isn't too far.

He changes into shorts given the warm weather, then gathers a few things to leave. Jeremy waits for him by the door, wrapped in one of Jean's shirts. He pulls Jean in for a lingering kiss with a smile.

"Have fun," Jeremy says, pushing him toward the door. "I'll miss you. Love you, Jean."

"Love you," Jean murmurs, feeling bad for ditching him. He really would prefer not to get dinner with Cindy anyway, truth be told. And Kevin needs help with something, which takes precedence. "I will be home later. Bye, Jeremy."

Jean takes the elevator downstairs and breathes in the fresh air deeply, obnoxiously large box tucked under one arm for Kevin. He left the keys with Jeremy, so he hails a taxi and gives them Kevin's address, watching the bustling city through the window. It's easier to take a cab anyway.

He's grown to like New York, but the traffic can be kind of a nightmare. The busyness of it is nice, though. The outrageous price of his cab up to Manhattan is not, but he can afford it.

Jean squints at Kevin's high-rise reflecting the sun before making his way inside. He lives only a little bit higher up than Jean and Jeremy's own apartment, but the elevator ride up to see him feels like it takes forever. He hasn't yet been to Kevin's apartment. Kevin invited Jean and Jeremy shortly after he had dinner at their place, but the timing hasn't been easy to nail now that all of them have practice again. He never saw Kevin and Thea's apartment either and finds himself wondering what it looked like now that he'll never see it. How much of his furniture now is inspired by the apartment they shared?

Jean knocks on Kevin's door, adjusting the gift in his hands, and a moment later Kevin swings it open. He looks… disgruntled, truthfully. Wearing an old PSU shirt and some shorts, with the AC in his apartment cranked so high it gives Jean a chill as it spills out, Kevin is sweaty enough that his shaggy hair sticks to his neck and jaw. His eyebrows are furrowed deeply, but relax ever so slightly as he sees Jean.

"Oh, thank God you're here, Jean. I think I'm going to die if I keep trying to do this."

Jean's gaze lands on a scar on Kevin's thigh he's never seen before. It did not used to be there, back at Evermore. It can't be from then. He meets Kevin's eyes instead and nods, stepping through the threshold and into his apartment. The door opens right into Kevin's kitchen, too spacious for a man he knows can't cook much of anything. "Where should I put this? It's a housewarming gift."

"This is not a house," Kevin points out, his nose wrinkling. He seems more affected by whatever his problem actually is than the fact of the gift. "This is unnecessary, thank you. Put it on the counter, I'll open it after you promise me you can fix the mess I've made. I never want to look at this thing again, Jean, I swear it to you."

"It cannot be that bad. What do you need help with?" Jean asks. Kevin huffs, unsticking hair from his jaw. He throws his hands up in frustration and leads Jean out of the kitchen, toward his living room. The coffee table is pushed aside and the entire floor is taken up by boards and screws, one long board attached to another by sheer force of will and not at all correctly. "What—Kevin, what is this meant to be?"

"My bookshelf," Kevin groans, flopping onto his pristine white couch. "Jean, it is trying to kill me. I can't build this thing. I didn't know it didn't come pre-built when I ordered it. Can you fix it for me?"

Jean blinks at the mess. "You are a ridiculous man."

"Jean-Yves Moreau. I'm serious, I'm asking you for help, do not make fun of me right now."

Among the scattered pieces of Kevin's shelf, Jean spots the instructions, which seem abandoned. That may be part of the problem. He grabs them and skips past the English and Spanish straight to the French, scanning. Kevin did not even start in the right place, nor did he attach the right pieces together. It's no wonder he's struggling so badly.

But, frankly, a few years ago Jean would have been just as lost as Kevin. When he and Jeremy first moved in together after USC, neither of them knew how to build furniture. Jean had held a screwdriver maybe four times in his life, all at Cat and Laila's apartment, only when one of the hinges on their rickety bathroom door became loose. Jeremy grew up much too privileged to ever learn how to build a thing. They spent three days sleeping on a mattress on the floor together trying to build their bed frame. They had to learn all of that together. Laila wanted to kill them for being unable to follow directions and had to walk them through part of it on the phone.

They did learn, though. Jean has gotten to be at least passably handy. He builds any new furniture they get now, and even replaced the handle on their bedroom door just last month when the old one broke. Building a bookshelf will take some time, but it won't kill him. He can help Kevin—perhaps he can teach Kevin a bit of something.

"I can fix it," Jean tells him. Kevin sighs in relief. "It looks simple enough. Did you not build furniture when you moved in with Thea?"

"Most of the stuff we bought did not need to be built," Kevin sniffs. "And she put a few things together without me while I unpacked. I'm not a handyman."

Jean doubts that Thea is either, but at least she was able to accomplish it. He shrugs. "There are a lot of pieces. It's going to take a couple of hours. Is that okay?"

"Yes. Thank you, Jean. I could never have done this myself."

