Chapter Text
A thumping noise jolted Jeremy awake. He winced as he hit his head on the door armrest. A moment later, pain hit him like a truck—his neck flared at the slightest movement, his spine felt like it was made of glass, and his joints locked up like rusty hinges. Every muscle throbbed and burned, almost like he was after his game with the Foxes.
The thumping came again. Opening his eyes was challenging; his eyelids were heavy and crusted over. He tried a few times but saw only black when he finally opened them. It took a few moments for him to realize he was staring at the back of the passenger's seat.
With effort, Jeremy turned his head towards the source of the noise. His mind spun, but the sight of a very incredulous Laila staring right at him through the window brought the world to a standstill.
Jeremy hauled himself up using the headrest. He could feel the indentations on his face left by the backpack he'd used as a pillow. He opened the door, rubbing his eyes at the sudden brightness.
His eyes finally met Laila’s, but his gaze quickly dropped, only having the strength to stare at the garbage bag she held. Laila’s disappointment hurt a thousand times more than her anger.
Her heavy stare took in his state—the multitude of cuts and puncture wounds, the dried blood, the grime on his skin, but mainly the ugly, swelling bruises on Jeremy’s neck.
Jeremy heard her breath hitch, her mouth open, but the words dying in her throat. Jeremy shivered, only now realizing how cold he was.
“I'm sorry—” Jeremy started, but a sharp noise from Laila cut him off.
Laila took a deep, steadying breath while she pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand. Jeremy swallowed hard and grimaced; his mouth tasted foul. The weight of her presence crushed his heart and jammed a lump of shame in his throat.
“You will get inside and take a bath. We'll talk later,” Laila said, with an edge in her voice that cut deep.
Jeremy slowly nodded. He grabbed his backpack and his keys, while Laila threw the garbage bag in the trash bin. They rode the elevator to the second floor, and Jeremy was grateful for that; he'd just woken up yet still felt exhausted.
Laila opened the apartment door and took off her shoes, with Jeremy just behind her. He heard Jabberwocky before he saw him—excited barks and the click of toenails. The dog came barreling like a clumsy rocket, skidding and tripping over his own paws, neatly tumbling right beside Jeremy’s feet, belly exposed for rubs.
“Shameless,” Jeremy huffed, giving Jab what he craved. Scratching Jabberwocky's belly brought the faintest curl to Jeremy’s lips—the feel of the dog's warm skin and soft hair under his fingers eased a bit of the pressure on his chest. At least he didn't care who Jeremy was or what he'd done.
When Jabberwocky was satisfied with the greeting, he ran off to beg for scraps in the kitchen. Jeremy got up, but froze at Laila’s stare. A thousand words hung unspoken between them, a silent conversation they had more times than either of them wanted to admit.
“I'll… I'll take a shower,” Jeremy mumbled, slipping into the first door on the corridor.
He shut the door behind him, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He counted his heartbeats—first in English, then in French. Shame poured out of him like a miasma. Jeremy took off his clothes and threw them into the laundry basket.
A glance in the mirror showed a disheveled man with dark bags under his eyes and a defeated countenance. Terrible, dark bruises in the shape of fingers wrapped around his neck. For a moment, Jeremy didn’t recognize himself, only to feel unbearably himself the next. He swallowed the acid in his throat.
Jeremy stepped into the bathtub and turned on the shower. The hot water hit his aching body, and he sighed in relief. Today was going to be brutal—sore muscles, sleep-deprived classes, and the stares that his bruises and cuts would inevitably attract.
“This is what you deserve,” Jeremy told himself. “Your mistakes, your consequences.”
He shoved his head into the spray, hoping his thoughts would drown before he did. He grabbed a sponge and soap and began scrubbing Leo's scent and nicotine off his skin. The countless cuts and scratches made the task agonizing, but Jeremy gritted his teeth and pushed through.
And yet, guilt still clung like oil to his skin, no matter how hard he scrubbed. Jeremy could deal with tiredness, curious gazes, or uncomfortable questions. What he couldn’t deal with was Jean. How was he supposed to face Jean after last night?
