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It wasn’t as easy as Nathaniel made it. Riko’s fall, Ichirou’s rise. A new deal. Yet something prevailed and did not change, exy, exy, exy. He saw the signs of a lifetime . His life was again, and now forever, tied to the sport that stole his freedom. Exy, exy, exy.
Exy, you til I die .
In the silence of the room, in the darkness of it, darker thoughts filled his mind. His hate for Riko increased daily. Why hadn’t he finished the job? His self-contempt growed every day. Why couldn’t he finish what Riko started?
Why was he alive? He shouldn’t, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to fight, but his desires were, as long ago, denied. He couldn’t do what he pleased, as he couldn’t shut Nathaniel, Neil, up. As he couldn’t stop Kevin from “helping” him, when he called that captain, Knox.
One week soon turned into two months, and the morning of the day he was supposed to take his flight, he was greeted with David Wymack in the aisle of the kitchen, with two cups of coffee.
He tasted the whisky at the first sip.
A french player, an american coach, an irish goodbye.
It's not as if he had never flown. He had simply never done it alone. And as the plane took off, he found his reflection returning to him his still shattered face, despite the months and broken eyes that could never fully heal. And he couldn't help but wonder what if it’s not for me?
It wasn’t the first day, not even the first week, much less the first training. It was in their first match. Love . He had never got the time for it, they had never allowed it.
Paris the capital of love, France, the country of romance. And although he was not born in the first one, he belonged to the second. Jean had read enough love poems, enough novels in which the protagonist fell in love with the innocent eyes of the lady, the mischievous smile of the gentleman, the blond hair of the washerwoman, the toasted complexion of the peasant.
But he had never read a story that began with falling in love with a voice. Captain Knox's voice
The haze in which he had lived the last few days was dissolving as the captain's orders would make their way through the fog that clouded his reason.
It was exactly twenty-six days ago that Jeremy had said to him "I'd like to get to know you" , exactly three minutes and seven seconds ago, he had looked at the counter, that Jean had thought of saying to his captain, in the middle of the play that would determine his victory "I'd like to take you out".
They were losing by a point, but the ball was Jeremy's, and in his eyes he saw the desperation of being surrounded, the determination to shoot with all his might towards his own goal and the hope that Jean would perform a miracle. Hail Mary *. He could become a Christian, because he had seen god on the field, not even Riko had managed to snatch a miracle out of Jean's hands, but Jeremy.
It was very curious what he felt. He thought about kissing his captain as he lunged towards him, presumably to embrace him in a smothering hug. He could kiss him because he slowed down before touching him and respected his refusal to be embraced. He could kiss him and wipe away that understandable smile. He could... he lost himself in the din of the stands, and that of his own teammates, who without touching him, were doing their best to include him in their victory.
Win and afterwards make out ... And then lose everything.
They were away from home and exhausted, they decided to take advantage of the hotel facilities and shower there. God must still be on their side that day, because the trainer gave the Siamese card of his to Chris.
He gave him the first turn in the bathroom.
Marisa had told him to write, but the only paper he could find was bound in the Bible. He thought it might be too much heresy to write his feelings for another man in the margins of those pages.
Writing on a 7x12 screen would not have been his first choice, he hated to strain his eyes and his fingers were too big for the tiny keyboard. But it was better to escape into meaningless, disjointed sentences than to listen to the concert Chris had put on in the bathroom.
Jean had few memories of his childhood, but he could recall his mother saying "tu parles plus qu'un moulin à paroles": you talk more than a chatterbox. The Raven's had taken it upon themselves to break him of that bad habit, and while his lips got used to being closed, his mind never rested.
Maybe that's why, once he started, he had no trouble getting it all out.
It must have taken a long time for what happened to occur.
Instinctively he hit the send arrow without even wondering why a document gave him that option.
He was saved by typing 65630 characters. He frantically hit cancel.
He had typed a message he knew he would never send , because in his haste to write what he felt he had not clicked on documents, but had taken him to his most recent contact, that of Jeremy saying goodnight
Only then did he notice the time on the screen. Six o'clock in the morning.
In the next bed Chris was sleeping like a dormouse.
The cell phone went off at that moment without warning, and the room was plunged into darkness.
He went to take a shower, his mind awake and his body dull.
When he went out for breakfast, Jeremy was waiting for him in the hallway.
His heart skipped a beat. Had he sent the message? His cell phone was still off, charging on the bedside table; he hadn't had the heart to check.
Jeremy was maintaining that perpetual smile, but Jean hadn't spent his whole life in the background, watching every minute detail of his companions to anticipate what was coming his way, enough to overlook the captain's tension.
"Hello."
Jean nodded in greeting.
