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— Jeremy
There was a lot that had already gone wrong today. For one, Mathilda was insisting he come home after the game, which meant a 3 hour drive starting at 9 pm. Two, apparently people are feral animals, because the press and rumors hounding Jean after his parents were publicly uncovered to be working with Nathan Wesiniski was anything but respectful.
The shit he was seeing daily written about this man was aggravating, did nobody ever think to treat him like a human being? And three, they were playing the Wolves tonight. In fact they were playing the Wolves in about 30 minutes, but Jeremy was still trying to get out of his head and back to the locker room.
“You ready?” Laila elbowed him, trying to bring him back, and Jeremy allowed himself to put his shit aside and focus on the one thing he could control. He took a breath and let the game be the only thing he thought about. Fuck if it was the only thing he could control right now.
“Hell yea.”
“ONE ON ONES!” Jeremy called, and the Trojans, who were warming up, switched from the passing warmups they were doing to a one on one keep away while Derek took shots on Laila to warm her up. Jean passed a ball to him, and finally, Jeremy forgot about all the other shit going on in his life.
They danced, playing keep away and matching juke for deek, spinning and stick taps, light hits and sneaky stick checks. For a moment it was just him and Jean on the court together, and it was perfect.
“ROUND UP!” Rhemann yelled from the bench, and the Trojans took a few final shots before picking up the balls and circling up near Rhemann. “I know there’s a lot of shit going on in your guys’ lives right now, but I need to be selfish for a moment and ask you to put it aside. The Wolves are going to be the hardest team we’ve played so far this season and I need all of you here for it. First serve is in 20 minutes, opening ceremony in 10, which means you have 10 to walk it out, stretch, et cetera. Do what you need to, and come back here and ready to win.”
Jeremy looked around the circle until he found Jean and then called, “TROJANS ON THREE,”
“ONE, TWO, THREE, TROJANS!” and the rest of the team scattered while Jeremy hung around the bench, Jean making his way toward him.
— Jeremy
“Are you feeling ready?” Jeremy asked with a grin
“Yes,” was Jean's unsurprising reply, but Jean’s return of “are you feeling ready?” was unexpected.
“I am!” Jeremy smiled. Jean seemed satisfied with this and was about to say something else when Rhemann walked towards them from where he was talking with Lisinski. Jeremy didn’t miss the way Jean stiffened and took a slight step away from the bench. And then as if the last 10 minutes hadn’t happened, Jeremy was racked with overwhelming sadness and anger all over again.
Jean had been here for months, and for him to still be uneasy around the person Jeremy probably trusted the most in his life was heartbreaking. ‘Healing takes time’, and he’d heard a version of that shit a million times, but why did they have to keep waiting? Hadn’t Jean been through enough? So why doesn’t he deserve to get better?
Rhemann stepped down from the bench so he was right behind the boards, “you two are going to be starting tonight, and I want you in at the end again so be smart ok?”
“Yes Coach,” was Jean's emotionless reply. Jeremy smiled sadly, and looked back to Rhemann, “Yes Coach.”
— Jeremy
Technically, the first half of the game went well. Technically, the Trojans were up by 3 goals, and were playing incredible. Technically, everything should be good. But technically, three of the Wolves were hurling slurs and ripping Jean to shreds on the court. And Jeremy was starting to lose his shit.
There were very few people who had seen Jeremy actually angry. Sure, he’d been pissed a few times, frustrated yes, but angry? It took a lot to get to that boiling point. Jeremy had punched Bryson once when they were kids, but due to their age and size gap, he’d gotten his shit rocked and then promptly scolded by Mathilda.
Earlier today, reading everything people were saying about Jean started that familiar hum of red. It built when Jean still retreated from Rhemann before the game, it built seeing number 7 on Wolves put enough force behind a check that would’ve been a card if Jean had been short enough to get knocked over. And it built when Jeremy overheard the check followed by a whispered, “whore.”
The first have of the game finished in the Trojans' favor. Rhemann was saying something about ‘keeping this momentum’ and ‘finishing strong’ but the only thing Jeremy could focus on was biting his tongue and trying to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth. As soon as the game ended he could stick by Jean, and fight off anyone who tried to fucking touch him. As soon as they were off the court he’d be there. As soon as the final buzzer—
Wait. No he fucking couldn’t. Because Mathilda was making him drive home directly after the game. And he knew that somehow she’d find out if he wasn’t home before 12. In the span of 30 seconds all the calm that Jeremy had been grasping dissipated.