The sight of Jean fucking that girl was a knife stabbing Jeremy’s heart. He feared it would poison their friendship and ruin the best thing to ever happen to him in a long time. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing him in any capacity, especially because Jean did nothing wrong.
Jeremy turned off the water and stared at the drain. The steamy bathroom wrapped around him like a cocoon, but dread gnawed at his bones.
Jeremy stepped out of the bathtub and grabbed a towel. He took his time drying off and combing his hair—he knew he was stalling, but he really didn't want to have the conversation that was coming.
He doesn't have to know, Jeremy thought.
As far as he knew, Jean wasn't aware that Jeremy had witnessed his hookup, nor that Cat and Laila were aware of it. Besides, the last thing Jeremy wanted was to make Jean feel awkward or guilty over something completely normal and in his rights.
So, the smartest thing to do was to just smile and pretend nothing ever happened—even if it felt like pins under his nails.
Once Jeremy finished drying, he wrapped the towel around his waist and left the bathroom for the guest room that was his but in name. He dropped the towel, then put on a shirt and pants, and grabbed his USC hoodie for later. He won't be able to hide the bruises and cuts from his teammates, but at least the general campus population will see only his blackened neck.
“This will have to do,” Jeremy sighed.
He put his shaking hand on the doorknob, but didn’t turn it. His vision flashed as a sick anticipation settled in the pit of his stomach. One last breath. He'd have to face them, sooner or later.
It took all his strength to turn the doorknob. Jeremy stepped out as if walking to the gallows, resigned to his fate.
As Jeremy entered the kitchen, the stares of his friends were so overwhelming that it made breathing difficult. He took his seat at the table and did his best to act normal, focusing on pouring himself a mug of coffee and buttering a toast. He heard Jean set down his mug with more force than necessary, and the room held its breath. The sepulchral silence lasted only ten seconds.
A loud clinking of cutlery being dropped onto a plate startled Jeremy, making him drop his toast. Unsurprisingly, Jean was the first to break the silence. Jeremy couldn’t look at his face, but the anger in his voice was crystal clear.
“Who did this?” Jean growled dangerously.
Jeremy flinched. He spent most of his bath rehashing how to answer that very question. He couldn’t say it was Leo—Jean would hunt him down. And then he'd have to explain why he was in Leo's bedroom in the first place. Ultimately, he settled for boiling it all down to the simplest terms.
“It was my fault. I was… careless,” Jeremy mumbled, voice small.
“Okay,” Cat snapped, pointing a fork at his throat. “Then tell me what you did to deserve that.”
“And care to explain why you are covered in cuts? Or why did you think it was a good idea to sleep in your car?” Laila asked, taking a sip from her mug.
Jeremy winced. “Thanks.”
“What the hell, Jeremy?!” Cat hissed. “This is the second time someone has hurt you like this! When are you going to start treating yourself with a bit of respect?”
Jeremy’s eyes kept darting throughout the table—from the mug of coffee, to the butter container, then to the fruit bowl, then the coffee pot, and back to his cup. He couldn’t look past the chest of his friends, yet their anger was a weight crushing him on all sides.
Jeremy tried to pick up his mug, but his hands were shaking so badly that the coffee spilled across the table. Laila’s hand pressed against his, compelling him to lower the mug. His heart slammed against his ribs and bruised his lungs, while his throat clamped shut. Jeremy drew a shaky breath, digging his nails into the table.
“Jeremy, look at me,” Jean demanded.
Jeremy's stomach lurched. He blinked a few times, trying to clean the shadows and the shape of two tangled bodies from his vision, the staccato of his heart too similar to a headboard banging on a wall. His mouth felt painfully dry. He ached for a cigarette.
“Jeremy,” Jean repeated, louder. “Look at me.”
Even after seeing Jean with someone else, Jeremy still craved him. It hurt to look at him, but it hurt even more to look away. Every atom in his body gravitated towards Jean—being in his orbit felt like Jeremy’s natural state. Fighting against that was torturous and exhausting.
