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indecisive-specimen · 24 days ago

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back from the dead! i offer everyone a wip from the twilight au to prove it 🙂‍↕️

Cody, Xavier, and the Derricks, whom Jeremy had been gleefully introduced to before practice that morning, joined them within a few minutes. They slid into the booth Jeremy and the girls had grabbed with such fluid ease that Jeremy wondered if the seating was assigned and he just happened to pick the right spot— though, if that were the case he supposes that there would need to be some adjustments due to his presence as a tag-along, but his teammates merely knocked his elbows and teased him for stealing the window seat. He’s never felt so inexplicably comfortable— he’s so comfortable it actually starts to put him on edge.

He doesn’t like how easy it feels, how the Wolves’ presence adds a lightness to him he’d been carrying since the biology catastrophe. It’s hard to remember to be cautious though when Cody makes a stupid joke and the Derricks double over with laughter and Cody’s eyes light up with infectious satisfaction. It’s hard when Xavier starts mooning over another teammate and Cat and Laila lay into him with exaggerated impressions of the two, making Xavior’s face turn as red as Cody’s hair.

It should make him feel left out, all of these inside jokes and references to exes and crushes— all of it—, but each time someone turns to Jeremy with a shit-eating grin and says “Jeremy, listen to this-” before launching into the story behind the madness with frequent interjections from the rest of the group. It’s hard to feel like the odd one out when they go to such extravagant lengths to prove he is not.

Cat’s half trying to intervene, half trying to instigate a food fight between the Derricks when Jeremy feels eyes on him. He tries to ignore it, at first, tells himself it’s just someone’s passing curiosity. He cracks after about two seconds. Craning his neck over his shoulder, he finds the piercing eyes drilling a hole into the back of his head way too easily— because their owner doesn’t even attempt to look away. Rather, a smile grows on his lips. It's a twisted thing; pale scars mar his tan face— and Jeremy knows they make it hard for his smile to be anything but intimidating, that the man could very well mean it to be kind, apologetic, flirtatious.

Jeremy is not subdued by that whatsoever.

The man lingers by the doorway, loitering in a manner that puts Jeremy even more on edge, because honestly, he really shouldn’t be all that intimidating; he’s less than 5’5”, scrawny from what Jeremy can infer under his oversized, faded shirt and threadbare shorts. He can’t be any older than Jeremy, and his scraggly, dark red hair should have a boyish effect— but Jeremy knows better. His eyes are the scary kind of blue— not like the ocean or sky, or whatever poets like to romanticize about them— they’re something zombielike to Jeremy; something dead and scary. Life had been drained out behind them long ago, and the man staring Jeremy down did not wish to regain what he’d lost. That’s what had Jeremy’s spine straightening, hair rising on the back of his neck.

The frightening man holds Jeremy’s gaze, even as more people filtered in behind him, readjusting his stance against the window to make room as they all loitered by the empty hostess stand. Jeremy’s unsure if this is a challenge, a test, but he hesitates before turning his attention back to the table, catching Xavier’s eye first and nodding his head in the direction of the dead-eyed redhead and the posse slowly trickling in behind him.

“Who are they?”

Cat follows his gaze easily, recognition sparking in her eyes before immediately looking back at Jeremy, and she just sighs as her face falls to something like resignation.

Laila doesn’t even look up from her fries, scowling into them as she picks through the identical potato wedges. “The monsters,” she spits.

Cat rolls her eyes. “The Wymacks,” she corrects flatly and Jeremy blinks in surprise. “Kind of. They’re Coach’s foster kids.”

“They’re adults now.” Laila mumbles, smushing a fry with her fork for no apparent reason.

Cody shoots her a look next. “Kids don’t stop being your kids when they turn eighteen.”

“Unless you’re a shitty parent,” Derrick (or Derek, Jeremy can’t get them straight yet) adds.

“I don’t know man, some of them started living with him after they turned eighteen.” Derek (or Derrick) whispers, leaning in across the table conspiratorially. “That’s weird.”

“Anyway,” Cat interjects, hands splayed in front of her. “They keep to themselves, Kevin’s apparently the only one who took to exy. Well, and Dan, I guess.”

“Weirdest,” Derek(?) jumps back in. “Some of them are like… together.”

Jeremy squints at him, brain whirring. “Like… together together?”

Derek nods, slow and big with wide eyes. “Like fucking together.” Derrick makes a circle with one hand’s thumb and forefinger and inserts his other pointer finger through the opening crassly, nodding along.

Cat sighs, growing increasingly exasperated. “You’re blowing it out of proportion, Dan and Matt were already dating—”

“Still weird.” Derrick doubles down. “Who adopts two foster kids who are fucking?”

“Anyway,” Cat tries again. “We really shouldn’t be gossipping about Coach and his family! Can we please talk about anything else?”

Laila’s eyes narrow into slits at her girlfriend, a silent conversation Jeremy isn’t privy to taking place before him as the women lean their heads closer together.

Cody’s the one to sigh next, looking at Jeremy apologetically. “The blonde girl with the rainbow ends,” they nod back in the direction of the Monsters— Wymacks. Whatever they are. “That’s Renee Walker. She’s super sweet.”

