necromancer jean, who was forced to do unsavoury things when he was younger, free of his chains, he is now afraid of hurting anyone with his powers. jean channels what he considers a curse into bringing flowers back to life. his shop is near the cemetery : the bouquets are cheap and last longer than normal ones, so he's pretty popular among visitors and mourners.
nighthag kevin, who draws his powers from fear and dreamwalking, who can create dreams or nightmares at will. shunned from his court, he's alone in a world he doesn't understand.
they meet in jean's sleep, in a soft meadow under the stars, where jean's nightmares disappear — where gleaming soft green eyes follow him all night and haunt him during the day.
and for once, no one is afraid of them.
aftg tv show and the first trailer for jean's season/spin off starts with a bunch of newscasters and reporters saying his name in various accents
ravens backliner jean moreau- gene morrow of the perfect court- jean moreau, défenseur des Ravens-
and then we cut to jean sitting in the bed at abbie's, its completely silent (other than maybe a faint ticking), hes all bandaged up and terribly bruised, staring down at his hands in anger as the camera slowly zooms in, then he looks up and his own voice (in voiceover) says my name is jean moreau. i belong to the moriyamas. my place is at evermore. i will endure.
cue intense music with a sick beat and cut to several things happening at once: jean throws a punch, renee's necklace dangling above his palm, jeremy almost crashing his car, (idk man theres too many good ones 😭)
cut! quieter now, camera follows neil silently lowering to a crouch in front of jean (who we can barely see), imitating a gun to his head with his fingers, "pop. how easily these monsters die in the end."
music is back and we keep flashing between a bloody jean in two different bathtubs- then kevin is in front of him: "you made me a promise." / "fuck you. you have no right to hold me to it." / "but i will."
last cut is jean walking onto court in USC gold and red, in voice over he says my name is jean moreau. if i am not a raven, who am i?
So what do we think about that draft where jean kill himself on the phone with kevin ? Or an au where kevin off himself because he couldn’t handle riko’s and jean’s death?
(coming back from my mini mental health break to drop... this. uuhhh cw for jean kills himself on the phone with Kevin sorry)
-
It was late when Kevin's phone rang, loud enough to startle him from a light sleep, a half enjoyed Exy match still playing on his laptop.
Jean
Kevin paused the video.
Why was Jean calling him at this time of night? He should've been sleeping - No, at practice. Maybe he had just finished. Which schedule was he even on, now?
He pressed the green button to answer, but the feeling of something off came much quicker than any voice that would have followed. Dead air, for a moment too long, an electronic hiss, and Jean didn't speak.
"Hello?" Kevin answered, hearing a movement as he held the phone to his ear. "Jean, did you mean to call me?"
Jean laughed, a weak laugh, short and muffled. "I didn't think you'd actually pick up. That makes this all worse, doesn't it?"
His words were not English, instead French, spoken too loudly to be a secret. Kevin sat up and looked at the time again to make sure it was really as late as he thought it was. Maybe it's nothing, he comforted himself with a lie, a way of ignoring the churning feeling in his stomach that something wasn't quite right.
Jean's breathing was heavy, accompanied with a hum every few seconds, less of a happy sound, more of a struggle to keep quiet in whatever pain he was feeling.
"Why are you calling me?" Kevin whispered, like he might be heard if he didn't speak quietly. "Where is he?"
Jean laughed again, taking an inhale into the deepest parts of his lungs, before he said, "It doesn't matter."
"It does," Jean's uncharacteristic lack of care as to the king's whereabouts worried Kevin - If Riko wasn't with him... Kevin looked at the time again and again, trying to remember Riko's schedule. Why couldn't he remember?
Where was he, and why was Jean alone?
His question came out cautious. "What's going on?"
"Nothing that you can change," Jean's sigh was tired, a dismissal mixed with pessimism and hopelessness. "It's already done."
"What is?"
His heart started to pound in his chest, pushed by the tone of Jean voice, speaking french out loud without a care, no fear in his voice, but something different taking its place; Kevin was afraid, scared of the truth. Jean would never be so careless - so reckless and nonchalant. Something was wrong, so very wrong, and putting two and two together only left Kevin with too many questions and a rope around his chest.
"I hoped you wouldn't answer." Jean's voice cracked as he spoke, and Kevin shut his eyes at the sound. "I'm not even sure why I called in the first place, but ah. Here we are."