But when Jeremy dragged his eyes from his mug to Jean's face, a different kind of pain pierced his chest. Jean’s expression was twisted with righteous fury—his mouth curled in a snarl, brows furrowed, gray eyes sharp. Jean was upset, and it was Jeremy's fault.
Unlike that girl, who drew a pleased smile and a throaty groan from Jean, who gave him pleasure and fulfilled his needs.
Of course he chose her. Of course he chose anyone but you.
“It was my fault,” Jeremy said, more to himself than his friends.
“I do not care! I cannot allow anyone to hurt you!” Jean shouted. “You are my partner!”
Those words felt like a punch to the face. “Partners” had taken a deeper meaning than he could've ever thought—far deeper than the Raven system ingrained into Jean. It lit a needy, aching heat in Jeremy’s chest. But now it was tainted with grief.
“I'm sorry,” Jeremy said again, lowering his head. He wanted to add, “It won't happen again,” but they all knew it was a lie.
Jean's expression shifted, frustration washing a bit of the anger. Cat sighed, passing a hand on her face. Jeremy’s guilt and shame were obvious to everyone—he could only hope that showing it was enough to keep them from pressing harder.
“Cat, Jean. Can you give me a moment?” Laila said, putting a hand over Jeremy’s.
They looked at each other in a silent conversation. Whatever Cat and Jean saw in Laila’s face, it left no room for argument.
Cat downed the rest of her mug, settled it, and clapped her hands. “Alright. Jean, come help me sort out the laundry.”
Jean made a noise with his throat, but got up and followed Cat to the laundry room. Jeremy fidgeted with the half-eaten toast on his plate. Laila’s hand tightened its grip, and he slowly met her gaze. Her expression was almost his undoing.
“Listen carefully, Jeremy,” she began, fierce but with a choked undercurrent. “You are like a brother to me. No words can express how much I love you. I'll never tell you who you can or can't sleep with, but I'll always make my displeasure with your hookups clear. It's not about them, Jeremy,” she raised her voice when Jeremy started a protest, “It’s about you hurting yourself.”
Laila cupped Jeremy’s cheek, her thumb gently stroking his freckles. He leaned into the heat of her palm and let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
He loved Laila more than life itself. His heart bled every time he saw that sorrowful, tired look on her face—all because of his stupid and impulsive actions. Laila was hurting because Jeremy was hurting. How he wished he were the only one in pain.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Laila asked.
Jeremy swallowed a lump in his throat. He trusted Laila and was dying to confide in her, but this situation wasn't just about him. He didn't know if they all were on the same page about Jean and the girl, and he'd rather break his arms than put Jean in an awkward situation.
“I had a bad night, and I went to Leo's house. His mom almost caught us, and I had to escape through the garden. The cuts are from the rose bushes,” Jeremy said.
Laila sighed. She poked Jeremy’s throat lightly, but it flared in pain anyway. “What about these?”
Jeremy smiled faintly. “We got carried away on the choke play,” he joked, then swallowed hard. It wasn't funny, and he hated himself for trying to make it so.
The frown on her face said she didn't appreciate his attempt at humor. She shook her head when Jeremy’s smile didn't go away completely, getting up from her chair. “Stay here.”
Laila went to her room for a few moments, then came back with a makeup case. She pulled a few bases, then held them beside Jeremy’s cheek to compare the tones.
“It won't be perfect, and we'll have to retouch after practices. But at least it won't be so exposed,” Laila said, opening a container and grabbing a brush.
She didn't have to do this. Those marks were Jeremy’s fault, a symbol of his mistakes. Yet, she gladly took some of the burden he carried.
Jeremy could only smile. “Thank you.”
Laila sighed, but gave a small and fierce smirk. “What won't I do for you?”
Jeremy sat still as Laila covered the bruises in his throat with makeup, painting over his shame with prickly strokes. He took deep breaths, pushing every wretched feeling crawling inside him like insects and pushing them to the back of his mind as hard as he could. He then slid his sunshine captain mask over it all. The effort made him dizzy.
