Sneak peak into my new fanfic from Kevin's pov regarding Jean's life with the Trojans and their fractured relationship.
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Jean is not the same person Kevin saw in Abby's spare room months ago.
He moves differently now, lighter on his feet, like the weight that once sat on his shoulders has been redistributed among the people he keeps close. He talks more—never frivolous or unnecessary, but there’s something smoother in his voice when he does. He lets Jeremy steal food from his plate, lets Laila poke at his side when she walks by, lets Cat rest her legs across his lap when she falls asleep on the couch.
Kevin watches and wonders how it would have been if they were made to share this.
How unfortunate that they were always meant to walk away from each other instead.
On the really bad days, Jean went to Coach Rhemann’s house.
After practice, when the weight of his own thoughts was too much, when the shadows of old memories clung too tight, Jeremy would squeeze his hand—just once, just enough. And Jean would go.
Rhemann never asked why. Never made him explain. He would just nod and take Jean home with him, the way he had so many times before.
The drive was usually quiet. Coach had laced poison from his mending heart with enough words and understanding before that he didn’t need to repeat them. Jean had lost count of the times he’d sat in that passenger seat and listened as Rhemann muttered about the Ravens, about Moriyama filth, about how Jean had been done wrong. The first time, it had startled him—the depth of Rhemann’s anger on his behalf. But over time, it had become something steady, something safe. Someone furious for him instead of at him.
By the time they pulled into the driveway, Jean already felt lighter.
Adi was always there, waiting inside, busy with something or another—folding laundry, watering plants, fixing a chair that had been wobbly for months but “wasn’t that bad” according to Coach. He would greet them both with a warm smile, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Jean would feel the first hints of warmth seep into his cold bones.
Jean would sit with them, letting their conversations fill the air around him like a blanket. Sometimes, they watched TV. Sometimes, Adi would tell long, winding stories from his childhood in between flipping channels, and Coach would pretend to roll his eyes even though Jean could tell the ridiculous amount of fondness oozing out of him.
Then it would be time for dinner.
Jean and Rhemann would head to the garden to gather whatever Adi needed, the air outside crisp, the smell of earth rich under their hands. They washed everything together at the sink, the water running warm over Jean’s fingers, over years of scars.
Adi cooked with easy efficiency, and Jean helped, following instructions without question. It was routine now—comfortable. He chopped vegetables, stirred sauces, plated food. Adi teased him sometimes, told him he should have gone to culinary school instead of playing Exy, and Jean would scoff, exasperated, but it was always softened by the way Rhemann chuckled beside him.
By the time they sat down to eat, the house was filled with the scent of spice and warmth and something Jean hadn’t had much of growing up—home.
After dinner, they cleaned the kitchen together, bumping shoulders, trading easy conversation. Coach would hug Adi from behind at some point, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and Adi would swat at him half-heartedly, pretending to be annoyed but never actually moving away.
And Jean—Jean would smile. A warm thing that still was so foreign to him but that he had learned to let come and tend to his old scars.
Because this was okay. This was good.
Riko had spent years drilling it into him that people like him didn’t get to exist much less to be happy . That love was conditional. That warmth was fleeting. That Jean would not live to grow old and be this. That Jean was meant to be used and thrown away, not cherished.
But here were Coach and Adi, disproving every single one of those lies just by existing. By being happy. By being here.
They had tea or coffee afterward, and Jean and Coach would talk about Exy, while Adi chimed in with unhelpful advice that made Jean groan. Coach would laugh at Jean’s suffering, and Jean would roll his eyes, but he wouldn’t actually mind.
Because by the end of the night, he always felt less fractured. Less like the boy Riko had made him, and more like the man he was becoming.
Because Jean was alive and could become something other than the raven with clipped wings he was in the Nest. He had lived and Riko hadn't. He couldn't be hurt by him any longer, Riko's reach was only what Jean let it be. And here, it was nothing at all because this warmth and happiness was contagious and all consuming.
Later, after the dishes were washed and the night had settled quiet around him, Jean’s phone would buzz as Coach took him home.
It was always Jeremy.
Good? I miss you.
It was a ritual now, something small and steady between them. Jean didn’t have to think about his reply.
Good. I miss you too.
It was small. But it worked for them.
Jean would always choose this, even on the bad days. Especially on the bad days. Because they were far and in between nowadays.
Because he deserved to get better.