"Yesterday... Yesterday I went to bed and when I looked at my cell phone, I noticed you were texting. And this morning, when I woke up, you were still writing. I, I just wanted to know if everything was okay, if... if you want to tell me anything, anything at all, I'm here."
Jeremy was always there. For anything, anytime. He was a caregiver. It wasn't healthy, it couldn't be healthy to prioritize everyone before him.
Jean had a crash course in survival the first few years in the nest. Rule number one, don't let them, ever, see that you are affected. That pleases them and then it becomes their favorite game.
Jean had multiple talents, including hiding a vasovagal reaction to the discovery that his captain had noticed that he had stayed up all night writing to him. Jeremy wasn't an imbecile either. Surely he had noticed his dark circles under his eyes.
"I wanted to say goodnight to you in return. I'd fall asleep with the cursor on the message. That's why it would appear to you that I was typing."
Old excuses Jeremy wouldn't believe, attempts to hide something that was already boiling over. Because even though he'd realized he really liked Jeremy the night before, there was no way in the course of a few hours he'd feel so stifled.
He thought about vodka. Of how you could drink for hours without anything going to your head, and how without any warning it all came at once, and it was too late to delete the kisses at the end.
“ Get over it ” They were in court, just him and Jeremy. “Just take me out”.
It came out of the blue, Jean was too shocked to even respond. He looked at Jeremy’s eyes, at Jeremy’s smile, and he couldn't help but try to copy, and for the first time in years the corner of his lips turned up in a small, slightly crooked smile. And then the laugh.
It came from Jeremy’s mouth, but it was Riko’s. His smile evaporated in his terrified face. And when Jeremy looked back, his face had slightly change, because that wasn’t Jeremy’s warm smile, but Riko’s cold one, and those weren’t Jeremy’s soft eyes but Riko’s sharp ones
He woke up sweating. He couldn’t confess. He was too scared.
The bags were packed. He was leaving. Jeremy was leaving.
For two weeks. The dorm luckily wasn't closing, and even though Kevin had invited him to spend Christmas at Abby's, he'd rather cut off his fingers himself than go back there.
Ever. Or at least not so soon.
He wanted to get away from Jeremy, especially after that damn nightmare.
He carried one of the suitcases and stood beside him, silent, waiting for the bus.
It was twelve o'clock at night, cheap flights at three in the morning, and here it was, the night bus.
"I have to go" It sounded like a whisper. A hint of sadness in the captain's voice. "Thank you for joining me" And that eternal smile.
Jean nodded.
He watched as the doors closed. He watched as Jeremy waved his hand in farewell. He mimicked the gesture.
One 24-hour supermarket and a bottle of gin later he could admit again that he liked Jeremy Knox . When the alcohol wore off in his head, he knew he would never show.
He opened the second bottle. And already, drunk as a skunk, he imagined the life of Jeremy Knox, married to a beautiful woman, like in the novels, with five children and a big dog. "he will not wait for me" he said to his reflection in the mirror, slurring the words " and maybe I don't mind. "
Laughter, when you're drunk, is different from your laughter when you're sober, but Jean had no way of knowing that. He had forgotten the sound of it years ago.
When he woke up, alone and with a throbbing pain in his head, he went over what tormented him so much. For as long as he could remember, beyond a warm smile that he had learned to hate, because what kind of mother lets her husband sell her son, he had no memory of being part of anything other than himself.
Even if he was a player on a team, the Ravens could not be defined as such. Never. He had always worked better on his own.
Alone in the double room that was now his home, drunk with the thoughts of his life, he could only face the mirror for a few moments, and think "What if love is not meant for me?"
No matter what, his attempts to punish himself by depriving himself of what he really wanted were in vain. Love didn't work that way. Just a few days had passed since he had gone away, but all Jean could think about was Jeremy. He was fucked.
In the bedroom, in the kitchen, in class, in the dining room, on the playground, in his dreams. A thousand times was Jeremy Knox. And it wasn't the same as Layla, it wasn't the same as Chris, it wasn't the same as Alvarez. Because a thousand times it was Jeremy who looked back at him, and he could no longer tell if he was the one who looked at him first and Jeremy was the one who caught him, or if it was the other way around.
He was sure that the Foxes had bet on whether the Trojans would keep their particular record of no red cards with Jean in the team. And he couldn't help but shudder with pleasure as he watched Renee and one of the twins, the one who wasn't watching Neil like a bird of prey, receive hefty payouts from the rest.
Jeremy was on the cover of the sports magazine, and although proud, you could tell he wasn't too happy with the decision to exclude the rest of the team.
Jean approached him and when Jeremy looked up to see him, Jean looked at the picture and smiled.
"You did good. You deserved it."
Jeremy blushed and Jean looked stunned by the power of his words.