Morning practice at Lyon was tough as expected. Not only was Jeremy still sore, but the looks and whispers of his teammates in the locker room put an extra strain on his shoulders. His body was covered in small cuts, and while Laila did her best to cover the black on Jeremy’s neck, there was only so much she could do—a closer look would show something was hiding under the makeup. But worse than the attention of his teammates was the cold shoulder from Cat and Jean—they hadn't said a word to Jeremy since they left the Lofts.
Thankfully, nobody actually asked him about what happened. Jeremy told himself it was because his teammates respected him, or his friends’ ugly looks at anyone who got too close or whispered a bit too loudly. But deep down, he knew the truth: this wasn't the first time he had come to practice marked by his nights with others. Jeremy with bruises or hickeys was old news.
Worse than his teammates' looks were the coaches’ tight expressions. Coach Lisinski checked on him when Jeremy failed to do only a couple of push-ups, while Coach White asked if everything was all right after catching Jeremy staring blankly at the floor between sets. Both times, he dismissed their concerns with an easy smile.
Jeremy felt slimy and disgusting; the sensation of his skin wet with sweat conjured memories from last night, and the lack of another body pressed on him confused him for brief seconds. He felt every eye on him, judging—as if all his sins were tattooed on his skin. He heard a distinct grunt, and a chill ran down his spine.
Jeremy’s gaze began to wander without permission, attracted to a tall, raven-haired backliner like a moth heading for a torch. He stared as Jean bench-pressed his own weight—the way his large biceps flexed; the single large vein running down his arm; his tight expression, a gritted-teeth snarl that was fearsome and incredibly sexy…
Jeremy shook his head, shifting his attention to the burning ache in his muscles and trying to smother the heat curling low in his stomach.
Jeremy pushed himself as hard as he could, lifting a lot more than he was used to until his muscles screamed. Every time he caught himself stealing glances at Jean’s pecs or butt, he added another set to his workout. That punishing pace earned him a few worried glances.
“Man, slow down or you'll hurt yourself,” Ananya tapped his shoulder.
“It's fine,” Jeremy said, breathless with a large, fake smile.
By the end of it, Jeremy was completely exhausted. He huffed and panted, proud of himself—he finally stopped thinking about Jean. Then a hand clasped his shoulder.
“There was no need to go this hard. You will be useless on the court if you injure yourself during a workout,” Jean growled. His expression tightened when he glanced at Jeremy's neck.
Jeremy’s eyes met Jean’s sweaty face, and he sighed in defeat. “Understood.”
The team went to the showers, and Jeremy fumbled with the handle, numb fingers not responding well to his commands. Hot water crashed over his burning body, making him moan in relief. The pain and exhaustion should be enough to keep Jeremy’s mind submerged in static, but Jean’s presence just a few booths apart made him too aware of his own body.
The makeup bleeding down his body and into the drain added another layer of exposure. His nerves were worn raw, and his skin felt too tight. Jeremy had the urge to cover himself—unlike him in every way. He scrubbed the sweat out of his body, but again, the sickening smell of shame still clung to his flesh. But he couldn’t let that show.
Jeremy turned off the shower and grabbed a towel, smiling and chatting with his teammates like there was nothing wrong with him. The crowd of bodies and the cacophony of conversations and laughter settled his nerves like balm.
“Yo, dude! Did you fight with a sasquatch or somethin’?” Sebastian asked, before Timothy elbowed his ribs. “Ouch, what?”
Jeremy gave him an easy smile. “Not really.”
“At least he had company last night, unlike you losers who are in a long-term relationship with your hands.” Derek quipped.
Laughter echoed on the lockers. Humidity clung to Jeremy’s skin, and the pungent smell of sweat, soap, and deodorant prickled his nose. He smiled, despite himself. This was his element.
“I just hope that his companions don't tarnish our reputation even further,” Lucas mumbled.
Jeremy turned slowly to face him, smiling brightly. “Sorry, could you repeat that? I couldn't hear it.”
Lucas lowered his head and averted his gaze. “Sorry, cap. That was out of line.”