Clearly Jeremy wasn’t pretending to keep his shit together very well because Rheman came up to him, “Imma give you a breather, take the time you need, and then I want to put you back in for the last 10 of the game. Shane’s playing the full second half, you want me to send Laila back here?”
Jeremy took a deep breath, “Yea that’d be great.” Rhemann nodded and turned around to walk after the Trojans who were making their way back to the court. “Thanks!” Jeremy belatedly called after him, and Rhemann briefly turned and gave him a smile before exiting back to the bench.
The locker room was quiet for about 20 seconds before Laila came in, “You good?” What was really frustrating about this whole thing was that Jeremy wasn’t even losing his shit over one thing. Mathilda has nothing to do with what was happening on the court and everything going on with Jean, but she was still affecting his game. And it was something he couldn’t put aside anymore.
“I’m driving straight home after the game.” It was the simplest way to try to explain to Laila what was going on.
“We’ll see you tomorrow morning right?” Laila knew better than to start their routine ‘Jeremy Should Move Out’ argument right now.
“Yea I’ll be there for the team breakfast.” Jeremy tried to slow his breathing again and unclench his fists. Trying to explain how much Jean was weighing on him was too much to get into, and right now the one thing he needed was to calm down enough to enjoy the last bit of their game. Take a minute. Take a breath. Find something good to be excited about for the next 30 minutes. “Ok I’m good I’m good.”
“Jeremy.”
“I’m good.” he looked at Laila, willing her to believe his lie with everything he had.
Laila took a breath and gave him a sad nod before turning to let Jeremy lead them back to the court, “K. I’m trusting you.”
By the time they made it back to the bench, there were 15 minutes left in the half, and by the time Jeremy was able to drag his focus back to the game in front of them, Coach Rhemann had finished his piece and the team was breaking it down to head back out for the last 10 minutes.
In no way at all was Jeremy ready to be back on the court, and in all honesty, he probably should’ve been aware of that. As much as he liked to admit it and put on a good face for this team, he did not have his shit together. The events of this past week, hell, this past month, had just been slowly building and building. But there were 10 more minutes left in the game, and Jeremy decided that he could keep a good head.
A part of him needed to be that, someone these people could look up to. So whether it was needing to feel ok, or the underlying urge to be a leader and feel in control of this, when Coach Rhemann asked, “You ready?”
There was no part of Jeremy that was going to admit he wasn’t really, and that he wasn’t sure if he could keep his cool this time. Other people had shit going on too, the only thing he could do was keep pushing.
Jeremy gave a nod to Coach Rhemann and smiled at him when he raised his eyebrows in an ‘are you sure’ motion. Before anyone could stop him, Jeremy took the court, and then instantly watched as one of the Wolves whispered something and then gave Jean a shoulder as he ran to his starting position.
Jean tensed, and Jeremy gave his racket a squeeze and took a breath. Lock it down. Lock it down and keep your shit together Jeremy. You are cool. You are calm. You are collected. Right?
— Jean
“Slut,” some guy on the Wolves muttered to him as he ran by. At this point, Jean had heard it so many times it was starting to dig a little bit less, but he couldn’t help himself from rolling his shoulders, trying to not let it get to him. He let the words run off him like they should, and instead let his eyes wander. He caught Jeremy looking at him, hurt. For a second he looked angry. Mean.
For a moment Jean was rattled. Jeremy had been angry before, at the destroyed notebooks, Zane’s visit, but it was never truly directed at Jean. Was it something he did? Was he regretting his decision to take Jean onto his team, now realizing it would cost him his reputation?
It was selfish to believe someone would be willing to climb aboard the burning ship that was his life, and for a moment Jean felt guilty, and then an old anger crept over his shoulders: had he not warned Jeremy about what he was? What right did Jeremy have to be angry at him for something he chose to take on?
It was confusing and exhausting all at once. Jeremy was still on his mind when the whistle blew and the Wolves served the ball. Jean grabbed it from the air and looked to where Derek was running past Jeremy with his racket raised. Jeremy was on his mind when another Wolf took a running start to check him.
Jean knew where Derek was and didn’t have to watch him to know that when he passed it, the ball would land true. And Jeremy was on his mind as Jean watched Jeremy watch him. Jeremy still looked angry, and his glare was freezing Jean in his place. He’s not Riko, he’s not Riko, he’s not Riko—Jeremy suddenly started charging at Jean.