He says it so earnestly it is—ridiculous. He is a ridiculous man. Jean has never known Kevin to be anything other than capable when he puts his mind to something, yet he let a stupid bookshelf get the best of him. It is an excuse, at best to get out of doing this himself because it frustrated him and at worst just to get Jean to finally come over.

Whatever the case, it worked. Jean is here and has no problem doing this for Kevin. He's been wanting to visit anyway, and there is never any excuse needed to see Kevin nowadays. This does give him something to do, though.

Jean returns to the front door to take off his shoes, leaving them beside a pair of Kevin's white sneakers. He's pretty sure Kevin got them from a brand deal last year—he saw advertisements with Kevin's face on them for months, and Jeremy bought a pair to send a picture to Kevin. Jean thinks white shoes are too easy to get dirty, but Kevin's only have a small scuff on the edge. He's always taken good care of his things.

The sound of tearing wrapping paper catches Jean's attention. Looking up, Kevin is carefully opening the gift, curiosity getting the better of him. The corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly when he sees what it is, the dazzling green sparkling in the light. It is enough to knock anyone off balance, seeing the genuine smile overtake Kevin's face.

"This is really nice," Kevin says. It absolutely is; it is the most expensive and fancy espresso machine Jeremy could find. "I had been eyeing one of these, but Thea said the one we had worked just fine. And it did, but… thank you, Jean. And thank Jeremy for me, too."

They had spent weeks brainstorming a good gift Kevin would actually use. Jean mentioned Kevin's expensive coffee habits, and Jeremy stuck with it until they found this. They have one of the same brand, but got Kevin the newest model. It's nice to see he actually likes it. Jean isn't usually the one to come up with gift ideas for their friends.

It may be the first real gift he's ever gotten Kevin. Kevin has gotten him plenty of things over the years in the form of postcards, and magnets, and stickers, but as a kid with nothing, Jean did not have the opportunity to return the favor. By the time he was out, they didn't do birthday or holiday gifts—it was enough just to see each other, to call, to perhaps send a card. It was more than they ever expected to be able to do. Being able to get Kevin a gift now, one he truly likes, eases something inside of Jean he did not know needed to be loosened.

He can't spend a second thinking about it more. "I'm glad you like it. Now, the bookshelf?"

They get comfortable back in Kevin's living room. Kevin sits across from Jean on the couch, and Jean sits cross-legged on the floor to take apart Kevin's creation before getting started. The instructions are relatively easy to follow, especially reading them in French.

"Can you pass me that allen wrench?"

"The what?"

Jean sighs heavily. He stretches out to grab it himself. "Never mind. Just watch for now."

Kevin does not need to be told twice. Like Jean is just some repairman he hired, Kevin lounges back comfortably and lets him work. His long legs stretch out across the couch, shirt riding up the bottom of his stomach. Jean focuses back on the task at hand at the first sight of warm brown skin and a trail of dark hair, feeling it is far too inappropriate and not meant to be on display.

It is comfortable, mostly. Jean and Kevin are good at being in silence together, sharing space and not needing to talk, or do anything, really. Exactly that is what takes place in most of his good memories from his teenage years: sitting and doing absolutely nothing with Kevin when they had time to spare. They are spectacular at falling into old habits, like a childhood blanket you can never let go of.

The difference is that Jean isn't quite so used to Kevin's stare. He can feel it, him, watching, green eyes boring a hole through him.

Doing his best to ignore the feeling of it so he does not look up at Kevin and get distracted, Jean carefully separates pieces into piles to begin. It doesn't help much, but the moment he dares look he sees Kevin scratching his stomach and feels as if he is overstepping. He shouldn't, he does not think about Kevin that way anymore, but he got good at stealing glances and then shaming himself into looking away years ago. That is all this is.

Kevin has always made Jean feel as if he can see right through him. The stare is almost too much—he cannot stop himself from wondering what it is Kevin sees. It feels impossible to hide a thing from Kevin, but he should not have anything to hide.

"Can I get a glass of water?" Jean asks, needing to break the silence.

Kevin sits up, shirt falling back into place and eyes already off of Jean. "I should have offered. Ice?"

Nodding, Jean gets back to work. He thinks briefly of Jeremy who, despite all their differences, lounges unashamedly in the exact same way as Kevin. It's a sight that should be familiar, it's just that Jean and Kevin haven't often been in situations where they can lounge so comfortably together. Their lives have changed so much. Even though they've been friends again for years, they aren't in close proximity so often.

Ice clinks at Jean's side, and he turns to accept the glass from Kevin with a quiet thanks. Kevin returns to his seat with his own water, leaning forward this time to rest his elbows on his knees.

"Where did that scar on your thigh come from?" Jean asks. Kevin tilts his head for a moment and leans back to look at it. "It's new."