Jeremy let it drop, sitting on a bench to dry his hair and wait to have his bruises retouched. He felt someone sit beside him a few moments later, and turned his head expecting to see Laila or Cat, but froze when he saw Jean.
His friend's face was calm, if not a bit tense. Jeremy didn't miss how his cold eyes tracked anyone who looked at his captain for more than a second, or how his arms crossed tightly over his chest only highlighted the size of his musculature, or the soft but firm press of Jean's leg on his.
It stoked that needy flame inside Jeremy, and he wished he could just melt into Jean’s touch.
“You took too much weight back there,” Jean started, voice strangely unsure. “Your posture was good, though. But please don't do that again. You are not in a condition to be reckless.”
Jeremy grinned, crossing his heart and lifting three fingers. “I won't, scout's honor.”
Usually, Jean averted his gaze when Jeremy grinned at him, as if his captain's teeth were too bright for his gray eyes. But this time, Jean stared back with an intensity that put a flutter in Jeremy’s heart.
“Your muscles look good as they are,” Jean muttered, just for Jeremy’s ears.
Jeremy’s mind ground to a halt. He barely noticed Laila had arrived with her makeup case. Smugness pulled at the corner of Jean’s mouth, and Jeremy forced his gaze at the far wall as Laila began to work on his neck. Cat and Cody hung around, babbling endlessly about some new movie trailer.
Jeremy allowed himself to truly smile. He let the warm pressure of Jean’s leg on his, the gentle tickling of the brush, and the animated voice of his friends melt away the last of his unease.
Shadows still shimmered in the corner of his vision, but Jeremy stood his ground. His friends were here, so it was only fair for him to be here too.
Everything felt back to normal until life decided to punch Jeremy in the face.
It all started when Jeremy left his creative writing class by 8:50 AM, then dashed to Hoffman Hall to pick up Jean, where he had business writing with Shane. The good mood that had settled after the morning workout was shattered to a million pieces by the sight of Jean and that girl talking in the hall.
Jeremy froze like a statue in the middle of the corridor. A flood of people washed over him, but his eyes were glued to the pair by the classroom door. The blood drained from his face when she stroked Jean’s arm, and he smiled back.
“Hey, cap,” Shane greeted him with a pat on the shoulder, and Jeremy flinched.
Jeremy dragged his gaze from the couple to his teammate and forced a smile. “Hey, Shane.”
By the look on Shane's face, Jeremy didn't mask his jealousy quickly enough. He chuckled, turning his head to Jean and the girl.
“Yeah, I'm surprised by that too. He never showed interest in her all these months, then suddenly they started talking. They're kinda cute together, though,” he shrugged. Shane turned his face back to Jeremy, but whatever he saw made him hiss. “Shit, I'm sorry. I-I gotta go.”
Shane high-tailed out of the hall, leaving Jeremy to pick up the twisting, smoldering wreck in his chest. His chest felt so tight he couldn't breathe, and his stomach churned in revulsion. But there was nothing he could do. If that was going to be something for now on, it was Jeremy's duty as Jean’s friend and partner to support him—even if it made him want to peel off his skin.
Jeremy took a deep, shaky breath that did little to silence the buzz in his ears. Moving was torture, his limbs heavy like lead, but he forced himself to approach Jean and the girl.
With numb lips and a bright smile, he greeted them. “Hey, what's up?”
“Jeremy,” Jean jumped, startled.
“Oh, hello. You're Jeremy Knox, right? Jean talks a lot about you. I'm Jessica Rose,” she extended her hand.
Jeremy took her soft hand and smiled brightly. He stomped out the small, ugly urge to crush her fingers.
“Nice to meet you,” he said as he let go of her hand, then turned to Jean. “Ready to go home? I’m dying to take a nap,” he reminded him.
They were both done for the day, no more classes until afternoon practice, so they usually took this free time to study or rest.
Jean stiffened, his jaw setting tight. He clenched the strap of his bag, shifted his gaze away from Jeremy, and said, “I promised to help Jessica with a project for our class today. Sorry.”
Jessica let out a low giggle, and Jean glared at her.
