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Chapter Text

There was never a sign when life was about to change—no warning before someone arrived and altered everything. If there had been, Kevin Day could name two days in his past when the sky should've cracked open: the day he met Jean Moreau, and the day he met Jeremy Knox.

Those moments rerouted everything for him, in ways he appreciated and in ways he'd always fail to find words for.

But there would be one more day like those two, not far off, one he couldn't yet see coming. That day belonged to the Kevin who lived a second life. The current Kevin—the one who thought he already knew everything—would learn soon enough.

__________

Twenty Years Ago

Kevin Day squinted at the screen of the tablet in his small hands and tried again to force the words into making sense but it was difficult to do because the words were in Japanese. He was supposed to be learning it but the letters made confusing sounds that English and Irish never did when using the same ones. Still, he was determined to figure it out because the Master said he had to (which meant it wasn't optional). Plus, Kevin's mom always said he was smart and she was never wrong.

Except Mam wasn't here to say that anymore.

He closed his aching eyes and leaned his head back against the cinder-block wall behind him, his gangly ten-year-old legs hanging over the side of his twin bed. It'd be easier to learn if there wasn't so much red everywhere all the time: red beds and red rugs and red clothes like somebody'd spilled Kool-Aid on the whole room. If everything wasn't red, it was black, but Kevin liked the black better. It didn't make his eyes and head hurt as much as red. And, his mom's hair was black just like his. It was pretty.

Except Mam wasn't pretty anymore because she was dead.

Kevin swallowed thickly and squeezed his eyes shut tighter. He only got in a few slow breaths before a loud thud hit the wall just beside his head and he startled harshly, flailing as his lungs sputtered and the tablet catapulted out of his lap. He scrambled to keep it from falling off the side of the bed and barely caught it before it did so. (Kevin didn't want to imagine what would happen if he broke it.)

Once he resettled, the precious device cradled again in his hands, Kevin scowled at the other boy he shared the red room with.

"If you fall asleep, you won't get the lessons done," Riko taunted with a smile from the opposite twin bed pressed against the far well. He held his hands open in silent demand, "C'mon! Get it done so we can go play."

Kevin picked the exy ball up from where it had fallen on his bed (after narrowly missing his head) and tossed it back to Riko's waiting hands.

"I wasn't sleeping," Kevin grumbled, turning the tablet back on, "My eyes hurt."

"Poor baby Kevin," Riko mocked, "Always whining about your stupid eyes."

Kevin let the taunting slide off of him. That was just how Riko was. Sure, he was Kevin's only friend and sometimes he was nice but sometimes he wasn't too. It didn't matter either way though. Riko was all Kevin had because Kevin didn't have a mother anymore and he didn't have a father (but he knew not to ask about it, considering how the first and only time went) but Riko didn't have either of those too so they fit.

Riko turned away and moved to lay on his back, tossing the exy ball up into the air and catching it with the opposite hand when it dropped back down to him from the ceiling. Kevin would've rather done that than look at the stupid tablet with its bright light in the too-red room. He liked exy. He'd always liked exy. His mom made exy so it made sense that he did. If she made exy and she made Kevin, of course he'd love it just like he loved her.

Except he wasn't allowed to love Mam anymore.

Kevin sighed and tried to settle into the bed more comfortably. It was hard to ignore Riko across the room though. It wasn't fair but Riko already knew Japanese so he didn't have to study. He could play exy as much as he wanted when they weren't with their tutors but Kevin had to look at the stupid tablet with its stupid words that made no sense.

He made it through another lesson before glancing up to make sure Riko was still preoccupied with the ball (He was.) before switching the language on the translator. Kevin wasn't allowed to, he knew that, but he missed it.

'I love you, Kevin,' he typed out on the English half of the translator, his eyes already greedily looking to the other side.

'Tá grá agam duit, Caoimhín.'

Kevin mouthed the words in Irish. He couldn't actually hear his mom's voice well in his head, not anymore, but he remembered that she'd said it a lot. He still knew what she looked like when she did too, the way her green eyes lit up and the corners crinkled when she smiled. Kevin hoped he didn't forget that too.

Tá sé imithe anois. Gach imithe.

The door to their bedroom in the Nest opened and Kevin jumped, feeling caught in the act as the Master's gaze settled on him and then went to Riko. Sometimes Kevin thought the Master could read his mind. He always seemed to know when Kevin was doing something wrong and what was wrong was Irish, speaking it or looking it up or wanting to hear it. What was wrong was missing his mom, even though he really really did.

Except he wasn't allowed to miss Mam.

Without prompting, both he and Riko scrambled from their beds to stand beside them at attention. It was the proper way to greet the Master and the first thing Riko had taught him when Kevin arrived at the Nest two years ago. It was the respectful thing to do for their... Well, sometimes it was hard to know what the Master was because the words didn't fit right. Kevin didn't call him 'godfather', even if that's what the Master was because the lawyers had said so when Mam died. Riko didn't call him 'uncle' either, even though Kevin knew Tetsuji Moriyama was Riko's real uncle because they had the same last name.

The only thing he was supposed to be called was 'Master', unless they were around not-Ravens people and then he was supposed to be called 'Coach'. It didn't really make sense to Kevin because his mom called the Master by his first when she introduced them and said Kevin should too, even though Kevin had been very small then. When he moved there though (without her), it was made very clear that he wasn't allowed to do that anymore.

It was a rule and Kevin didn't question rules.

There were a lot of rules actually and following the rules was very important. Kevin was good at following rules too. He only did what the Master (or Riko) wanted because he was good, just like his mom always said he was. She'd want him to be good here too because, when she died, she'd wanted him to come live here with the Master and Riko at Evermore because the Master was her very good friend and he liked exy too. She'd even brought Kevin here when he was smaller to play with Riko.

Even though the other boy hadn't always been nice to Kevin back then (and he wasn't always nice now either), there was nothing Kevin could do about it other than follow the rules and do his best. He was supposed to be there because Mam said so and she always did what was best for him.

"Boys," the Master said, stepping into the room.

"Good afternoon, Master," Riko said with a slight bow of his head and Kevin chorused the words and motion with him, just as expected.

The Master nodded in acknowledgement and then looked to the suited man behind him, nodding into the room in direction. Kevin watched as the man came in and sat a rolled-up exercise mat on the floor at the end of Kevin's bed before leaving without a word.

"You will have an additional roommate until we find a place for him," the Master said, turning aside and gesturing into the hall with a hand.

Kevin blinked at the figure who appeared just behind the Master. It was a boy. A really tall and skinny boy with gray eyes and overgrown dark hair. He was really pale too which Kevin thought was kinda silly since the boy must've come from outside, where there was sun, so there was no reason for him to be so pale.

He missed sunshine. Kevin missed running in the too-green grass and the sound of the sea on the cliffs and laughing while farm's border collie chased him and the taste of Maire's cookies and his mom. He missed Mam so much it hurt sometimes.

Except Kevin wasn't allowed to miss his mom, not even sometimes. Never. That was a rule.

The strange boy didn't smile at either of them as his eyes moved between the pair of them. Riko and Kevin didn't smile back.

"Who is he?" Riko asked curiously, looking the boy over.

"His name is Jean," the Master said, "He will be a Raven."

Riko's eyes gleamed, "He can play exy?"

"He would not be here otherwise," the Master said coolly, "If he cannot do so well, he will learn." The Master turned his attention to Kevin, "Speaking of learning, I expect your Japanese lessons to be completed by evening practice, understood? You will not be allowed on the court otherwise and only if I deem your progress acceptable."

"Yes, Master," Kevin said with a slight but respectful bow of his head.

"What's he gonna play?" Riko asked, ignoring the previous topic. He was still looking at the new boy with glittering, eager eyes.

The Master glanced aside at Jean, "Backliner. His size will likely be sufficient if he grows steadily."

Riko grinned and Kevin didn't like the look of it. Sometimes Riko's smiles were normal, like anybody else's, but sometimes... Sometimes Kevin thought Riko liked to mean just because he could and, when he was like that with Kevin, he smiled just like that. Kevin clenched his teeth so he wouldn't flinch when Riko looked to him. (Riko thought it was funny when Kevin did that but Kevin didn't. It made him feel too small.)

"Lucky you," Riko cooed, "He won't take your spot."

"He can't. I'm Two," Kevin said flatly, "I got here first."

"Second," Riko hissed.

Kevin didn't correct him because he was right. Riko was One. He was there first. He'd already started real training, not just the for-fun exy Kevin played with his mom. Riko was the little King and he was going to be captain of the Ravens someday, everybody said so in the Nest. And that meant Kevin was Two because he was second, a step behind, a rung below. He'd have to work really hard not to fall further behind but at least he was better at exy than Japanese. Kevin wasn't sure what would happen if he wasn't good at exy and he didn't want to find out.

"Yeah," Kevin agreed (because he was supposed to).

He watched as Riko marched over to Jean, inspecting the other boy critically. It reminded Kevin of when Mam would look over the horses sometimes except she'd get a soft look in her eyes when she did that. Riko never had soft eyes.

"You can be Three," Riko pronounced haughtily, "If you're good enough. You gotta practice with Kevin and me first before you earn one of these. Got it?"

He tapped below his eye where the marker-drawn '1' rested in the same spot as Kevin's '2', right where Riko had drawn it on Kevin earlier like he did every morning. Kevin liked it (even if, sometimes, Riko held his face too tight when he drew and it made Kevin's bones ache afterward for a long time). He didn't have a jersey yet so it was kind of like that, like having a number and a spot on a team. Riko was his only teammate though, at least right now. Maybe Jean would be too? Kevin's chest felt a fuzzy little lightness at the possibility of that.

Riko seemed to be waiting for Jean to respond but the gray-eyed boy only blinked back at him. Riko's mood turned sour. It was really easy to tell when it did because of how the air was different around him, like it had a tang to it Kevin tasted even from far away. He was smaller than Kevin, quite a bit smaller than Jean, but his moods belonged to someone a lot bigger.

"I asked you a question," Riko sneered, "What? You dumb or something?"

Jean glanced at the Master but the man said nothing so Jean looked back to Riko. When he spoke, it was quiet and slow...and not in English. Kevin didn't know what it was.

"Awww, man!" Riko whined, "Another one!" He glared over his shoulder at Kevin in judgment, as if Kevin had done something wrong, but Kevin only scowled back.

"I can speak English," Kevin said (in English, obviously), "I always have."

"Yeah, weird English," Riko taunted. He made fun of Kevin's accent all the time but Kevin was trying really hard to get rid of it since the Master didn't like it either.

Kevin liked it, missed it, loved it. It sounded like Mam. He missed Mam. He loved Mam. He—

(Stop thinking about her! It hurts! I don't wanna get in trouble! Stopstopstopstop...)

"Come, Riko," the Master said, sounding annoyed, "You can do as you wish with them later. We will conduct your one-on-one while Kevin finishes his lessons."

Riko whooped, forgetting Jean and Kevin entirely in favor of grabbing his racquet from beside his bed and charging out the door. Kevin spoke up though when the Master turned away to follow, forgetting a rule as he did so since he wasn't supposed to talk without being spoken to first.

"Master?" Kevin called, realizing his mistake and flinching when the Master turned back to him. His eyes were too much like a bird's, Kevin thought, a really smart and very big bird. Some kind of bird that ate other birds.

Kevin glanced at Jean, then back, "Um, what should I... Am I supposed to do something, Master? With, with him?"

The Master looked at Jean as if he'd forgotten the boy existed.

"Just put his mat on the floor and that will be all. You need to finish your lessons," the Master said, "Do not dawdle."

"Yes, Master," Kevin said, bowing his head lower now in hopes that he hadn't upset him.

It seemed to do the trick as the Master left without another word, closing the bedroom door behind him, and Kevin stared at the other boy awkwardly.

"Ummm," Kevin began, searching for something to say.

It occurred to him that it didn't matter, since Jean didn't know English, so Kevin settled for doing something instead. He grabbed the rolled-up exercise mat and unfurled it on the floor beside his own bed. It seemed better there than closer to Riko's because Riko really didn't like people on his side of the room.

Kevin stared at the laid-out mat for a second with a frown, then looked over to Jean who was still standing frozen in-place by the door. There was a small bag in his hands but nothing else. The suited man must've forgotten to bring stuff to make the mat into a bed.

He reached over the mat (taking care not to step on it) and grabbed the extra pillow off his own twin bed and the extra blanket from the foot of it. Kevin tried to make it look tidy and soft but it was difficult with just a mat. Still, he thought he managed it okay and he looked over to Jean again after he finished.

"Here," he said, patting the mat. It was easy to feel the floor beneath it, even with the blanket. "Yours."

Jean didn't move.

"Ummm," Kevin said again, unsure of how to get Jean to understand what he was saying. Maybe if he used his hands? He could lead Jean around and point at stuff. At least then he'd know where the bathroom was.

He took a step toward Jean. The boy instantly took a much bigger step back. Kevin frowned.

Okay, maybe not that.

Kevin sighed, trying to think of what to do next and letting his eyes wander the room as he did. Then, he saw the tablet. That!

He smiled, proud of himself for thinking of it. He'd have to be careful and make sure he deleted the extras. The Master checked that the history was all related to Kevin's studies or exy so Kevin was diligent in getting rid of anything to do with his mom or was in Irish. He could delete whatever he used now though too and it'd be fine.

Kevin turned it on and went to the translator. Now, to guess. Jean hadn't spoken Irish or Japanese, so those were out. What were languages that a lot of people used?

He turned the other side of the translator from Irish to Spanish. That was a common one. Kevin typed 'Hello' in English and turned the tablet around, holding it up so Jean could read it without stepping closer. Maybe if he knew Spanish, Jean would figure out what Kevin was trying to do?

But Jean only glanced at the screen for a second before looking back to Kevin, seeming confused. Kevin huffed. He hoped Jean could at least read whatever language it was he talked in. Otherwise, this wasn't going to work.

It took a few more tries before Kevin switched the language to French and held it up again, already thinking of which option to try next. To his surprise, Jean spoke. It took Kevin a second to catch onto the fact that it had worked before he turned the tablet back to himself, trying to read out the word in French.

"Bonjour?" Kevin read hesitantly. To his annoyance, Jean seemed to correct him immediately and Kevin frowned but, unable to help himself, he repeated it a couple times until Jean nodded. Kevin turned the tablet back to himself and typed out quickly, then showed Jean as he tapped his own chest, repeating what he'd written but aloud in English, "My name is Kevin."

"Kévin," Jean said. It was a little off-sounding but good enough so Kevin nodded. The boy added, touching his own chest, "Jean."

"Yeah, I know," Kevin said, "Here."

He typed in a series of things over the next few minutes, using the opportunity to show Jean around the room. Kevin didn't know how long he'd be staying there but it seemed like a good idea to do so, especially while Riko was gone.

'Your bed,' Kevin explained about the mat, then 'Bathroom' for the small one he shared with Riko in the back corner. He added 'Riko's bed' too while pointing at Riko's side of the room and advised, 'Stay on my side of the room'.

Jean read the translation and met Kevin's eyes with a nod that seemed very serious for someone who was still a kid. It made Kevin wonder.

'How old are you?' Kevin typed in question.

'Ten years old. And you?' Jean replied, switching the translation so he could enter the words in French.

'Same. Where are you from?'

'Marseille, France. Are you from here? I do not know the name of this place.'

Kevin doubted the name of the nearest village to his home would mean anything since it was really small. Honestly he didn't know where Marseille was in France either and he shook his head as he answered.

'This is the Nest. I've been here two years. I'm from County Clare, Ireland.' Then he added, 'You need to learn English. Riko will be mean until you do.'

Jean scowled but nodded, 'Is he always mean?'

Kevin hesitated, 'Not always. He just wants to be the best.'

'Will you teach me English?' Jean asked, ignoring the comment.

Kevin felt his face flush. He was smart but he wasn't smart enough to teach somebody English. He could barely learn Japanese and he even had a tutor for it. Jean would get a tutor for English, right? He had to, Kevin guessed. After all, there was no school in the Nest and, if he and Riko didn't leave very much, Jean probably wouldn't either. Maybe Jean would start sitting in on all their lessons too. Maybe he really would be Three. Maybe he'd be nicer than Riko too.

A lot of the time, Kevin wasn't sure what to call Riko either, like the Master. Riko wasn't a cousin because Kevin wasn't a Moriyama. He obviously wasn't a brother, even though Riko liked to say they were when people with cameras were around. Even if the Master was his guardian, Kevin was still pretty sure that wasn't how family trees worked because he read a lot of those in his history story books. Honestly, a lot of the time, Kevin didn't think Riko was a friend because Kevin had friends back in Ireland and they didn't act like Riko did. Riko said they were 'partners' because Ravens always had partners and they were gonna be Ravens when they got bigger.

Still, a friend would be nice. Kevin missed having friends.

Kevin knew he had to stop missing things.

'I can if you want,' Kevin replied, 'Will you teach me French too?'

Kevin wasn't sure why he asked it. Japanese was already hard and he had to learn it. Asking to learn a whole new language he didn't need to know seemed like a waste of time when he could play exy instead but he didn't regret it because, when Jean read the words, the gray-eyed boy smiled for the very first time. It was really small and it lasted for only a second but it was turned Kevin's way so he saw it.

It made him smile too. It was nice to smile. Kevin missed smiling.

'Yes. I would like that,' Jean answered speedily.

Then he hesitated for a moment, his fingers hovering over the keyboard on the screen, and Kevin watched curiously for what Jean typed next. When Jean finally did, Kevin had to read the words a few times, not because it wasn't translated correctly but because it seemed pulled right out of his own brain, like he'd dreamed it up or something.

'Can we be friends?' Jean had asked.

Kevin looked up to meet Jean's eyes after he read the question for a fourth time. For the first time, Kevin thought the boy looked like he was ten. Like he could've been somebody Kevin met in the village or at his mom's church or on one of the business trips he went on with her.

Jean looked like somebody who lived outside.

Kevin nodded enthusiastically as he reached over and typed as fast as he could, 'Yes. Definitely. Friends.'

And it felt good to have a friend. It still felt good when Kevin explained how they'd have to keep French a secret because Irish was a secret too. It felt good when Jean trusted him by revealing the contents of his small bag: a few pieces of too-big clothing, a ratty paperback book in French, and a worn postcard of a yellow-painted boat tied to a dock. It felt good to smile at somebody as he pointed around the room and encouraged Jean to repeat the words in English (and then scowled when Jean corrected Kevin's attempts to do the same in French over and over again).

It didn't feel good though when Kevin realized he'd wasted too much time and hadn't finished his Japanese lessons like the Master said to. Once he'd been summoned to the Master's office, Kevin only had enough time to clean up the history on his tablet (removing every trace of Irish and French) before sprinting there, only to be on the receiving end of a harsh lecture and a denial of court time. The worst part, though, was missing dinner.

"If you cannot ask for your meal in Japanese as Riko does," the Master intoned as the boy in-question smirked over the man's shoulder at Kevin, "And as your lessons today would have taught you, then you will not be permitted one. I suggest you learn the appropriate words by breakfast tomorrow."

"Yes, Master," Kevin said apologetically, taking the tablet back with orders to return to his room while Riko was sent to the dining hall.

Kevin trudged to it unhappily, not yet hungry but knowing he would be. He thought he should be upset that he'd wasted his time with the new kid but Kevin just hated Japanese so much that he decided to blame the language instead.

He found Jean in the same spot on the mat as he'd left him, surprised that the other boy hadn't gone to eat yet too. Maybe nobody told him what time dinner was in the Nest? Kevin pulled out the translator again, sitting across from Jean on the floor.

'Time for dinner. Dining hall is the last door on the left by the stairs. Can't miss it,' Kevin typed out and held for Jean to see.

'Are you not coming?' Jean asked.

Kevin shook his head, 'No dinner for me tonight. Got in trouble.'

Jean scowled but nodded, not saying another word or typing any either as he rose to his feet. After a moment of contemplation, he handed Kevin his small parcel of items and left the room. Kevin stared at the closed door for a moment before standing too, assuming Jean wanted him to keep his stuff safe because Kevin couldn't imagine whatever else the gesture might've meant.

He carefully placed the bag beneath his pillow so it was totally hidden and took advantage of getting to use the shower first since Riko wasn't there to hog it. He'd just finished getting dressed and back into his bed when the door opened with a sharp swing. Jean stepped inside hurriedly and Kevin startled at how fast he moved, flinching as Jean shoved something into his hands.

Kevin looked down and frowned in confusion at the two buttered yeast rolls.

"Mange vite," Jean said, motioning at his mouth with a quick motion, "Les amis."

Even if the words didn't make sense to him, Jean's tone and expression (especially in how he glanced at the door) did. Kevin knew food wasn't allowed outside the dining hall. Ravens ate only certain things and only at certain times, so that's what he and Riko did too. There was no going into the kitchens to snatch a cookie like he had at-home.

Home.

Kevin pushed it all aside and shoved most of the first roll into his mouth, chewing furiously, almost swallowing too early and choking a little, but Jean only nodded in approval before sitting down on his mat. Kevin passed Jean's bag to him, still eating as fast as he could with his other hand, and he'd just barely managed to finish the last bite of the second roll before Riko strolled in.

"You didn't miss much," Riko said to him, ignoring Jean's presence, "Salmon."

He wrinkled his nose and Riko laughed. Kevin really didn't like salmon.

Riko flopped onto his bed and rolled his head to the side, his eyes falling on Jean but his words directed at Kevin, "You think he can cut it as Three?"

"Don't know," Kevin said, trying for uninterested as he grabbed his tablet.

It felt like it was one of those times to not be interesting to Riko, not when his eyes looked like that. (It'd probably be better for Jean too. The last time a Raven was really nice to Kevin, Riko put stuff in her food and she got so sick she left the Nest.)

Kevin added flatly, his eyes on the lit screen, "We'll have to play with him on the court first."

Riko hummed as if in agreement but Kevin waited, knowing the sound meant there was something else.

"Uncle says there's a Four," Riko said, drawing the words out like a tease.

"Really?" Kevin asked, unable to hide his interest.

Were they going to get another boy their own age in the Nest? Kevin liked the idea. Maybe Riko would be happier if there were more kids like them to play with instead of against the Ravens. He hated losing to them, even if Kevin thought it made sense because they were in college and a lot bigger, and it always put him the foulest moods. If Riko won more at exy, he'd be happier, and then they'd probably all be happier.

"Yep," Riko said proudly, clearly enjoying the upper hand of knowledge like usual, "He's too small right now though. Uncle says he won't get here until you and me are twelve."

"He'll have to work hard," Kevin said, "He'll be really behind."

"If he's good enough to be Four, he'll do it," Riko said with confidence, "Imagine if I had all six before I'm a Raven! I'd definitely win everything then."

Kevin still didn't really get it but he wasn't about to ask either. Riko had explained his big dreams of making the best exy team ever with each of them having a different number, one through six, for how important they were. It was how the Ravens did things with only the best players getting a single digit number. Because of that and because of the way Riko talked about his 'Perfect Court', Kevin got the sense that he should be very proud of his Two. He was already though because he liked it. 'Two' meant Kevin belonged. A 'two' was never by themselves, even if their mom died and they didn't have a family or a home...

"Are you listening?" Riko asked with a whine.

"Yeah," Kevin said, "But, uh, I really gotta finish these lessons. I don't wanna miss breakfast."

"Isn't good for you to not eat," Riko said sagely, as if Kevin chose to miss dinner. He rolled over on his side to face the far wall, "Turn off your lamp. I'm going to bed."

Kevin didn't bother pointing out that he was using it to read by or that the lamp light kept the glare of the tablet from making his eyes hurt worse. Riko wouldn't have cared anyway though so Kevin switched it off with a sigh and settled back in. He was definitely going to get his lessons right. He really wanted to eat breakfast tomorrow.

He glanced up though not long later as Jean shifted on his mat. He was still just sitting there in the dark and he'd been so quiet while Riko was talking that Kevin didn't notice. It occurred to him that he'd never said 'thank-you' for the rolls so he changed around the translator, typing it out and tapping Jean's shoulder to get him to turn around.

Jean jumped slightly but, fortunately, he didn't make any noise as he turned to face him. Kevin held a finger up to his lips to keep him from speaking and Jean nodded in understanding before his eyes shifted to the screen to read the single word from Kevin: 'Merci.'

He typed in response, 'You are welcome, Kevin. It is mean to make you be hungry. I wanted to help.'

'That's nice of you.'

'It is nothing.' Even as he typed it though, there was that almost-not smile again, and Jean added, 'I am going to sleep now. Very tired.'

Kevin nodded, wishing he could do the same but not because he was sleepy. His eyes really hurt bad now and he was starting to get that tight pain in his head too, the one that made his stomach turn over even when it was almost-empty. None of that mattered though. The Master had given his orders so there was nothing else to do.

'Okay. Good night, Jean,' Kevin texted.

'Good night, my friend.'

Jean didn't wait for a reply before he curled up beneath the exercise mat's single blanket on the floor, managing to look really small despite his height. Kevin wished there was something more comfortable for Jean to sleep on. Honestly they could've both fit in the bed if they tried but it seemed too late to suggest that now. And, there was Riko. He'd say Jean wasn't allowed to because the Master brought the mat and said that was Jean's place. Kevin didn't like it. His friend should have a bed and there were tons of them in the Nest.

If he were really honest, like Mam always told him to be (but he wasn't now), Kevin would say that he didn't like a lot of things.

