Jeremy wakes to an empty bed.
It shouldn’t be so jarring. He has woken up alone before, whether because he slept late, or because Jean had to pee—or had to take Jabberwocky to pee—but it’s different, this time. And it is jarring.
He’s suddenly aware of every inch of his skin where it touches the sheets, suddenly aware of his lack of clothing. Suddenly aware of his heartbeat, in his throat; of his stomach where it’s sinking through the floor.
He should wait, he thinks. And try not to jump to conclusions.
A minute passes, two. But still, no Jean. No Jabberwocky, either. Jeremy bites his lip, and remembers the way Jean’s teeth had gently nipped the same spot just hours before.
A flush heats his face. He remembers all of it—the press of Jean’s fingers, the caress of his kisses. The heat of him, the weight of him. The nervous laughter, and the shaky breaths they took when they pressed their foreheads together.
For their first time, Jeremy had thought it went well. He’d thought—well, he hadn’t thought much at the time, really, unable to think past a chant of Jean Jean Jean and the realization that for all the sex he had, that it had never quite felt like this.
But maybe he’d read it wrong. Maybe Jean hadn’t felt the same way. Maybe Jeremy had crossed a line, crossed a boundary. Maybe it hadn’t been as good for Jean as it had been for him. Maybe he should’ve focused more on Jean, instead of letting Jean focus on him.
He knew how men liked him, in sex. But he also knows Jean, and Jean isn’t like other men.
Jeremy glances over to Jean’s empty side again, and suddenly feels sick with himself for even comparing the two. Jean isn’t the love ‘em and leave ‘em type, but he did love Jeremy, and he did leave, for whatever that reason may be.
Jeremy’s heart kicks up in his chest. What if he’d ruined it? What if, like all the other men in Jeremy’s life, Jean had him, and decided Jeremy wasn’t the one? What if—
Jeremy goes still as stone. Jean steps in, hands wrapped around the edge of a breakfast tray.
Jeremy blinks at him. And then down at its contents. There are eggs and coffee and … bacon? He glances back up to Jean, and this time, when he does, Jean is staring back at him.
“Oh,” Jean says, as a beautiful blush spreads across his face. “You’re awake.”
“I’m awake,” Jeremy repeats. He hesitates, pushes himself up to a sitting position, and then, because he has never quite learned to control his mouth completely, adds, “You were gone.”
He tries to play it off as a joke, as a lighthearted observation , but his voice cracks, and his expression must give him away, because Jean shoots him an odd look.
“I was coming back,” he tells Jeremy, and Jeremy does his best not to squirm under the weight of his unblinking stare. “I was just making us breakfast.”
“No, yeah,” Jeremy says. “I see that now. But I just—I don’t know. It’s stupid.”
“It is not,” Jean counters. “I should have left a note.”
Jeremy’s flush deepens. “You shouldn’t have to leave a note because you went to the kitchen, Jean.”
“I was supposed to be back before you were up,” Jean tells him. He places the tray on the end of the bed, and then comes to sit at Jeremy’s hip. “To wake you with me, and breakfast. Not to have you wake up alone.”
He pauses,and when Jeremy looks away, refusing to meet his eye, asks, “Did you think I left?”
Jeremy opens his mouth. Closes it. Jean says, “Jeremy.”
“I told you,” Jeremy says, “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.” Jean puts a hand on either side of his face, and holds him there. “I will tell you as many times as you need. I am not going anywhere. You will not lose me. I will always, always come back to you. Each and every time.”
Jeremy stares at him. “You can’t know that.”
“I can, and I do,” Jean says. “I promise you this. And I do not ever break my promises.”
He reaches for Jeremy’s hand, and brings it up to his mouth; kisses his knuckles. Jeremy closes Jean’s hand in both of his, and holds it to his chest, over his heart. “What did I ever do to deserve you, Jean Moreau?”
“You deserve the world,” Jean tells him. “I only hope that I can give it to you.”
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