"Stop that. Where the fuck are you?"
"Only where i was always going to end up." He laughed, but instead of an awful, awkward sound, behind the laugh was thinly veiled pain. Something hurt. Jean was in pain, and Riko wasn't around, and Kevin started to pace, like he would find the answer somewhere else around the room.
Jean swallowed hard before continuing, "I would ask you how to say goodbye but you're not known to afford such courtesies, are you?"
Kevin stopped. "Goodbye?"
"Ah, so you do know how to say it," The sigh that followed had something behind it, something wistful, something painful, something... final. "Goodbye," he spoke in english, before a shaky inhale brought him back into French. "Are you happy?"
"With what?"
"Everything." His breath blew loudly through the mic of his phone. "With who you are, away from this place. In general, Kevin, are you happy now?"
Kevin hesitated. "Sometimes."
Jean hummed. "Better than never."
"What did you do?"
Jean doesn't respond immediately, and Kevin knew then what he hadn't wanted to know at all. He didn't want to know, he didn't want to assume, but then the sound of a sniffle and a low cry followed, and Kevin felt his heart start to break.
"What did you do, Jean?" He asked again, no louder than a whisper this time, quiet enough that he could hear Jean's whimper as he started to gently cry.
"Will you stay with me?" Jean replied, a swallow in his throat, the phone being placed down somewhere. "I don't want to die alone."
"Let me call someone," Kevin begged. "Why? Why would you- Why? You promised. You promised."
"Be quiet." He pleaded, and Kevin covered his mouth with his free hand. Was this happening? Jean's words were not as angry as his tone would have suggested, instead a soft quiver in his voice, as he tried to hold back the tears that Kevin pictured rolling down his face. "Just stay with me or fuck off and don't let my last thought of you be that you're an insufferable bitch."
Kevin almost laughed.
He almost laughed, knowing what was happening, knowing Jean was fading away on the other line, as he cried, dealing with whatever he'd done to himself, however it was happening.
"Tell me something I don't know," His accented voice was getting weaker with every agonising second that passed. "Talk to me."
Jean knew everything about him, almost everything, so much so that he couldn't think of something new, something that he didn't know. This was his only light in a dungeon of darkness, and that light was fading quicker than he'd left him alone all those months ago. It was not comfort Jean was looking for, but perhaps company, or a presence, just to believe that someone cared, to feel like someone was there at the end of it all. He didn't really want to know Kevin's trivia and fun facts; He said it himself - he didn't want to die alone.
"Don't do this to me," It was all that he could say, a desperate, despaired attempt, no other words meaningful enough to get him to change his mind. "Let me help you."
"You can't," Jean responded. "Not this time."
And Kevin knew that it was the truth.
He thought for a moment. What was he even supposed to do? He thought about calling for help anyway - on the one hand desperate to keep him alive, while on the other hand knowing what would be waiting for him on the other side of survival. There were no scenarios in which Jean would prosper. If Kevin called for help, it would have caused a scene, and he swore he could already hear the cracking of bones under the Master's cane, and the muffled screams that would follow.
Kevin pictured a fate almost worse than death in every attempt to end that night differently; Jean's choice had been made - this was it, and this was his goodbye.
The understanding did not make the reality any easier to digest, though. Instead it sat heavy in his stomach, weighing him down, into the fabric of the sheets he sank back down into.
"I'm sorry," He said. "I've never said that to you before. I wish i never left you."
"I don't," Jean had started to slur his words. "You deserve to be happy. Even just sometimes."
"You do too."
Jean clicked his tongue, but he didn't comment.
Perhaps he knew it was what he deserved, but it had always been more of a mythical concept than anything achievable. He knew what that darkness felt like, the familiar sound of those swirling spirals, the thoughts of can I live like this forever? that fueled the fire to bring him to this point.
The silence on the phone line lasted for an uncomfortable moment too long.
“Jean?”
Jean mumbled his response after another long pause. “Mmm?”
“Tell me something,” Kevin turned his question back on him. “Something that nobody knows about you.”
Jean’s laugh was so weak it could barely be considered a laugh anymore; more an exhale of air with something behind it. “I wanted to be a writer. Before all of this.”
“What would you write?”
Jean thought for a moment. “Poems. Things nobody would ever read. Sometimes…”
Kevin’s heart started thumping again as Jean trailed off into a mumbling silence. “Sometimes..?” He prompted him.