He didn't like living at Evermore. He didn't like being hungry. He didn't like learning Japanese. He didn't like the way Riko hung his arm over Kevin's shoulders and made him stoop down when cameras took their pictures. He didn't like how the Master wouldn't tell him anything about his mom or if he had a dad or why he couldn't go back to Ireland because Kevin knew Maire would keep him at-home if he asked her. (He didn't like how he learned not to ask those questions more than once. Once had been enough to learn that rule.)

But, much later as he finally finished his lessons with drooping eyes and a grumbling stomach, he thought maybe he liked Jean. That was nice because it meant there were two things he liked in the Nest: Exy and Jean. If Kevin didn't like anything else, if he missed everything else, then at least there'd be that.

Kevin wouldn't learn enough French to think the phrase correctly for years to come but the feeling of the words was there long before the vocabulary was: Le sanctuaire ne dure pas. La sécurité, c'est du vent. Si ça peut t'être enlevé, ça le sera.

And, when that lesson was beaten into his fragile bones against the hardwood a decade later, he remembered how true the statement was for himself and for his only friend as he abandoned Jean to a life alone and in the dark.

__________

Eleven Years Ago

The Texan sun was going to flay him alive. That's how it felt when Kevin stepped onto the tarmac of the private airstrip in Austin and retrieved his bag from the steward at the bottom of plane's stairs. It felt like he couldn't see through the brightness, even within the dark protectiveness provided by his sunglasses, and sweat was already pooling along his scalp beneath his black hair.

He didn't complain though, not even in his own mind. He was good at not complaining. It was a waste of time and energy and Kevin had gotten good at knowing how to spend those so-precious resources.

Despite being glad for it, Kevin was uncomfortable sitting alone in the back of the chauffeured car without the weight of Riko by his side. They never went anywhere without the other. They were the Sons of Exy together, One and Two, future US Court and (eventually) then the Perfect one when they finished college at Edgar Allen four years from now. They were partners, just as they'd been since they were eight years old, but the Master had decided to split their influence just this once: Riko at Evermore to head interviews discussing their freshman season as Ravens (complete with their first collegiate championship) and Kevin in Austin.

The ERC was hosting a four-day conference to bolster support for and interest in the sport, complete with all-but-mandatory invitations for each team in good standing to send a single representative. (Which meant there probably wouldn't be a Fox, which meant there was no chance of seeing David Wymack. Not that it mattered. Even years after finding his mother's letter, Kevin wished he didn't know the truth. It would've been easier that way.) There would be dinners, interviews, mundane conversations with lesser players Kevin couldn't care less about, and exy. They'd get to play exy, at least for a little while, but it would be nowhere near the sixteen-hour days he was accustomed to. It would be nothing like the Nest.

But that was why The Kevin Day was here. Not Two. Two was a Raven and he never left the Nest. The Kevin Day was for the cameras and everyone else.

The University of Texas' campus looked like any other college's, enough so that Kevin didn't bother watching it pass in favor of closing his eyes against the still too-bright sun. Despite years of having them, the potential for migraines hovered at the edge of his brain whenever he was outside and aboveground. It felt like a punishment somehow, like being 'out' was its own prison.

When the door was opened for him, Kevin left the SUV to be enveloped by the heat again. He tugged at his tie, pretending to straighten it but honestly wishing he could loosen it instead, and walked forward into the dormitory without a word to the man a step behind him. To an observer, the silent follower might be taken for a bodyguard but anyone owned by the Moriyama's would know a handler when they saw one.

Even if Riko wasn't there, it wasn't as if Kevin would be permitted to be alone. He was never alone.

A perky girl wearing Texas orange sat behind a long folding table inside and Kevin resisted rolling his eyes at how she let her hand linger on his when offering the welcome packet to him during check-in. He smiled instead, because The Kevin Day always smiled when it wasn't a Raven looking back at him, but he was relieved to drop the expression as he made his way up the flight of concrete stairs to the room he'd been assigned for the week. He wondered how many years it'd been since he slept somewhere with a window but without Riko by his side. Eleven, he supposed. It felt longer.

The assigned room's door was open when he got to it and Kevin only had enough time to notice the twin bed nearest the door was covered with items (to the point that it looked like the opened suitcase had exploded rather than been unpacked) before the man behind him spoke.

"You are to remain here until I return for you," his handler said in rapid Japanese.

Kevin nodded his understanding. There was no point in saying that he would've preferred to walk around the campus. Despite the brightness, it'd be nice to stretch his legs after being cooped up on the plane. It would've been nice to take some pictures too, and he hoped to find a gift shop before he left Austin as well. That was all he could ever bring back for Jean when he managed to leave Evermore: pictures on his phone and sometimes a postcard if no one noticed. Jean kept a stack of them hidden in his mattress, his collection stretching back to the one of a boat in Marseille's port that he'd brought from France all those years ago.

He was always leaving Jean behind, even when he was standing right beside him in the Nest.

Kevin also hoped these few days away wouldn't mean returning to find Jean in a state similar to the last time the Master had sent him out but Kevin didn't actually hold onto that hope. He'd learned a long time ago that it wasn't worth the inevitable disappointment, especially when neither of them had any control over the outcome.

Winning at exy was all Kevin could control, so he did.

As the handler left him, Kevin walked into the room, carefully skirting the messy debris to make his way to the untouched bed. He'd just managed to set his bag down on it when a fast patter of feet had him turning around to see a newcomer in the doorway.

A newcomer with bright brown eyes and windswept brown-blond hair and too much golden skin on display. A newcomer with a smile Kevin recognized from television because he watched the sophomore striker's games intently, pushing aside Riko's taunting of his rapt attention with the argument that someday they'd play against him. It was best to be prepared, Kevin insisted, for the day they faced the captain of the USC Trojans.

Apparently, that first face-to-face meeting wouldn't happen on a court.

The blond's smile widened into a blinding grin and Kevin wished he still had his sunglasses on. He felt like he needed them more than when he'd been outside.

"Oh my God! I can't believe it's you!" the Trojan cried joyfully. He rushed into the room to stand before Kevin, the speed of it startling Kevin into taking a small step back, and beamed up at him as he continued, "Oh man, I'm the luckiest guy here this week! I begged them to tell me who my roomie was but the surprise is so worth it." He held out his hand, "Jeremy Knox. It's so amazing to finally meet you."

Kevin eyed the outstretched hand, then went back to Knox's face. Of all the players he could've been stuck with, it had to be this one. The one who'd already won two Spirit Awards named for Kevin's mother. The one whose rookie headshot he'd saved from an Exy Today article and tucked away in an old history textbook he was confident Riko would never pick up.

Jean va s'en donner à coeur joie avec ça, Kevin thought to himself with an inward grimace.

"I know who you are," Kevin said, barely restraining a wince at the judgmental coolness of his tone.

In truth, it was his usual tone when speaking but he wasn't Kevin here, he wasn't Two, and The Kevin Day wasn't cold with people. He was charming and friendly because that's what the Master decided was most useful for him to be perceived as. He was more valuable that way, just like Riko. (That's why the world would never know who Riko really was, not like the Ravens did, not like Two and Three did in particular.)

"Well, be still my beating heart," Knox said dramatically with a pleased chuckle, his eyes sparkling, "I know who you are too but it seems polite to introduce ourselves anyway, right?" He motioned with his outstretched hand a little and began again, "Hi, I'm Jeremy, and you are...?"

Kevin huffed, taking the shorter man's hand in his.

It was as warm as all of the rest of him.

"Kevin," he said shortly.

"It's nice to meet you, Kevin," Jeremy said brightly, shaking his hand with a confident squeeze before dropping it. He placed his hands on his hips, eyeing him, "You've gotta be suffocating in all that."

Kevin looked down at his dark suit, which was suffocating but his opinion was irrelevant. He was out as The Kevin Day, as a representative of the Ravens and Edgar Allen (but, more importantly, of the Master and Riko). How he looked, what image he projected, that was what mattered. Not his comfort.

"Don't get me wrong," Jeremy continued, "You look great but it's triple digits out there and if I'm hot, being from LA and all, you're probably on the verge of heat stroke which would not be a good look while we're running around."

"Running around?" Kevin asked, confused.

"Yeah!" Jeremy chirped. He walked over to his bed, digging through the chaos of his bag as he spoke, "I wanted to wait to meet my roomie before taking off. It's gorgeous out there and I hate being stuck inside, especially after being on a plane all-day. We should get some fresh air, take a walk, see the sights..."

Jeremy looked over his shoulder and winked at Kevin. Winked for fuck's sake.

"Get to know each other a bit," he added, then returned to his bag while continuing, "We've only got four days together so we gotta make the most of it! There's nothing to do until tonight's welcome banquet anyway."

Kevin knew he couldn't leave. He'd been told to stay in the room until he was returned for. It was a rule. Rules were obeyed.

He was silently trying to figure out what excuse he could give for remaining there when Jeremy let out a cry of triumph with a cardinal-red shirt in his hand. The Trojan whipped off the one he was wearing, still facing the other direction but revealing a flash of dark ink along his ribcage. A tattoo. Kevin had one too (the one on his face that had rendered Riko's daily marking irrelevant) but it felt like another thing entirely to see one on Knox's body.

Kevin tried to recall if any articles he'd read about the other striker mentioned a tattoo. Surely he would've remembered a detail like that...

Jeremy tossed the previous shirt away without a glance as he turned back around, fully-dressed once more and tousling his hair. He smiled at Kevin cheerfully.

"Well, c'mon!" he said, nodding at Kevin's clothing, "Put on something comfy. We're going out!"

I can't leave. I shouldn't go. I have to say no. I was told to...

Inexplicably, none of the words emerged from his mouth. Instead, Kevin nodded once jerkily and turned to his bag, retrieving a coordinated set of Ravens-branded athletic-wear meant for using during court time.

It was appropriate attire, Kevin assured himself. He was at the conference to represent Edgar Allen and there were countless promotional photographs of him in the same outfit so the Master couldn't object. The Master could object to other things (to everything he was doing now) but Kevin pushed that aside, emptying his mind of what the cost might be as he hurriedly changed out in the small bathroom attached to the dorm room. He may've changed out in front of Ravens every single day but Jeremy Knox was not a Raven.

When Kevin reemerged, Jeremy had a pair of sunglasses pushed into his hair and a camera hanging around a lanyard on his neck. And he was wearing flip-flops. Ridiculous.

"You take pictures?" Kevin asked, immediately regretting opening his mouth to ask something so painfully obvious.

"Yep," Jeremy said breezily, "It's one of my things. Gotta make sure I get a bunch to show my sisters. They've never been to Texas."

Kevin nodded along, ignoring the questions that bubbled up within his mind: What do you like to take pictures of? How many sisters do you have? Are they younger or older? Do they live in LA too? How many times have you been to Texas?

It had been nearly a decade since he'd last wondered so many things about another person all at once.

"Ready?" Jeremy asked and Kevin nodded. Jeremy paused on his way over from the other side of the room, grabbing Kevin's sunglasses from where he'd left them on the bed and tossing them to him. Kevin managed to catch them easily with just his left hand. Jeremy grinned, "Let's go."

They were outside so soon. Kevin expected them to be stopped, or at least cautioned, but no one gave them a second glance as they left the dorm building. No one asked where they were going or why they were or demanded they return in a set amount of time. It niggled at the back of Kevin's mind, the prospect of wandering around so unobserved and without direction.

Still, he didn't slow his step in the slightest as he stuck by the Trojan's side.

Jeremy clearly accepted such freedom as a given, striding forward with easy confidence and a simple smile. He plopped his sunglasses down over his eyes when they left the tree cover of the building behind. Despite the glare, Jeremy took in a deep lungful of humid air and tilted his face upward as if to drink the sunlight in through his skin. Kevin hid behind his heavy shades, even as he watched the enigma beside him from the hidden but safer darkness of his lenses.

"So," Jeremy said, drawing the word out after a minute of silence. He continued to walk merrily in-step with Kevin, his hands resting casually on his camera, and added, "Kevin Day."

"Jeremy Knox," Kevin said simply.

"How's it feel to be a champ after just one season in college?" Jeremy asked, light and teasing and...surprising. Kevin wouldn't have thought a question like that could be asked without viciousness from a competitor.

"Like it should," Kevin replied, "Anything less would be a failure."

"Ouch," Jeremy said with a laugh.

Kevin winced, "I didn't mean—"

"It's alright. I'll get one of my own eventually."

Kevin swallowed the retort that Jeremy wouldn't, not against the Ravens while they were led by Riko. The Master wouldn't allow it.

"Not that you'll make it easy," Jeremy continued, "But I'm always up for a challenge."

Jeremy glanced over at him and Kevin met his eyes easily, or as easily as one could look directly into the sun. It wasn't until he did though that Kevin realized he had yet to look away since they started walking and, now, he couldn't bring himself to. Even through his sunglasses, Jeremy's eyes were visible—brown but too bright to be described so simply, their light something that seemed internal more than not, and they widened slightly after a few steps. He reached out and placed a hand on Kevin's arm.

"Wait," he said, not a command but enough to have Kevin pausing, "Right there. Hold on."

Kevin stood still as Jeremy walked backward a few feet, pushing his sunglasses back up into his hair as he lifted the camera to his eye. He didn't realize what Jeremy was doing until the shutter clicked noisily.

"Perfect!" Jeremy declared, jogging back to him as he held the camera out to show the digital screen on the back. Kevin looked down at it as Jeremy shielded the image from the sun's glare.

He looked...normal.

Aside from the small, tattooed '2' beneath his eye, Kevin looked like a regular guy. He looked like any other nineteen-year-old college student, out for a casual walk around campus in a t-shirt and sunglasses. His body was angled slightly, like someone had just called his name. With the cloudless blue sky behind him, the sun was dappled in tessellations across him by the tree above, sprinkling his hair with light where the dark strands were lifted slightly by a breeze. Kevin wasn't smiling in it but he wasn't frowning either. It was a regular picture, a candid shot taken in a mundane moment with nothing posed about it.

It wasn't The Kevin Day in the photograph.

It was just Kevin.

"Now, my next goal is to get one of you smiling," Jeremy teased, starting forward again as he let the camera hang around his neck once more, "I download the pics onto my phone at night so, if you want copies, just lemme know and I'll text them to you."

Kevin fell into step beside him, pulled along as if by some kind of unseen tether. He couldn't give his phone number to anyone but especially not to Jeremy Knox. Not when Jeremy might text or call when Kevin was back in the Nest. Not when Riko might notice.

"That'd be great," Kevin said, the agreement falling from his mouth completely unbidden.

Jeremy grinned, "Awesome." He turned back to looking ahead as he pulled his sunglasses on again. "Man, this is gonna be the best week ever."

"Is it?"

"Yep," Jeremy said, letting the 'p' pop loudly, "Sunshine and exy and Kevin Day as my roommate. What could be better than that?" He looked over again and Kevin couldn't say why he kept looking back, nor why he kept not looking away.

Jeremy added, "So, what's the best striker in college exy wanna do until dinner, huh?"

"I'm not the best," Kevin said reflexively, the words rushed, "Riko is." Jeremy laughed as if Kevin had told a joke and it made Kevin's throat constrict for more than one reason, strangling his voice as he continued, "You shouldn't say otherwise."

Kevin heard the tinny rise of panic in his tone and he grimaced at it, unable to hide the expression before the Trojan noticed it. Jeremy cocked his head and Kevin felt too exposed by the brown of the other striker's eyes, at how it was still bright but had an understanding weight to it too that felt dangerous.

He turned his face away, bracing himself for questions and trying to invent a believable (and distracting) lie. He waited for Jeremy to ask what the look meant, for Jeremy to say he was only kidding, for Jeremy to tease that he himself was the best striker because that could be ridden off as self-confidence rather than disrespect. Misplaced cockiness wasn't worth noticing, but disrespect would not be tolerated—even from someone Riko wouldn't spare a passing thought. He would pay attention if he ever heard it—Kevin was sure of that, because he knew better. He knew exactly what it would mean.

"It's a free country, Kevin," Jeremy said lightly. "A man's entitled to his own opinion, and you just gotta live with it." He nudged him playfully, his shoulder bumping Kevin's arm. "But if it bugs you, don't worry—I won't run my mouth, even if it is true. Who knew you'd be so humble, huh?"

Kevin let out a breath, one that felt like slipping out of a trap he hadn't fully seen. He only nodded, a small gesture of thanks. Let Jeremy think it was just embarrassment—something harmless. That was safer.

"At least, it'll be true until I'm the best one," Jeremy added with a cheerful, challenging grin. "Gimme time. I'll pass you up eventually."

It was all so easy: the way Jeremy said the words and believed them wholeheartedly and did the same with what he'd said about Kevin too. It made it easy for Kevin somehow, in a life where nothing was truly 'easy'. But it was then, all of it. It was easy to walk alongside Jeremy and breathe in the fresh air around them. It was easy to take in the bright sunlight that now felt comforting and (astonishingly) pain-free rather than punishing and oppressive. It was easy to pause at Jeremy's gentle touch against his arm, to hold still for a picture, to meet his brown-eyed gaze. It was easy to be just Kevin.

All of that meant it was easy to smile back at Jeremy Knox in that quiet moment too. To smile as just Kevin, as himself.

"We'll see," Kevin replied, his answering smirk just as much of a challenge in-return.

(When had he last smiled?)

Jeremy laughed brightly and there was no sharpness in it. There were no teeth, no bite, no sting. It was just warm, the sound of a sunbeam.

"That's the spirit!" Jeremy said approvingly. Then he added with a wink, "Never did answer my question though."

Kevin thought back and answered honestly, "I need to buy a postcard."

"Postcard?" Jeremy asked, then appreciatively, "Old-school. I haven't seen somebody mail something in forever."

"I'm not mailing it," Kevin said, "It's...a gift. For a friend."

Jeremy brightened with excitement, "Well, in that case, we gotta find one. Can't have a friend of Kevin Day go without, right?"

Even with the mission in-mind, they rambled along with their walk for a while, pausing regularly for Jeremy to take scenic pictures as they delved deep into discussing exy. During those so-fast hours, they managed to find a campus store at the far edge of the grounds with a variety of souvenirs which, most importantly, included a display of postcards. Kevin spent a long time debating between the options (during which Jeremy occupied himself patiently and without complaint) before choosing the one he thought Jean would most like: a majestic but peaceful scene of bright green trees framing serene clearwater falls, the water cutting through soft limestone cliffs for which the Hill Country was famous. A bit of color that wasn't red or black.

By the end of the week, Kevin had seen so much color for himself. He'd basked in the light of a land-bound sun until he felt burned by it. He soaked in the easy laughter and cheerful smiles, the pure excitement for a game Kevin loved but never felt so for when he was underground. It was drug-like in how it felt like a hallucination in the end, too soft and gentle to be anything but a dream. The fantasy of it was so engrossing that Kevin didn't resist Jeremy's final prompting for his phone number on the last day of the conference. All Kevin did was insist that Jeremy not contact him first.

It was all worth it when Kevin returned to the Nest, back into the sunless underground where all color fell away unless it was bloody red. Despite the whiplash harshness of the cold heaviness that place held, Kevin refused to allow Riko's sneers nor the Master's condemnation of how he'd comported himself (at how lax and lazy he'd been when out in public as a Raven, at how he lacked dignity as their representative, at how disobedient he'd been for shirking his 'guard' throughout the week) steal the warmth he'd tucked away within himself so deep that neither would ever see it.

Still, the Master saw to it that his displeasure was felt by way of letting his favorite tool off-leash and Riko relished Kevin's return to his side with particular fervor that night on the court.

But if a brutal practice and an exhausted body were the only costs for what Kevin had experienced in Austin? So fucking be it.

It was worth it too to give Jean the postcard hours later as they sat huddled together on his dorm bed in a rare moment of respite from everything else outside the door. His only friend held the postcard gingerly with his heavily-taped, swollen fingers that were too freshly-bruised to be more than a day old. Kevin hadn't asked why they were nor how they'd come to be (and Jean didn't volunteer) but Kevin found himself grotesquely grateful that it wasn't worse.

"What was it like?" Jean asked quietly in their shared tongue, his head laying on Kevin's shoulder with his eyes glued to the image hungrily.

Kevin thought of Texas. Of sunshine. Of a striker on the other side of the country whose phone number was saved in his contacts. Of a brown-eyed vision who called himself Kevin's friend, even if Kevin didn't claim him in-return. Kevin didn't have enough goodness within him to go around—not enough for two friends—and what he did have in that respect belonged to the man beside him now.

"It was warm," Kevin said simply and Jean nodded. Even such a simple phrase was a fantasy to them. Sanctuary always was one too but, for once, Kevin had been given rest beneath a sun that didn't punish him for wanting to be in the light.

Kevin smiled, leaning his head against Jean's hair as his eyes dropped to the postcard, and added, "You won't believe who my roommate was."

He allowed himself the indulgence of telling Jean about the conference, and about Jeremy, but only for that one night. No matter the temptation, Kevin didn't allow himself to text the newest number in his phone. The Nest wasn't a place that could be survived on dreams. It was a killing field for happy memories so Kevin buried his ones of Texas by choice rather than allow them to be tainted.

But every once in a while, when the days felt longer than sixteen hours, when the gleam in Riko's eyes made his bones quake with terror, when the sound of Jean's cries broke something in Kevin's soul that could never be fixed, Kevin would think of Austin just enough to hold onto that tiniest part of him. The part of him that was just Kevin.

By the time Kevin lost his resolve though, he'd lost everything else too. He'd lost the function of his left hand. He'd lost the ability to play exy. He'd lost (forfeited) being a Raven. He'd lost (sacrificed) Jean.

He lost the small remainder of his self-respect too on a cold January night in South Carolina when, strung out on painkillers for his busted hand and drunk off his ass on cheap vodka, he sent a text to that long-ignored phone number.

'heyyy, jerrmy. rememer me?'

Kevin's horror the next morning—reading through the hours-long back-and-forth littered with spelling errors—was matched only by his double relief: first, that Jeremy hadn't asked if he was drunk, and more importantly, that he hadn't let anything slip to contradict the story about his recent 'skiing trip'.

__________

The Present

As Kevin Day stepped out of the hired car into the bright April sun, he wondered how many times he'd come to Los Angeles over the years. Easily more than any other city, he figured, even including Palmetto (which probably came second). He didn't mind. Every time he stepped into that California light, it felt different than anywhere else in the world.

Maybe that had more to do with who was waiting inside the house before him than the city itself.

There was a certain rightness to returning here, to a city he'd never actually lived in and yet somehow held more joy than anywhere else. There was a peace, too, in being the version of himself he could only be here, with them.

Kevin smirked at the sight of the new family-sized SUV parked in the slightly-inclined driveway as he made his way up it, recalling the hours of whining he'd listened to on the topic of selling the previously-beloved sports car. He took in the sight of the spacious but cozy one-story Craftsman bungalow home too as he continued. Since his last visit around New Year's, the traditionally remodeled house had gained a fresh coat of sage-green paint and there were new succulents planted in the rocky low-water front yard. How his friends had the time to do home improvement projects in their first few months as new fathers, Kevin didn't know. He could only guess that it meant not enough sleep.

He stepped into the shade of the cooler stone porch gratefully before knocking gently on the unpainted wood of the front door, hesitant to use the door bell. Kevin didn't have the time to wonder if he'd been loud enough to be heard before the door swung open.

"Kev!" Jeremy Knox cried happily, surging forward to hug him.

Kevin anticipated the move after so many years of friendship so he dropped his bag in time for Jeremy's arms to encircle his neck and pull him into an embrace. Kevin returned it easily. Everything with Jeremy was always easy.

"Hey, Jeremy," Kevin said softly, "How's everybody?"

"Great," Jeremy replied, stepping back as he spoke rapidly and bubbling with excitement that was echoed in his bright eyes, "You're right on-time. Jackie just finished up his post-nap bottle so he's in the best mood ever. Trust me, you don't wanna see him before he's had it. Well, I guess you will while you're here probably. It's worth it, even when he's grumpy."

Kevin smiled in response, even if apprehension was the closest to what he felt at the comment.

"C'mon, let's get you in here," Jeremy said, reaching for Kevin's bag, "I'm talking your ear off and you're still on the porch. How was the flight?"

They traded easy chatter as Jeremy ushered him inside and Kevin kicked off his shoes (knowing his friends were particular about it) before Jeremy led him deeper into the house. The foyer was small and it opened into an expansive living room immediately, the high-vaulted ceiling boned with varnished timbers and the walls a warm cream that soaked in the Californian sunlight.

And, past the cozy seating arrangements and displays of photographs, stood a familiar broad-shouldered form facing the glass sliding doors that led to the back patio.

"He's here!" Jeremy called, as if they wouldn't have been heard already.

Jean Knox turned at the sound of his husband's voice while cradling his infant son to his chest, his gray eyes beaming with an easy happiness as soft and bright as the sunlight spilling over his shoulders. He smiled. Even all these years later, even after all they'd survived and won for themselves afterward, the sight of Jean smiling was a treasure to Kevin. It was even more so when turned his way and because of him.

"Bonjour, mon ami," Jean said.

Kevin smiled back as he echoed the greeting and closed the last stretch of space between them. Jeremy retrieved the baby from Jean's arms, freeing him so that he and Kevin could hug as well. Jean's hugs were always more sedate than Jeremy's, shorter and gentler, but they were no less precious to Kevin. Maybe they were more so because of the long time Kevin had spent expecting to never receive one from Jean again.

Kevin stepped back from the embrace, resting his hands on Jean's upper arms as he looked him up and down.

"You look terrible," he said. It was somewhat of an exaggeration but the bags under Jean's eyes were noticeable and he very obviously needed a haircut, even considering the unruly way he'd let his hair grow out in retirement over the past year.