Creeping memories and panic tunneled his vision, demanding his focus on Jeremy and whatever was to come, and when Jean released the ball to pass to Derek, for just a moment, Jean forgot to brace for the incoming illegal check he'd noticed just moments before.
A blur of red smashed into his side, but he didn’t even have time to feel it because Jeremy was charging them both and slammed his shoulder into the Wolf.
“What is your problem?!” Jeremy practically yelled. From where they were, Jeremy was in front of Jean and facing the Wolves player, but Jean still took a step back. My problem? How is this my fault?— ”Leave him alone! What the fuck!”
All three of them: Jean, Jeremy, and the Wolves player, turned at the sound of the referee whistle. The sight of red made Jean’s stomach drop. It’s for the Wolves player, she checked me after I made the pass. But, before Jean could gaslight himself any further, the Referee turned to Jeremy and pulled out a second red card, and gestured to the open court door where the Wolves player had silently walked through.
Jeremy muttered a quiet, “fuck” and then walked off without turning to look at Jean. It didn’t matter that the entire stadium was already quiet, it wasn’t like Jean could hear anything anyways.
— Jean
Jean was pulled for the last 10 minutes of the game, and given the score was heavily in the Trojans favor, it didn’t really matter.
“Can I go talk to him?” Laila pressed again despite Coach Rhemann’s stern head shake. “No, fuck that, I’m going.”
She pushed towards the bench door but Coach Rhemann stopped her with an outstretched hand, “No. I need him to be alone right now.”
Laila looked posed to argue but finally bit her tongue. What the fuck is she doing? Was she trying to get them all in more trouble? Jean was apparently the only one with a head screwed on because the rest of the Trojans on the bench turned to see what was going on.
Jean ignored them and shut his mouth like he was supposed to. He could at least pretend like he was focused on the game. Coach Rhemann said he was letting Jeremy be alone which meant all was probably fine.
This isn’t the nest. Nobody’s going to get hurt. It’s ok. Jean was getting tired of his mantra he had to keep repeating, it was exhausting. Never knowing what a normal response to anything was.
The calm he was trying to maintain slipped as Jean failed to let his thoughts keep from spiraling. Because if Coach Rhemann wasn’t going back to check on Jeremy that meant that he was staying out here for some reason. Why? Because of Jean? Then it clicked. Jeremy got a red card because of Jean, it was his fault.
But I didn't do anything. It was a fleeting thought, whatever Jean did stopped mattering years ago, his life was one of dealing with the consequences, there was no point in prevention, people would always find a way to pin some blame on him. Jean took a breath and let his stare drop from the game in front of them to his feet.
Maybe it would be okay this time, the Trojans were different right? When Jean moved to grab his water, he noticed Coach Rhemann whispering to Lisinski out of the corner of his eye.
They looked like they were arguing about something, and Jean was not about to get in the middle of it. Placing his water back on the bench, Jean made himself small and unnoticeable only to practically stand up when he saw Coach Rhemann exit towards the locker room. Towards Jeremy.
Jean froze, hovering above the bench. He paled and sat back down, but the sound of his heel tapping against the ground was the only thing he could hear. All of the rules he’d taught himself back in West Virginia returned. Be quiet and shut up. This isn’t your problem. Anything you do will only result in more pain and nothing else– but, that wasn’t true. Was it?
Neil had spit and kicked and fought back in December with no result other than more stitches, but he had somehow managed to carry some sort of dignity out of the nest.
Suddenly Jeremy was Jean in the locker room getting his ass beat at practice by Coach Moriyama and Jean was Kevin sitting out here doing nothing. Nothing at all.
It was Jean bloodied and broken and selfishly wishing for someone to come and do something. To fight for him for once.
He’d let himself wish for it once before refusing to entertain such idiotic ideals. Maybe Neil knew something he’d gotten beat out of him long ago. But Jean would raise hell if he stood by and let Jeremy get it beat out of him too.
“Fuck it.” Jean said standing up and walking off the bench. Laila called after him distantly but he was too focused on trying to keep moving forward despite the fear that gripped his legs. Jean made it to the locker room before stopping to inhale and calm himself.
Coach Rhemann was a reasonable man, Jean could reason with him somehow, right? Jean exhaled and pushed the locker room door open to see the back of Coach Rhemann choking Jeremy out. And everything went to shit.
— Jeremy
Rhemann’s arms were a steady and comfortable weight around the top of his chest, Jeremy’s back pressed to Rhemann’s chest. The shocked tears had been wiped away and they had just remained in silence while Jeremy wrestled with the drowning anger and disappointment he felt.
