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swampthingking · 1 year ago

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The First Crack on the Glass

Jean is welcomed to SCU with open arms, and he has no idea how to feel about it.

CW: suicidal thoughts, mentions of past SA, mentions of past abuse, this is Jean Moreau we’re talking about here

Jean Moreau had been a ghost for five months.

He had been a ghost his entire life, really. A shadow. A pawn. Property.

Never allowed to speak, never allowed to have an opinion. Only allowed to sit there, Jean. Take it.

But this was different. This was all consuming, this was internal.

Who was Jean without the Ravens? Without him?

His sense of self was nonexistent. It was beaten and fucked and broken out of him years ago.

But now, he reminded himself with a breath so deep that his chest cramped, he was out. He was free.

As free as he could be, with his abuse still following him. His violence hovering above Jean’s head like a guillotine. Jean had spent his life on his back, strapped beneath the blade, anticipating the next time it dropped. Forced to watch it fall.

“Jean?”

Her voice was sweet. Kind.

Abby had taken care of him, despite his best efforts to tell her to fuck off, let me be. Let me die. Let the infection burn me from the inside. Let it kill me.

The sharp objects and medications and anything resembling a rope were hidden from him after that.

“David’s gonna take you to the airport, okay?”

She never opened the door without his permission. She never snuck into his room. She never questioned when he woke up dry heaving.

Jean opened the door. His bag was already slung over a shoulder. The rest of his things were at the Nest. All of his belongings, not that they were sentimental. But his books. Sketchbooks. His journals. The only life he’d ever had was there.

And he hadn’t had a choice in being transferred over to USC. Another business transaction. Another trade. Another object.

Abby put a hand to his cheek before he could spiral. She was good at that; noticing when he looked miserable. He hated how much he craved touch, despite how much he had experienced under heavy hands. Hated how much he wanted to relax into it, despite his immediate tension. His relationship with touch was nuanced and troublesome, and every day was a battle where he shooed it away, but it always came slinking back like a stray cat you made the mistake of feeding once.

He ate out of Abby’s hand anyways.

“You’re going to be okay,” she whispers. Her eyes are so kind. Jean can admit, at least to himself, that he’s softened his edges a bit for her. This woman, this small but mighty woman, who has nurtured him despite his rage and ugliness; she hadn’t given up.

Jean grunts, almost a laugh, but not really. He didn’t have the energy to pretend. He was too busy suppressing how much he was going to miss her.

David Wymack doesn’t speak much, but when he does, it’s hesitant, at least with him. Jean can’t say the same for the rest of Wymack’s team. For Kevin, to whom he barks, “Get the fuck out of my face. And put your seatbelt on.”

Kevin and Renee are in the back of the car. One of them had moved from the passenger’s seat to the back, and Jean knew that because the passenger seat was still warm when he sat down.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Renee smiled when she saw him, said hello with her lilting voice, and Kevin stared at him. Kevin had been staying at Abby’s, unfortunately. Jean didn’t know where the rest of them were. Kevin had told him they usually stayed at Abby’s over the summer, but they were staying at another place because Jean was there. Jean didn’t care.

He did care, at first, when Kevin told him that. Jean had sprung from the bed and started to pack as soon as the words left Kevin’s mouth. The thought of sharing a space with the people who had stolen him from his home, now infiltrating the space that was starting to feel safe made him feel physically ill. Kevin stopped him from packing, informing him that they were staying somewhere called Columbia.

They settled into silence. Wymack was playing whatever popular radio station was on. Jean didn’t care what happened.

On the way to the airport, Jean wondered about the probability of another car hitting them in order for only Jean to be killed. If it was possible for another car to slam into only the passenger side, so he would be the only one affected. He thought about it the whole way there. Replayed it on a loop. It was comforting.

The airport wasn’t very busy, and Jean only stuck around to say thank you before he turned his back on Wymack, Renee, and Kevin.

He didn’t have a checked bag, so he went through security. It was fine. He had a bottle of water in his bag that he’d forgotten about, and he had to be patted down. That was not so fine, but Jean allowed his eyes to glaze over. Allowed himself to float until the TSA agent cleared him.

They disposed of the water bottle.

He put his shoes back on.

He sat at the gate.

He boarded the plane. Took the window seat.

He watched the clouds. Wondered if the plane would crash. Wondered if it would be painful.

He fell asleep. Woke up nauseous, with the taste of someone’s fingers in his mouth. Down his throat.

The woman in the middle seat was asleep on her husband’s shoulder.

Just a dream.

Even in his sleep, he can’t have any peace.

Jean waited outside in the California air. It was hot. He was tired. He had slept for a few hours, but he still felt like his body would give out any minute.

“Hey, Jean!”

Jeremy Knox was in front of him, waving a hand in his face. Jean hadn’t seen or heard him approach, which seems preposterous because Jeremy Knox is one of the most obnoxious individuals he’d ever seen. He’d only played against him and watched him on TV. He had never had an actual conversation with him, but that was enough of an impression.

His exuberance was disturbing. His zest for life, immature. His golden hair, unkempt.

“You don’t have a checked bag?”

Jean shook his head.

Jeremy said, “That’s alright,” with that smile. It showed so many teeth. It was genuine. Jean hated it.