Jean snorted, rolling his eyes, "Yes, a three-month-old has that effect at times. Remind me to give you a pair of earplugs for your stay."

Kevin grimaced.

"Hey!" Jeremy said, "Don't badmouth our baby like that." He nosed into the infant's dark hair, "Don't listen to them. You're perfect, just like your Papa."

"His Papa would appreciate if he would stop voicing his perfection so often late at night, or early in the morning," Jean said, his gaze soft on the pair of them even as he complained.

The baby squirmed slightly with a soft, grumbling sound Kevin couldn't quite describe, and both fathers laughed—though Kevin wasn't sure why. Not understanding didn't stop his own smile from forming at the sight of them so happy, even if they both looked more tired than usual for the off-season. It wasn't a life Kevin would've chosen for himself (He didn't tolerate anything or anyone limiting his court time, so the demands of parenting were even more unthinkable—and, if he was honest, entirely undesirable.), but he couldn't deny how naturally suited his friends were to it.

"Ooo," Jeremy said suddenly, his eyes brightening as he looked to Jean, "Grab my camera for me? We need a picture of Kevin with him."

"What?" Kevin asked, confused.

Jean wandered toward the hutch on the other side of the room, pausing long enough to press a kiss to Jeremy's temple before tossing a smirk over his shoulder at his friend.

"You refused to hold him last time," Jean explained to Kevin, "It is at the top of Jer's to-do list while you are here for you to do so."

Kevin swallowed, looking to the baby.

"He's very...small," Kevin said weakly.

Jeremy laughed, "He's doubled in size since the last time you saw him!"

Kevin scowled, eyeing the infant more critically, "I doubt that."

"You will not break Jacques, mon ami," Jean said, returning with the camera, "Stop your worrying."

Kevin's scowl only deepened at that. It wasn't his fault the child looked so impossibly tiny and...well, breakable. Kevin suspected he could fit him in the pocket of a racquet with ease (which felt like a thought to keep to himself).

Jean took the baby easily from Jeremy's arms, trading with the camera, and turned back to Kevin with a gesture of his head to the large overstuffed chair nearest the sliding doors behind Kevin. He hesitated, barely resisting the urge to protest. Despite knowing it was Jean's favorite reading spot because of comfort, Kevin thought its garishly ugly plaid fabric was absolutely hideous. (And he was self-aware enough to know his hesitation had nothing to do with how the armchair looked.)

"Go on," Jean said, encouraging but with an air of teasing to it, and Kevin sighed. There was no getting out of it, not when Jeremy and Jean were united in purpose against him.

Kevin sat as commanded, his back rigid and his feet planted firmly on the floor. He put his hands on his knees as his attention dropped to the infant. Out of the corner of his vision, Kevin saw Jean raise an eyebrow at his stiffness but Jean didn't comment. Instead, when he spoke, his voice was gentle.

"Arms like this," Jean said quietly into the space between them, gesturing with his own where he cradled his son, "He cannot support his own head very well yet so you must do that."

Kevin nodded solemnly, moving his arms as he was told until they were cupped against his torso. He could do this. He'd won three Pro-Exy championships and two collegiate ones. He'd been Rookie of the Year and Pro MVP. He had a gold medal from the previous year's Summer Olympics, an honor he'd won alongside the two men watching him in that moment. Kevin had survived the Nest, the near-crippling of his hand, the Moriyama's, and everything else too.

He could hold a baby. Surely.

Jean carefully laid the child into Kevin's arms, muttering sweetly to his son under his breath in a soothing wordless tone until his touch dropped away.

Kevin didn't notice Jean stepping back, or whether either of his friends said anything at all—or even what thoughts might've flickered through his own mind. All he noticed was the bright curiosity in the infant's eyes. Jackie's blue eyes.

He'd seen pictures of course, more than he could count, but the color was deeper in person—more saturated, more alive. Not the soft, muddled blue he'd expect from a baby, but something shockingly vivid, somewhere between cobalt and the heart of a sapphire. A blue that looked like it belonged to something older and knowing, and yet somehow still impossibly new and curious too. The light in them was sharp with intelligence, roving over Kevin's face as if memorizing him, soaking him in just as Kevin was doing in-return.

And then, Jackie smiled.

Jacques Jean-Yves Knox smiled at his godfather and Kevin lost his breath at it, even as he smiled back.

Then the boy let out a loud shriek with a violent flail of his arms and Kevin startled at the sudden piercing sharpness of it. He looked up and over to the couch at the sound of laughter, finding Jeremy and Jean cuddled up together there with their attention on the pair of them.

"It is fine," Jean said, still chuckling, "He is expressing his excitement. That is a happy sound."

"Shit," Kevin swore breathlessly, "I'd hate to hear how loud his unhappy sounds are."

"That is why I will give you earplugs," Jean said, laying his head against Jeremy's hair, "There is no doubt that Jacques' lungs are very healthy."

"Absolutely none," Jeremy agreed.

Kevin raised a skeptical eyebrow at Jeremy as he nodded to the camera in his lap, "I thought you were going to take a picture."

"Already did," Jeremy said breezily, "A couple really good ones actually. You were too busy falling in love with your godson to notice."

Kevin looked back down at the baby. At his godson. It was still astonishing to hear the word, even though Kevin had agreed to it before the child was born. He looked at Jacques, at Jackie as everyone except Jean seemed to call him, and Kevin thought both names suited him. It was hard to say why he thought so but maybe it was more about the way his fathers said the names than anything else, the belonging in it and the wanting his friends' held for their son even before he was theirs.

He turned his attention back across the room. Truly, the pair of them were just as astonishing to Kevin as they'd ever been. Even after eleven years of knowing Jeremy and twenty with Jean, it was impossible to have imagined the three of them would ever exist together in such a right place. In such a peaceful moment. That Kevin would call them the most important people in his life and that they would ask him to be the guardian of the most important one in theirs.

Thank God he'd never actually ever have to do anything about it though. Despite the fact that his initial trepidation had passed, Jackie still felt so insanely fragile and delicate in his arms. Kevin worried that a single sneeze or an odd shuffling of his arms would be enough to hurt the child, despite knowing the anxiety wasn't logical.

"So," Kevin drawled, "Is somebody going to come get him now that pictures are done?"

"Nope," Jeremy chirped, snuggling deeper beneath Jean's arm over his shoulders, "I think all four of us are good where we are. C'est bien ça, mari?"

Jean smiled over at Kevin as he nodded, his gray eyes sparkling with everday joy, "Oui, chéri. Parfaitement bien."

Kevin rolled his eyes at their antics, "Vous deux, vous êtes les pires."

"Mais tu nous aimes quand même," Jeremy teased and Kevin let out a huff, turning away from their amused chuckling to look down at Jackie again.

The baby let out a happy burbling sound, his small pink lips remaining open as if poised to speak. He blinked his wide blue-hour eyes up at his godfather and, despite the depth of their magical color, his gaze was so bright that the hue seemed to sparkle. Stars peeking out through twilight. Kevin smiled again.

He didn't bother denying what Jeremy had said because it was true. He did love the pair of them, even if he never said the words aloud. Maybe he'd come to think of the little boy in his arms in the same way too as Jackie grew up and, if so, Kevin hoped the child would know it as well as his fathers did despite Kevin's lack of voicing it.

__________

"There you are," Jean said, walking through the open sliding door onto the back patio the following night, "Jer said you had retreated outdoors to escape the noise."

Kevin winced sheepishly, "I didn't say it like that."

Jean chuckled, waving a hand as he dropped into the cushioned wicker chair nearest to Kevin with an uncharacteristic plop, "Do not worry about it. Jacques may not be Jer's biologically, but sometimes I believe he inherited his tendency to be loud through osmosis."

Kevin snorted, amused by it as he nodded. Still, he inspected Jean out of the corner of his eye as Jean slouched in the chair, leaning his head back against the cushion and closing his eyes. Despite his obviously being tired (which, now that he'd been around Jackie for a full day, Kevin appreciated in a way no phone conversation could make clear), he was happy. Jean was happy in a life that was so unlike any Kevin might have predicted for him.

"Still no regrets?" Kevin asked.

"Non, Kévin," Jean drawled, his eyes remaining closed, "I do not miss exy."

Kevin huffed. He'd meant about everything but, well, maybe mostly about exy. Jean had retired so casually after six years of incredible play on the LA Knights pro team with Jeremy. He'd walked away without a second glance, despite just having won gold at the Olympics by Kevin's and Jeremy's sides. It didn't make sense.

"In fact," Jean continued, "I think I am quite suited to being a house husband. Perhaps it was my calling all along. I should have been groomed for this life rather than the court."

Kevin did laugh at that, unable to help himself. It was simpler to look back on their mutual dark past now that the nightmares only existed in their minds. Edgar Allen and its Ravens fell into disgrace not long after Riko's 'suicide', culminating in the stripping of the program's championship titles and funding by the NCAA. The disgrace also contributed to the stress that led to then ruined-Coach Tetsuji Moriyama's (natural) death by heart attack in Japan soon after the announcement.

The final axe had fallen while Kevin was in Los Angeles during his first of what would become an annual summer pilgrimage to spend time with his favorite people. It was a trip that Jeremy spearheaded, encouraging the two then-estranged men to each take another chance on the other despite Jean's still feeling betrayed and Kevin's feeling that he deserved every bit of Jean's hatred (both for what he'd done himself and had allowed to be done to Jean since they were children). Without Jeremy, without what had transpired on the East Coast, Kevin couldn't say for certain where he and his oldest friend would be now.

As it was though, those two weeks changed everything. He and Jean had sat on the couch in that off-campus apartment for hours, clutching each other's hands and not blinking as national news channels across the country carried live footage of FBI raids on Moriyama territory all along the eastern seaboard. (Looking back on it later, there was a certain poetic justice to it being RICO charges in particular that doomed Ichirou and his organization.) They'd cried together, both in anxious terror and disbelieving amazement, as Jeremy held them both wordlessly until Kevin's phone rang. And then Jean's. Neither of them had the breath to take the call so Jeremy did at the sight of the same familiar name on both men's phones.

"It's done," Neil said simply in French, his voice steady through the speaker call as Jeremy held the phone between Kevin and Jean.

"The records...," Kevin said shakily, his wide eyes holding Jean's similar ones, "Our names..."

"Wiped," Neil answered, "As much as they can be. Browning will be in touch but an interview will be the worst of it. It's over."

"It cannot be," Jean whispered.

"It is," Neil said before hanging up.

And, as it often (infuriatingly) turned out to be when it came to Neil and such things, the younger man was right. Kevin had never asked him for more details. He didn't want to know just how involved Neil (and, by consequence, Andrew) was in the Moriyama's downfall but he was grateful. Years later, as he took in Jean's close-eyed smile while he himself laughed too, Kevin thought maybe he should've told Neil that a few (hundred) more times.

"It does seem to suit you," Kevin admitted, "Even with the weight."

"You try refusing Jer's food," Jean said lazily.

"I can't," Kevin said, "You saw me at dinner. Plus, the more we eat, the happier he is."

Jean nodded knowingly. It was obvious how much Jeremy enjoyed cooking, especially with how he complained about not having the time to do so much during exy season. Before Jackie started his latest round of wailing, Kevin had been listening contentedly to Jeremy talk excitedly as he bustled around in the kitchen while sharing his plans for other meals during Kevin's stay with them. Kevin didn't know half of the terms his friend used since he didn't cook himself (His meals were delivered by a service, each one meeting his exacting nutritional standards, so being around his friends who liked cooking was a novelty.) but he enjoyed Jeremy's enthusiasm regardless of the topic.

"He is a menace," Jean said lovingly, "It is as if he believes he can feed the exhaustion out of me." He shrugged one shoulder, "But you are right, he enjoys it, and it is delicious so I do not mind. I am allowed to be as fat and as happy as I wish to be."

"You are. You deserve it."

"As do you, mon ami," Jean said.

He let his eyes fall open as he rolled his neck to face him, still slumped in the chair, and the motion made Kevin smile. Jean looked young like this, younger than their shared thirty years. Carefree. It wasn't a word Kevin had dared hope would apply to either of them one day but he was glad it fit Jean now.

"How is Aaron?" Jean asked.

Well, that put a damper on the mood but Kevin didn't allow his smile to falter.

"Fine," Kevin said casually, turning ahead to look out over the expansive backyard.

Jeremy and Jean had chosen a house just outside of the city proper, one on a quiet street with large lots between the homes and yards that backed up to wild hillside brush. Kevin thought lawn care sounded miserable but it had been one of the main criteria when his friends sold the apartment where Kevin had stayed with them over the years. After all, they bought the sage-painted Craftsman with the idea that it would be a home for their growing family.

Jean's continued silence made Kevin feel a need to fill it, even if he didn't want to. Not about this.

"He's working a lot, I guess," Kevin added, the weight of Jean's gaze on him from the side palpable, "Hospital keeps him busy."

It was embarrassing to admit but he didn't like to talk about Aaron with the two of them. They wouldn't judge him or think he was to blame (which he was, at least in part) but they would pity him if they knew the truth and Kevin couldn't stand that, especially from them. If they weren't so incredible together, maybe it'd be easier but everything about the unit of them was exactly right—and highlighted the flaws in himself that Kevin refused to address. Jean and Jeremy had fallen in love so easily, so fast and so hard and without hesitation. They rarely fought too and Kevin knew (by hearing of it from them both) that those fights were nothing in comparison to his own. They were perfect together and, as much as they loved him, Kevin didn't want to show his own imperfection in that area. He didn't want it to become the focus of his being there.

Jean only hummed in response to what he'd said and Kevin scoffed. He knew all of Jean's sounds, all of his little noises that revealed just as much as his words did at times.

"Something you want to say?" Kevin asked, finally looking over at him. Jean held his narrowed green eyes without hesitation.

"Non," Jean answered, "After all, you are often busy as well."

"I am," Kevin agreed.

It worked best with Aaron for them to both be busy, leaning into their common predisposition to be more dedicated to work than anything else. Well, that was true of exy for Kevin but Aaron... He had other interests. (Interest, singular.) And even though he'd sworn to Kevin that it was a one-time mistake, that it wouldn't happen again... It was still the same 'mistake' that had prompted Aaron into breaking-up with Kevin only a couple months into their being long-distance during Kevin's first year in the pros.

Jean and Jeremy knew about that time, which was just another reason to not mention the present-day repetition of Aaron's actions. The only positive thing to come from it had been how his friends invited Kevin to his first Knox family Thanksgiving in hopes of taking his mind off of his broken heart. The invitation became a standing one and, though Kevin didn't always accept (Abby liked for him to come to her celebration too to see her and his father.), he came when he could because a Knox family holiday was impossible to beat alongside his friends.

Right now though? Kevin wasn't about to admit to anything. Especially not that it had happened again, not that he suspected it hadn't actually stopped despite Aaron's promise. Jean would only be upset for him while softly insisting Kevin deserved better. And Jeremy? If Kevin opened his mouth, Jeremy wouldn't let it go for his entire visit or, probably, even afterward.

Despite nearly seven years having passed, Jeremy still only barely tolerated Aaron's existence in Kevin's life. At times, Kevin found it amusing that the cheerful (and usually forgiving) man the world knew as Jeremy Knox was the also most determined grudge-holder Kevin had ever known. He was too much of a protector to allow someone he cared for to be so unfairly treated and Kevin didn't miss Jeremy's judgmental murmurs about the shorter blond (nor Jean's gentle chiding of his husband when Jeremy let it slip).

But the idea of taking on Jeremy's overprotective streak wasn't amusing at the moment. Kevin didn't want to hear it, not from either of them. He didn't want to think about it. He wanted to be in LA, with his friends and his godson, and for the rest of it all to just...leave him alone. It was a temporary enough respite as it was and Kevin refused to waste it.

"Speaking of busy," Kevin said, pushing past the thoughts in his mind and the too-knowing look in Jean's eyes, "I'm kidnapping your husband tomorrow."

Jean groaned dramatically, "Bon sang, it has been less than seventy-two hours since you arrived! Surely the court can wait another day or two."

"Tell me Jeremy isn't dying to get back to it too and I'll change my mind," Kevin dared with a challenge in his eyes.

It was obvious to them both and Kevin knew it. Jeremy had carried on at-length during dinner about the newly-remodeled Knights stadium and how excited he was to show it off while Kevin was in-town when they suited up for some playtime. They always did so when Kevin visited, both of them eager to practice, by using Jeremy's keys to the facility thanks to his captaincy. If anything, the pent-up energy was worse than usual for them both since Kevin's Chicago Sirens and Jeremy's LA team were ousted from the playoffs earlier than in previous seasons.

That was another topic Kevin refused to think on much during his vacation. He was the Sirens' captain, so their failure was his fault in the end, but he wouldn't spiral into dissecting it until he returned to Chicago, not when the alternative was enjoying his time with his friends. When he got back, Kevin fully intended to be at the Sirens' facilities 24/7 until he had the solutions prepared in-time for training camp. But, a little friendly playtime here wouldn't hurt. After all, Jeremy was the striker he competed with most over the years for the seasonal scoring leader title so it'd be as challenging as it was enjoyable. (Neil also vied for that title but it was hard to have a friendly practice with someone when barely on speaking terms with them again.)

The way Jean scowled told Kevin he'd won and Kevin grinned as Jean held up a single finger.

"Fine," Jean said, "Because it is driving Jer mad to be in the house so much but I will not tolerate the both of you being away all-day. I also want to spend time with you and I will not do so while you 'work', mon frère."

Kevin huffed, annoyed with himself for how fond he felt despite Jean's obvious guilt-tripping. It had been years since Jean had called Kevin his brother for the first time, on the same night he told Kevin of his upcoming proposal to Jeremy and asked Kevin to be his best man should Jeremy agree (as if there was ever any doubt). Even now, they both used it sparingly enough that its affection was deeply felt...though at times they both used it in playful manipulation of each other too. Deep down, they were still those two too-rough ten year olds boys from decades ago.

"Ça," Kevin scolded, "Ça c'est un coup bas et tu le sais."

"Ça a marché?"

"Ouais, frère," Kevin admitted with an exasperated sigh, "Ça a marché. Quelques heures et rien de plus."

"Merci," Jean said, clearly pleased with himself.

There was a beat of silence then, the contented kind that Kevin had come to know as only existing when in this place. When he could be just Kevin and not someone else because, despite the Moriyama's fall, he still wasn't free. Not entirely. He couldn't be because of The Kevin Day, because of the Son and Queen of Exy, because of Kayleigh's legacy, because of the Ravens' shadow. Part of him would always be for public consumption, part of him would never belong to only him, but not this part. Not who he was here, not who he was with Jean and Jeremy. This Kevin was one-hundred percent him without apology because his friends never made him feel like he had to give one for being that man.

Jean spoke softly into that peaceful stillness, "Je suis content que tu sois là, Kévin, comme toujours."

Kevin looked back over to find Jean's eyes already on him and smiled. It was easier to smile when he was just Kevin.

"C'est bien d'être ici avec toi aussi, comme toujours," Kevin replied, meaning every syllable of it. He always would in this one place in the world he considered worthy of the word 'sanctuary'.

__________

There was something about sanctuaries that Kevin had forgotten though—just as he'd forgotten so many memories of his mother and the last location he'd ever believed could deserve that name.

A sanctuary, whether place or person, only held its name until it didn't. One act, of either man or god, was all it took to turn peace into memory. Sanctuaries existed because chaos did too. You only recognized one when you knew what it meant to live without.

Kevin had lost count of the sanctuaries he'd watched slip away. He hadn't thought this one would vanish too—not after all they'd built, not after the warmth had finally started to feel everyday. But it would. And afterward, he wouldn't know how to begin looking for another—or if he even could.

But this time, when the world fell apart, Kevin wouldn't be alone. He wouldn't be searching for sanctuary just for himself—and he never would've imagined he might become one for someone else too.

And in the end, that would make all the difference.

Chapter Text

In those first few days in Los Angeles, Kevin found himself quietly amused by the small shifts in his friends' daily rhythm since becoming fathers. Their natural tempo had changed to match the needs of Jackie's overnight care—Jean's usual early-bird routine turned more languid and drowsy, while Jeremy's night-owl tendencies had softened in favor of sleep. They seemed to feel the passage of time without needing a clock, so attuned to the baby's feeding schedule that the actions seemed instinctive. They passed tasks between them with hardly a word, moving seamlessly around one another in that strange way they'd always orbited each other as a couple—and now did as parents too.

Kevin liked watching them this way. Even though he'd come as soon as they called after Jackie's birth (leaving Aaron in Germany with his family to do so), he'd only had a few days with them then and Jackie had been too new for any lasting rhythm to show. Now, Kevin could see the difference. There was a quiet steadiness to their life together that a short visit or regular phone calls could never capture.

He followed the pair of them into the nursery a few days into his extended stay, smirking at how they gingerly opened the door despite Jackie making it clear he was awake with how he'd loudly whimpered over the portable monitor that seemed perpetually attached to Jean's hand. Kevin didn't quite understand why they both went in to retrieve the child from his naps but Kevin blamed the newness of fatherhood more than anything. At some point, they'd see how miserably taxing it was when the bright sheen of the baby wore off. (How it hadn't already, Kevin wasn't sure. Jean's gift of the earplugs was less thoughtfulness than necessity as Kevin had learned quickly during his first night there.)

But, Kevin supposed, he couldn't blame them for it as he watched Jean lean over the side of the crib to bring his son into his arms with a comforting coo to soothe Jackie's cries. Jeremy cupped the baby's head with a smile while Jean held him, pressing a kiss to his dark hair before turning that same smile Jean's way. They were made for it, this life, these roles. It didn't surprise Kevin with Jeremy but still did with Jean, at least in-part. The Raven Jean, the Jean who was Three, never would've possessed such easy tenderness or gentle care but Jean hadn't been that person since meeting Jeremy. Likewise, Two hadn't existed for a long time either. That man would've never been a godfather, even if Kevin felt he continued to carry more of the Nest with him than his friend did.

Jeremy's soft giggle brought Kevin's focus back to the trio as he said to Jackie, "So that's what woke you up. My bet was on being hungry." He glanced up at Jean, "Point for you, l'amour."

Jean scoffed playfully with a roll of his eyes, even if he looked pleased to be told he was right, but Kevin didn't understand the context as Jean spoke to him over Jeremy's head.

"Are you brave enough for your next lesson yet, frérot?" Jean teased, "You did well with the bottle yesterday."

Jeremy chuckled again and Kevin grimaced. He still wasn't entirely sure how he'd been tricked into giving Jackie his final feeding the previous night but it wasn't an experience Kevin wanted to repeat, less so for the bottle portion of the task than the burping that came afterward. Kevin could still smell the milky sourness if he thought too long about it.

"Let's give Kev a break for now," Jeremy said sweetly, stretching up to kiss Jean's cheek before tossing a wink Kevin's way, "I don't think he's up for diaper-changing yet but maybe in another day or two...?"

Kevin scowled, finally understanding what they were getting at, and shook his head firmly.

"Absolutely fucking not," he said, "What part of 'I don't want kids' have you guys not figured out yet? I'm on vacation, not parenting boot camp."

Both of his friends laughed loudly at that. Kevin decided the fact that it was at his expense was fine, considering the joy in the sound.

"Well if somebody's gotta do it," Jeremy said, smiling up at Jean, "It's all you, mari. I'll go make the bottle."

Jean only smiled back at him in response, pressing a kiss to the top of Jeremy's head when Jeremy ducked his to kiss Jackie's again before he waltzed out of the room. Then Jean raised an eyebrow at Kevin, as if offering to change a diaper was a rare privilege, and Kevin frowned deeply again until Jean turned to the changing table with an amused smile.

Kevin used the moment of quiet, broken only by Jean's soothing wordless sounds for the baby, to glance around the room. He'd listened to more debating on nursery themes than he'd ever expected to in his life but, despite his lack of experience with such things, Kevin thought it had turned out well. The celestial imagery was pleasant, both interesting to look at and calming too, with its suns, moons, stars, planets, and comets all done in shades of blue, purple, and gold. Maybe Jackie would grow up to be an astronaut after being surrounded by the heavens as an infant, Kevin mused.

He was struck by the oddness of the thought but it'd happened often since his arrival days before. There was something about spending time around the pair of them as parents and around Jackie himself that solidified how the child was his godson in a way Kevin hadn't appreciated in the months since he'd been asked. There was a living, breathing, real baby, right there across the room as Jean gathered him back in his arms, that Kevin carried a (albeit small) responsibility for and would for his life. He doubted it would ever entail more than the occasional visit and making sure he was on-time with birthday presents but, still, there was a certain weight to the title of 'godfather'.

Kevin couldn't fathom how Kayleigh had ever believed a man like Tetsuji Moriyama deserved the same title Jeremy and Jean used for him.

Jean ducked his head slightly against Jackie's resting on his shoulder and Kevin smirked at how the motion didn't hide his friend's lengthy yawn.

"I'm surprised you two haven't bullied me into taking the night shift yet," Kevin drawled.

Jean scoffed, "It is not worth the trouble of dealing with you being grumpy. I know better than to put you through the misery of losing your beauty sleep, Queenie."

"I hate that fucking nickname," Kevin said, another scowl replacing his smile. Jean's amused one though remained intact.

"I know you do," he said. Jean swayed a little in place and Kevin wondered if his friend realized he often did so while holding Jackie. "To be honest, I am relieved it is Jer's night to get up with him. I can barely keep my eyes open."