He didn’t regret what he did, but did it have to go this way? The reputation of his freshman year still haunted him, and to know that his image was about to go to shit all over again was enough to make him breath sharply through his nose again.
Rhemann squeezed tighter and Jeremy exhaled, his thoughts skirting away. They heard the locker room door open but neither turned, assuming it was Laila.
“GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF HIM,” Jean roared, charging across the room and swinging to shove Rhemann back towards the door with his right hand while pressing himself between them and wrapping his left hand around behind Jeremy's torso.
Rhemann stumbled, looking startled but after a moment raised his hands in defense, “Jean—”
Jean flinched but kept his right hand stretched in front of him, “No, get out.”
“Jean.” Rhemann tried again, this time sliding his eyes to where Jeremy was slowly being pressed against the far wall by Jean’s slow backward steps, his left hand still protectively wrapped around Jeremy’s low back, pushing them closer together.
It was at this point that Jeremy noticed how hard Jean was shaking, his accent thickening, “do not touch us.” Rhemann stood dumbfounded for a minute staring back at Jean, his face blank.
The tension had dissipated enough to hear Jean's hard short breaths and Rhemann finally grasped a vague understanding of what was happening. He lowered his hands, unsuccessful in his attempt to not have Jean flinch again.
“Y’all have ten minutes until the team’s back in here,” Rhemann said quietly, and then exited towards the court. The second the door closed Jean spun to face Jeremy, the absence of Jean’s left hand on his back leaving a cold trail where it once was.
“Jean—” Jeremy was cut off by Jean lifting his chin and carding his hands through his hair, looking for something. A sign that I’m hurt. Jeremy lifted his arms towards Jean for inspection, “Jean I’m okay. I promise.”
“You are a liar.”
“No, he didn’t hurt me I swear.” Jean didn't look convinced. Jean’s hands remained on his wrists, and Jeremy watched him sort through his thoughts. Jean’s fear slowly bled into confusion, and then anger.
He broke the silence a few minutes later with a weak, “he really wasn’t going to hurt you was he.”
“No, he wasn’t”
Jean scoffed and pressed his lips together, “I thought—,” he looked to the ceiling, “merde,” he whispered, shaking his head and stepping backwards. Jeremy recognized the swear, but remained silent still. “I–” Jean cut himself off again, finding his voice again only to say, “I am sorry,” and nothing else.
“No it’s ok.”
“No—fuck—I shoved Coach Rhemann. I- FUCK.” Jean was beginning to raise his voice. “Jeremy, I thought he was choking you.”
“Jean—”
“He was hugging you, and I thought he was choking you.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s NOT. I can’t— this isn’t— this isn’t okay, nothing about this is ‘okay’ I am not ‘OKAY’,” Jean dropped his head and ran his hand through hair, gripping and pulling at it.
Jean looked defeated as he glanced to the ceiling again and then back down at Jeremy, and quietly voiced what neither of them had ever dared to say out loud, “How much longer is this going to take? How much more time do I have to spend healing before I can simply tell what’s real?”
“No, Jean, do not go there.” But Jean was already glazing over blank. Jeremy glanced at the clock in the locker room, they had 2 minutes before the rest of the team got here. “Jean, do you want to be alone?”
“No I am ok,” he shook his head as if breaking from a trance, “I am good.” This time Jeremy was the one remaining unconvinced. “I promise,” Jean added, holding Jeremy’s eyes.
Jeremy exhaled with a reluctant, “fine,” and they moved to sit on the locker room bench.
Jean grabbed Jeremy’s attention one last time before the team stormed the locker room, “Jeremy, I know it will be okay. I did not want you to hear that.”
“I know Jean, I know.”
“Please do not worry about me.” Too late, Jeremy thought.
“I’m here with you every step of the way okay? No matter what.”
“Okay.”
Jeremy looked sideways at Jean, and let their knees touch. They sat in silence, just comfortably letting each other just exist.
They were still like that when the locker room door opened to a Laila speeding towards Jeremy, “god if I had to pick anyone to get a red card against it would totally be against that asshole.”
“He was quite the asshole,” Jean agreed, looking at Jeremy, waiting for a silent agreement to forget about what just happened and let Jeremy’s red card be the talk of the locker room.
“Yea fuck him.” Jeremy said with a little heat. Fuck him. And Jeremy wasn’t talking about the Wolves player.