And he had. He still was, slowly but surely. He had so many more good things to be alive for he couldn't use only his hands to count now, he was surrounded by them.
Nora is not innocent at all because apparently relationships between ravens (the birds) are often contentious, but they still show commitment to their families. Kevin and Jean. KEVIN AND JEAN.
If you're a girl and had a girl-friend and the relationship became muddy and homoerotic and the lines became blurred and the ending was catastrophic and left its mark on you forever, you know exactly what happened between Kevin Day and Jean Moreau
I will make everyone miserable now by reminding you guys that Jeremy will probably have to deal with Joshua in book 3 on top of everything else. Either Nora will go wild card with us and he'll be a good surprise or he'll be what breaks (that can mean a lot of things) Jeremy... which is terrifying
The apartment's living room finally felt lived in now. Not just a space assigned to them, but a space kept—the coffee table perpetually stacked with textbooks and half-empty cups, the couch cushions forever slightly askew from where one of them had last sat, blankets tossed over the armrest because not one out of the four of them remembered put them back properly. Every bit of that normality had helped them after everything that happened with their old house.
Jean was sitting cross-legged on the couch, his laptop balanced on one knee, a pen twirling absentmindedly on his hand. He was deep in focus, working through a business assignment, eyes dark and sharp as they scanned his notes. His fingers tapped absently against the page, his mind already three steps ahead of wherever his study material was taking him.
Jeremy, who had given up studying for the LSAT in front of Jean (one too many scowls, one too many lectures about making a bad decision if he didn’t go pro), had settled for reviewing his French instead. The textbook sat open in his lap, a notebook balanced against his thigh, but his attention had drifted to the dark haired man just in front of him.
He was wearing sweatpants and a dark blue shirt, loose in the shoulders, the V-neck dipping just enough to reveal his collarbone and the thin chain of his cross necklace.
Jeremy felt something in his chest go tight, as it usually did when he looked at Jean for too long because he was a handsome man. Unfairly so.
And Jeremy, who had spent too much time pretending he wasn’t thinking about that, was currently doing a shit job of looking away.
Jean, still reading, barely moved when he spoke. “Do you need help?”
Jeremy startled slightly, caught. “What?”
He finally glanced up, arching a brow. “You’re staring.”
“Blunt as always” Jeremy couldn't help but smile and feel a little embarrassed for being caught red-handed.
“I’m observant.” Jean shrugged, going back to his notes, settling back in again.
Jeremy’s heart was still beating a little too fast, so he took the only opportunity he had. “Yeah, actually. Help me with this.” He tapped the open page in his textbook. “How do I pronounce le droit des affaires?”
“Business law?” Jean looked up again, blinking the way he did when he thought Jeremy was saying something silly.
Jeremy grinned. “Oh, look at that. We’re studying the same thing.”
“You can say droit properly, I’ve heard you.” Jean sighed like he regretted every choice that led him to this conversation.
Jeremy made a vague gesture. “Yeah, but it never sounds as good as when you say it.”
“Because you are American.” He gave him a flat look
Jeremy pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Ouch.”
He rolled his eyes, but after a moment, he indulged him.
"Le droit des affaires," he said, slow and measured, the words slipping smooth and practiced from his lips.
Jeremy hummed, trying to mimic it. “Le droit des affaires.”
Jean shook his head immediately. “Your r is terrible.”
“I know.” He winced a bit, it was something he was having a hard time fixing.
"Droit." Jean gave him a small smile, his voice patient when he repeated.
He tried again. "Droit."
Jean’s gaze softened just slightly. “Better.”
Jeremy didn’t know if it was the way Jean said it, or the fact that he was looking at him like that, but it made something warm curl deep in his stomach.
He cleared his throat, looking down at his book again. “Okay, so what about—”
Jean, already going back to his notes, cut him off before he could even finish. “No more legal terms.”
Jeremy grinned. “Fine. How about… mon amour?”
Jean’s pen stilled against the page.
Jeremy watched the small shift in his expression, the way his fingers curled slightly against his textbook, the way his lashes flickered as he glanced up, unreadable.
Then, quiet, like it cost him nothing at all and everything at the same time, Jean said, “Mon amour.”
Jeremy’s breath stopped. He was sure he looked like a fish out of the water. He couldn't think and his heart was racing a losing race.