Kevin nodded sympathetically. Jean had looked especially worn down that day, right from the start. At their meals, he'd brushed off Jeremy's gentle encouragement that he eat more, blaming his lack of appetite on exhaustion rather than the food itself. Jean insisted he was simply tired, managing only a few bites, and that a night's sleep would be enough to return him to full energy.

Kevin had teased him earlier in the visit for losing the bulk of his old muscle, though it made sense with Jean no longer needing the physical mass that came with professional play. But even so, the difference felt more noticeable. The jog they'd taken together a couple days earlier, stroller in-tow, had left Jean winded in a way Kevin hadn't expected. The loss of stamina was subtle, but striking.

The bone-deep fatigue. The nausea and loss of appetite. The weight that had slipped from his frame. The weakness in his cardio.

All of it could be explained away—by the sleepless nights with a three-month-old, by the shift from athlete to parent, by the toll of adjusting to a new rhythm. And yet, every detail would come rushing back to Kevin later, when he'd search his memories for signs. For warnings. For anything he could have noticed, anything that might have prepared him for what came next.

Kevin was still watching Jean with that same sympathetic smile when Jean's gentle swaying stilled. His head tilted slightly to the side, brows drawing together as if he'd heard something distant and unfamiliar, something confusing and unable to be placed.

There was something off about it. Even years later, Kevin wouldn't be able to describe the moment precisely, except to say that it had hit him on a level deeper than thought. It was instinctual. A flicker of unconscious recognition. A primal warning that something wasn't right. The kind of bone-deep alertness that had kept him alive for over a decade in the Nest—until, one day, it hadn't. Just like it failed him now.

"Kévin."

Jean's voice was slow and the syllables slurred, as though his tongue had turned thick and uncooperative.

Kevin moved before he could think, before he could even breathe. Jean lifted his gaze from the floor, blinking rapidly, and his eyes were too bright, too glassy despite the dimness of the room. There was a fevered glaze to them, the look of someone not quite present.

Then he swayed again.

But this time, the motion was wrong. Not like the gentle rhythm from just a moment before. This was disjointed. Unnatural. There was no trace of peace in it now—only a slow unraveling.

"Je—?" Kevin began, only for Jean's hoarse words to cut him off.

"Prends le bébé."

Kevin did so without hesitation, taking Jackie into his arms from Jean's in an instant.

It was in the next instant that Jean's knees gave out and he collapsed to the carpet in a silent heap.

"Jeremy!" Kevin screamed, shouted, cried, he didn't know. He'd never heard such a sound from his own throat as he went down on his own knees too, his eyes darting over the length of Jean's body as if he could find a reason, a wound, a something to explain...

Jeremy appeared in the doorway and Kevin's attention jerked to him.

Never had there been a sight he wanted to see less in his life than whatever it was that passed over Jeremy's face as he took in the scene, then surged forward to Jean in the next breath. It wouldn't be the last time Kevin had that thought in the months to come.

"Jean?!" Jeremy cried in alarm, "What, what is it? What's...?" He looked to Kevin, "What happened?"

"I don't know!" Kevin said, panicked and tripping over the words, "He was fine. Holding Jackie and he said, then, he just fell."

"Get the light," Jeremy commanded, not asking anything further as his focus went back to Jean and he spoke, "Jean, sweetheart, can you hear me? Say something, love. Please."

Kevin scrambled to his feet, holding Jackie tightly with one arm as he fumbled for the switch by the door and flipped on the overhead light. When he turned back, he saw how an odd yellow cast had overtaken Jean's usually porcelain skin—like parchment left too long in the sun, lace discolored by time, bone china gone brittle and wrong.

Jackie began to whimper against the crook of his neck and Kevin cradled the back of the child's head as if it would be enough comfort against the fear filling Kevin's own rigid body like iced water. No matter what Jeremy said, Jean's eyes remained focused on the ceiling above with an unseeing gaze, unresponsive to everything happening around him as his chest rose and fell with an uneven shallowness.

"Phone," Jeremy demanded, sticking out his hand.

Kevin stared.

"Kevin!" Jeremy shouted, glancing up and away from him in the same breath, "Give me your phone!"

Kevin startled, blinking, his brain finally catching up again, and he fumbled to pull his phone out of his pocket only for Jeremy to snatch away without looking at it. He jammed the keypad furiously with one hand but the other holding Jean's cheek was soft and gentle. The volume of the call was loud enough (even without it being on speaker) for Kevin to hear it ring before a voice answered quickly after picking up.

"My husband," Jeremy said, "He collapsed. I don't know what happened. I was in another room but he's—"

Jeremy cut off as the other voice spoke, his eyes going to Jean's chest with laser-like focus.

"He's breathing," Jeremy answered, "It's uneven and really shallow though. His chest's barely moving. I need help. I can do CPR but that's—"

Nine-one-one. Jeremy had called the emergency line. Right. That's what people did. They called for help. Kevin hadn't considered it.

"He's not answering me," Jeremy continued, pausing as he listened and then added, "He's awake, I mean his eyes are open."

Jeremy leaned closer to Jean, over him as if trying to catch his gaze. There was something methodical about it that Kevin didn't understand it. How was it that the longer Jeremy talked, the steadier he seemed to become?

"He's just staring. I can't get him to look back at me," Jeremy said. His voice softened with a stroke of his thumb along Jean's cheek, "Jean, chéri, tiens bon, d'accord? Ça va aller. Je suis là, mon amour. Tout ira bien." Then back into the phone, "It's like he's confused, or like not there? I don't know. His eyes aren't focusing on anything."

Another pause and Jeremy's hand moved to Jean's arm, picking it up gingerly, "I didn't wanna move him, just in case. He's limp, not holding his weight or moving." Then back to Jean's face, to the side of his neck, "Pulse's there but it's weak. It's...too slow. I know what it's supposed to be. It's wrong."

Wrong.

"He's been tired," Jeremy continued after listening a moment, "Not hungry. Nauseous. He threw up last night."

Kevin hadn't known but why would he?

"We have a three-month-old. Jean said he just needed more sleep but this—" Jeremy cut off again and added, "No, no seizing or vomiting right now. But..." He leaned in again, "Um, yellowish, I guess? I, I didn't notice but—" Another pause, a closer examination as Jeremy peered into Jean's eyes, "Yeah, yeah his eyes too a little. What's that—?"

Kevin could only see that yellowish tint now. There was nothing golden to it, nothing of the sunshine Jean loved to bask in.

The operator seemed to be finished with their examination as Jeremy rapidly gave the address to the house and a final thank-you before hanging up. Even as he dropped the phone, his attention didn't leave Jean.

"Everything's alright," Jeremy soothed, cupping Jean's blank face between his gentle hands, "Help's coming, okay? I'm right here, Jean, right with you." He leaned down to kiss his forehead and then back so he could continue to hold Jean's unblinking eyes, "It's okay if you can't talk. Just breathe, mari. Just listen to my voice and stay with me. You're gonna be fine, I promise."

When Jeremy addressed him, Kevin jumped hard enough to startle Jackie into another soft cry despite the calmness of his friend's request.

"Kevin, can you unlock the front door? The ambulance should be here soon." Then he glanced up, his eyes going to Jackie, "Do you need me to take him?"

Kevin shook his head. He wasn't sure where his own voice had gone, but he could hold the baby so Jeremy's hands remained free for Jean. That, at least, Kevin could do. It wasn't even a fraction of what Jeremy was doing, but Kevin wouldn't add to the weight already on his back by making him care for the child too—not while Jean was...whatever this was.

But, also, Kevin wasn't sure if he could hand over Jackie. There was something about his small weight against Kevin's chest that felt like the only real thing left within the room. His tiny warm body, the only safe thing left to cling to within a nightmare.

He didn't wait for more direction. Cradling Jackie securely in both arms, Kevin left the room and made his way to the front door as quickly as he could without jostling the baby. He unlocked it, opened it, stepped out onto the porch. It didn't matter. It wouldn't help. But it gave him something to do: standing watch in the most meaningless way, eyes fixed on the only entrance to the quiet road.

It was only minutes before he heard the sirens, then only a few more before the tell-tale swirling lights painted the once-peaceful street red. Kevin wrapped his large hand around Jackie's head as best he could, turning him slightly to bury one tiny ear against his own body as he shielded the other from the blare with his palm.

"Where's the patient?!" the EMT called as she and her partner jogged a stretcher between them up the driveway.

Kevin pointed and stepped aside as he gave directions to the nursery but he stayed where he was for fear of getting in their way. It felt like it had already been too long since Jean had said his name in that horrible way. It felt like no time at all had passed. It was like time itself didn't fit the moment Kevin was living in.

He thought his own knees would give way at the sight of Jean being rolled toward him on a stretcher but Kevin couldn't allow them to buckle. He was still holding Jackie.

"Can you follow us?" Jeremy asked him. He didn't look Kevin's way as he spoke, his attention set on jamming his feet into shoes and grabbing keys from the small row of hooks by the front door, "They'll let me in the ambulance."

Finally Kevin found his voice. He couldn't stand the idea of Jean being alone right now.

"Go," Kevin said, taking the keys from him, "We'll meet you there. Which hospital?"

"Huntington Medical," Jeremy answered, darting in to kiss Jackie's hair even as he spoke, "Thank you."

Kevin knew he hadn't done a single thing worthy of thanks since it all started but he nodded anyway, not wasting time in watching the ambulance pull away so he and Jackie would be close behind.

He slid his feet into a pair of Jean's (somewhat loose) athletic sandals rather than try to tie his own laces while holding Jackie and carefully maneuvered his way into one of Jeremy's sweatshirts without setting the baby down. There was a sense of needing to rush but not so much that he frightened the baby too and Kevin felt like he couldn't get the balance of that right as he walked quickly to the nursery. He retrieved his phone from it (not daring to look anywhere other than where it sat) before locking the front door behind him. Kevin wished he'd paid closer attention in the one time he'd ridden in the SUV with the three of them, especially concerning Jackie's car seat, and the process seemed to take entirely too long by the time he backed out of the driveway while jamming the hospital's name into the dashboard GPS.

He almost wished too that Jackie would cry. It was more eerie that the baby was silent than if he wasn't. Jackie always seemed to be making sounds of some sort but now it was as if the child understood that the moment called for quiet. Despite knowing that as well, Kevin couldn't find any calm within himself as he drove toward the hospital as fast as he dared with Jackie in the car, cursing every other vehicle along the way for slowing him down.

A half-hour had passed before Kevin parked and finally made it through the entrance of the building with a frantic request for directions to the ER from the receptionist, who patiently pointed him in the right direction. Kevin was surprised at how empty the room was—so used to Aaron's old stories of chaos—and he quickly spied Jeremy on the other side of it. His friend paced in the far corner nearest the double doors Kevin assumed Jean had been taken through.

"That's all I know," Jeremy said into the phone at his ear, "Yeah, yeah, if I get any actual medical info I'll let you know. How soon—?" He paused and nodded, "Good. Okay. Yeah. Love you guys too."

Jeremy hung up and shoved his phone into his pocket as he immediately stepped forward, wrapping his arms around the two of them tightly. Kevin swallowed, wanting to ask but worried his voice wouldn't hold. He wanted to embrace Jeremy fully in-return too but his arms already felt too weak just to keep Jackie safely pinned to his chest to move them. Instead, he laid his forehead to Jeremy's hair as Jeremy rested his cheek against Kevin's chest with his eyes on Jackie across from him.

"They took him straight back," Jeremy said without a trace of fear in his voice, his tone steady as he diligently informed Kevin, "I wasn't allowed to go with him. We gotta wait out here until there's news but the nurse said, if it ends up needing to be a surgery thing, they'd tell us before it happens. Alex agreed. That was her on the phone. She and Xavier are gonna be on the first flight outta Phoenix, just in case it's something big, you know? They wanna be here. And Mama and Dad are on their way too, should be here any minute."

Kevin nodded along with the information.

"Emme and Pat are next. Fuck, it's the middle of the school day over there," Jeremy said, giving Jackie's forehead a kiss before leaning back and out of the hug. "Do you want me to take him now?"

"No," Kevin said, surprising himself both at the answer and at finding his voice normal, "I've got him. You just focus on the calls. Anything you need from me?"

Jeremy nodded, "Let Renee and Neil know? She and Jean still keep up but Neil, well, you know how he can be. He should know though, Jean would want him to."

Yes, Kevin did know how Neil could be. Despite the years that had passed and no matter how infrequently Neil kept up with them (Jean by simple forgetfulness rather than the intentional spite as he was with Kevin), the three of them would always be bound in a way they'd never share with anyone else.

"I got it," Kevin said. He suspected he'd feel more dread about doing so if he wasn't full of the emotion already simply by the nature of the night thus far.

"Merci," Jeremy said softly, taking out his phone again as he muttered, "Okay, France next. Then Rhemann, Stevens, Cat..."

He trailed off, scrolling on his phone, and Kevin took his out too. As he listened to the ring tone play out with Jackie snugly settled in the crook of his arm (too quiet with his vibrant blue eyes too knowing for an infant, so much so that Kevin couldn't meet them), Kevin realized that he'd never used Renee's number despite having it since their time together at PSU.

"Hello?" Renee said, her tone one of confused surprise, "Kevin?"

"Renee," he said simply in-greeting.

"Something's wrong," she said and Kevin closed his eyes.

He wasn't sure if it was his tone of voice or the fact that he hadn't called her before that gave it away. They'd never been close—not like how she was with Andrew and Neil—but he had cried in her arms once. Just once. It had been the day he sent Jean to Jeremy in Los Angeles and when Kevin finally had the courage to thank her for saving his oldest friend's life.

"It's Jean," Kevin said, "He collapsed at the house maybe an hour ago? We're at the hospital now waiting for news."

"Oh!" Renee exclaimed, worry ringing with the word, "We spoke only a couple weeks ago. He didn't mention feeling unwell. Has he been sick? I remember him being excited for your visit."

"No, he was fine until it happened. I mean, tired from Jackie's not sleeping, I guess, but nothing out of the ordinary," Kevin answered, "We, I don't know more really. I'm sorry."

"That's alright, Kevin, there's no need to apologize for it. Just focus on taking care of yourself and Jeremy while you wait for the doctors to do their work. I'll be praying for all of you until I hear more. Let me know when you do?"

"Sure," he said, ignoring her offering prayers when Kevin himself had no faith in such things. Then he asked, "Can I ask you for a favor?"

"Of course."

"Will you let Neil know what's going on? I need to focus on what's happening here and I've got Jackie since Jeremy's busy."

It was a lie, or at least a stretching of the truth, and part of Kevin suspected Renee knew that but she was too kind to call him out on it.

"I'll do that right now," she said, "Take care, Kevin. Thank you for calling to let me know."

Kevin told her goodbye politely before hanging up. He felt a guilty twinge of relief to not have to call Neil himself but he ignored it in favor of walking back over to Jeremy. The rapidity of his spoken French told Kevin that his friend had gotten ahold of Emme, the other Knox daughter and the only other fluent speaker in the family. Kevin whispered to him that he'd be back before walking away with Jackie, then continued to hear Jeremy speak behind him as he left for the hallway.

"I'll tell him," Jeremy promised in French, "I'm probably overreacting but... Just, just get home when you can, okay? We all need you here."

Kevin swallowed hard at the tremble in Jeremy's voice and kept moving until he found a nurse who could point him toward the cafeteria. The woman at the checkout there was kind, loading a few cheap, disposable cups of coffee into a tray for him when she noticed he only had one free hand since his other was still cradling Jackie.

Balancing both wasn't easy, but the baby's weight against his chest remained oddly grounding. Jackie remained silent despite the movement and unfamiliar surroundings. Kevin thought he might have fallen asleep, given how still he was, but there was no sign of sleep slackening his posture. The soft, steady rhythm of his breathing was something solid, a beat Kevin found himself walking in time to as he made his way back to the ER's waiting room.

When he returned, Kevin audibly sighed in relief at finding Jeremy was no longer alone. Miranda and Ricky Knox stood in the corner with him, talking quietly with their attention locked on their eldest child, but they turned to Kevin as he approached.

"Oh, Kevin," Miranda said, reaching out to hug him as Ricky took the tray of coffees from his hand. He returned her embrace with his free arm without hesitation.

They were Jeremy's parents, but they were Jean's too—the only ones he'd ever truly claimed. Kevin had always felt a quiet gratitude toward them for the way they'd taken Jean in as one of their own. Over the years—during summer visits and Thanksgiving dinners, serving as Jean's best man, and celebrating as many of Jean's birthdays in-person as he could—Kevin had spent a fair amount of time with them and their extended family.

Like Jeremy, they were warm and effortlessly likable. It hadn't surprised Kevin at all when Jean started calling them 'Dad' and 'Maman' years ago.

"Hi, Miranda," Kevin said as she hugged him, "Thanks for coming."

"Of course," she said as she leaned back.

Jackie grumbled unhappily at being shifted during the hug, making his first noise in what seemed like days, and Miranda reached out for him. Kevin handed the child over without complaint, even if relinquishing him left Kevin feeling somewhat adrift at having nothing to do with his hands. He nodded gratefully to Ricky when the man passed him one of the coffee cups after giving one to Jeremy too.

"There been any news yet?" Ricky asked the pair of them. Kevin wasn't sure why he was being asked but Jeremy answered.

"No," he said, "I was gonna go ask the nurses' station now though. It's been a bit."

"Let me," Ricky said, "Sit with Mir and the baby." He looked to Kevin, raising an eyebrow in silent question, and Kevin nodded in understanding as he followed the man toward the other side of the room.

"How's he been?" Ricky asked and it was clear to Kevin who he meant.

"Too calm," Kevin replied, "He just... He jumped right into it as soon as he saw Jean on the floor."

Ricky nodded, "Some people are like that. We all take to this sorta shit different." He examined Kevin's face as he asked, "Can you explain to me what happened? Mir and I didn't wanna bring it up with Remy, not right now."

Kevin swallowed thickly, centering himself before recounting the past hour (Or was it two? Or ten? A hundred?) with as much detail as he could while Ricky listened in silence, nodding occasionally with his eyes on the floor until Kevin finished and he looked back to him. Kevin nearly flinched when Ricky reached up to rest a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"Alright. Thanks, kid," he said gruffly, "You did good."

"I didn't do anything."

Ricky shook his head, "You did what you could, which is as much as a man can do with stuff like this. Just like Remy's doing. Jean's gonna come out the other side of this and we'll all give him shit for scaring us."

Kevin tried to find the humor in it—tried to hold onto it and to the steadiness of Ricky's hand still resting on his shoulder—but all he could see was the image playing on repeat in his mind: Jean's knees buckling again and again, like some sick, twisted pantomime of a horror show.

"Let's try to get some news," Ricky said, squeezing again before passing by Kevin to approach the desk. Kevin followed silently, remaining so as Ricky requested an update on his son, Jean Knox, but the nurse replied with an apologetic tone that they didn't have any updates since Jean's arrival. Ricky rapped a knuckle on the desk with a nod, thanking her perfunctorily, before leading Kevin back to the corner where Jeremy sat with Jackie now in his arms.

Kevin was surprised by the sight of newcomers sitting around his friend, some of the faces familiar even if he didn't know them personally. Coach Rhemann of the USC Trojans was there in a plastic-covered chair beside Coach Stevens of the LA Knights pro team, both of them sitting across from Jeremy and Miranda, and Kevin thought the two other men were Knights players but he couldn't recall their names. Kevin watched as Ricky went over, taking the open seat beside Miranda, but he...

He couldn't decide what to do. There was the impulse to move closer, to join the surreal vigil, but the impulse to run was so much greater. To do something, to do anything, to take some kind of action that led to a tangible result. To go back to the nurses and demand even the smallest bit of information. To storm back into the ER itself and demand to see Jean. To walk out the automatic doors into what was likely dusk and just...keep walking.

"Kev?"

Kevin looked up to find Jeremy's brown eyes on him and he saw it. Kevin saw in those wide depths—Jeremy was clinging to these people and to his son in an effort to stay calm. Now that the initial adrenaline had worn off, and there was nothing to do but wait, Jeremy's steadiness had dissipated. Kevin knew fear well. It had been his most intimate companion for much of his life and he saw it on Jeremy, despite his friend's trying to contain it. The slight tremor in Jeremy's hand as he reached out for Kevin gave him away just as greatly as the worried width of his eyes.

There was no question of what to do, not at the sight of him then, so Kevin went to him without a word. He sat his untouched, now-cold cup of coffee down on the nearby end table and took Jeremy's hand within both of his as he sat beside him. Jeremy's grip on him was brutal, tight enough to make the bones in his hands ache, but Kevin paid it no mind. As the others talked quietly and the baby was passed around and more coffee was fetched by one of the strangers, Kevin paid none of it any mind beyond the weight of Jeremy's hand in his and every movement of the nurses at the station. Kevin kept his attention fixated there in case Jeremy was called for with an update.

__________

An hour passed.

Ricky checked-in for news regularly and Miranda fielded calls from her other children while the coaches and other men tried to keep Jeremy occupied with any topic except why they were all in that waiting room.

Another hour passed.

"Mister Jeremy Knox?"

Kevin's head jerked aside to find an older-looking doctor in a white lab coat step through the double doors leading into the ER as he called the name. Jeremy stood and dropped Kevin's hand, already moving toward the man as he spoke.

"Yes, sir," Jeremy said, "That's me. Is Jean okay? What—?"

"Please, let me escort you to his room in the unit," the doctor said kindly, even as he cut Jeremy off, "We'll go over everything concerning your husband back there."

Jackie whimpered loudly against Miranda's shoulder and she shushed him softly in Spanish, rubbing circles into his back as she nodded to the diaper bag at Ricky's feet. Kevin wondered when it had appeared and who'd gone back to the house to retrieve it. He hadn't thought to grab anything when they tore out after the ambulance.

Even though the doctor had spoken gently, Kevin saw the sharpening of Jeremy's posture and knew it was because the man hadn't immediately answered his question. Despite being across the room, Kevin felt Jeremy's spike of anxiety as his own. When Jeremy looked over his shoulder and his worried eyes met Kevin's, he understood the request in them. Jeremy didn't need to ask with words. Nothing could've stopped Kevin from going to him with such fear glazing his expression so Kevin left his seat behind wordlessly. Jeremy held his gaze until Kevin was within reach, then he took Kevin's hand in a white-knuckled grip and used it to bring Kevin close to his side. He couldn't say if Jeremy meant to, or if he simply needed the additional support to keep standing solidly.

"You are?" the doctor asked, looking to him.

"Kevin Day," he answered, his tone confident and unwavering as he added, "I'm Jean's brother."

It was the first time he'd ever called himself so aloud in such a way.

Thankfully, it was enough for the doctor not to question him, and the older man nodded in acceptance before stepping aside with gesture toward the door.

"If you would both follow me," he said.

Kevin nodded, giving Jeremy's hand a comforting squeeze, and they walked through behind their guide. As they continued to follow the doctor, through those doors and then through a series of hallways, Kevin wondered if he was leading Jeremy or if Jeremy was leading him. He wondered why Jean's room was so far away from the waiting room as they left the emergency unit behind to enter another wing of the hospital.

The new ward was as quiet as a held breath, the stillness unnatural when broken only by the sounds of their shoes beating unevenly against the linoleum. It was made up of private rooms, larger than the temporary spaces in the ER and separated from one another by walls rather than curtains. Each outer wall was made of glass, striped with seams to show how it could be opened if necessary, which made it easy to see into each from the large nurses' station that dominated the center of the unit. Most of the rooms were empty and Kevin wondered at that too...

But all thoughts ceased at the sight of Jean. He was in the farthest room at the back of the ward, his eyes closed and his body slightly reclined in the bed that made him look much too small for someone of his stature. Wires poked out from the wide neckline of his loose hospital gown with other tubes attached to his wrists and hands. A machine beeped methodically like a metronome and something dripped from an IV bag silently. From multiple IV bags in fact and, for the first time since they entered, Kevin noticed the signs around unit. He read the one on the closed door to Jean's room: ICU #4.

"He's resting well right now," the doctor said soothingly, "You'll both be able to talk to him soon but I need to update you on his condition beforehand. My office is just here to the side."

Jeremy's steps faltered, his gaze locked on Jean's unmoving form through the glass. Kevin stepped in without thinking, instinct drawing him closer to Jeremy's side as he came to a halt.

Wrong.

It was wrong. It was bad. Dangerous. There was pain in that room, and if Kevin could just shift his body the right way—just angle himself between it and Jeremy—then maybe he could stop it from reaching him. If Kevin was strong enough, maybe he could take the hit instead, just like Jean had done for him, over and over again, back in the Nest.

"We'll go right to him when the doctor's done," Kevin said in French, bending slightly to whisper the words gently in Jeremy's ear.

Jeremy nodded weakly after a long moment, swallowing so noticeably that Kevin thought he could hear it in the deep stillness of the ward around them, before walking again. The doctor led them into a small office only a couple doors down from Jean's room and gestured to the pair of chairs in front of his desk as he settled behind it.

Jeremy moved to sit but Kevin didn't. He needed to stay standing. It was instinct again, a sense without words, and he didn't question it because the warnings screamed in his mind to prepare, to brace, to hold his breath and wait for the blow he felt poised above him unseen. When Jeremy released his hand, settling nervously into the seat, Kevin placed it on Jeremy's shoulder to stand by his side.

The doctor leaned forward over his desk, folding his hands on the polished wood, and his eyes fixed gently on Jeremy. They were kind eyes—and Kevin hated them. Another instinct. That was all he had to go on now, all he could trust in these uncharted, perilous waters where the churning surface gave no warning of the sharks circling below.