"It's about a year old, I think," Kevin says. He traces it with one slim finger. "I, ah—Thea had been craving these cookies we tried at an away game in Seattle. I looked up a copycat recipe and tried to make some for her, but I hit the hot pan against my leg. And dropped most of the cookies on the floor. They were no good anyway, but I think she appreciated the effort."

"That was your first mistake," Jean snorts, shaking his head. "You are a useless cook, and baking is harder than cooking. You never stood a chance. Burning yourself is a new low, I think."

"You're very mean to me," he says, indignant, like a child. A moment later a smile tugs on the corner of his mouth. "Every once in a while I get the urge to try again. Perhaps I'll learn one of these days, or, maybe, I will succeed if I keep trying."

Jean hums lightly at that, letting his shoulders settle. "I will not be making any bets on it."

"You could teach me."

Jean's brain shows him flashes of a few quick things: trying and failing horribly to teach Jeremy what he learned from Cat when they moved in together, the dreadful way Kevin asked Jean to teach him French, and then Jean shutting Jeremy down when he asked Jean the same years later. He immediately closes all of those boxes, unwilling to deal with the connections, and seals them shut so tightly he hopes they will never be remembered again.

"No, I could not." Jean tightens a screw until he quite literally cannot turn it anymore. "I am not a teacher and I do not want to be." Kevin opens his mouth, surely to put his foot in it and bring up exactly what kind of memory Jean is trying to seize by the throat and squander. "Turn on the TV, or some music."

Clamping his mouth shut, Kevin frowns tightly. That—that is a familiar and comfortable sight. Jean can let his nerves settle.

There is a moment of pause where Kevin thinks of arguing, but then he disappears. Jean sips his water and carefully attaches a few boards together like it is the most important task of his life, and it may as well be. He shouldn't still be having such intense reactions to little things like this. It seems he doesn't know how to get over much of anything at all.

Kevin returns with an old pink radio in hand and sets it on the coffee table, plugging it into the wall. It doesn't look like it should work, a bit banged up and some color scratched off, but it turns on just fine.

"What kind of music do you listen to these days?"

It's such an unexpected question that Jean completely pauses what he's doing. What kind of music does he listen to? It's such an unnecessary question. What does it matter?

"Anything. I don't know. Jeremy just puts on what he likes and I don't mind," Jean replies, the latest pop CD they've had playing in the apartment playing in his head with ease. "It doesn't matter, I just wanted some noise."

"Why wouldn't it matter?" Kevin asks. Jean doesn't understand why it ever would. "Do you not get annoyed by certain genres? Every time I go out and have to hear EDM I almost wish I were deaf. I can't stand it. If you ask me, that noise doesn't count as music at all."

Ever the opinionated man Kevin is, Jean should have expected that. He's never particularly cared. He listens to whatever is on and has found no reason to complain yet, other than when Jeremy gets stuck on the same CD for weeks at a time. They've amassed such a large collection he gets sick of hearing the same one. When he complains, Jeremy tries to find a new one to fixate on, and they do it again.

"What have you liked?" Kevin prods, holding onto this like it's a bigger deal than it really is. "Any bands? Singers? I like Dolly Parton. Do you know her?"

"Jeremy has one of her CDs. We listen to it sometimes," Jean says, thinking of the two of them having Jolene stuck in their heads for a record of sixteen days. He can clearly see Kevin enjoying such nonsense. "I am not picky."

"Give me a real answer."

Jean purses his lips. There are a few things he has preferred over the rest, if he really has to say. "Laila gave me one of her CDs because I guess I liked it. Fall—something. I do not know. They're fine, I suppose. Put on whatever you want, Kevin."

Kevin wrinkles his nose. "Andrew likes them." Jean should wring Kevin's neck out for mentioning that man, but he never could. "They are fine, a little loud sometimes. I don't own any of their CDs. I can put on some rock station for you, though. I'll find something."

Swallowing down the urge to argue, Jean allows Kevin to do this for whatever reason he finds necessary. It pleases him, at least, and that's what matters. Jean doesn't mind much either way, but the loud music that sounds is enough to drown out some of the thoughts swirling in his brain. It's appreciated.

He squints at the printed directions and tries to tune out any distractions, hoping to do this correctly for Kevin. The music forcefully shoves any of the lingering tension out of the room, though Jean is almost certain he's the only one who felt it to begin with. Kevin didn't mind at all if he did, but he has always been much better at ignoring those things than Jean.

They fall back into their easy comfort, Jean tightening a screw with his brows furrowed in focus. Across the room, Kevin goes through an old shoebox filled with his CDs like he may find one he knows he doesn't have. Jean really isn't so picky—Kevin can put on anything. The rock station plays anyway, despite Kevin's little frown. He is still more stubborn than anyone else Jean has met.

Eventually, Kevin scoops up his glass of water and moves some tools aside before taking a seat next to Jean on the floor. Jean lifts his gaze to raise an eyebrow, moving the legs of the shelf out of Kevin's way a bit more. He waits for an explanation that never comes.