Jeremy follows Cody’s direction, finding the woman they described with ease as she leads the group to a table. She has a small, easy smile on her lips as she talks to the man next to her— Kevin Day, Jeremy recognizes from practice. The Asian-American pair couldn’t be more different in their demeanors, and Jeremy is even more surprised at Renee’s answering smile to Kevin’s scowl in response to something she said than he had been at the realization she likely spent more than a little time with both Kevin and the man from before.

Kevin hadn’t been that bad, maybe less accommodating than the other Wolves had been, but they set a high standard. He seemed an odd combination of standoffish and starstruck. Jeremy knew he was a fan, the other members had teased him openly about as much, but he didn’t seem as interested in getting close to Jeremy as the other Wolves had been.

So it was jarring seeing him stride next to Renee as she kept up with a quick lightness to her steps and the beam in her quiet smile. Her dark roots gave to white-blonde hair that streaked out into a complex, professional, arrangement of colors that ended just under her chin.

“And Kevin… well, you met him.” Cody says, unable to hold back their grimace.

Xavier takes over for them. “He’s… an acquired taste, but he’s made the team stronger than ever.”

“Tough love,” Cat explains.

“I don’t think he loves anything.” Laila mutters, accepting a nudge from Cat.

“Oh, and the little red-headed boy is Neil Josten,” Cat says next, identifying the one that had given Jeremy the creeps— and who is still staring, he might add— so flippantly Jeremy is taken aback.

“He’s really weird.” Derek adds. Derrick shoves him, but Jeremy is inclined to agree with him.

More distracting than his nerves, though, is the way one of Neil’s hands trails behind himself, palm up in invitation. Jeremy follows Neil’s fingertips to where a pale hand has pinched the hem of his oversized shirt between two fingers. Jeremy can’t tell if they’re trying to be subtle or not, but is put off the thought when he follows the hand up to find the same man, but twice.

“And the blonde guys, the ones just over there—” Xavier continues the introductions, hand waving in their direction vaguely and answering Jeremy before the question had even been asked. “—Aaron and Andrew Minyard. Andrew’s the one who looks like he’s in pain, Aaron’s the one with the lip piercing.” Xavier continues.

They’re even shorter than Neil, though no less intimidating. The one grasping Neil’s shirt— Andrew, judging by the eyebrow piercing as opposed to lip— doesn’t look pained to Jeremy at first glance. He looks carefully neutral, a blank canvas. There is no pinch in his brow, like his look-alike, but he supposed that one’s eyes cannot hold that same blankness. Where Neil’s eyes had been dead, Andrew’s are indeed pained as they take care not to linger on one thing for too long as to not seem too interested; a performative show of neutrality to everything around him. Jeremy’s eyes flit back to his grasp on Neil’s shirt.

“They’re dicks,” Cody adds, unkindly. “Stay away from them.”

Jeremy’s sure they’re still talking, explaining to him exactly why and how dickish the twins (brothers? They have to be twins— brothers don’t have the same face like that) really are, but the emerging argument fades to background noise as the door’s bell rings again and a familiarly broad frame falls into step behind them.

He’s even taller than Jeremy thought, towering over the Wymack Clan ahead of him— which, admittedly, isn’t that hard to do— but there’s a way about him that makes it so. Jeremy’s used to being one of the taller guys in a room, and though Moreau only has a few inches on him, his presence is larger; his back is straight— in a way that says he has good posture naturally, rather than squaring up as a show of strength— and he keeps his chin tipped up as he fixes those dark eyes on the table ahead, taking long, sure strides with a one track mind— it’s a quiet confidence that is so unfamiliar to Jeremy; most guys over six foot will take on one of two personas: those who hunch in on themselves, try to be smaller, and are so overly concerned about running into someone, those who attempt to minimize the amount of space they take up in the world at all costs— or, they’re cocky, purposefully imposing and uncaring about stepping on those below them; those who believe the world was built for them alone. Moreau is neither; he is nothing but poised as he moves through the diner—until he notices Jeremy staring.

The man’s steps falter, if only for a moment, as his black eyes meet Jeremy’s and there’s something there, his face contorting into something Jeremy can’t put his finger on— a wrinkled brow and flared nostrils, a tick in his jaw—

And then Jeremy blinks and it’s like none of it ever happened; like Jeremy imagined the whole interaction, because Moreau’s gaze is locked ahead of himself once more, steps steady as he goes and face completely blank.

“Who’s… um, who is he?” Jeremy asks, as casual as he can manage— though his voice cracks like he’s thirteen.

Clearly having interrupted whatever spat had broken out, his companions all go silent and twist their heads around the room to find who Jeremy’s asking about.

“Oh,” it’s Derrick that spots him first. “That’s Jean Moreau.”

And that’s all they have to say about him, apparently, because the table falls quiet. Not so much awkwardly, just contemplative, like no one can give him any more information than that. That’s Jean Moreau, and that is all.

“Do you… know him?” Derek asks, eyes darting between Jeremy and Jean.

Jeremy shrugs, forcing his attention back to his chicken strips. “We have bio lab together.”

Laila searches his face, not liking what she finds evidently but trying her best to hide it. “I wouldn’t waste my time. He doesn’t talk to anybody.”

Jeremy scoffs, probably too harshly to be convincing. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He feels eyes on the back of his head all through lunch, and when he finally looks over his shoulder, Jean’s black eyes are trained on him.

#all for the game #jerejean #twilight au #wip #aftg tgr #the golden raven #aftg tsc #the sunshine court #jeremy knox #aftg #jean moreau #millie rocking

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