"Jeremy, I'm Dr. Patel," the man said, "I've been overseeing your husband's care since he came in. I know this has been a difficult few hours for you so I'm going to explain what we found as clearly as I can."

"Okay," Jeremy said, nodding, "That'd, that'd be great. We haven't had any news so far. It's, we've just been guessing." He leaned forward slightly, hungry for answers, "Was it a stroke? My sister's a nurse and she thought that might be it, with how sudden he collapsed and stuff."

The doctor let out small sigh as he shook his head once. Kevin felt the urge to strike him for some reason.

"I'm afraid it wasn't a stroke," the doctor began.

Afraid? Why be afraid of such a thing when it was such a horrific possibility?

"What Jean's suffered is acute live failure," Patel continued, "That means his liver function dropped off rapidly and is no longer filtering the toxins in his body. That's why Jean was disoriented and unresponsive after he collapsed, as well as why his breathing was shallow. Liver failure has a cascade effect. Once it begins, it spills over into other bodily functions like cognition and breathing at a frightening speed."

"But, wait. I don't understand," Jeremy said with obvious confusion, "Why would his liver just do that? Jean's only thirty. He's healthy, he works out, he eats better than I do. I mean, he was a professional athlete a year ago. He doesn't, he barely even drinks. Nothing's ever been wrong with his liver. He always goes to his annual check-ups too and nobody's ever said anything. I don't get it."

The doctor nodded along as Jeremy rambled before answering, "These conditions can onset suddenly. There are several potential causes—viral infections, reactions to medications, even a silent autoimmune condition. But, in his case, we suspect long-term damage may have made him more vulnerable."

"Long-term damage...," Jeremy said slowly.

No, no, no.

Kevin's pleas were worthless as the doctor explained.

"Jean mentioned an extensive history of abuse in his medical records, spanning from childhood into early adulthood. Trauma can increase the risk of liver disease later in life due to chronic stress, possible exposure to substances, even untreated infections. The originating cause could be several possibilities but knowing it doesn't change the outcome in cases like these unfortunately."

"So," Jeremy said, "So, what? He needs some kinda surgery to fix his liver? Or a transplant? That's what happens when organs fail, right?"

"I'm afraid that Jean's progression is too far advanced for a transplant. His condition is highly unstable and has deteriorated past the point where he would survive surgery, given the likelihood of internal bleeding. The critical level of toxins in his bloodstream makes transfusions regrettably ineffective at this stage. With his kidneys failing now too and his brain function being disrupted by ammonia buildup, I'm sorry to say that it's not possible to reverse or stop the damage."

Kevin's chest tightened, and he held his breath for a moment. Yes, this was the blow. This was the slap, the knife, the racquet. This was so like twenty-something years ago that Kevin thought he might be able to close his eyes and find himself in Ireland again: the sterile scent of a medical office, a stranger's gaze softened by pity, and the cold finality in the man's voice.

'There's nothin' that cannae be done fer her now, lad...'

He didn't want to hear this. Not now. Not again.

But the words came anyway, raw and frustrated, cutting through the deafening quiet of the room.

"Which means you're telling us what exactly?"

Kevin's words came out gratingly, disgusted by the professionalism bullshit, and he felt Jeremy's body stiffen further beneath his touch. He didn't want to hurt Jeremy but prolonging it, the strike Kevin knew was poised against them now that he'd listened to the two talk, wasn't going to help him or Jean. Kevin didn't want the truth he knew was hidden behind the doctor's explanation but he knew what he wanted was meaningless. It changed nothing. It never had.

So, Kevin didn't blink as he stared at the doctor, daring the man to say what Kevin knew he would next. Kevin knew it was coming because once, when he was small enough to sit in a chair like these here, young enough that his feet didn't touch the ground, another doctor had sat behind a fucking desk and told him the same.

"We've started palliative care," the doctor answered him calmly, dropping his attention back to Jeremy as he continued, "The window has closed for treatment options. Now, our focus is ensuring that Jean is comfortable until—"

"No."

Jeremy's single, soft word carried more sharpness than any blade. He shook his head as he continued, "No, that's, that's not possible."

"I understand that it's—," the doctor began again.

"No!" Jeremy cried, and Kevin felt him begin to shake violently beneath his hand, "No, no, you don't! You can't, you aren't listening to me." He leaned forward again, as if he could convince the doctor otherwise, and his refutation came rapidly. "I told you Jean's healthy. He does everything right. He always has, ever since he got here from that hellhole. He does all of it. He eats right and exercises and, and... He's only thirty years old! He's younger than me. And he's... Jean's..."

Jeremy gasped, the sound that of a punch knocking air from lungs viciously, "We have a baby. We have a baby. He can't... Jean can't..."

The doctor didn't interrupt Jeremy, his expression one of sympathetic pain as he looked up to Kevin while Jeremy fought to regain his breath. Kevin wished the man wouldn't. He couldn't do anything. Again. Again Jean suffered and there was nothing Kevin could do. Whatever furious energy it was he used moments before, whatever shoring up of himself he thought he'd done, it was all worthless in the face of Jeremy's reaction to what Kevin had known would come.

Then Jeremy whirled around in his seat, his eyes wide and wild as he demanded, "Call Aaron. Call him. This is his thing, he'll know what to do. Please."

Kevin swallowed thickly, even as he nodded in agreement. He hadn't spoken to Aaron since leaving Chicago days ago (after yet another argument) and Kevin never could've imagined this would be how and why he did but he didn't have a choice. Kevin navigated to Aaron's contact on his phone and pressed the call button.

"Well," Aaron drawled coolly when the call connected, "What a surprise."

"Air."

It was enough—the old nickname Kevin never used anymore, the choked way he said it. It was enough for Aaron to drop the sneer in his voice entirely as he spoke again.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he asked.

"Jean collapsed at the house," Kevin said, "I'm at Huntington Memorial in the, in the ICU with Jeremy. He wants you to talk to the doctor so we can get your opinion, okay? His name's Patel."

"Yeah," Aaron agreed quickly, "Sure. Give the man the phone."

Kevin held out his phone to the doctor as he explained, "This, Dr. Aaron Minyard's my partner. He's the Chief of Critical Care Medicine at Chicago General."

Dr. Patel nodded in understanding and took the phone, "Of course. I'm glad you both have someone close to you with expertise in this area. Just a moment, please."

The doctor's voice seemed distant, even as Kevin heard the words continue after his greeting Aaron with professional respect. Dr. Patel said much of what he had to them but the jargon was more logically intensive and medically specific. Kevin felt the tension in Jeremy's body like an extension of his own. It struck Kevin as oddly surreal, knowing that it was Aaron on the phone. He'd just been named the chief leading physician of the hospital's ICU months ago but Kevin had never visited him at-work there. Kevin had never been in an ICU at all until today. After all, by the time Kayleigh reached the nearest hospital to their village, she no longer needed one.

Kevin blinked back into the moment as Dr. Patel held out the phone to him and Kevin took it while the doctor explained, "Dr. Minyard would like to speak with you both further now. Please feel free to use the office as long as you like. I'm on-call into tomorrow so I will see you for Jean's next check-in in a few hours." He looked apologetic as he continued, "With this being the ICU and considering Jean's condition, visitation is confined to the two of you but it's around the clock so you won't have to leave if you do not wish to."

His attention dropped to Jeremy a final time and he was the picture of compassion. It only made Kevin hate him more.

"I am very sorry that this has happened to your husband," Dr. Patel said, "I promise you we will do all we can do ensure his final hours are as peaceful as possible. If either of you or he need anything, do not hesitate to ask the nursing staff."

Neither of them spoke as Dr. Patel walked around the desk before leaving them with a gentle nod and a careful closing of the door. Kevin lifted the phone to his ear, knowing Aaron was waiting.

"What do you—?" Kevin began to ask but Aaron cut him off. Aaron had done so a million times during their years together but never like this, never with his voice carrying the kind tone it did now.

"Will you put me on speaker so I can talk to Jeremy?" Aaron asked.

Kevin nodded, even if Aaron couldn't see it, and took the seat beside Jeremy's. He turned the chair slightly, holding the phone between them. His eyes stayed fixed on Jeremy's face as he pressed the speaker button but Jeremy's gaze was locked on the phone.

"He's here," Kevin said.

It was the pause of skidding tires before the crash. The charge in the air before lightning splits the sky. The breath held before the trigger is pulled.

The pause before life changes forever.

"I'm so sorry, Jeremy," Aaron said softly.

And just like that, in the span of four quiet words, Kevin watched the light in Jeremy's eyes go out for the first time since they'd met. He would've never guessed brown could look so flat, so empty, when there was no hope left in it.

"It's... it's true then, isn't it?" Jeremy asked, stumbling over the words. "Aaron?"

"I'm sorry," Aaron repeated.

A small choked sound escaped Jeremy's throat and Kevin leaned forward instinctively, continuing to hold the phone between them but wrapping his free arm around Jeremy's shoulders as best he could. They huddled there together, curled in against the wider world, and Kevin waited for Jeremy to cry, to sob and wail and break, but he didn't. All Jeremy did was tremble for a long moment of silence before he spoke again.

"How... How long does he have?" Jeremy asked.

"It could be hours or a day," Aaron said, "Maybe even two. Patel said he's stable for now but his brain's already been affected so he'll be in and out of consciousness for the rest of it. Jean will know you're there with him though."

Kevin had never heard Aaron's voice like this. There was a gentleness to it, a deep comforting understanding that was completely foreign, and Kevin realized then (with only a moment's thought) that this was the man Aaron was when not with him, the Dr. Minyard who saved lives and comforted those who lost them.

"Jeremy," Aaron continued with soft kindness, "You need to know that you didn't do anything wrong. Neither did Jean."

"Patel said the Nest...," Jeremy began, trailing off.

"Trauma can contribute but so can a lot of things. Stress like that, for that long, does shit things to a body but acute liver failure is the sort of condition that can just happen—like a heart attack or an aneurysm." Aaron's voice was both firm and gentle as he added, "No one can predict it, and no one can blame themselves for it. Not you, not Jean, okay?"

Jeremy didn't respond so Kevin asked, "Is there really nothing that can be done? Just nothing?"

"There isn't," Aaron answered, "Just be with him. Now's the time for that."

Jeremy blinked, as if coming to a realization, and looked to Kevin as he said, "I... I need to go to him. Kev?"

"Yeah, go ahead," Kevin said, nodding, "I'll be right there."

Jeremy nodded too and left the room quickly without a backward glance, not even closing the door behind him so Kevin was able to watch him walk hurriedly down the short hallway to where Jean's room was before disappearing into it. A moment of silence passed before Kevin remembered the call was ongoing.

"We were in the nursery," he said quietly, his eyes still on the spot where Jeremy had vanished from, "He, Jean was holding Jackie. Perfectly fine. Well, tired but fine. And then he just..."

Kevin trailed off and Aaron filled the space by saying, "If someone hadn't been there when he collapsed, he might not've lived long enough to get to the hospital. You gave him more time."

"Not enough."

"No but it's more than none and it's better than him dying in their house."

Kevin swallowed, closing his eyes against the flash of seeing Jean fall in his mind again. As harsh as Aaron's words were, it was the truth. Kevin asked, "What's this going to be like? I need to be prepared."

"He'll be in and out for the rest of it," Aaron explained, "Fatigue plays a part in that but it's the toxin build-up mostly. His ability to stay cognizant will wane the closer he gets to the end so, if you have something to say, you shouldn't wait."

Kevin clenched his knee with a taloned grip, digging into his own muscles in an effort not to shatter.

"Eventually, even when he's awake, it won't be responsive but he should be able to hear you guys pretty much the whole time. And, knowing Jean, he won't show it but he'll be in pain," Aaron said honestly, "They'll have him on meds to manage it but there's only so much relief to give a patient with MODS."

"MODS?"

"Multiple Organ Dysfunction Syndrome," Aaron said, "The chain reaction of a body failing. That's why Patel can't do anything. It's like dominos, impossible to stop once it's started no matter what the fuck you do."

"You've seen it before."

It wasn't a question. It felt obvious to Kevin by how Aaron said it. Even if they weren't happy together much these days, they knew each other well still.

"I saw it three weeks ago," Aaron answered, "Female, Asian, twenty-two. It started with her liver too. No history of abuse of any kind. Near spotless medical records." Then he added, "Her name was Yumi. In her senior year at UChicago for international relations. I'm the one who told her parents when they got in from New York but they were too late."

How many of these stories had Kevin never asked for, had never even thought to ask for?

"That's why I can say with confidence that this shit couldn't be caused by him or Jeremy any more than it could be avoided," Aaron said, "This... This is just how life is fucking cruel. You and Jean know that better than most people."

Kevin nodded unseen because it was true. The two of them had known that since they were children and they'd lived years with it being the foremost truth of their lives. But, Jeremy hadn't. Nothing in his life had prepared him for that truth. Now he'd know...and there was nothing Kevin could do to save him from it.

"I'm not going to ask if you're okay because I know you aren't," Aaron continued, "But I'm here if you or Jeremy need anything, alright?"

"Yeah," Kevin said hoarsely, "Thanks."

It was such a pointless word, as empty as Kevin wished he was, and their final goodbye was just as meaningless too. Neither of them said I-love-you before hanging up. At least that was normal.

Kevin picked his body up out of the chair wearily and made his way toward the room Jeremy had entered. It was shielded from view now by a curtain covering the length of the glass wall and Kevin was grateful for the extra second it gave him to pull himself together before stepping inside.

He wished he'd taken another second (or ten, or a hundred) at the sight of them.

Jean's eyes were still closed but his expression was peaceful with his head turned Jeremy's way against the pillow while Jeremy stroked lovingly through his hair. Jeremy had pulled a chair over, close to the side of the hospital bed, and he held one of Jean's hands carefully in his to avoid the IV's needle. His eyes remained focused intently on Jean's face when Kevin walked in and he was whispering something but, other than the fact that it was French, it was too soft to understand.

The room was a hollow husk - all mechanical hums and fluorescent sterility, antiseptic quiet and too-white walls. It mocked the life the two of them had always brought into every space they'd touched, stripping them of the usual radiance they shared.

It was cold too (in temperature, in everything else) so Kevin stepped forward to the side of the bed and gently lifted the blanket folded at Jean's feet, the waffled fabric heavy but surprisingly soft. He pulled it up slowly to cover Jean's legs and onto his stomach, gathering the excess there in a puddle in case Jean wanted to use more of it. His brother hated being cold, just like Jeremy did. They teased him so much for living where he had since leaving Palmetto because of it.

"Merci," Jeremy said softly, not looking his way but directing the thanks to Kevin in French, "He was awake a minute ago but I think he's resting again."

Kevin nodded, watching Jean's sleeping face for a long moment until a thought came to him. It was the last thing he wanted to do but it would help them, it would take a burden off of Jeremy's shoulders and bring Jean comfort, and Kevin felt he should give the pair of them space too, even if only for a short time. He didn't want to lose any of the time he had left with Jean too but, if either of them was going to miss out on Jean's final moments, Kevin didn't want it to be Jeremy.

"I'll be back soon," Kevin said in the same and Jeremy nodded without question, continuing to weave his fingers through Jean's hair tenderly.

Kevin made his way out of the room and retraced his steps by way of the signs back to the ER's waiting room. Everyone was precisely where he and Jeremy had left them and they all stood as Kevin approached. He hesitated before them, his gaze lingering on Jackie where Miranda continued to hold him to her chest, but he couldn't meet her eyes. He looked to Ricky instead, even as he spoke to all of them.

"It's bad news," he began, voice catching. "It's... it's the worst news, actually."

He explained what both Patel and Aaron had spoken of as calmly, succinctly, and with as little emotion as he could manage because, if he cracked now, every seam of him would split and he couldn't do that. Not yet.

The people before him expressed more than enough though, so much that Kevin could barely breathe with how it clogged the air of the room with shocked despair. Miranda began crying almost immediately after Kevin started to speak, causing Jackie to start fussing. Ricky wrapped an arm around her, taking the baby in his other one so his wife could curl into him and he could comfort them both. The coaches looked shell shocked and the teammates cursed and it was everything Kevin had felt in Patel's office reflected back at him by people who were willing to feel it.

Kevin wasn't. He couldn't afford to feel anything more. Not right now.

"Can I have Jackie?" he asked Ricky.

"I thought the doc said just you and Remy," Ricky said, even as he stepped forward to offer Kevin the child.

"Jean and Jeremy need him," Kevin said, taking Jackie easily and cradling him close. Jackie blinked up at him with those twilight eyes, the strange, unearthly color even more surreal in a room like this. Kevin's voice dropped low. "And God help anybody who gets in my fucking way."

Ricky nodded sadly and squeezed Kevin's opposite shoulder.

"We'll be out here until you bring him back," Ricky said, "Give them as much time as they want."

Kevin nodded too and turned away, striding back through the doors with the air of a man daring to be challenged. The weight of Jackie against him was a comfort again and Kevin was thankful now for the infant's stillness as they drew no attention along the path back to Jean's room.

__________

The sight of his two friends through the doorway both filled his lungs with needed air and stole the desperate breath away all in the same moment. They were talking quietly, two hands joined between them while Jeremy cupped Jean's face with the other, and Jean looked at Jeremy as if he was the universe incarnate. Kevin understood it because he knew Jeremy was precisely that to Jean, as was the baby in his arms.

He walked in fully and they both turned his way, allowing Kevin to take in his first true look at Jean since it all began. The yellowed tint of his clammy skin was deeper than before, reaching even the whites of his eyes where the edges were bloodshot, and his exhaustion was clear in how he seemed to sag even when already in the bed. Kevin wondered how much pain he was in. He hoped the medications were doing their work because he couldn't stand the thought of Jean hiding it in his final moments.

It was nonsensical, how small Jean looked beneath the white sheets with the waffled blanket now pulled high against his chest. It was cruel, how this was the same man who'd sat beside him that morning on the back deck, drinking black coffee beneath the sun. It was a tragedy of the highest order, how Kevin didn't know how many more chances he had to meet those gray eyes—the ones he'd known most of his life—before Jean stopped looking back.

Jeremy stood before walking to him, holding his arms open for Jackie, "Merci, Kev."

Kevin nodded, handing the baby over and watching as Jeremy went back around the bed with Jackie cradled to his chest. He sat on the edge of it at Jean's side, facing his husband with their son between them and their eyes both on his small form. Jean reached out to run his fingertip along the round curve of Jackie's cheek and Kevin's chest ached. Such pain should leave a mark for how twisted and wrenching it was but Kevin held himself firm without reaction as Jeremy's breath audibly hitched at the sight of Jackie's smiling at the touch of his Papa. It had only been that February when the couple called Kevin excitedly to tell him about Jackie's first smile. Two months ago. Only two.

"It is alright, mon amour," Jean said, his voice soft and somewhat hoarse as he looked up to Jeremy.

"It's so far away from 'alright'," Jeremy countered just as quietly, his gaze still on Jackie, "It's... This is wrong. It's so wrong. It, this isn't happening. It just, it can't."

"It is. We cannot change it."

Kevin hadn't even considered if Jean had been told of what was happening but his words made it clear that he had been.

"How, how can you just...?" Jeremy began, finally meeting Jean's eyes, "I can't."

"I could either spend my last hours in anger and waste them," Jean explained, "Or I could use them to share with you and Jacques how much I love you. I choose the latter."

Kevin couldn't stand it. He shouldn't be there—not in that room, not in that moment, not with the three of them.

He slipped out without a word and rounded the corner just past Jean's door. The hallway there was short and dim, the kind of space meant for mops and storage, not people. A door marked as a supply closet sat at the end, and Kevin leaned against the wall opposite it. With something solid against him, Kevin felt the tremors shiver through him violently. He clenched his hands into fists. He gritted his jaw until his teeth creaked. He let his head fall back against the plaster with a sharp thunk. Then again, harder this time. If he could drive the feelings out, hammer them into silence, he might be able to stay standing.

He kept his eyes shut. The burn behind them swelled but didn't break.

There was no one to call. Nothing to fix. No air to breathe that didn't taste like endings.

Just stillness. Just pressure.

Ná déan. Coinnigh le chéile é, a Lá.

He knew his dad and Abby wouldn't mind it if he called but he couldn't stand the idea of listening to their sympathy, of reliving the day again, as he told them what had happened and what was coming. There was Aaron but... Kevin didn't want him either. He certainly didn't want to call Neil and Andrew, unable to stand the thought of biting, too-honest remarks when reality was harsh enough as it was. Kevin knew that the only person who truly understood this, who grasped the full weight of this impending loss, was Jeremy and he was already exactly where he needed to be.

It was hard to say how long Kevin stood there, his breaths the only sound in the hidden hallway, but he flinched at the brush of fingertips against his arm. Kevin opened his eyes too rapidly, enough to make his head spin, but Jeremy met his gaze evenly.

"Why're you standing alone in the dark?" Jeremy asked, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

"Nowhere else to be," Kevin replied.

Jeremy shook his head once, "Not true." He examined Kevin's face for a moment and Kevin wished he wouldn't because the flatness of Jeremy's brown eyes was so unnatural to meet with his own. "Okay?"

"No."

"Me neither." He sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair before he turned back toward the end of the hallway with a slight pause. He spoke over his shoulder, "He's asking for you."

Kevin swallowed then nodded, following Jeremy back into the ICU room. Jean held Jackie to his chest in the bed, whispering into the baby's dark hair with his eyes closed as Jackie cooed softly as if holding a conversation with his father.

Only the day before, Kevin and Jeremy had teased Jean about the child looking more like him than his blond husband with that same thick mass of dark hair. It was fitting, Jeremy had commented, that they'd already chosen Jackie's name before he was born with his middle one being Jean's first. It was a Knox family tradition, for the eldest son to bear their father's name as their second (just as Jeremy's was Richard), and Jean had blushed noticeably at the reminder while kissing Jackie's forehead. He did the same now to his namesake as Jeremy sat beside him on the bed again, resting his hand atop Jean's where he cradled their son.

This isn't happening.

Jeremy's words played through Kevin's mind. He'd never agreed with a statement more than he did those then.

Jean looked over to Kevin as he spoke, "Thank you for bringing him to us. I wanted to hold him for a final time."

"Don't say it like that," Kevin choked, the plea hoarse.

"There is no point in denying the truth, mon frère, as I told Jérémie," Jean said, "We have the time we have. Let us not waste it." He glanced at the chair on the opposite side of the bed, "Sit with us?"

Kevin did so, unable to take his eyes off of the three of them. He felt the truth in Jean's words. More than likely, it was the last time they would share a moment like this one.

Jean turned his attention back to the baby and Kevin waited, sensing there was a reason Jean had sent Jeremy to bring him back to the room.

"There are thoughts that I need to share with you both while I still have my full mind," Jean said, gazing at his son while speaking to the two men on either side of him, "Dr. Patel said that I will lose more of it with time and that, if I fall asleep, I may not reawaken. I do not want to chance that happening without speaking with you two."

Jean looked up, his eyes traveling between Kevin and Jeremy, "I need you to truly listen, even though it is difficult. I could not mean any words more than those I have for you, mes très chers."

Kevin nodded and Jeremy shuffled a little closer into Jean's side as Jean's attention turned to him. The look they shared between them made Kevin want to leave the room again. It was too intimate for him to be party to but he wouldn't deny Jean's request. He wouldn't deny Jean anything, not now.

"Jer," he said softly, "Chéri, mon beau soleil."

It was a fight for Kevin to remain in the chair. A moment like this, with words so precious to them both spoken that tender tone, should've been for them alone.

"I know you are scared," Jean said, "I know this is much sooner than either of us imagined and I hate that I will be unable to be there for you in the hard time to come, more than I can say."

Jeremy sniffled and Kevin's throat closed at the threat of his friend's tears, the first instance of them since this all began, as Jean continued to speak. Neither husband seemed to blink between their shared gaze.

"But I am confident that you will survive this and, one day in the future, you will thrive again. You do not know how to do anything in life with less than your best and your whole heart. You will be able to do so because you are so strong, mon mari, more than anyone I have ever known."

Jean gave Jeremy a small smile as the first tears slid silently down Jeremy's cheeks, adding "That strength and brilliance is how I know, without a doubt, that you will raise our son beautifully, mon coeur. He will have the most wonderful life by your side. I wish I had the opportunity to see more of it, I truly do, but I will be with you everyday, mon amour. Every day I will be in your heart as you are in mine, as you will always be for eternity, just as we promised one another."

Jeremy hiccuped raggedly and Kevin couldn't look away from them, even if he felt like he should. There was just this... They were both so brave, these two men who meant so much to him. They were so true and beautiful and it was ending, regardless of how loving Jean's words to Jeremy were.

Jean reached out a shaking hand and brushed his fingertips to the tracks of tears along Jeremy's cheek before Jeremy reached up to clutch his hand fiercely. He brought Jean's palm to his cheek, leaning into it and cupping it with his own as he took a tremulous breath in an effort not to break further.

"Do not suffer alone, Jer," Jean said, his voice cracking over the words, "I know you do not like to show when you are struggling but do not break yourself further by pretending. Rely on those you have with you. Rely on Kevin. You do not have to hold yourself up in this. Promise me you will accept their care."

Jeremy nodded weakly and Kevin's breath caught at the mention of his name. He fought back his own words of agreement, not wanting to interrupt but also wanting to let them both know that he could be trusted with whatever was needed of him.

Jean took a deep breath and nodded in-return to Jeremy as he continued, "There is another promise I need from you, chéri. I know you will not want to agree, nor to even hear it, but I beg of you to truly listen and then to do as I say for my own sake."