Kevin's legs stretch out across the floor and land in front of Jean as he leans to look over Jean's shoulder at what he's doing. Jean takes a deep breath, Kevin's close proximity catching him off guard. Kevin sips on the straw in his mouth and Jean looks away before he has to drive the allen wrench right through his eye paying this any attention. He has to focus—he shouldn't be letting himself get distracted.

Kevin doesn't get in the way more than that. He's in Jean's space still, but that's fine. The concept of personal space was moot at the Nest anyway; Jean has long since gotten used to Kevin leaning into his. Even if it makes him feel fifteen again.

As he watches, Kevin is quiet and contemplative. He compares the instructions to what Jean is doing, so Jean slowly explains a few things. In return, Kevin reads the next step out loud to him. He still tries as hard as ever for his French accent to be perfect, and that fact alone has warmth blooming in Jean's veins. It's not often he hears the language these days, especially not in his own accent.

They've always worked together well. There is an inherent understanding between the two of them—knowing what the other is about to do, what they need, anticipating it without any explanation. This is simple, but no different.

They get the bookshelf finished in under two hours working together. Kevin smiles proudly at it from his spot on the floor as Jean stands it up, making sure it doesn't wobble. The thing is the same height as Kevin, and far heavier than it needs to be. Even if Kevin made this successfully on his own, he would have hated moving it. He has Jean to direct now, pointing out the bare wall between his window and the TV. Jean cracks his knuckles before carefully lifting the shelf to move it into place for him and slots it against the wall.

Kevin's lips purse and he directs Jean to move it two inches to the left. Then one inch to the right. Jean sighs and allows Kevin both of these before Kevin essentially requests it gets moved exactly where Jean put it in the first place. He knows how to center furniture.

"Thank you, Jean," Kevin says finally. "I think I would have given up if I had to do this myself."

"I don't think you know how to give up," Jean says. He dusts his hands off on his shorts, surveying the room. There's a pile of extra screws on the floor he gathers before moving Kevin's coffee table where it belongs. "I believe I was promised dinner."

Kevin shakes his head at Jean. "You were. I am going to order us Thai food. Don't object, I want chicken larb. What do you like?"

"Pad thai is fine."

"I am getting you an extra serving of vegetables. And summer rolls for us to split," he nods, lingering in the threshold to the kitchen, "I have some boxes in the spare room down the hall. First door on the left. You should go grab them for me."

"I agreed to one favor, you know," Jean argues. Kevin isn't listening, though. He's already disappeared into the kitchen.

Jean sighs and looks up to the sky for patience, but Kevin isn't coming back. He doesn't really have a problem with helping Kevin, but his assumptions are going to get him in trouble eventually. He could have simply asked. A stronger person is going to say no to Kevin's demands one day.

He walks right past the spare room out of pure curiosity and peeks into a cracked open room for just a moment. Kevin's room. Jean can't make out much, but he spots a soft carpet at the edge of the bed, blue bedspread, an unnecessary amount of throw pillows. He's tempted to open the door and snoop, but does not feel that would be appropriate. Kevin might give him a tour eventually. Probably when Jeremy is here for their official visit.

Jean backs up and grabs two heavy boxes from the spare room after another moment of debate, before he can overstep and let himself into Kevin's bedroom. He is not surprised to find both are filled to the brim with Kevin's book collection, but knows better than to start putting them away without Kevin.

"It should be here in about twenty minutes," Kevin says, sauntering back in. "Oh, perfect. Help me put these away. I want nonfiction on the top two shelves, fiction on the others. Alphabetical order."

Jean thinks about arguing, just for fun, but decides against it. Kevin's shaggy hair curls against his jaw, bouncing as he happily pushes one of the boxes toward Jean. He is abnormally pleased today, now that he's calmed down from not having to build his bookshelf. Kevin, taking a seat on the floor, almost shivers in excitement to organize these together, a habit Jean has not seen up close in years. Jean rolls his lips together to keep himself from smiling at Kevin.

His box of books contains titles Jean isn't surprised to see. One about the roman empire, another about the history of agriculture in the Americas, a book of poems, and some text about labor laws all catch Jean's eye. The exact kind of eclectic taste Jean has always known Kevin to have.

Kevin cannot help himself from pointing out some of his favorite books either. Some Irish history, a nearly thousand page novel, a few of his fancy classics. Jean has read none of them, but, after careful prodding, agrees to borrow one to read for him. Again, a small shiver goes up Kevin's spine, a full body reaction of joy as he hands it to Jean and asks him to text and call with all of his thoughts. Jean does not dwell on this.

With Kevin more interested in talking about his books than putting them away, they don't get much work done when there's a knock on the door. Kevin shoots up, going to get their delivery, so Jean carefully closes their boxes to return to later. He sets The Count of Monte Cristo aside so he doesn't forget to take it home later.