Jean stood, and Jeremy’s head tipped back to follow as Jean raised himself to his full height, almost a foot taller than Jeremy.

“Wow, forgot how tall you were. Wow. Very tall. You ready?” Jeremy turned and led them to his car. Jean followed obediently. He reminded himself that Riko is dead. He doesn’t have to obey anyone. But he did it anyway. It was ingrained into him.

“Okay, let’s go. Are you hungry? You look like you’re about to fall asleep. The flight was, what, seven hours? You’re probably starving.”

He wasn’t. He could barely eat. Could barely keep it down. Jean didn’t answer, because he had an inkling that Jeremy wasn’t done.

“We have food in the dorm. Not much, but we can get you something on the way back. Do you want a coffee or anything?”

“We?” Jean said.

Jeremy looked perplexed. “Yeah. We. We’re roommates.”

Jean distracted himself by getting into the car, only to avoid Jeremy’s eyes for a moment. Jean hadn’t expected to live privately, of course, but he hadn’t expected his roommate to be Jeremy Knox either.

Somewhere deep in his subconscious, he hears Kevin’s voice telling him about it. How Kevin had specifically asked Jeremy to room with Jean, and Jeremy agreed for some reason.

Jean must have forgotten. Or ignored Kevin. Or not have cared enough to retain it.

“No one told you?”

“Forgot,” Jean mumbled, looking out the window. He’d only said a few words today, and he was exhausted.

“That’s okay! I forget stuff all the time. I think I have ADHD.”

Jean didn’t answer. Jeremy didn’t stop talking.

There was a banner. And balloons. And flowers on the coffee table. A smaller vase of flowers on the counter. And a cake.

“Bienvenue, Jean!” the banner read.

“SCU Trojans #29” the cake read.

He could see Jeremy’s smile in his periphery. Wide as always, but a little hesitant. A bit shy.

Jean scanned the room. Maybe this was there for Jeremy. The other Trojans must have set this up for him. Maybe Jean was standing here dumbfounded at something that was absolutely not meant for him.

But it was. The cake had Jean’s number on it. The banner said his name.

And Jeremy was vibrating. He shoved his hands in his pockets, and gave Jean a chance to say something.

Jean didn’t know what to say. He stood near the door, strangling the straps of his duffle.

Riko would have popped him in the back of the head by now. Riko would have made a nasty comment about being ungrateful. Riko would have made him beg for forgiveness, and tell him all the things he was thankful for, because Riko is the one who allowed him nice things. “Nice” things. Like being allowed to live.

But Riko was dead. No matter how much Jean lived in fear that he’s actually alive somewhere, in hiding. That he’s going to come back into Jean’s life the second he began to live. But for now at least, he’s dead.

Jeremy looks like he wants to scream.

“I’m so sorry if it’s too much!” He finally breaks, face red either with embarrassment or from repressing his excitement. “I just wanted you to feel special. We’re all really excited for you to be here, Jean. I didn’t know what kind of cake you liked. Or even if you like cake. Shit,” Jeremy blanched. “Do you like cake?”

Jean blinked. Jeremy was staring up at him, assessing him like he could find the answer to do you like cake? written across his face. He must not have found it, because his next thoughts were spewing from his mouth before Jean could even process the question.

“Okay, well it’s here if you like it. It’s half vanilla and half chocolate, because I wasn’t sure what kind you liked.” Jeremy walked over to the small vase of flowers on the kitchen counter, fluffing them as he spoke. “And I tried not to get any flowers that people have allergies to. So there’s no lilies or roses or anything. I didn’t… I didn’t know if you were allergic to anything. Oh God,” he pulled back. “There are sunflowers though. Are people allergic to sunfl— Shit.”

Jeremy put his head in his hands, like the sunflowers are going to take years off of his life. “This is going horribly. I should have checked. Do you feel stuffy or anything?”

Jeremy then crossed the floor, determinately invading Jean’s personal space. Before Jean could flinch, Jeremy put the back of his hand on Jean’s forehead to assess if he was feverish, as if that’s how anaphylactic shock works.

“I’m…” Jean started, taking a step back, away from Jean’s hand. He ended up against the door.

He wasn’t sure what he was. He wasn’t sure what to say. The thought of Jeremy and the Trojans organizing this was jarring. The thought of Jeremy stressing about if Jean liked cake, and what flavors he might like. The banners. The flower arrangements, two of them. The balloons that yelled Welcome!

It all made Jean feel like he couldn’t breathe. It cracked the apathy beaten into him; the apathy he clung to to survive. This display was a pebble on a windshield, but it woke Jean up a bit. Chipped the glass.

To his absolute horror, his complete humiliation— Jean will blame this on the long trip and the harrowing flight and the human interaction for years— his throat seized. His vision blurred.

Jeremy had stepped back, waiting, looking up at Jean with a palm over either of his own cheeks.

“It’s really…” Jean didn’t have the words. So he nodded, unceremoniously. He felt like he should’ve said more. He couldn’t.

But it must have been enough. Jeremy’s grin could have lit heaven.

#jerejean #jean moreau #jeremy knox #all for the gay #all for the game #aftg #aftg fanfic #jerejean fic #I love them so much #Jean my beloved #jeremy is an angel #aftg fic #swampy writes #tsc #the sunshine court

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