"What is it?" Jeremy asked softly, his eyes wide as he examined Jean's face, "I'd, I'll do anything you want, mon tout. You know that."

Kevin waited as a beat of silence passed, his mind too blank to fathom what Jean meant to say.

"I need you to not give up on finding love for yourself again after I am gone."

Oh.

Jeremy's face fell as if he'd been struck and he recoiled slightly, his lips parting with a small, sharp gasp of shock.

"Don't—," he began but Jean spoke quickly to cut his husband off.

"S'il te plaît, mari. I understand your protest, I do, but Jérémie, I cannot stand it. I cannot."

Kevin wasn't sure he was still breathing as he took in the sight of them, determination on his brother's face and horror on his friend's. But the demanding force of Jean's conviction was a palpable weight in the air, pressing down on them all, and his voice held a strength greater than any he'd shown thus far.

"I want you to live," Jean insisted, "And for you to do so in full, you cannot neglect that part of yourself. I know you, mon soleil. You were made to love. To give and receive it is a core element of the man you are and the thought of you not having that? Of the world being denied it and Jacques never seeing it? That is the worst of this. I hate to imagine that the life you have left will be lesser because of your refusal to find happiness again."

Jeremy dropped his hand from Jean's, shaking his head furiously, but Jean continued to plead over his husband's silent protest.

"I know it is selfish of me to ask it of you but I need your promise that you will not shut the possibility out. I cannot... The thought of you being alone is more painful than any other, Jer. Do not cease living because I am, do not enshrine me and use my memory to keep the rest at-bay. You deserve so much more than grief, mon amour. More than only memories. You cannot live like that, as only a shell of yourself, and—"

"Stop," Jeremy said. It wasn't a shout but it carried the power of a command, even if the word shook too in the air. "Just stop. I can't—I won't promise that. I won't. How can you say something like that right now?"

Jean didn't cower in the face of Jeremy's pained expression as he asked simply, "Can you honestly say that you would not ask the same of me if our positions were reversed?"

Jeremy's recoil was sharper then, enough to jostle the bed slightly as he leaned back, putting distance between himself and the words. His hands clenched into fists, his jaw clenched, but Jean only watched him. Kevin saw the confidence in his gray eyes, saw how Jean knew exactly what he was asking and that Jeremy would indeed do the same. As terrifying as it was to imagine Jeremy in that bed in Jean's stead, Kevin could imagine Jeremy doing exactly that. He knew Jeremy would, just as he knew Jean's reaction would be just as horrified as Jeremy's was just then.

"That doesn't...," Jeremy said, choking on the words, "Doesn't change that I can't. I don't want to. I'll never—"

"Jérémie," Jean said, trying to soothe, but Jeremy's eyes filled with a rush of tears that spilled down his cheeks, a gut-wrenching sob cutting through as he tried to continue.

"I won't do that!" Jeremy cried, panic and heartbreak filling the room with his words, "You can't—I... Jean, ma lune, s'il te plaît, ne me le demande pas. Ne me fais pas promettre..."

Jackie began to wriggle uncomfortably in Jean's arms as Jeremy spoke, stirred no doubt by the tension in the room and his father's crying, and he too let out a small whimper just before a wail broke free. They both turned to their son instinctively before Jeremy gathered the baby swiftly from Jean's arms, standing and taking him to the corner of the room beside the only window in the space.

Kevin watched Jeremy's back as he rocked the child, his soothing sounds the only ones in the room, and it was clear the effort was as much in attempt for Jeremy to pull himself back together as it was to calm Jackie. Even as the infant quieted not long later, Jeremy kept his face tucked down toward him and his back to the room.

When Kevin noticed Jean's attention leave Jeremy for him, he desperately wished it wouldn't because, if Jean was willing to ask so much of his husband, Kevin was terrified of what his brother would demand of him. Even with that fear though, Kevin knew he wouldn't say no, regardless of what was requested. If Jean asked him to carve his own heart out and lay it on the bed beside him, Kevin would.

"You have known me longer than anyone else in this life, since we were only ten-year-old children," Jean said, his voice soft but easily audible through the still room, "We have struggled but we moved on to win such incredible lives for ourselves, did we not?"

"Yeah," Kevin agreed tightly, surprised he could even find his own voice.

"I know I do not need to ask you to care for them," Jean continued, glancing to Jeremy for a moment. "Of course you will do so. But what I need is your promise not to stop."

"What?" Kevin asked, confused.

"You must promise me that no matter how greatly you doubt yourself, nor how painful your own fear becomes, you will not step back from them. You will stay, mon frère, because I am telling you now, in the fullest truth between us, that there is no man in this world I would trust them with other than you."

Kevin felt frozen beneath the weight of Jean's unblinking focus, pinned by the solidity of his words. The world felt distant as Jean went on, his voice sinking deeper into Kevin's chest.

"You are to be there for him in every conceivable way, as I would be, and you are to never stop doing so. Jamais, mon ami. He will need you so much more than either of you understand in this moment but I know—," Jean said with quiet but absolute strength, "You are the only man for him now. Tu comprends, Kévin? Tu réalises ce que je te demande?"

Kevin didn't understand. Not completely. The gist of it—be there for Jeremy—was simple and obvious. Of course he would. Of course he wouldn't stop. But there was more to it. Something deeper in the way Jean spoke of fear and doubt. Something weighty in the vow's being infinite and complete. There was a timeless totality to it all that Kevin feel like he couldn't quite wrap his mind around it...but he had to.

But he had to. He had to understand. He had to make the promise. He had to do anything—everything—Jean wished of him.

Because Kevin owed Jean his life. He owed him his sanity and his heart. Any humanity Kevin still had after the Nest, it was all because of Jean.

So despite the horror of the moment, despite being confused and afraid, despite his throat tightening and his eyes burning with the first tears since the day they were given their freedom together, Kevin nodded.

"Swear to me you will do this, but only if you mean it, brother," Jean continued in French, his eyes wide and pleading. "I cannot have peace otherwise."

"I do," Kevin croaked, his voice breaking. "I swear, Jean. He won't be alone. Neither of them will be. Ever. I promise." He moved forward, to the very edge of his chair, closing the space between them as if it lend weight to his vow. Then, in French, he added, "No matter how hard it is, I won't abandon him, brother. I'll do everything you would for him—as close to what you've done as I possibly can. I won't stop."

Jean swallowed noticeably, his gaze searching Kevin's face for a long moment. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him. He nodded before releasing a long, weary sigh and settled back against the pillows. He closed his eyes briefly before returning them to Kevin.

"Merci tellement," Jean said in a near-whisper, "I cannot tell you what that means to me."

"You don't have to," Kevin said, equally soft. He watched Jean's attention travel to Jeremy again as he continued to rock Jackie slowly back and forth.

"He is so strong but this will break him for a time, just as it would me if I were in his place," Jean said, "I hate to do this to him. I hate to miss out on the rest of this life. I hate—" Jean cut himself off with a shake of his head and a long breath, continuing, "There is no point in dwelling on such thoughts when there is so little time left. You and I both lost so much life to darkness. I will not give it any more. I will not die angry, not after all I have been given. I will die loving and being loved."

"You will," Kevin said, the words trembling in the small space between them, "Jean..."

Jean turned to face him and Kevin needed him to know. He needed Jean to know it without a doubt, clearly and fully and in a way he'd never said to him before.

"I love you, Jean," Kevin said in the language most dear to them both, his chin wobbling and shaking the words fiercely, "I'm, I'm sorry I didn't tell you enough but I always have, okay? Ever since we were kids. You saved me, in every way. In all ways. I wouldn't be here without you and I'm so fucking sorry for all the bullshit along the way but I mean it. I love you, my dearest brother. I've loved you longer than anybody else in my goddamn life."

Jean's lips trembled too as he nodded. He held out his hand and Kevin took it in both of his own. It was impossible to say which of the two of them was shaking, or if it was simply both of them together.

"I know," Jean said in the same, "Just as I have always loved you too, even on our darkest days. That is why I trust you with the most precious part of my life."

Kevin followed Jean's gaze back to Jeremy, finding that his friend was walking back to them with a slow but steady stride as if to give the two men more time together. Kevin appreciated it—that he'd said what he needed to, that he'd been able to give Jean's final wish his own promise—but he was glad to have Jeremy return to them with Jackie calm in his arms.

Jean reached his other hand out to Jeremy and his husband took it as he sat beside him again, pressing a kiss to the top of Jean's knuckles in a gesture that showed his willingness to listen. Jean gave him a small smile but Kevin saw the exhaustion on him and how the conversations were taking their toll.

He turned to Kevin again and said, "There is a will in our safe at the house that we meant to share with you later in your visit, as Jacques' godfather, but there is another document too I placed there recently on my own. I need you to see those details done for me."

Kevin nodded but Jeremy asked quietly, "You had your own will done?"

"It is not so legally binding as that, more just a list of final requests. Olivier witnessed it for me in one of our sessions last autumn." Jean paused, then added, "When the time comes, I have instructed Dr. Patel to follow a 'do not resuscitate' order. I... I know where this is going. I do not wish for either of you to see me in such a state in the end and I do not want either of you to be faced with the decision of ending life support."

He looked to Jeremy, his eyes seeming to plead with his husband to not protest his choice, and Kevin saw the war within Jeremy at wanting to do so as much as Jeremy realized what Jean wanted too. Kevin understood it because of how much he wanted to beg Jean not to choose that. Every version of the end was a disaster, regardless of how it came.

"If...," Jeremy said shakily, "If that's what you want, love. I don't want you to keep hurting."

"It is my wish, mon amour. Merci."

Jean took a long breath, laying his head back into the pillows with it. He gathered his hands to his chest, one holding Jeremy's and the other holding Kevin's, and spoke with his gaze moving between them both.

"I love you both more than words can say," Jean said, "I know the coming days will be difficult but do not let the struggle tear you apart. You are my family, and each other's." He paused, his eyes full of warmth as he nodded once, "Whatever the future holds, I want you both to know that. I want you to keep one another close and... And when the time comes, when you question yourselves and what I would have wanted, know that it was this. I wanted this—everything—for the two of you as the dearest ones in my heart."

He squeezed their hands in-tandem with a soft smile and added, "Remember the good we have shared. Let this life we had, the love in it, be what remains for you both and for Jacques. Oui?"

Kevin nodded stiffly, his eyes dropping to where his hand was gripped within Jean's. It was his left one and their scars intermingled as much as their lives had for two decades. Then Jeremy sniffled again and Kevin's attention rose to him, finding the pair of them looking at one another. There was some sort of understanding there that Kevin didn't share but he didn't look away as Jeremy leaned in to press a soft kiss to Jean's lips.

"It is time to take Jacques to Dad and Maman, chéri," Jean said gently as Jeremy leaned back, "I do not want him to stay at the hospital any longer than he already has today."

"I can take him," Kevin offered but Jeremy shook his head with his eyes still on Jean.

"No, I will, but thank you," Jeremy said softly, "I'll be right back, mon tout. Real soon."

Jean nodded, accepting a kiss to his forehead from Jeremy before his husband stood. With their hands still clasped together, Kevin felt the fierce tremble in Jean's grip when Jeremy leaned forward, offering Jackie between them. Jean pressed a kiss to the same spot on his son's head. He lingered there for a long moment—breathing him in, drinking in Jackie's being with his whole attention. His baby. His son. For the last time.

And Kevin was certain that some part of him died right then and there. Despite everything he'd survived, something in him did not live on after witnessing it: the three of them together, the picture of a family Jean wouldn't live to keep. Kevin used all of his strength to steady Jean's hand in his own so Jeremy wouldn't notice the weakness. He knew that was what Jean wanted.

Kevin knew too, with every fiber of his being, that if he'd been offered the choice, he would've traded his soul without a moment's hesitation in exchange for Jean's. He would have taken Jean's place in that hospital bed—gladly, instantly—because no one deserved this life more than his brother. Jean deserved it more than anyone, certainly more than Kevin himself.

But life was cruel and Kevin learned that lesson young. If life were fair or kind, this moment wouldn't exist at all. Not this—watching Jean fight to stay strong just long enough to brush his son's hair one last time. Watching Jeremy fight to hold himself together long enough to make it out the door. Both men tracked Jeremy's retreat with their eyes until he disappeared around the corner.

Only then did Jean go limp in the bed, letting out a low, ragged groan between clenched teeth.

"Jean?" Kevin asked softly. "What can I do?"

He wasn't surprised by Jean's pain. The longer he held his hand, the more Kevin felt like their connection was the only thing keeping Jean tethered to the present. Now, with Jeremy gone from the room, the effort to stay composed was bleeding out of him—his face drawn and pale beneath the yellowed cast of his skin.

"Rien," Jean said. "It is what it is. I just did not want Jeremy to see. Not yet. As long as I can keep him from that, I will."

Kevin didn't argue. He understood because he would've done the same.

Jean squeezed his eyes shut, breath hissing between barely-parted lips as another wave of pain hit. Kevin gripped his hand tighter—both to give comfort and because he was terrified to let go. Several long minutes passed in silence before Jean spoke again, pulling Kevin from the bleak drift of his thoughts.

"Nine years," he said, his eyes still closed.

"Huh?" Kevin asked.

"I was gifted almost nine years of life with him," Jean said, his voice low but steady, "Nine years of impossible joy. Of more love and more living than I ever dreamed of when we were prisoners. It was not enough—because I am greedy—but it was also...more than enough, too."

He gave Kevin's hand a squeeze, the rest of his body remaining still. His words came slowly now, pulled from somewhere deep and heavy with fatigue, "You will have that too one day, I am sure of it. After swearing that vow to me, I believe it now. I believe in you. And I... I am very grateful."

"I...," Kevin began, the truth slipping out before he could filter it, "Honestly, Jean, I don't think I totally understand what you mean."

Jean let out a breath that was less a sigh than a soft surrender to tiredness, "That is alright. You will. Eventually." He closed his eyes, "But for now, I need to rest. Just until he returns." He hesitated, then added more quietly, "Talk to me, mon frère. I am tired but do not want to sleep yet."

Kevin swallowed hard, the word 'sleep' catching like a hook in his chest. He heard what Jean meant. But what the hell could he possibly say after everything that had already been spoken in this room?

"If I don't get Miller kicked off the Sirens starting lineup by training camp," Kevin began, "I'm going to—"

Jean laughed, the shock of it startling Kevin into cutting himself off. It was an impossible, miraculous sound, even with how soft it was.

"Exy," Jean said fondly, looking over to him with an adoring expression, "Of course."

"Why'd you expect anything else?" Kevin said, forcing his voice to remain light. The effort was worthwhile as Jean's lips curled at the edges.

"Why indeed," Jean agreed. He squeezed Kevin's hand again as he resettled, closing his eyes but with his small, gentle smile in-place, "You are nothing if not predictable. Go on then. Tell me how you plan to ruin the man."

Kevin smiled too, just a little, as he drank in the sight of his oldest friend and began again. He didn't stop for the entirety of Jeremy's time away—and he kept going even after Jeremy returned, climbing into the bed beside Jean and curling into him.

Jean's eyes stayed closed as he listened to Kevin talk while Jeremy gently stroked his fingers through his hair. Every so often, Jeremy would glance at Kevin, and Kevin would meet it, but mostly, they kept their eyes on Jean, even when his were shut.

It was as if a single blink on their part might steal him away.

And soon enough, it would.

__________

There had been multiple times in his life when Jean Knox thought he might die, but only twice had the clarity settled in.

Only twice had he existed in a moment when everything—what he wanted, regretted, hoped, and hated—was crystalline clear, like polished glass. Only twice when he knew his mind completely and did not turn away from it. When he knew himself and the world, and did not shy back from either.

The first time had been in the minutes before Renee rescued him from the Nest, in that year when his life changed forever. He had known his body was failing, known he would die on that bloodied floor, and he had been so furious—furious at life, at the hand he had been dealt. Jean had despaired then for how much he had been forced to endure, for how unfair it was, for all the life he was never given the opportunity to live (even if those were only dreams he had never truly believed in).

This time, in this hospital bed with his family on either side of him, Jean knew it was the end too because of that same clarity. The sharp, stark truth of it was the same, but the emotion it stirred now could not have been more different. Life was still cruel and unfair—what was happening to him proved that—but Jean refused to die with the anger he would have once felt. There was regret now, but it was not for the life he had been denied. No, it was for how beautiful life had turned out to be...and for how much of it he would never see.

But even with all of it, there was one feeling that far outweighed the rest: gratitude.

Jean had an adoring, devoted husband who loved him with every fiber of his being and who had saved him, every day, from ever being alone and cold in the dark again. He had a beautiful, healthy son who bore his name and was his legacy in a way Jean had never expected to be remembered. He had a brother, his truest best friend, who had kept Jean afloat in the worst times and fought beside him for a better life—Jean was so proud of him too. Jean had a family who cared for him, teammates who enjoyed him, and friends who laughed with him. He had a home, in every sense of the word.

It had been a good life, a life lived fully in the sunlight, and he was grateful even if he wished there had been more of it.

He hoped Jeremy and Kevin would take their promises to heart. He hoped, by them both hearing the words he meant for each of them, they would help one another keep and meet them. While it was true that Jeremy had not accepted the last request, Jean knew his husband would not deny his own final wishes, not in the end. It would be against Jeremy's nature to do so, both to deny Jean (because he never had) and to not love again (because it was who he was).

At some point, Jeremy would move forward in life, though Jean did not kid himself that it would be a trial. His husband would fight himself ferociously, warring with his own sense of devotion and loyalty intensely, but one day Jean hoped Jeremy would open his heart again. That he would live, that he would smile and laugh, that he would find a new love. It would not be a lesser one, Jean thought, even if it was second, nor would it be greater. It would simply be a different love—and Jean wanted it so badly for him.

It surprised Jean, in truth. He would not have thought himself capable of making such a request without bitterness. He was a jealous man at heart but nothing terrified him more than the thought of Jeremy half-living the rest of his (hopefully long and full) life.

Even from the beginning of their time together—when the possibility of death loomed heavily beneath the Moriyamas' thumb—Jean had worried over it. Jeremy's love was so grand, so all-encompassing, and it was easy to see even at the start of them that it could be Jeremy's greatest strength or the thing that ruined him. So now, with loss inevitable, it was nightmarish for Jean to consider Jeremy trudging through life alone with only a ghosted memory at his side. It was terrible to think of Jacques seeing it and thinking that was all there had been to his fathers' love for each other.

After all, it was so easy with Kevin there. The clarity was absolute.

The imminence of death slotted the pieces together in Jean's mind in a way that even the pain of his failing body could not reach. Kevin was there, the man who loved them both and knew them so well. Kevin, who lived life with them in his own way even from other cities, who they both had easily chosen as godfather for their son, who was Jean's dearest friend and the only one he'd ever called brother.

Who else was there in the world but Kevin to trust with everything Jeremy was?

And oh how Jean knew it would be vicious in Kevin's mind when the doubt set in and he saw where he was headed. It was why he had insisted Kevin's vow be inviolable—so total that not even fear could distort it. Kevin would not even be able to use the weight of grief as an excuse when he inevitably sought refuge behind exy, just as Jean knew Kevin would when he fully understood what had truly been asked of him.

His brother was the sharpest mind Jean had ever known—brilliant, exacting, impossible to fool. Jean had no doubt Kevin would remember every single word spoken between them, just as he always had. And if there were any loophole to be found, any possible escape route, Kevin would find it. That was precisely why Jean had demanded such ironclad wording for his vow. He could not afford to explain himself—not fully—not when the effort to argue (especially after Jeremy's resistance) was already beyond him. And besides, Jean would not allow his brother to refuse him. Not this.

They would both torture themselves with it. They'd use his memory as a flogging horse with words like 'betrayal' and 'dishonor' and they'd make themselves miserable with the denial of it. Such ridiculous, infuriating, wonderful men.

How Jean ended up loving the two most stubborn humans in existence, he couldn't say, but that stubbornness was part of the beautiful drive they both shared, the breathtaking inspiration they imparted to others. They were captains—in bearing, in spirit, in the very marrow of their being. They were leaders of men, Kevin by way of awe and Jeremy through devotion, and if Kevin was the Queen, well, what would better suit him than a man who was a true king in every sense of the word?

In his lolling mind, between the dampening gray of medication and the sharp spikes of pain, Jean could almost find humor in the clarity that seemed to only solidify for him after their promises had been given. They were so suited for one another, a truth that felt both eternal and fleeting. When he removed himself from the equation of the three of them, it became so obvious. A touch of light to cling to when the sorrow crept in, when it threatened to suffocate him, but it would not because Jean refused it just as he did the anger. Those did not belong within the time he had left.

Jean loved them both so: Kevin who gave him a reason to survive, Jeremy who gave him the hope to start living once he had. There was no one in the world Jean adored more greatly than the pair of them, along with his son, and it brought him more peace than he'd ever imagined to think of them sharing that. It comforted him to know he would live on in both of their hearts, that he would be with them in that way as they raised Jackie together and the child learned what love was by watching them.

He wanted that for them. He wanted all of it for them. Each other. Family. Love. His memory.

Jean hoped they did not hurt themselves too much over it—though he knew they would because he knew them so well. He hoped they would not drag their feet unnecessarily for too long either because it was only a matter of time. Jean could see that, within the clarity.

After all, he had been there years ago when Kevin returned from Texas. He knew his brother had been besotted with Jeremy then and for a long while afterward. He thought that perhaps a part of Kevin still was in an unconscious, unactionable sort of way. Jean had never felt threatened by it, not when Jeremy's loyalty was so absolute and Kevin would rather fall on a sword than hurt Jean again in any way, but he saw it now in his meandering there-and-gone mind. He saw how Kevin looked at the people he dated—Jean saw how it was The Kevin Day in those photographs—and then he saw who Kevin was when he smiled at Jeremy.

Night and day, even if he knew Kevin would rather cut off his own hand than face it right now. Hopefully he would be less dramatic about it in the end...but, it was Kevin which meant it would be intensely overblown.

And perhaps Jeremy was not the same in how he loved Kevin but they were as drawn to each other as they were to Jean and as Jean was to them too. It was just that...

Maybe some part of Jean was a moth. A luna moth drawn to light, pulled by some natural disposition, some version of positive phototaxis toward brightness.

Because that was Kevin and Jeremy. They were light, in their own ways.

Kevin's light was searing. Comet-like. World-ending. It was a sharp blade, cutting through the air with his ruthless drive to push beyond human limits. He created a sense of wonder in those around him, making them want to impress him despite how difficult it could be to do so. People sought his attention and hungered for his approval, eager to earn just a moment of it. They were drawn to the beacon of Kevin's brilliance that was impossible to ignore, even after the Nest had failed to snuff it out. It had been a privilege to witness how fiercely his brother burned when the shackles of their past were cast off but it had all only been focused on exy. If that light could be redirected? Jean had no doubt it would be glorious.

And then, there was Jean's sun—the center of his universe which possessed a warmth that could hold even the most shattered heart safely. Jeremy's light was a summer afternoon, soft grass beneath bare feet, the touch of gentle fingers through hair, a smile still rounded by sleep in the morning. It was a candle that banished all darkness, unwavering and everlasting. His light never dulled or flickered. It had saved Jean—so completely—that he could barely recall who he'd been before he came to Los Angeles and found that light shining his way for the first time. An eternal warmth, one that Jean would take with him alongside the love they shared.

In a way, Jean thought, maybe there was some kind of balance in that. Once, years ago, Kevin had given Jeremy to him by sending Jean to the Trojans. Now, Jean was giving him back.

What a cataclysm they would be. The steady, unwavering warmth of Jeremy. The fierce, single-minded intensity of Kevin. One who knew how to love all the broken pieces of a man, and one who only saw the cracks in himself. One who never flinched from life's hardships because he'd survived them, and one who would need that same tenacity more than ever.

Jean trusted that. He trusted his brother to care for them with all the relentless fire he had. He trusted his husband too to coax out the heart of a man who still did not believe he had one. And, Jean knew they would fall in love with each other through it all.

He had no regrets.

__________

And so, until that next chapter for them all began, time was...difficult to determine. It was the elastic sap of stretched moments, and it was the brutal snap of gasped breaths. Sometimes, Jean was present. He was fully engaged, able to smile and laugh with these two wonderful men, to drink in the sight of them, to hold their hands and revel in all that they were to him.

Other times, he hovered. He was somewhere else—and yet still here. His thoughts drifted, slow and wandering, curling back on themselves but not unpleasantly. They were loops of fullness, of love and gratitude and joy. Jean knew he had never felt more alive than he did here, at the end. There was something about the all of it, the aching desire to soak in every last drop. He bathed in it—this life, these loves—and in them too. He basked beneath his lights, in their voices, their touch, the shape of the love they had formed: as a trio, as pairs, as a family.

He wished he was not leaving them.

He was thankful they had one another.

He hated how little time he had with Jacques.

But it was impossible to hold onto hatred when love was so much greater. The good was so good. It was warm and tender and whole—this second chance at life that he had been granted, this time lived in the purest sunlight.

It made sense, really, that it was his sun in the end.

Jean knew the darkness was too close now to hold off much longer. It had been some time since he could speak, or open his eyes, or even think clearly. But there was no pain—not anymore. The doctor had seen to that, and Jean was grateful, because it meant that the last thing he felt was Jeremy's hands cupping his face.

He could hear Jeremy's voice. He saw that smile in his mind's eye—the one that had swept him away and changed his life at his first glimpse of it.

Jean smiled back, even if he was not sure it reached his lips.

If there was ever an angel to usher him beyond this life, it was Jeremy.