"One of my teammates recommended this place," Kevin admits upon his return. He sets the boxes on the coffee table and pulls it closer to the couch, sitting right beside Jean. "I have no idea if it's any good. If it's not, we can blame Niamh."

Kevin's bare thigh presses up against Jean's, both of their shorts riding up ever so slightly. Jean stares at deep brown skin for a moment and then carefully turns his leg away for some space. Kevin is warm, not unlike Jeremy.

"How are you liking this team?" Jean asks, accepting his pad thai from Kevin. Kevin's stance widens and his knee knocks Jean. It feels almost hot enough to burn. "How has practice been so far?"

"They're… nice," Kevin lands on. Jean cocks an eyebrow at him, at the same time inching a little away so they can have some space. It's too warm to be seated so closely. The AC can do nothing about body heat. Jean is sweating despite it, he does not need to be so close. "On the court, they're getting on my nerves, but we are working on it."

"Mm. Be honest."

"The Demons are the favorite New York team over the Knights for good reason," Kevin says. Jean digs into his meal to avoid smirking at this. Kevin always preferred watching the Demons, but that is Jean's team now, not his. "I am frustrated with their inability to take things seriously. But I have some ideas. Off the court, really, they're very friendly. They invited me out this weekend. There is, apparently, a team bonding tradition that all new members must take part in before the end of summer training."

Jean has heard rumors of this. "And you plan to participate?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Kevin questions, a challenge in his tone. "They are my new team. If I want them to listen to me, and by God do they need to, I will get the best results by participating in team activities."

"It seems childish," Jean argues. "Everyone refers to it as hazing. You are twenty-six years old. They don't need to be hazing you, and you don't need to be letting them."

Kevin's eyebrows knit themselves together, his confusion written across his face. Jean has heard plenty of rumors from his own teammates. The New York Knights have a tradition that occasionally gets some of their players into disciplinary trouble. The whispers say it's for a hazing ritual they have.

For him to voluntarily participate in such a thing is ridiculous. They have been through much worse hazing at Evermore, and Kevin should know better than to let himself get involved in this. He's not a child, and this is his job, not some fraternity initiation.

"What on earth do you think I'm doing, Jean?"

"I'm not sure," Jean confesses, "but I have heard it's not good. Other players have been reprimanded for it in the past. You should know better. You cannot risk getting in trouble."

This gets the distaste to leave Kevin's expression and replaces it with amusement. "You're worried about me." Jean turns his face away from Kevin. "But like you said, I am twenty-six. I am capable of making my own decisions now, don't you think? You should know better than anyone not to listen to rumors."

Jean scoffs under his breath and grabs the summer roll Kevin is reaching for. Kevin flicks him and grabs a different one. "I'm not supposed to tell you, it's a team secret, but I know you can be trusted. It really is not that bad. We're going out for a few drinks, and they are sharing stories of the items they each stole from your stadium when they were new to the team. I have to accomplish it before the end of summer. It gets returned by the start of the season. That's all it is, Jean. It is meant to be good luck for the upcoming year, if done successfully. Players reprimanded in the past were in trouble because they vandalized the building while infiltrating. I am not an idiot."

"That… is still stupid."

"Perhaps," Kevin agrees, shrugging one shoulder. "Do you have any insider tips for me? What should I steal while visiting?"

Jean takes a bite of his summer roll. The look on Kevin's face is teasing—he finds this amusing. He's incorrigible, and has only gotten worse over the years. Jean should stab his fork into Kevin's leg.

It is not a crime to worry about him. Jean had no reason not to believe the things his own teammates said about the Knights even if they were rumors. There's often a small bit of truth in rumors, and Jean did not feel it was worth risking the chance Kevin truly was about to go through with some sort of hazing.

Even this is foolish. Jean doesn't care if Kevin steals anything from their stadium, but risking getting caught is stupid. It's childish in a way that's unlike him. And yet, it's not so bad. The idea of Kevin breaking and entering or stealing anything is downright ridiculous, but Jean has always enjoyed seeing him break the rules. Kevin is smart enough not to get caught.

"You could steal one of the small banners," Jean offers. He isn't going to not help Kevin. "The team's award banners that hang in our tunnel. There are also a couple of retired jerseys. The team thinks they're important."

Kevin seems to, too, because he shakes his head. "I am not stealing someone else's jersey; that is disrespectful." Then he tilts to the side, very nearly leaning into Jean, and considers. "Perhaps the banner, though. You will let me in, will you not?"

One day, surely, someone is going to tell Kevin no. He asks Jean these things because he knows Jean will always say yes—even if the question betrays the interests of his own team. There has never been something Kevin could ask that Jean would deny if capable, and Kevin has always known this. There is no gouging out a soft spot formed from teenage hope.

As thoughtless as he has been since the day he met Kevin, Jean nods. "Yes. Just let me know when. I will help this once."