Had it been because of the praise? Or because it had been Jean who had paid him the compliment?
Jeremy's hand found Jean's and stroked the back of it.
"You've done well too, sweet pea "**.
And in California it could be a common endearment term. But Jean was suddenly trembling, and holding Jeremy's hand for dear life.
The next thing he is able to remember, he is sitting on the locker room bench, with the noise of the banquet party in the background and Jeremy standing between his spread legs. He thinks he hasn't taken his gaze from Jeremy's eyes, but he's not sure.
He hasn't had anything to drink, but the vodka has suddenly gone up.
"Oh, babe."
It had to be a dream, it had to be a fucking dream. But Jeremy's face didn't change its expression of pure adoration.
It wasn't possible for anyone, least of all Jeremy Knox to give Jean that look.
"Were you afraid of getting a red card this season?" Jean was mesmerized by Jeremy's sweet voice. He nodded because what else could he do?"
"You did so good. It wouldn't have mattered though. If you had gotten a red card, it wouldn't have mattered, it still doesn't matter."
"Why?"
"Because we're not looking for the prize. We're looking for nonviolence. And you're not violent by nature Jean. If you ever have to use force we have no doubt you have a reason."
Exy, considered one of the most violent sports, Jean, who in his life had known nothing but violence. And Jeremy was telling him it wasn't violence?
Without violence, what was left?
He was right though. Jean was not violence, Jean was what violence left.
He allowed a tear to run down his cheek. Jeremy caught it with his thumb. Jean let Jeremy's hand hold his face.
The rest of the tears, Jeremy wiped away with his kisses.
Jean sighed in relaxation, and in turn took Jeremy's face, gently separating it from his own.
Jeremy still didn't lose that adoring gaze, and when he saw his lips half-open, he sealed them with his own.
Outside, on either side of the locker room doors, and like two guard dogs, one on each side, Kevin and Aaron had stood guard.
Jean couldn't stand Kevin's grin as they left and settled for the other's bored expression.
Jeremy wouldn't let go of his hand even to get on the bus that would take them to the hotel.
Layla had always said that Alvarez was like a teenager, and Alvarez always replied that how could she not behave like that if she was in love.
The next day, Alvarez's notebooks turned up bound in photos of Layla. "Like when I was 13 and this was bound with pictures of Harry Potter. What a handsome fucker he was" He told the team, as Layla shook her head.
He had not had a normal adolescence, but he guessed Layla meant this, He felt like a teenage girl . The feeling was accentuated when in the journal he kept next to Marisa, he wrote "he has kissed me" and then giggled. He stood still for a moment, ashamed of his words and actions. But he could do nothing but laugh at himself. And so Jeremy found him minutes later. Laughing alone, and with the page open.
He blushed
"I might as well write all over my notebook, that you rock my world" Deep down le roman français never left him. And for now, the only thing he wanted to test is how red Jeremy could turn.
Now Jean was smiling, not too much and always when he was with Jeremy. Alvarez refrained from comments, under threat of Layla's elbow, and even if it was only that, the smile and the occasional laugh in the privacy of his room, Jeremy Knox had turned him upside down.
And that was ok, he would let it happen, because he liked having Jeremy around.
Jean didn't mind the parties. He would move a little away from the crowd, sit down if he could and finish his drink in small sips. Jean didn't mind the parties, but he didn't like them either. He didn't know, nor did he have much interest, in interacting with ten, twenty people, whom he would never see again out of the hundreds of students he passed each day.
Jeremy on the other hand, was sometimes dragged along, almost forced by the social contract he had imposed on himself so as not to disappoint anyone, to show the world that he was fine and having fun and that he was a normal guy, at a normal uni party, all normal, even if he wasn't.
Jean had come to loathe that word, normal. What the fuck was normal? Everyone lived a different kind of normal, and if Jeremy preferred to stay in his room reading mystery novels than chatting with fifty different people, who was anyone to judge him?
That was a conversation for another day, a battle for the Jean of the future.
Because when they catched eyes at that stupid party , Jean knew what to do
This time it was he who took the blond's hand "we will leave" .
Jeremy was mesmerized. And without saying goodbye to anyone, without talking to anyone else. French exit , Chris called it, and it was indeed.
When they got to their room they got drunk with kisses, and as Jean tried to silence his moans by biting Jeremy's shoulder, he could only wonder if they were meant to be.
When Jeremy made him peel away from his skin, so he could hear him, Jean met those eyes again... "me and you were meant to be" .
In the cover of the night, with his captain surrendered to sleep and his head on his chest he began to think
The first smile, the first caress, the first kiss, the first time they made love... And then he understood that he had not begun to live until he left the nest. And he saw the signs of a lifetime. Captain, captain, captain, captain, you til I die.