I love you so much, mon Jean.

My husband, my precious and wonderful love. My perfect one.

You are the beat of my heart. The greatest of everything I've ever known.

Je t'aime, je t'aime, je t'aime, ma lune et mon tout.

Pour toujours, Jean. Toujours.

Chapter Text

Sixty-seven hours.

That was what remained, in the end.

__________

The first stretch of it—that initial day into night—was nerve-wracking, more so than any time Kevin could recall in his life. It was a constant, coiled sense of impending doom but it gripped him most harshly every time Jean closed his eyes to rest. Because then, in those moments suffocated by the sterile hush of the hospital room and his inability to move from the too-firm plastic chair, Kevin was forced to confront the fact that his brother might not open them again.

Jeremy clearly felt it too. He spent every minute of Jean's sleep either curled in the narrow bed beside him or perched close with their fingers linked, as if the simple contact could bind Jean to life a little longer.

And yet, somehow, the brain adapted. Even in grief—even in terror—he and Jeremy adjusted to the strange rhythm of this hospital limbo. Time folded in on itself. Meals were missed. Hours passed without acknowledgement. They existed in a place beyond clocks, suspended in the now and where the only thing that mattered was whether Jean would breathe through the next hour.

Exy rambling hadn't lasted long, though Jean had seemed amused by Kevin's ruthless commentary about the Sirens and his plans for the following season to demand (by whatever force necessary) better from his team. Kevin even managed to wring a broken smile from Jeremy at one point, which felt like a victory. Still, by the time a nurse came in after midnight to change Jean's IV bags (casually noting he didn't need to worry about eating because of the electrolytes), they realized they'd skipped the dinner Jeremy had planned.

Jean insisted they eat. Both Kevin and Jeremy protested—they weren't hungry, not really—but in the end, Kevin volunteered to go down to the cafeteria. It was clear that Jean wouldn't let it go until they ate something and Kevin wanted to give them that time. Just the two of them.

Kevin hadn't checked his phone in hours, nor had he thought to do so in the first place, but he pulled it out as he walked and was surprised to find a text message from Ricky directing him to the ICU family waiting area. It was a much smaller room than the one outside the ER, done up in soft pastels and mundane watercolor paintings with its chairs and couches arranged in small clusters rather than up against the walls. The televisions hung in the corners of the room were set to silent but it was a stillness beyond volume. It wasn't so much peaceful as expectant. It was a place for vigil, a limbo all its own, and it felt doubly so when Kevin walked in to see Ricky was the only one inside.

"I didn't expect you to still be here," Kevin said, voice hushed in the emptiness, "It's late."

Ricky stood as Kevin approached, rolling his neck before shaking Kevin's hand in greeting as he spoke.

"Yeah, left for a bit to get Mir and Jackie settled at the house but didn't feel right to stay." He gestured to the duffel bag sitting in the chair behind him, "I went by their place on the way back. Figured you boys might need some things, depending on how long it is. There's a couple changes of clothes, bathroom stuff. One of the nurses said there's a shower back there for family. Just ask 'em for directions when you want it."

"Thanks," Kevin said. He hoped Jean was around long enough for the offer to matter, and he couldn't stand the idea of leaving Jean's side long enough for it to be useful. "Are you heading back now?"

"Nah," Ricky said, shaking his head once, "I'll be out here."

"Until when?"

"Until Remy's ready to leave."

Kevin's hand clenched in a fist reflectively, knowing what that statement meant. He nodded once, to show Ricky that he understood, and the older man clasped him on the shoulder with a tight squeeze.

"You boys need anything, just holler," he said, "Mir's good at-home with Jackie by herself for now and both the girls are flying in tomorrow. I know they can't visit him in-person but they'll wanna say goodbye somehow."

"We'll use my phone once everybody's in-town," Kevin said, "A video call?"

"Good idea." Ricky released his shoulder and reached into his own back pocket, pulling out a folded slip of paper and handing it over, "For when you need it. They did good work for Mom."

Kevin opened it, then immediately folded it again as bile rose in his throat. He couldn't bring himself to thank Ricky. He knew he should but he didn't want to—not for that, not for the contact information to a funeral home—so he shoved it harshly into his pocket without comment.

"I'm going to the cafeteria for food," Kevin said, pushing past the paper he now felt burning a hole through his jeans, "Do you want anything?"

"Mir insisted on feeding me before I drove back but thanks." Ricky handed over the duffel bag, "Don't worry about checkin' in or whatever. You just focus on them, alright?"

Kevin nodded, saying he would as he slung the bag over his shoulder and walked back to the room's entrance. He was almost through it when Ricky spoke again.

"It won't be the last time I say it, kid," Ricky said, "But we're thankful, me and Mir. That you're here for the two of them."

Kevin closed his eyes, not turning to face the man as he said truthfully, "There's nowhere else I'd be."

__________

It was easier to push the weight of the conversation away when he returned to Jean's room later—with a heavily-laden tray of food in his hands—to find it full of laughter.

"That is not true!" Jeremy cried dramatically, "You loved it!"

"I lied. It is the single worst film I have ever seen," Jean drawled, "There is not an ounce of substance in it."

"Then why'd you say you did?" Jeremy teased.

"Because it was the first movie we watched together when I allowed myself to put an arm around you. In that case, it was, at the time, the best movie I had ever seen for giving me that opportunity."

Jeremy smiled lovingly and leaned in from where he sat at Jean's side, resting his forehead on Jean's shoulder as he held his hand.

"You're ridiculous," Jeremy whispered, barely audible to Kevin's ears.

"You make it easy to be so," Jean replied.

He looked over at Kevin, and his eyes were so bright—so full of life—that Kevin might've fooled himself into thinking Jean was fine, if not for the unmistakable yellow sheen around the gray of his irises. Still, it was so good to see Jean's smile widen at the sight of him that Kevin couldn't help returning it with a smaller one of his own.

"There you are," Jean said, "We had begun to think you had gotten lost on your way back."

Jeremy sat up, looking over too, "Or had been jumped by a fan."

Kevin's smile dropped into a scowl as he scoffed, stepping further into the room to set the tray of food down, "Really? At a hospital?"

"It is not outside the realm of possibility for you," Jean said with a shrug of his shoulder, glancing at Jeremy, "Where was that last odd sighting again?"

"CVS," Jeremy said with a chuckle. "Poor Kevin Day can't even buy toilet paper without someone noticing."

"I thought you two were done with your gossip tracking," Kevin grumbled, slinging the duffel bag off and dropping it into his chair. "I don't remember anything at a CVS."

The pair of them were relentless in teasing him about what the media wrote, the more sensationalist and absurd the rumor, the better. Kevin didn't pay attention to such things (not after a lifetime of it) so he often didn't even know something had been published until Jean or Jeremy brought it up.

"It was like two days before you showed up," Jeremy said, "You were still mad about the playoffs though. You were doing that scrunchy thing with your face."

"Ah yes, the scrunchy thing," Jean repeated sagely.

"I have no idea what the hell you're talking about," Kevin said, moving to unpack the food.

"It's a thing, trust me," Jeremy said, "And you were definitely doing it. I doubt you even knew people existed around you though in that mood, let alone were taking pictures."

"Taking pictures at a pharmacy isn't exactly memorable," Kevin muttered, nudging the overbed table toward Jeremy as he sat the items before him, "Here. Turkey, no yellow mustard—because I know you won't eat it. And lime, because you're the only man in the world who actually likes lime."

Jeremy smiled at the sandwich and bowl of jello. "Thanks, Kev."

Kevin set another bowl of jello in front of Jean, "Cherry."

"I do not know if I can eat it," Jean said slowly, glancing at his IV bags.

"Nurse outside said you could if you feel up to it," Kevin answered with a shrug, turning back to the tray for his own sandwich, "I asked on my way back in."

"Merci," Jean said with a fond smile, "It is very like you to remember our favorite flavors."

"Well I don't eat jello and there's nobody else's to remember."

He moved the bag out of his chair so he could sit and Jean's attention went to it as Jeremy unwrapped his sandwich.

"What is that?" Jean asked.

"Ricky dropped off some clothes and stuff," Kevin said, refusing to acknowledge anything more of the conversation as he fought to keep his tone light. He looked to Jeremy, "There's showers here to use if you want one."

"No thanks," Jeremy said simply, his gaze remaining on his food.

"Chéri," Jean said gently, "Cleaning up may help you to feel better."

"It won't," Jeremy scoffed, "A shower's the last thing I'm thinking about anyway."

Kevin looked down at his sandwich, hearing in Jeremy's tone how his thoughts were clearly the same as those Kevin had when Ricky first mentioned it.

"Besides," Jeremy said, breezing past it with a resilient smile, "There's lime jello to eat. It tastes weird if it gets room temperature so I'm not going anywhere."

Jean smiled back at him, reaching for one of the plastic spoons to dip into his own jello at the mention of it. Kevin took a bite of his sandwich, glad for the distraction. The food tasted like ash in his mouth—but that had nothing to do with it being from a hospital cafeteria. No, it was because he watched Jean's hand tremble hard enough to drop the cube of jello straight into his lap.

"Merde," Jean muttered, and Kevin silently handed him a napkin, taking the bowl from his weakening grip. Even that brief connection through the plastic was enough to feel how bad the tremors were. Jean gave him an embarrassed smile as he wiped the mess.

"Seems my grip is not quite what it was," he joked. Kevin gritted his teeth.

"Here," Jeremy said, setting his sandwich down and nodding toward the bowl in Kevin's hand, "Let me."

"Eat your food," Kevin replied, sitting on the bed on Jean's other side, "I got it." Then he looked at Jean. "Unless you're going to whine?"

"Why would I whine when Kevin Day is going to feed me jello?" Jean teased, "I am sure that is someone's fantasy, oui?"

Jeremy cackled, a bright burst of laughter he quickly muffled with a hand, and Jean's eyes sparkled at the sound. The silver of moonbeams on a clear night.

"Whatever. You want the jello or not?" Kevin grumbled.

"I would very much like the jello, frérot," Jean said.

"I'm not the little brother," Kevin shot back, grabbing the spoon as Jeremy grinned around another bite of his sandwich.

"You are four months younger than I am."

"Three months, twelve days," Kevin corrected, scooping an acceptably-sized bite and holding it out, "Which barely counts."

Jean chuckled and took the bite. Given everything they'd done for each other in the Nest, feeding Jean jello was low on Kevin's list of uncomfortable tasks when it came to his (not elder) brother.

"You guys sound like the twins," Jeremy said around his own eating, "Alex can't stand it when Emme reminds her that she's thirteen minutes older, despite them both being adults now. It's silly." He smiled, "Like you two."

"We are not silly," Jean insisted.

But the fact that Kevin said the same words at almost the exact same time didn't help their argument as Jeremy broke out in another laugh, shaking his head at the pair of them.

"How does eating still not mean you're quiet?" Kevin asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Just calling it like I see it," Jeremy singsonged, setting his sandwich down in favor of his own bowl, "Maybe lime jello, which is the best jello flavor ever invented in the history of forever, will shut me up."

Kevin scoffed, rolling his eyes and turning back to Jean as he refilled the spoon. When he looked up, he found Jean's gaze moving between him and Jeremy with an odd expression he didn't recognize.

"Quoi?" Kevin asked him.

Jean met his eyes and smiled, "Rien du tout, mon frère. Je suis simplement heureux de vous voir comme ça, tous les deux."

"Pendant qu'on se dispute à propos de la gelée?"

Jean chuckled warmly, "Oui, Kévin. Je pensais exactement à la gelée." He nodded to the spoon, "Maintenant, cesse de me faire attendre. La cerise est plutôt bonne."

Kevin shook his head fondly, somewhat confused by the teasing but grateful for it all the same, and did as commanded.

__________

They hardly left the hospital room during those sixty-seven hours.

Even when Jean badgered them to use the ICU's shower room, Kevin doubted either of them were gone for more than fifteen minutes. His trips to the cafeteria—and to speak with Ricky along the way—were as brief as possible. If life was cruel enough to put them in this position, Kevin knew it was more than cruel enough to take Jean in one of the few moments he wasn't by his side.

By the time the first day turned into the second, they'd re-lived their college years with stories from both on and off the court, filling the spaces between Jean's naps (which, thankfully, remained only naps) and regular check-ins from the medical staff. Often, surprisingly, it was Dr. Patel himself who came by, and Kevin found himself wondering if the old man had ever ended his original shift. (He didn't ask.)

As the second day wore on, they reminisced about Kevin's off-season visits to Los Angeles, about their professional careers, and the rare times they'd played against each other. Eventually, they came to their one stint as three teammates at the Olympics—reliving a shared life while staring down its ending. Even if only one of them was dying, it still felt like the death of a trio.

"I can't believe you don't have your medals displayed," Kevin complained, slouched deep in his chair with his sweatshirt hood bunched under his neck like a pillow. His long legs were stretched out, feet propped at the foot of the bed near Jean's, under what was now a second blanket as the chill in him deepened with time.

Jeremy was lying on his side in the bed, tucked in close to Jean with a hand resting on his husband's chest and Jean's arm curled around him.

"Why'd we even work that hard if you aren't proud of it?"

"It is not about lacking pride," Jean said, "We do treasure them—they are in a special box in the library—but being Olympians is not the first thing we wished people to see when coming to the house."

"And," Jeremy murmured, eyes still closed, "We worked that hard because you wouldn't let us do anything less."

"As if you wouldn't have anyway."

"I gave up midnight practices in college, thank you very much."

Jean chuckled, "Not without a fight, mon amour. It was a relief to no longer have to drag you away once you were with the Knights."

"Thank Stevens for that," Jeremy said with a yawn, "He would've benched me if I burned out."

"He is a very good man," Jean said.

"He is."

Kevin nodded, though he certainly couldn't say (and, God knew, his own head coach in Chicago was not), but he startled hard enough for his feet to slip when an alarm shook his phone's vibrate loudly on the table near his head. He reached over and silenced it, meeting Jean's eyes.

"Time for the call," Kevin said, and Jean nodded as Jeremy began to shuffle into a sitting position.

"You can continue to lay here, chéri," Jean said. "It is only family, and you are tired."

"I'm awake," Jeremy replied.

"Oui, I see that. You and Kevin are both doing a valiant job of not resting, despite the fact that I have—des hommes têtus et ridicules."

"I'll nap if Jeremy naps," Kevin said, navigating to Miranda's contact on his phone.

He and Ricky had scheduled the time for the Knoxes to speak with Jean a few hours before, factoring in Emme and Patrick's arrival from France. Even if it was bordering on too late, it didn't matter. Time was more of a construct than ever as the world outside the hospital ceased to exist, and yet time was too short to wait any longer as well. Just in case.

"See? Even Kevin will do so," Jean pressed.

"It's a waste of time," Jeremy said, "I'll go get coffee after this."

"Jérémie..."

"Nope. Not arguing about this." Jeremy wrinkled his nose at his husband and looked to Kevin for back-up, "Right, Kev?"

"I'm not part of this," he said, finding Miranda's name, "Ready?"

Jean nodded, "Oui, but I am not done on this topic."

"And you say we're stubborn," Kevin grumbled, holding the phone out to him. He was surprised when Jean pressed Speaker on the call. "You don't want to use video? To see everybody?"

"I do not want them to see me," Jean answered—not harshly, but with a truth that made Kevin flinch.

He understood the sentiment, though, as he took in the sight of Jean then. Though alert, the failure of his body had grown more apparent by the hour: cheekbones standing out like shadows against waxy yellow-gray skin, the sunken, bruised hollows of his eyes, the sharpness of ribs Kevin felt behind his hands when he helped Jean shift for comfort.

Jean looked carved in weak candlelight—thin, translucent, as if the air itself might pass through him soon. A ghost-in-waiting. A decaying happening in real time.

Jeremy silently settled back into Jean's side, as if to shield himself from Jean's words and the visual reminder of what was happening, just as the call was picked up.

"Hola, mijo," Miranda said warmly.

"Bonjour, Maman," Jean said, "How is Jacques behaving for you?"

"Perfect by day, a terror by night," she said, "Just as expected."

"Which he gets from me," Alex chimed in loudly, as if calling from the other side of the room, "Of all the Knox babies, I was the biggest asshole apparently."

"I didn't say that!" Miranda chided.

"Maybe not that word in particular but...," Emme began with a soft chuckle. Her voice was even more tender as she added, "Bonjour, grand frère. Comment vas-tu?" Then, "Well, maybe not the best question these days, but you know what I mean."

"I am as well as I can be, ma petite," Jean answered, "It is good to hear your voice. And yours, Alex. The others?"

"Here, man," Patrick chimed in, "Xavier too."

"Hey, Jean," Xavier said.

"Thank you for all coming," Jean said, "Jeremy is here as well of course, and Kevin. We are on speaker with you." He cleared his throat, "I... I will not waste time on what is already known—but I am so glad to speak with you all again. There is no simpler way...to, to say it than this: I will be eternally grateful for being a part of this family and for how you welcomed me into the fold. It has been my great honor to be a Knox and I have treasured all of our times together over the years immensely."

Jean cleared his throat again, his hand beginning to shake around the phone, and Kevin reached out. He cupped Jean's hand with his own, holding him up and steady, as Jeremy's arm came to wrap tighter around Jean's waist and he ducked his head into the crook of Jean's shoulder.

"I did not have a family before you all but that did not matter because there would have never been a more wonderful, more loving group of people to belong to than you," Jean added, "Thank you—for giving me that. For every moment we have shared across these years."

Jeremy's sniffle was small but audible in the room as the phone remained silent for a long moment. Miranda's voice was noticeably wobbly and Kevin could see her tear-filled eyes in his mind as she spoke.

"We're happy to, mijo," she said, "We love you so, so very much, Jean. You've blessed us with so much happiness, both individually and by us getting to see Remy so happy." Her voice broke for just a moment as she added, "And for giving us little Jackie. Right, girls?"

"Yeah," Alex said, "It's absolute fucking bullshit and I'm about two minutes away from breaking something but yeah. Everything Mama said, Jean. I couldn't have asked for a better guy for Remy and for the whole...for our family. And, and for me, goddamn it—"

She cut off sharply with a restrained choking sound and Emme spoke in French, "You've taught me so much over the years, Jean, and not just this language we both love so much. I've never known someone with a bigger heart than you, even Remy." Her voice shimmered, not just with sorrow but with something fuller—gratitude, maybe, or awe, "I'm so happy I got to hear your voice again. I'm happy that I'll get to keep hearing your accent when my kids talk. I'm...I'm happy, Jean. It's all worth it, you know? Even, even with this?"

"I understand perfectly, little one," Jean agreed in the same, "I am happy too, even with this."

As Emme spoke, Kevin's clenched fist below the side of the bed only tightened and tightened further with each word. By the time she finished, he was confident the dampness he felt was the wet of blood pooling beneath his fingernails.

He was grateful that Patrick stepped in with a teasing joke about Jean's speaking French around the Trojans in college, leading into a segue with Xavier about their time with Jean at USC. It lightened the mood enough to keep the phone call from devolving into a fit of tears, even to the point where Jean was smiling and chuckling along as he joyfully prodded his brothers-in-law in return for their own awkward moments in dating the twins before marrying them.

It didn't go unnoticed to Kevin though how Jeremy remained silent with his face tucked away into Jean for the entirety of the call, especially when Miranda mentioned him at the end of it.

"Let us know if you or Remy need anything, Kevin," she told him.

"Thanks, I will," Kevin said.

"Or let Ricky know," she added, "He sends his love to you too, Jean."

"I know he does," Jean said warmly, "I will speak with you..."

He trailed off and Kevin finished it in his mind. 'Later' but not because this was a goodbye, not a 'until next time'.

"Later," Miranda finished decisively, "Later, mijo, is when we'll talk again. We don't need a date for it."

It wasn't optimism—it was Miranda's refusal to speak any other truth. It was her maternal defiance of even Kevin's own thoughts of reality.

"You are right," Jean agreed, "Later."

Everyone traded words of goodnight and goodbye and love before Kevin took the phone gently from Jean's hand, his grip on the plastic stiff to the point of almost having to pry it from him. Kevin didn't comment as Jean laid his head back heavily and his eyes closed. Instead, he looked to Jeremy.

"Hey, Jeremy? You awake?" he asked.

"Yeah," Jeremy replied softly.

"Do me a favor and go get your dad?" Jeremy picked his head up slightly from Jean's shoulder as Kevin added, "Stretch your legs, it'll do you good."

"He is right, Jer," Jean said, his eyes remaining closed.

"But the doctor said...?" Jeremy began but Kevin shook his head.

"Ricky and Jean deserve their minute together just like everybody else," Kevin said, not to be swayed, "And if anybody stops you, come get me. I'll deal with it."

"Un homme si terrifiant, Kévin Day," Jean teased, causing Kevin to snort in amusement.

"Damn right I am," he said, then to Jeremy, "There's a coffee station in the waiting room too if you still want some. It won't take you long."

"Okay," he said slowly, looking between the two of them. He stood and pressed a kiss to Jean's forehead with a quiet word that he'd return soon, which Jean nodded silently to.

As soon as Jeremy was out of sight, Kevin reached over in a flash and grabbed both of Jean's hands in his as Jean groaned loudly through clenched teeth with his eyes screwed shut. The longer the call had gone on, the more Kevin felt the tension under his hand supporting Jean's. Despite the passage of time, Jean continued to hold his most-obvious bouts of pain from Jeremy, using the very few times he stepped out for the bathroom or shower to express it. Kevin, though, was sick of the game as he watched Jean's lower back bow slightly from the bed.

"Let them up the dosage," Kevin said in French, his own teeth clenched as he referenced Patel's offer for more medication made hours before. Jean's grip was so fierce on his hands, Kevin was sure he'd wear bruises for it. "For fuck's sake, there's no point in you suffering like this."

"I have suffered worse than this before and you know it," Jean spat back, his head pushed hard into the pillows, "More medication will dull my mind further. I will lose time."

"Then Jeremy's going to see it, Jean. And he'll feel every bit of it," Kevin replied sharply.

It was the only argument he could think to use. There was no reason for Jean to feel this much agony, not at the end. Even if it meant he was awake more, it meant that awareness was increasingly more painful too. Kevin didn't want that for him and he knew Jeremy wouldn't either, even if...even if it cost them more time with Jean.

"I know you don't want him to," Kevin said, softening his voice, "But it's getting worse. You can't keep hiding it. So, either take the fucking medicine and actually be able to pay attention to him when you're here or give the pain all your energy instead of Jeremy. You pick."

The moment stretched between them as Jean fought his way through the wave of it until his body slackened and he panted to catch his breath. Kevin removed one of his hands from Jean's to tip some of the nearby pitcher's water onto a stack of paper towels, just enough to dampen them, before blotting Jean's sweat-slicked forehead with it. Jean sighed appreciatively.

"You should have been a nurse," he said, which Kevin took for the joke it was despite Jean's tender tone of voice.

"You must be talking about someone else," Kevin replied, continuing his motions, "I'm an asshole."

"Yes, well, Alex can be a bit rough at times too but she is wonderful at it," Jean said. He sighed again and it was a contended sound, "I really did have the most wonderful family in the Knoxes, right?"

Kevin swallowed, hating the past tense of it that had slithered its way into the present. The use of French only made it more stark in his mind somehow.

"Wonderful," Kevin agreed, sidestepping by switching to English and avoiding the rest.

"One day, you will understand what I mean."

"I just agreed with you," Kevin pointed out.

"Non, I meant by...," Jean began but he trailed off, his brows furrowing slightly, "I am not sure. My mind is somewhat jumbled." He opened his eyes to meet Kevin's, "I will accept more medication after Dad's visit. If I am already losing my train of thought so easily, you are right: there is no point and, yes, I do not want it to weigh on Jeremy by his witnessing it."

Kevin nodded, forcing himself not to sag with the relief he felt, "I'll tell the nurses while you guys talk."

Jean's head lolled slightly to the side, "Now is your opportunity." He scowled slightly, narrowing his eyes, "I do not have my glasses but it looks as though Jeremy robbed the waiting area of all of its coffee."

Kevin looked over his shoulder, thankful he still had his contacts in. It was honestly an amusing sight to watch Jeremy juggle two cup-holder trays with four cups in each as Ricky eyed him suspiciously from where he walked beside him.

"That's all going to be disgustingly cold in ten minutes at most," Kevin said, turning back to Jean.

"Oui," Jean agreed, "I am glad not to drink it, especially if he decided to doctor yours for you."

"Shit," Kevin said, "I hope you're wrong. He knows better."

"He is convinced the sugar is as important as the caffeine," Jean pointed out, "At the very least, you will have to drink it with that, if not with that miserable powdered creamer too."

"Fuck that. Powdered creamer tastes like sawdust. It probably is sawdust."

Jean shrugged one shoulder, "I do not disagree with you, but I am not the one you need to convince."

Kevin gave Jean a small, tired smile, feeling a moment of relief in the easy banter after such pain and in knowing Jean was going to take the medication. Then, Jeremy walked back in with the coffee, bright as ever. How much of it was an act was hard to say, but it was welcome in its own way. They all needed it—to see Jeremy smile, even this much.

"We're here," Jeremy announced, leading his father into the room, "Coffee and company. What could be better?" He handed one of the holders over to Kevin. "Pour toi."

"Does it have sugar and creamer in it?" Kevin asked suspiciously.

"No creamer, they were out, so just a tiny bit of sugar," Jeremy said, continuing around the bed to his own chair. He sat the cupholder tray down and immediately pulled out a covered cup, lifting it to his mouth, "Helps mask the burnt taste."