This once, and then every time after. It's not like Kevin asks much of him, not that often. He will help, and be happy to. Even if it's for some childish game his rival team likes to play.

Kevin says nothing else about it for the time being, knee purposefully knocking against Jean's now. He smothers his smug smile by digging into his meal. Jean, overcome with childlike annoyance, pushes Kevin by the shoulder. He is infuriatingly good at getting under Jean's skin and he knows that, too.

Only feigning offense, Kevin sits back up straighter and elbows Jean in retaliation. Like this, they eat their meal side by side, watching some show Kevin put on and occasionally poking each other just to get on the other's nerves. Jean will pinch Kevin's forearm, and a minute later Kevin will bump Jean so his fork misses his mouth. They have not grown up at all since the Nest, at least when left alone. They might always be two boys trying to get a rise out of each other.

After dinner, they return to the bookshelf. It takes far longer than it should, both of them easily distracted and Kevin wanting to talk about nearly every title. There are two other boxes Jean collects for him, ignoring his offer to let Jean go. He's having a good time catching up.

When Jean finally does leave, it's only just gotten dark outside. Kevin's energy has started dropping, and Jean takes the hint to let him relax and get ready for bed. He helps clean up the mess they made, but the bookshelf is built and filled, putting the smallest proud smile on his lips. Jean talks to Kevin until his cab arrives, grabs the book, and wishes him a goodnight. He takes one last look at Kevin slouching tiredly against the kitchen counter before stepping out and taking the elevator down to the lobby, unreasonably bummed by the idea of leaving. It is like Jean expects Kevin to disappear once his eyes are off him, but Kevin is bound by contractual obligations to stay.

He was then, too, Jean's mind reminds him, but he gives it no attention.

The ride home from Kevin's doesn't feel like it takes as long. Jean stares out the window at the bright lights of New York as they cross from Manhattan to Brooklyn, lost in thought as the city blurs, and is home before he knows it. Handing over some cash, Jean gets out and ducks into his apartment complex.

He has an unanswered text from Jeremy asking if he knows when he'll be home, from a little over an hour ago, but Jean doesn't answer. He missed it, but at least he's home now. Jeremy is sure to still be awake anyway, it's only around ten.

Sure enough, Jean unlocks the door and shoulders inside to see Jeremy curled up on the couch. The TV is on, but he's got a magazine in hand, his head craning to see Jean. "Hi, Jean."

"Jeremy," Jean breathes, toeing out of his sneakers, "I only just saw your text, I'm sorry. Kevin needed help building a bookshelf."

Jeremy waves off his apology with ease, putting his magazine down and turning off the TV. A small smile graces his lips, lazy and tired, but grounding. One of Jean's t-shirts hangs loosely off his frame. "That's cute. You have gotten really good at building furniture, it was nice of you to go help him." He approaches slowly, so Jean meets him halfway. "Dinner was fun, by the way. We missed you. What's this?"

"One of Kevin's books I'm borrowing." Jeremy reaches to take it from Jean's hands, and Jean has to fight the urge to yank it back or remind him to be careful. Jeremy isn't going to harm it. "He asked me to read it, it's one of his favorites. It's… rather long, though. I think I'll have his copy for a while."

"You know we have a copy, right?" Jeremy teases. Jean didn't know, but it makes sense. Jeremy was an English major, he has a decent collection. "It's a good book. I really like that one, too. You can start it tomorrow, though—let's get you to bed, you look tired."

Knowing Jeremy is right, Jean interlocks their fingers and lets himself be pulled down the hall to their bedroom. His shoulders tense when Jeremy tosses the book to the couch, but he knows it's fine. It's a light toss, and he watches it land perfectly before turning off the living room lamp. Jean would just hate to damage something Kevin trusted him with.

Jean yawns as he shuts the bedroom door behind them, lifting his arms so Jeremy can help him out of his shirt. Jeremy's hands are so warm, for a brief moment Jean is reminded of Kevin's. It sends a chill up his spine, immediately uncomfortable by the image his own brain supplies, but Jeremy's calluses and touch is so familiar Jean forces himself to focus on that. He's so tired he's getting his wires crossed.

Jean reaches for his drawers to grab pajamas, but Jeremy stops him short by pulling him close. Jean closes the distance first, pressing their foreheads together to get his head on straight before capturing Jeremy's lips against his own. His pajamas are completely forgotten.

Trailing lazy kisses down, Jeremy mouths at his neck. Jean tilts his head back with a quiet sigh, hands fisting in Jeremy's shirt.

"Are you… too tired?"

He is close to it, but his body is intrigued. Jean shrugs. "No."

"I miss you," Jeremy murmurs, lips against Jean's collarbones now. "We have an early practice, but, ah, quickly?"

Instead of answering, Jean turns the light off again. He pushes Jeremy down on the bed blindly and falls beside him, not needing to see to fall into routine. Jeremy lays on his back, so Jean hovers over him, letting autopilot take over as he leaves quick kisses on warm, unscarred skin exactly like he has hundreds of times before.