Jean had said it—mon amour—so soft, so easy, like it had always belonged to him. Like it wasn’t the single most dangerous thing he had ever let slip past his lips.
And he kept looking.
Jean’s grey eyes were steady, unblinking, studying him in a way that made Jeremy’s throat dry and his heart thunder against his ribs. It wasn’t just that Jean was looking—it was how. Like he was memorizing him, tracing the specks of gold in his eyes, mapping the curve of his mouth, searching for something he wasn’t sure he would find.
He had never seen him look like that before.
The rules have changed, Jean.
Jean knew this was a dangerous line, but he had thought about Jeremy like this so many times, had censored himself as many times, because he couldn’t have this.
He couldn’t have Jeremy.
No matter how much he wanted him.
But then—then—Neil’s voice curled at the back of his mind, sharp and certain, telling him the rules had changed. That he wasn’t playing under Riko’s rules anymore. That he could have things now. That he was allowed.
That he could want something and take it.
Jeremy was still watching him, looking a bit stunned and tense. He looked like he was waiting for Jean to do something.
And maybe—maybe just this once—, with Jeremy looking at him like this, Jean could let himself believe it.
So he leaned in, just slightly, just enough, and asked, "Est-ce que je peux t’embrasser?"
He saw the exact moment Jeremy understood.
Because Jean knew Jeremy had learned that phrase. If he remembered correctly, it was in a chapter about holidays and Valentine's Day, Laila had said that phrase with the pronunciation all wrong to Cat dozens of times since then.
Jeremy’s lips parted slightly, his breath hitching, and the space between them suddenly felt too much and too little all at once.
Jeremy knew exactly what it meant.
Jean swallowed. He should give Jeremy time to think, to answer, to—
“Yes.”
It wasn’t hesitant. It wasn’t confused.
Jeremy said it like he had been waiting for this.
Jean’s breath caught and then he moved. He didn't want to give his mind time to talk him down from this.
The book on Jeremy’s lap slid to the floor as Jean reached for him, fingers curling into the collar of Jeremy’s sweatshirt, pulling him in—slow, careful, certain. He could feel the warmth of Jeremy’s breath, could see the way his lashes fluttered, could hear the way his breath stuttered when Jean tilted his head just so.
And then, finally, he kissed him.
Jeremy made a small sound—something between relief and disbelief, something warm—and kissed him back without hesitation.
It wasn’t desperate, but something deeper than that.
Something like want—days and weeks and months of it, coiled tight between them, finally unraveling, spilling out into the space where their lips met, where Jean breathed him in like he was something necessary.
Jeremy cupped Jean’s face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, steadying him. Holding him like Jean was something worth holding.
Listen, Jean's "How someone so warm had survived such a cold place, Jean didn’t know." and Jeremy's "How Jean’s kind heart had survived a place like Evermore, Jeremy wasn’t sure. It was bruised and bleeding, but it wasn’t broken." is a parallel that's making me run circles screaming inside my brain. They acknowledge each other's pain and recognize the strength it took for them to remain kind. They see each other. Jean sees Jeremy's exterior but he's no stranger to his rough edges and Jeremy sees Jean's rough exterior but he's no stranger to his soft edges.
Kevin got out of the Nest earlier but I think Jean will advance in his healing journey faster (it is Not a competition but bear with me). And I came to that conclusion solely based on the people they have around them.
The Foxes are as dysfunctional as they come opposite to the shiny support system the Trojans are offering Jean. A good example is how the Trojans deal with Jean's self-harm and eating disorder versus how the Foxes deal with Kevin alcoholism.
You deal with things the best you can with the tools you have, Jean continued to be traumatized without any kind of support after Kevin left but when he did leave he was given tools that Kevin was not even after being out almost 2y sooner.
In the end, Kevin sending Jean to the Trojans was sewing up the throat he slit on his way out. Kevin was Jean's executioner but when it mattered the most he was Jean's saviour.
I definitely think Jean will heal much sooner, in many ways he’s already surpassed Kevin! And I get the reference to Jean’s comment in TSC but it’s worth mentioning that if Kevin hadn’t left Jean behind in the first place there is no way Jean would have lived to graduation, promise or no promise.
Absolutely. For a few reasons but the one I get my heart broken the most is because I believe Jean had to leave that place to survive but he'd never leave if Kevin was there. Edgar Allan was Jean's grave but Kevin left and because of that his coffin was never nailed shut, so he survived.
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