#happyjeanmoreau

[chryseiswriting-blog]

Imagine.

Post The Sunshine Court. Some time has passed but not much. Jean is still healing. Jeremy is down bad but refuses to admit it. Renee goes to visit Jean in LA and they spend the day together as friends before meeting up with the floosies for lunch at the mall.

The floosies get milkshakes then sit down in the food court to wait for R and J. Jeremy is mid sentence, talking about Barkbark or pottery or something silly and happy, and then he cuts off, choking on his words and his milkshake and he slaps a hand over his mouth, coughing, his face turns a brilliant shade of red. Curious, the floosies glance over their shoulders to see what Jer saw to provoke such a visceral reaction.

J and R are walking toward them. Renee has somehow conned Jean into taking part in a classic Fox bet but with a spin and Jean has evidently lost. The cost? He has to swap shirts with her for an hour.

She looks tiny and adorable in his comparatively massive Trojan black tee (striped cardinal red ofc). Grinning with tacky-af red heart sunglasses balanced atop her head.

But Jean? Jean in Renee’s pastel pink shirt (that’s comfortable on her but positively TINY on him, hugging him so tight you can see his pecs and biceps, revealing the slope of his hips and the smooth, scarred panes of his abdomen— a certified midriff), complete with a pastel rainbow bear on the chest? Yeah. Yeaa.

And the floosies look back at Jeremy, all with matching smirks, but our golden boy can’t look up. Suddenly the paper straw of his oat milk caramel milkshake is the most interesting thing in the world. The floosies are smiling. Jean is scowling, muttering grumpy French. Jer is red red.

Right before the Fox and former Raven get within ear shot, all he can muster is a quiet “shuddup” to his grinning friends. Later, when he’s alone, he’ll think of gray eyes and heart shaped glasses.

And they are all happy.

Imagine.