“A class project?” Jeremy echoed, like he didn't use that excuse himself a hundred times before. The fact that Jean felt the need to lie to him about his true intentions hurt more than knowing they were sneaking out to have sex. He felt his smile tremble and jealousy sink its teeth into his skin. He prayed the edge on his voice wasn't perceptible, “Oh, sure. I'll… I'll just take a nap in the lounge of the Gold Court then.”
Jeremy started walking away, ignoring Jessica's “It was nice to meet you!” and something Jean said, but he didn’t understand. He clenched his fist on the shirt over his heart, trying to hold the crumbling pieces, his fast walk turning into a jog by the end of the corridor. When he hit the sidewalk, he was running.
Jeremy expected that urge to kick in—to instinctively reach for his phone and pick someone to fuck him out of his mind—but it didn't come. With Leo's bruises still rotting under his skin, and now the reminder of how undesirable he was, the last thing Jeremy wanted was intimacy.
With that escape valve closed, he fell back on the last thing he had, the last place he felt alive.
He weaved across the crowd of students, holding back his tears and letting the burning of his lungs drown his thoughts. By the time he crossed the arches of the Exy stadium and punched the security code, he was panting. His lower back hurt where his backpack kept bouncing. His head throbbed. His soul screamed.
Jeremy entered the building, his footsteps echoing on the walls. He actually considered going to the lounge and crying himself to sleep in one of the couches, but quickly dismissed it. Jeremy just couldn't stay still—there was an energy buzzing under his skin, almost painfully. He was sad and frustrated, yes, but also angry. He set himself up for failure and ran into a brick wall yet again. He needed to vent.
The locker room felt so much bigger without the crowded team, and quite lonely too. Jeremy’s eyes instinctively went to the backliners’ row, making him grimace as he caught himself.
Jeremy sighed and went to his own locker. He took off his clothes and began strapping his gear when a “Ahem” made him jump out of his skin and drop his shin guard.
“I think it's a bit too early for practice, don't you think?” Coach Rhemann asked.
It took a few moments for Jeremy to relearn how to breathe. When he felt his soul return to his body, Jeremy turned to Coach Rhemann with an awkward smile. His mind scrambled to find a reasonable justification for being here so early. “Coach! I-I, huh… wanted to get a little warm-up before practice.”
Brilliant.
Coach Rhemann raised an eyebrow, then looked at his wristwatch. “The practice that starts in six hours?”
Jeremy cringed. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Yeah, that wasn't a remotely reasonable justification. He sighed, turning his attention back to getting his gear in place.
Coach Rhemann slowly approached and sat beside him on the bench, hands locked in his lap. Jeremy finished fixing his shin guards in place, giving a hard tug to test them, then slid knee-high socks over them. Jeremy was keenly aware of his coach's presence—he could feel the man fidgeting, trying to sort out his words.
“I'm fine, Coach,” Jeremy sighed.
Coach Rhemann made a sound with his throat. “Is that so? It's not what Jackie or Michael told me, and it's definitely not what I'm seeing. Do you want to talk about it?”
Jeremy’s shoulders sagged. He ran a hand on his face, trying to swat away the bone-deep tiredness that made his body weigh a thousand pounds. “It was a bad night. I didn’t sleep properly, that's all. I'm feeling better now, and I promise it won't impact my performance on court.”
Coach Rhemann considered Jeremy’s response for a moment, then crossed his arms. “Okay. I believe you, and I hope you're right,” he said, and Jeremy reached for his chest armor. He stopped when Rhemann said, “That was from Coach Rhemann to Captain Knox. Now, from James to Jeremy—what's wrong, kid?”
Jeremy let out a shaky breath, his eyes welling up. His chest was tight, like he smoked an entire pack of cigarettes in one go. He could hardly breathe past a lump of something indescribable in his throat. His hands were sweaty, yet he shivered at the slightest movement of air.
His mind kept circling back to Jean. Jeremy never thought someone could hold such a special place in his heart, how easily Jean pierced his every defense and lodged himself in the depths of his being. And it wasn't just about looks—even though Jean was drop-dead gorgeous. Jean was an amazing man, fierce and strong, yet capable of incredible kindness. He endured hell, but his heart of gold remained unchanged. He was someone special, a one-of-a-kind person who made Jeremy’s heart soar.