Letting his eyes shut, Jean pushes out any forming thoughts and tries to be in the moment. He shouldn't be thinking about anything else, so he won't let his mind have the chance to wander. Jean just tries to focus on the feeling, hoping it helps him relax.

"Jean, I—I need you—"

Kevin is spread out below Jean on the bed, mouth agape as he breathes heavily. Miles and miles of exposed soft skin call out to Jean from atop dark blue bedspread, a miracle into motion. The blue makes the long line of Kevin's body look so warm that Jean's mouth waters.

He feels himself swallow thickly, Kevin's bony ankle hooking behind one of his legs to pull him closer to the bed. Jean's feet land on soft carpet, his knees hitting the bedding and his hands reaching out for Kevin before he even thinks to break his fall. Kevin fists Jean's shirt—why is he still wearing a shirt?—until Jean falls into bed beside him, tugging the collar of it then tossing it across the room.

Jean leans in, capturing Kevin's lips in a kiss, nipping at the bottom one. His hands slide across Kevin's skin, so warm to the touch it's practically burning against Jean's. Jean's head spins, caressing Kevin's sides, thumbing at his waist, feeling each divot of his muscles. Kevin shivers as Jean traces his hip bones, ducking his head to mouth at Jean's neck. Jean chokes on a moan, heat coiling up his spine as Kevin straddles his lap.

He wants, desperately, to touch and taste every inch of Kevin. There is not a part of him Jean hasn't dreamed of, from his slender neck to his willowy shoulders, from wanting to bite at Kevin's tapered waist to kissing up every inch of long, lithe legs. Something tells him there is not enough time, the need in Kevin's voice echoing in his head, pushing Jean further down a precipice he is not sure he can climb out of.

Kevin sits up, gasping for air as their cocks brush through the thin layer of boxers they both have on. Jean thumbs at the scar on Kevin's thigh, feeling lightheaded at the image of Kevin above him, framed in golden lamplight. Kevin rolls his hips with purpose and Jean is helpless to do anything but whimper.

"God," Jean chokes out, "Kevin, you are so—"

He grips Kevin's hips to slow him down, lifting him completely off with ease. Jean tosses Kevin back against a mountain of throw pillows, watching him reach up to grab a floral printed one to situate under his hips. Jean, out of his mind, moves close again to kiss the soft skin of Kevin's stomach, lips catching on every bit of it he can find.

Every kiss he trails lower, lower until he's mouthing at Kevin's cock through his boxers and savoring every little gasp and whine Kevin lets slip from his lips. Kevin tangles a hand in Jean's hair and tosses his head back, tugging enough to make Jean moan into his skin like a dog that found itself at the feet of its owner.

"Please, Jean-Yves," Kevin pants, tugging Jean up to his lips by the hair. "I need you. Please."

"Yes," Jean says, his voice raspy. He isn't sure he can wait longer either. If Kevin needs him, who is Jean to deny him of anything at all? He drags his teeth across Kevin's pulse point. A horrible, cruel part of him speaks up, "You need me?"

"Do not make fun of me right now," Kevin says in his ear. He takes Jean's earlobe between his teeth and Jean's whole world blurs. "I'm asking nicely when I could just be taking what's mine."

Jean, unable, unwilling to argue more, nods and sits up to remove their last layers of clothing. He tugs off his own boxers, cock slapping his stomach, and then Kevin's. In an impulse so deranged he can hardly explain it to himself, Jean measures his cock against Kevin's abdomen, making himself sick with the visualization of just where it is going and how deep it could fit if he bottomed out. The look Kevin gives him when he realizes what Jean is doing is enough to chase shivers all the way up Jean's spine.

Kevin produces a bottle of lube from somewhere beside him, and Jean is in no position to do anything but satisfy his every request. Jean coats himself in it in a fervor, desperate to feel Kevin, and wipes the excess off against Kevin's rim, watching him clench around nothing and listening to the soft whine deep from his throat. Jean wastes no time, pushing the blunt head of his cock into Kevin, watching his body stretch to accommodate it. Kevin's eyes roll back, gripping his comforter, free hand digging its nails into Jean's bicep and dragging him close again. Jean licks sweat off of Kevin's chest as he slowly thrusts inside, a perfect fit when he finally bottoms out.

"Jean," Kevin moans, exposing the line of his throat as his head tilts back. Jean sucks a dark mark onto the skin there, dizzy enough to consider letting his teeth sink into it. "Fuck, please—"

Jean reaches between them, pressing the palm of his hand firmly on Kevin's stomach where he knows he is buried deep inside, fingers spanning across Kevin's torso. Kevin inhales through his teeth, body tensing all around Jean, before he is clawing at Jean's back as Jean slowly starts to thrust his hips. The drag of Kevin's walls against his cock, trying to keep him inside, is enough to make any man lose his mind.