“Hmm?”
“What would you write other than poems?”
“Something for the theatre,” His words were slow and tired. “Something to be… performed.”
“What kind of stories?”
“Ah.” Jean sucked in a long, laboured breath. “Dramas. Something to leave… Mmm-” There’s a dull thud on the other end of the line. He couldn't hold back his quiet groan. “Something…”
“Jean.” Kevin wanted to tell him to be quiet, to wake up, to perk up. He wanted to tell Jean that his joke wasn’t funny and he was waiting for the punchline to come.
“Kevin.” He said, long and drawn out, twice the length it needs to be.
“Did you ever show anyone? Your stories?”
“Only Elodie.” His sisters name rolled off his tongue with a wet, gentle cry. “My actress.”
Kevin thought about her then, not knowing where her brother is, not knowing that he was dying on the other end of the phone.
“Did she like them?” When Jean didn't respond, Kevin raised his voice. “Jean.”
“Mmhmm,” He answered, not much of an answer at all. More of an acknowledgment of his quickly dimming consciousness, a murmur of life to prove he was still there. “Can’t talk much longer.”
“I know.” The painful acceptance left his mouth with a bitterness Kevin couldn't quite describe. “Tell me about her. Elodie.”
“I wish…” Jean spoke through almost shut lips, and Kevin winced at the sound of sleepiness as it started to consume him. “All alone.” He finished a thought he never spoke out loud. “I think… I'm tired.”
“I know.” Kevin said again. “Are you going to sleep?”
There was a struggle in his inhale as he answered, "I think so.”
Fuck. “Are you sure?”
“Mmhmm.”
There's a moment of silence.
“Jean.” Kevin calls. He could still hear his hollow breathing on the other line, but he called his name again when all that followed was silence, “Jean?”
“Mmm?” His breath slowed down to nothing, and Kevin was certain he could hear the slow and irregular ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum of his friends struggling heart.
“I love you.” Kevin said, but he felt sick as the words left his mouth. It felt worthless to him then, an empty promise. Words that should've been said far too long ago. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe.”
“Mmhmhm,” Jean hummed in three syllables. "Safe."
And Kevin waited as the silence drew on. He heard it, the final breath that left his lips, the rattle of his breath through lungs too weak to take it.
One second, he counted, and another.
Another, and another, and another, and a million moments passed with nothing but silence and the knowledge of Jean's soul hopefully finding solace in another, brighter place.
He put his phone down, too scared to hang up, and waited for a sign that this wasn't final - waiting for a sign that said this would simply result in a punishment taken too far, that in a months time when Jean's wounds healed he would call Kevin again and apologise for breaking his promise.
Kevin tried not to care about the promise, to not watch the duration of the call going up and up and up with not so much as a peep from the other end of the phone. He tried not to wonder what would happen next - would his parents be informed, would they care? Would they send his body back to France, or would he die, anonymous and insignificant, buried in some American plot of land somewhere, that nobody cared enough about to put a bunch of flowers on top of?
Would the Master call Kevin, would anyone let him know, when they didn't know Kevin had taken another breath after Jean had taken his last?
"Oh Jesus fucking Christ!" The voice on the other end of the phone scared Kevin out of the depth of his thoughts. Was it Zane? He wondered, his finger hovering over the button to end the call, or was it just another voice of a nameless Raven who would forget about this all once the sun rose? "Get the King, tell him it's-"
Kevin hung up before he could hear any more.
The panic attack that followed was not a friendly one - It started slow, but before long, his chest was stuck in a vice, and his heart was prepared to take off. Kevin couldn't hold it in anymore - he cried, choking on the breaths that left his hands numb.
Kevin didn't hear Andrew coming in, but he stood by the door frame, watching, hardly visible through the blurry haze of tears in his eyes. Andrew glanced at the still-lit-up phone screen on the bed beside Kevin, and shut the door gently behind him.
No words were enough.
There's nothing that could be done to make everything okay again, nothing he could hear that that would stop the guilt, and the sadness, and the hurt, that all-consuming hurt.
All Kevin had to offer then, was pain, and bottomless grief, as he held his racing heart while it broke into a million, tiny pieces.
thinking about kevin railing jean through the mattress. both in the same pro team, they lost the game that night — best way to deal with the frustration ? pure, unadulterated lust, snarling and gasping for air.
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