How could Jeremy deserve someone like that?
Jeremy gritted his teeth, trying to hold back a tsunami of feelings that would certainly drown him. But Rhemann's hand on his shoulder broke the dam.
“I think I'm in love with him,” Jeremy blurted in a choked voice, eyes finally losing the battle against the tears.
“Oh, Jeremy,” Rhemann said, gripping the striker's shoulder. He didn’t need a name to know who Jeremy was talking about. The fact that his feelings for Jean were so obvious only added to the humiliation. “What happened?” Rhemann asked.
Jeremy squirmed. He wished to never talk about this, but he couldn’t handle the pressure building inside his chest. If he had to tell someone, Coach Rhemann was probably the only person who could understand him. “I went to Jean’s house last night. He was there… with a girl.”
Adding that last part twisted the knife in his stomach. The memories were still sharp, to the point that Jeremy could hear the moans if he stopped and listened for them.
Rhemann inhaled sharply. “I see. Did you talk to him about it?”
Jeremy huffed pathetically. “What is there to talk about? ‘Hey, I caught you fucking a girl. It's good to know you prefer pussy over me’,” Jeremy clicked his tongue in frustration. “Sorry, that was uncalled for,” he rubbed a hand on his forehead, as if smothering his thoughts. “After seeing that, I did what I usually do when I'm upset. I went to Leo's, got my neck ruined, almost got caught, and cried myself to sleep in my car.”
Admitting all of this out loud made Jeremy’s skin crawl. He should've known better. About Jean, about Leo, about sex, about his feelings and his actions. Of course it would end like this. What else did he expect?
When will you learn you aren't worthy of love?
“I still believe you should talk to Jean,” Rhemann said after a moment.
“He did nothing wrong. All of this is my fault.”
“But is it fair to him? He did nothing wrong, yes, but his actions still hurt you, and he doesn't even know it.” Rhemann argued.
On hearing those words, an echo from a few months ago came to Jeremy’s mind:
“If you don’t trust me enough to tell me what’s wrong and why, at least trust me enough to tell me that something is wrong. I can’t fix things if I don’t know there’s a problem. As your captain and your partner, don’t I at least deserve the chance to not be a villain in your story?”
His own words came back to slap him in the face. Jeremy’s eyes went wide, his heart sinking into his stomach. “Oh, god. What did I do?” he whispered, sinking his face in his hands.
“Now now, it's not like that,” Rhemann pats Jeremy’s back, a bit amused. “Now that you've figured out the problem, you can act on fixing it.”
Jeremy groaned between his fingers, “Yes, I'll talk to him. He's with her right now. I-I just… wished we could work out. I know I can't compete with a girl, but…” he trailed off, frustration eating away his words.
“I know what it is like,” Rhemann offered. “I used to think the same way about Adi and me. I thought, ‘he's so handsome and smart, why would he want to be with a stupid jock like me?’. I wanted to ask him out, but I kept chickening out, and that started affecting me. The what-ifs began to choke me. Then I decided to just rip the band-aid off and be done with it. If he rejected me, at least I would be certain of it. So I went and asked him out. Look how that turned out.”
Rhemann’s smile was reserved but radiant. Adi and James have been together for almost thirty years now. They went through things Jeremy could barely comprehend, but they came out stronger on the other side. They are what Jeremy can only dream of for himself—true and enduring love between two men. They are proof that Jeremy still has a shot at happiness.
A new string of tears flowed from Jeremy’s eyes, a dull ache of longing binding his heart, and frustration sitting on his shoulders like a boulder. Rhemann pulled Jeremy into a hug.
“There, kid. Allow yourself some kindness. And if he rejects you, I'll be here for you,” Rhemann murmured in Jeremy’s ear.
A cry broke past the lump in Jeremy’s throat. He held onto Rhemann for dear life, trusting his coach to hold his broken pieces, and let himself fall apart.