Kevin gives a muffled cry against Jean's mouth when their lips meet again, Jean unable to resist the urge to fuck into Kevin in hard, fast strokes, the sound of their hips slapping together echoing throughout Kevin's bedroom. When he backs up enough to look into Kevin's eyes, they're glazed over in pleasure, the green almost entirely swallowed up by his pupils.

Again, driven by urges he cannot explain, Jean moves his hand up to Kevin's mouth and shoves three of his fingers past Kevin's lips.

His other hand holds Kevin's waist tight as Kevin whines around his fingers, clenching around his cock. Jean curses under his breath, heat coiling up his spine, as he feels himself getting closer. Kevin's tongue swirls around the digits, muffling his moans, but Jean knows when Kevin is trying to say his name.

Kevin's body twitches and he comes, completely untouched, all over his stomach. Jean's hips stutter at the sight looking down, his mouth watering again. He wants to taste Kevin, but Kevin's hold on him keeps him locked in place. Jean whimpers as Kevin bites down lightly on his fingers, enough to send him tumbling over the edge deep inside of Kevin.

Jean is slow to come back into his body, but the moment he realizes, he flinches so hard he's surprised Jeremy doesn't wake up.

He swallows harshly to rid himself of the bile rising in his throat. He must be truly deranged; it was one thing to dream of Kevin Day when he was fifteen and hormonal with nothing else in his world, it is entirely different now. If Kevin knew, he would hate Jean. Not to mention Jeremy, sound asleep beside him in bed, head on Jean's shoulder—he would be beyond hurt by Jean's disgusting thoughts.

His body still tense like a livewire, Jean does not dare move. Jean has not been in love with Kevin for more than half a decade, but it seems he'll never escape his perverted fantasies.

That is all it is: a fantasy, one he couldn't control at all. He and Jeremy are happy, Jean has no say over what happens in his dreams. There have certainly been stranger ones. He just has to hope that this never happens again, that he can repent for whatever horrible sins he seems to have committed that plague him with a sick mind. Jean has not been religious since childhood, but this is nauseating. The images of Kevin flash in his brain and he can't get rid of them. This must be some sort of punishment.

How foolish, how abhorrent, to even let his walls down enough for something like this to happen. Jean needs a cold shower, but Jeremy has an arm wrapped around his. Jean can't risk waking him.

His rapidly rising and falling chest must get Jeremy up regardless. He stirs beside Jean, yawning into his pillow. He lets Jean go to rub his eyes, but Jean is hard wearing nothing but boxers. There is nowhere to run, no way to hide this.

"You're up early," Jeremy murmurs, squinting at the clock. Jean hums, his heart pounding in his chest. "Morning, Jean."

Jean clears his throat but his voice still sounds scratchy, "Good morning."

Dirty blond, bleached curls come a little closer before Jeremy's smiling face hovers over him. "We don't have to be up for another hour, y'know. What got you up so early?"

"Sorry, did I wake you?" Jean asks. Of course he did. Jeremy sleeps just fine, but he is so used to Jean getting up with night terrors even after all these years he's trained to wake up the moment Jean stirs. "Go back to sleep. I did not mean to get up yet."

Jeremy plants a kiss against Jean's shoulder, then reaches to toss the blanket off of them. Jean, incredibly embarrassed and disgusted with himself, flounders for it a moment too late. Jeremy notices almost immediately.

"So soon?" Jeremy teases, and Jean can feel his skin turning red.

"No," Jean shakes his head the moment Jeremy reaches out to touch him, "I do not want to. It… it is not what it looks like."

The one thing in the world Jeremy will never question or push, he immediately backs off. He carefully gives Jean back their blanket and moves so far to the edge of the bed he nearly falls off of it, frowning in worry. Jean should not be worrying him like this, but it is a much better alternative to the filthy truth of the situation.

"Do you need anything?" Jeremy asks carefully. "Did you have a nightmare?"

What Jean needs is a cold shower quickly followed by one that scalds his skin, but saying that may worry Jeremy more. He swallows, squeezing his eyes shut. "Just lay with me for a few minutes."

It is far more than he deserves. Jeremy does so without question, letting Jean rest against his chest, the tension in the room so thick Jean could cut it with a knife. Jean needs to box up this entire memory and tape it shut so tightly he never thinks of it again, but he can't do it fast enough to stop his mind from wandering to Kevin.

Jeremy deserves better, but what he does not know won't kill him. Jean parses through memories of Kevin from yesterday, wondering what exactly may have caused this. They're still just getting used to being close again, and Jean spent so long in love with Kevin that these thoughts aren't at all new. They're very familiar to Jean, in fact, and that's almost a comfort—he lived through them once when the stakes were much higher.

Resigning himself to forgetting all about it, Jean wills himself to calm down. Being horrified with himself is nothing new either. In fact, he's quite good at it. The uncomfortable morning is part of his penance, and Jean can live with that.