"It really doesn't," Kevin said. He looked to Ricky, "Any trouble getting back here?"

"Nah," Ricky said, "The nurses took a peek when we walked by but didn't say anything. Don't know if it'll last but I appreciate any time I can get." He looked to Jean, "Hey there, son."

"Hello, Dad," Jean said with a smile, "Thank you for bringing them items from home."

Ricky waved a hand, "No problem." He looked around, "Feels weird, hoverin' over you like this..."

"Here," Kevin said, standing from his chair, "I need to check something at the station. Take mine."

"Thanks, kid," Ricky said, patting his shoulder as they passed each other and Kevin left the room.

He didn't realize he had one of the coffee cups in hand until he set it down on the high counter of the nurses' station. In fact, he didn’t remember removing it from the tray in the first place. Kevin blinked at it for a moment, realizing for the first time that he might be more tired than he'd expected.

"Can I help you, Mr. Day?" one of the nurses asked, looking up from her computer.

"Yes," he said, turning away from the cup, "Could you page Dr. Patel to let him know Jean's accepted upping his pain meds? It's been getting worse, but I couldn't get him to agree to taking more until now."

"I'll let him know," she said, reaching for the phone, "He's gone home for a few hours' sleep but left instructions to be called for anything concerning Mr. Knox. We have the increased dosages from the last check-in on file, so I'll get approval and bring them in."

"Thank you," Kevin said.

"Anything else I can help with?"

Kevin knew he couldn't keep putting it off. Eventually, he'd have to deal with it. This was his responsibility now, the first in what he was sure would be a longer list than he could fathom.

He took the folded piece of paper out of his wallet and handed it to her.

"I know this will be needed for Jean's paperwork later," Kevin said, "If you wouldn't mind logging it, it'll be one less thing for us to deal with."

The nurse looked at it and nodded, "Sure. I'll put it in right after I call Dr. Patel."

Kevin knew it was routine—that the woman saw this every day and had from countless people in her career. She was an ICU nurse after all. She could probably name twenty different funeral homes off the top of her head. It didn't make it sting less, though, the easiness of the interaction on her part while he felt like acknowledging that information's existence somehow made Jean die faster or less meaningfully because Kevin had to deal with the inevitabilities of where it was all going.

"Thank you," he said simply, picking up his coffee to walk away.

He only considered returning to the room for a moment before deciding to pace the long hallway instead. He needed to move, just for a little while, and he knew Jean was being cared for by the other Knoxes with him. He knew too that, even as he walked back and forth, he was close enough to run back if need be.

__________

The increased dosage was a blessing and a curse. It dulled Jean's pain—but it dulled his clarity too. As the second day dissolved into the third, it became undeniable: Jean's thoughts were frayed at the edges, sometimes unspooling entirely into incoherency. His words wandered, touched by confusion, drifting mid-sentence or settling on subjects no one had brought up.

And sometimes, he said things he wouldn't have said if he were fully himself—sharp things, thoughtless things. Mean things. Only to Kevin as, thankfully, Jeremy was either out of the room or asleep during those moments. Jean always apologized afterward—and the doctor had warned them that increased agitation was common—but it still stung more than Kevin wanted to admit. He knew Jean never meant it, but the words left bruises beneath his skin anyway.

Yet even in this haze, it mattered—being awake mattered so much. Jean still smiled and still reached for their hands. He still teased them with old memories, even if the details came out crooked, and his laughter cut through the fog like a familiar lighthouse beam. Kevin memorized it all with a quiet desperation: the texture of Jean's voice, the musicality of his French, the shape of his mouth when he smiled. Kevin hoarded every fragment of his brother like stolen treasure—something precious to be taken soon, something Kevin was never meant to keep. Focusing on doing so was the only thing that kept him from breaking apart.

As the hours passed, Jean slept more. The toxins ravaged what was left of his stamina as long, silent stretches took over. Each one seemed longer than the last until, too soon, it was as if Jean were rarely awake at all. And, even when he was, his speech was hampered by his worn lungs and the oxygen mask he needed to keep inflating them.

When Jean was resting, Kevin and Jeremy didn't speak—they didn't want to disrupt the fragile quiet, or miss a moment. They sat in the stillness, together but alone in the way that pending devastation demanded. They both watched the beloved man in the bed while the heart monitor whispered time's passing in quiet, unchanging beeps.

Kevin wrapped Jeremy in a blanket each time he drifted off, curled beside Jean in the bed he no longer left. There was comfort in Jeremy's presence—but it was easier, somehow, when he was asleep. Easier to feel what Kevin was feeling. Easier to give up the fight from showing it on his face.

Later in the day, the sun stretched long against the far wall. Jean hadn't stirred in hours, even when Jeremy cupped his face and whispered French to him, the words too tender for Kevin to bear hearing as he stepped out to rest his back against the closed door of the room. Now though, Jeremy was silent on the bed's left side, his fingers threading gently through Jean's sweat-damp, unwashed hair. He clutched Jean's hand in his own, watching him as though willing him to return to himself.

Kevin didn't let himself look at them for long. The last time Jean had been awake, he had asked something of Kevin. Until he could tell him to stop, Kevin wouldn't.

Kevin looked back down to the ebook copy of The Count of Monte Cristo on his phone and cleared his throat before continuing to read Jean's favorite book aloud into the silence. His voice was steady after hours of doing so, though tinged reedy at the edges from constant use, but Kevin would rather lose it forever than what he was about to.

"There is neither happiness nor misery in the world," Kevin read in the original French, "There is only the comparison of one state with another. He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness."

He glanced at Jean—to the faint rise and fall of his chest, so much slower now. He glanced at Jeremy—to the flatness in his brown eyes, only shown when Jean was asleep. The words caught a little in Kevin's throat as he kept reading.

"Live, then, and be happy, beloved children of my heart, and never forget that until the day when God will deign to reveal the future to man..." He swallowed, once, twice, breathed through it to finish the line, "All human wisdom is contained in these two words—wait and hope."

Kevin stared at the final three words for a long moment before moving to scroll back to the beginning to start again. Then, without thought, he stopped. The air in the room had shifted—held too still, the way it did outdoors before lightning struck. A doomed, charged pause. A silence too thick to breathe through, heavier than humidity. When Kevin looked up, he found Jeremy's hand mid-stroke through Jean's hair, unmoving. The other hand was white-knuckled around Jean's, gripping as if he could anchor him to life by sheer will alone. And there was something in Jeremy's eyes, something worse than the flatness, something of a realization before the mind caught up...

Then, it slowed. Skipped.

Kevin hadn't realized how deeply he'd grounded himself in the EKG's solid rhythm until it dropped out beneath him, replaced by a long, unbroken tone as Jean flatlined.

The book was still open on his phone. The echo of those final words settled over Kevin like dust: attendre et espérer.

Wait. And hope.

He wished, more than anything, that they were enough.

"No, no," Jeremy began, the words tripping over themselves, rising with panic, "Jean, please. Don't. Oh God, no—NO! Wait, love, you can't—"

There was no rush of footsteps, even as Dr. Patel and the now-familiar nurses appeared at the doorway beside Kevin's chair. There was no crash cart. No heroic efforts. No desperate attempts to save what could not be saved.

Only the flat, final sound humming through the air like it already belonged to memory.

Jean had asked for this. The absence of chaos. The end on his terms.

But knowing it didn't make it hurt less.

"Jeremy," Dr. Patel said compassionately, trying to be heard over his babbling, "If you would allow us a moment to—"

"Get out!"

The snarl in Jeremy's voice shocked Kevin into standing hurriedly, almost knocking his chair back in his haste. The viciousness of it sounded so unnatural on Jeremy, that sharp edge of desperation, the way he clutched Jean's hand in a fist. "He's not—he's..." Jeremy looked back at Jean, pleading, "C'mon, love, just look at me? Please? I'm here, Jean. Come on..."

Kevin knew what needed to be done so he circled the bed and gently placed his hands on Jeremy's shoulders, leaning in to speak low, "They don't need long, just enough to record a few things. Then you can come right back to him."

Jeremy shook his head violently, "I can't... I can't let him go."

"I know," Kevin murmured, lowering himself to wrap his arms around Jeremy's shoulders and resting his head against Jeremy's hair. He spoke into the brown-blond strands softly, "Just stand with me for a minute, Jeremy. Please."

It took longer than a minute for Jeremy to nod—just once—but in the end it was Kevin's strength, not his own, that removed him from the bed. Kevin met Dr. Patel's eyes briefly, then led Jeremy across the room. He turned his back to the doctor and kept his arms locked around Jeremy, shielding him with his body as Jeremy buried his face in his chest.

The unbroken beep of the EKG faded behind them, and the room was left to be filled entirely by the raw sounds of heartbreak.

Jeremy clutched Kevin's shirt tight enough to tear the fabric as he shattered and Kevin was sure no human being had ever made sounds like the ones coming from him now. Jeremy's breaths were wheezes, high and broken, scattered with hiccupping sobs and incomprehensible pleas. Kevin felt Jeremy's tears soak through the cloth against his chest and he swallowed hard against the lump rising in his own throat, holding Jeremy even tighter. Every cry of his reverberated through Kevin's bones and it was the first beating of his life that he thought he couldn't endure.

"We're finished," Dr. Patel said quietly behind him, "Take as long as you need, Jeremy. When you are able, the nurses will see to next steps with you, Mr. Day."

"Thank you, Doctor," Kevin said without turning. He waited until the door clicked shut behind them before guiding Jeremy back to the bed.

The monitors were off. The wires gone. The oxygen mask removed. Someone had wrapped Jean's hands in soft bandages, hiding the IVs' marks, and folded them in his lap. Someone too had brushed his hair back into place, though a few dark waves refused to stay down.

Jean could've been asleep. Kevin wished he were a good enough liar to believe it.

But Jean wasn't in that bed anymore.

He was gone.

Jeremy collapsed across Jean's body like a marionette whose strings had been cut, his fists twisting into the thin fabric of the hospital gown as a wail ripped free. The inhuman and too-human sound warped the air, the broken force of it almost enough to bring Kevin to his knees. He hovered, weak and helpless, as Jeremy buried his face in Jean's neck and screamed, the shrill grief only barely muffled by the bedding.

Kevin wanted to tell him to stop. To beg him not to hurt himself. But he knew it would be useless.

And Kevin needed to be useful.

He had promised Jean that much.

With a soft click of the door behind him, Kevin left Jeremy to his sorrow and walked toward the nurses' station.

"We're so sorry for your loss, Mr. Day," the nurse said. Despite the compassion in it, it took everything within Kevin not to snap at her. He nodded once instead and she looked down, gathering a stack of papers as she continued, "Most everything's already in place. If you would just sign these and check the details, you'll be able to leave whenever you're ready."

He was never going to be ready to leave Jean behind. He'd already done it once—and it remained the greatest regret of his life.

Kevin took the paperwork from her and stared down at it, unseeing. He had just watched his brother die. And now someone was handing him a clipboard like he was checking out of a hotel.

Consent for release of remains—signed, listing the funeral home Ricky had provided.
Timeline of the body's transfer from the morgue to the home.
Verification of identity.
Next-of-kin contact information.
Disposition of personal belongings form.
Death certificate—draft copy already signed by Dr. Patel, certified to arrive by mail in seven to ten business days.

The time on the form was marked as only minutes before.

It had all been waiting, it seemed, for Jean's final breath.

Kevin signed everything with efficient detachment, took the nurse's copies, and folded them into a tight square to shove into his back pocket. There'd be more later—more forms, more agencies to notify—but not now. Not yet.

For now, there was only the walk back toward the hospital room. Back to where only one life remained inside.

There was only the need to turn the doorknob—

But Kevin stared at his hand where it touched the metal, trembling so fiercely the knob rattled under his grip.

It had not shaken like that since the first months after Riko had busted it.

He clenched his teeth and forced it to stop. He pushed the door open.

"You promised, Jean. You promised you'd never leave me," Jeremy's voice cracked from within the room, raw and childlike. Kevin only saw the briefest glance, of brown eyes as pleading as a broken voice, of a shattered expression searching a husband's unmoving face, "You promised me..."

Kevin stopped. Closed the door again.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to the hard plastic. He breathed. And he breathed. And he breathed.

Then he pulled out his phone and typed into the thread he shared with Ricky, 'He's gone.'

Ricky replied immediately, 'I'll take you guys home. Gonna go pull the car up outside the main door.'

Kevin was relieved at the lack of condolences, even though he knew Ricky felt them too. He just didn't want to hear them yet. He knew he'd hear so many by the end that he'd be sick of them.

He stayed there, waiting at the door, wanting to open it and wanting to never open it. It was impossible to say how long he stood there before doing so, in complete silence, to find Jeremy in almost the exact position he'd left him. But now, Jeremy was totally quiet. Even his breathing couldn't be heard in the room now painted with the lingering light of dusk. When he spoke, it startled Kevin enough to freeze in place, as if he'd been caught somewhere he shouldn't be.

"I told him I love him," Jeremy whispered. Kevin stood at the end of the bed, looking at the back of Jeremy's bowed head. His breath hitched, and Jeremy continued, "Told him I'd take care of Jackie as best I can, that I'd tell our son everything about his Papa. I won't— I won't let Jackie not know him. And I... I told him I'd love him forever. I always promised that. Promised it right from the start. Jean deserves that, you know? He—"

Kevin began walking again as Jeremy cut himself off with a choked gasp, his body curling forward again in a slump, to make his way around the bed. He laid his palm on the back of Jeremy's neck, feeling the intensity of his crying in the flushed heat of his skin, and he stood behind him. A wall. A fortress. A defense. A promontory.

He stood, silent and unmoving and as solidly as he could, because Kevin couldn't break. He refused to break. Jean wouldn't have, if it had been him standing there—and Kevin had promised to do everything as much like Jean as he could.

Kevin wouldn't fail in this first moment of it. He wouldn't fail at all.

The silence stretched, broken only by Jeremy's soft breaths. Time passed. The dusk turned over to night through the window, until Kevin felt him shift beneath his touch.

"I need...," Jeremy began, "I need to see Jackie."

"Okay," Kevin said.

Jeremy reached up and cupped Jean's cheek, smoothing it with his thumb. Kevin didn't know how he could touch the skin that was undoubtedly cold and turning waxy, the skin Jean was no longer living beneath, but he watched without comment as Jeremy did so for a long moment, then leaned forward to brush a soft kiss to Jean's unmoving lips.

"Je t'aime, ma lune," he whispered, a sigh of a shattered soul lingering at the end.

Kevin was ready when Jeremy stood and his knees gave out on him, catching Jeremy easily in his arms to cradle him close. He didn't speak, and Jeremy didn't either, as they stood there until Jeremy's broken voice shook through the air.

"I can't walk away from him," he said.

Kevin nodded and leaned slightly to press the call button on the side of Jean's bed, then looked toward the door. The same nurse who had handed him the clipboard appeared, opening the door gently and taking a moment to observe the two of them before meeting Kevin's eyes.

He didn't want to say it aloud—that she needed to take Jean if he was going to get Jeremy to leave—but thankfully, the woman seemed to understand. She disappeared briefly, returning with a second nurse. The two of them moved silently in tandem, folding back the glass wall that made up the exterior of the room to create enough space for Jean's bed to pass through.

Kevin held Jeremy close, keeping his friend's back to the motion so he wouldn't see the nurses flip the locks on the bed's wheels and begin to move Jean away. Kevin's own eyes stayed fixed on Jean's face, on the dark waves of hair against the stark white pillow and on the scars across his hands—scars Kevin alone had witnessed being made—until the nurses turned the corner and were out of sight. Only then, Kevin spoke.

"Your dad's gonna drive us to the house," he said, "He's waiting outside with the car."

Jeremy didn't respond. Kevin kept him tucked close as he slung the duffel bag over one shoulder and walked him from the room. Even then, he kept Jeremy angled away from the empty space where the bed had been.

Ricky stood just outside the main entrance—the same doors Kevin had rushed through with Jackie in what now felt like years ago—and Jeremy moved forward on his own at the sight of his father. He fell into Ricky's arms, not crying but visibly broken, and Ricky held him for a long moment before guiding him gently into the sedan's backseat.

Kevin didn't question the instinct to stay close. He climbed into the back beside Jeremy rather than taking the front, and Jeremy crowded into his side as he settled in, choosing proximity over a seatbelt as if distance were the more dangerous thing.

__________

It felt impossible that the Knox house would look exactly as it always had, Kevin thought as they parked in the driveway. It was too familiar—the cardinal red front door, the USC flag, and the curled wrought-iron fencing that wrapped around the wide porch. It felt like it belonged to another time, like it should've been different.

It felt like the world itself should've been different—that there shouldn't have been cars on the road or birds in the sky or people walking along the sidewalks. It felt like the world deserved to be empty, like it should have stopped spinning. But the air was warm with the lingering trace of the day's sunlight, even now with night's descent. It was as peaceful outside, the slow breeze the same as it had been on the last night he shared with Jean only days ago.

Kevin hated the entire world for it.

He knew he shouldn't have been surprised when all of the Knoxes were at the front door to welcome them in—but Kevin was. They were a bustling family, most often in the kitchen or backyard together, sharing tasks and stories and laughter. Now, the only sound was Jackie's babbling, just before he squealed happily at the sight of Jeremy and reached for him.

Jeremy stepped out from under Kevin's arm like a man falling off a cliff, taking Jackie in his arms tightly as if he might be stolen away too. The women of his family collapsed around him. They led him wordlessly into the living room, just to the right, where the four of them sank to their knees together on the carpet without a sound. They huddled there, heads bowed and clinging to each other, as murmured Spanish and soft crying began to rise.

"C'mon," Ricky said quietly to the other three, and Kevin followed the patriarch with a nod, beside Patrick and Xavier, until they reached the kitchen. They each took up a place without a word—backs to countertops, tables, and walls—and stared at the floor between them in silent unison.

"What do we need to do now?" Xavier asked eventually, looking to Kevin. He kept his own eyes down as he answered.

"The immediate details are handled," Kevin said, "Jean will—"

No, not Jean. He's gone.

Kevin continued after a breath, "Jean's body will be sent to the funeral home in a couple of days. The hospital's responsible for filing the death certificate, but I'll send copies where they need to go. There's a will at the house, one just for Jean. Hopefully he thought of what he wanted afterward and recorded it."

"There's a plot near Carmella and Gerald, right?" Patrick asked, looking to Ricky, "Emme said there's a bunch of Knoxes out there."

"There is. Same cemetery for generations," Ricky said.

"He wouldn't...," Kevin began, "I haven't read the will yet, but Jean wouldn't want to be underground. I know that much."

The three men nodded solemnly. After all, they were family. They knew more about the Nest than most, even if Jeremy was the only one who knew all of it. Kevin hadn't wanted Jeremy to know nearly that much—to know just how deeply he had failed Jean—but there'd been no holding back that summer when the Moriyamas fell. It had all spilled out, damning and unfiltered.

He wouldn't fail his brother now.

It was a relief to focus on the details with the other men. Kevin had spent years around them and, though he wasn't family, the concrete facts offered a foundation he could stand on. Problems with achievable solutions. He clung to them, answering as best he could. They were simpler matters than the question of 'Why Jean'.

They spoke of the possibility for a funeral service, of who should be included if it happened. There was talk of how to take care of Jeremy in this initial period of mourning, ending with Kevin's insistence that he'd stay in Los Angeles as long as Jeremy needed him there. They considered what the future might look like, of Jeremy's next season with the Knights that would start in only a couple months and how the family would juggle the responsibility for Jackie when Jeremy had to be on the road or at the stadium. They wondered, in less words said aloud, if Jeremy even could take care of Jackie on his own when they all knew how the loss of Jean would wreck him.

"Either way," Kevin said finally, "I'm not going anywhere. I don't have any pressing obligations but, even if I did, I'd handle whatever it was from here." He met Ricky's eyes. "I won't go back on what I promised Jean."

"Which was?" Ricky asked softly.

"Everything," Kevin said, the word sharp in his throat, "Everything he'd do, I'll do. They're mine to take care of now."

"You live in Chicago," Xavier pointed out.

"I'll cross that bridge when I get to it," Kevin said, "Jean trusted me with more than just location." He swallowed, "I won't let him down, or Jeremy."

The three men nodded and, for a moment, Kevin felt the smallest bit of comfort in their understanding. It made sense, in a way. Jean's trust had been so hard to earn, and now, in death, it was a vow all its own to have been the one entrusted with it.

Miranda walked into the kitchen not long after, pausing in the doorway as she looked around the spread-out circle of them.

"Out," she said simply, walking past them to the stove. Kevin caught a glimpse of her splotchy, tear-damp face. "I need to cook."

Need, not want.

"My family's hungry," she continued. The four men remained rooted in place while Miranda pulled pots from the cupboards in jerky, agitated movements. "We can't starve in our grief. We have to eat, even if we don't want to. Jean wouldn't allow it..."

Her breath hitched. A pot hit the burner too hard, the clang of it ringing in the room.

"He, he wouldn't want any of us to be hungry," she continued, "He always ate so well. My boys. All my boys eat good here. That's my job. I'm your mother. It's my job and Jean's..." She braced her hands on the edge of the stove as her body curled inward with a small gasp for air, "My son. My son. Mijito, dios Mio. My sweet French boy—"

Miranda cut off with a sharp sob, dropping her face into her hands, and Ricky stepped forward, shielding her from the others with his body and a hard jerk of his head at them to leave.

Where the kitchen had been loud with heart-rending grief, the living room was sorrow's silent counterpart.

The three Knox children sat in a circle with Jackie laying on his back on a blanket between them all. Emme's hand was wrapped around Jackie's smaller one as he wriggled happily in-place, blissfully unaware of the mood around him, while Alex's touch lingered against his little socked feet. Jeremy wasn't moving at all. He stared, just as his twin sisters did, at the baby with unblinking eyes.

Kevin found his own gaze drawn to Jackie too. It was as if all the life in the house was held within that one small body, as if he were some lifeline whose innocence and ignorance might keep the rest of them from drowning. A beacon still burning. Kevin looked back to Jeremy and he wondered, for the first time, if Jeremy would ever burn again too.

He took a seat beside him on the carpet, kneeling to lean back on his feet as Patrick and Xavier took their own places beside their wives. He was close enough to feel Jeremy's arm against his own but being near Jeremy had never felt so empty. No one spoke for long minutes until the unlikeliest voice broke the silence.

"I wanna go home," Jeremy said to no one in particular with his eyes still downcast on Jackie.

"You sure?" Patrick asked gently, and Jeremy's body stiffened noticeably against Kevin's at the question, "We got space here. You don't—"

"I'll take you home," Kevin said, cutting him off and looking at Jeremy, "Whenever you want."

"Merc—"

Jeremy cut himself off with a violent twist of his mouth and Kevin's heart sank at it, at the vicious reaction to French coming easily from him.

"Thanks," Jeremy said.

There was no more discussion of it. There was no discussion at all actually, not as the six of them sat in their circle around Jackie and not when Ricky called them to the dinner table.

The silence was its own pain, unnatural amongst this vibrant family, and Kevin only felt more like an intruder with each passing minute he sat through it. He tried valiantly to eat and saw the same struggle on everyone else, with the exception of Jeremy who didn't take a single bite in favor of keeping Jackie cradled close to his chest. Patrick tried to start a conversation once at the beginning, but Alex snapped at him sharply enough to shut him up. If anything, Kevin thought the man looked relieved to not have to pretend at being cheerful. No one scolded Alex for her foul mood.

There was no room to judge, not in a house full of mourners.

__________

"I'll call you tomorrow once they've settled in," Kevin told Ricky and Miranda.

The three of them stood in the driveway, with Jeremy and Jackie already seated in the SUV over Kevin's shoulder. Jeremy had waited just until the end of dinner to ask to leave, and Kevin had gathered Jackie's things from Ricky quickly to see it done. He didn't know what would happen when they got there (in truth, he couldn't bring himself to think of it), but it was what Jeremy wanted, so any fear Kevin had did not matter.

"Thank you, Kevin," Miranda said softly, moving forward to hug him. He returned it politely before stepping back to nod farewell to Ricky and take his place in the driver's seat.

It was terrible, Jeremy's silence. The fact that Kevin expected it only made it more so as they wove through the streets of town before parking in the driveway. The sage-green Craftsman was dark and lifeless, but Jeremy made no move to leave the car—not for several minutes, as he stared at the house with no expression on his face. Kevin was just about to prompt him, to make an attempt at comfort enough to get him inside, when Jackie began to fuss in his car seat. The sound seemed to rouse Jeremy from whatever state he had fallen into. He shook his head once and got out of the car.

To Kevin's surprise, Jeremy walked straight up to the front door and turned the knob. Of course, it didn't open, and Jeremy's brow furrowed at it for a second before he looked to Kevin. It was as if it hadn't occurred to him that it'd be locked.

Kevin used the keys to undo the deadbolt and pushed the door open with his palm without stepping through. Somehow, he knew Jeremy needed to walk through first and, after a moment's hesitation, he did.

Jeremy walked in like the house wasn't his, like he was trespassing in some forbidden place, and it made Kevin's stomach twist to watch his friend's unsure steps as he closed the door behind them.

It was all just as they'd left it.

There was a half-made bottle on the kitchen counter, neglected in Jeremy's haste to return after hearing Kevin scream. The living room carpet was scattered with toys and the blankets on the couch were puddled haphazardly. There was a stack of books on the coffee table—the same titles Kevin had been discussing with Jean before Jackie woke from his nap. Kevin had playfully criticized his brother's taste in inaccurate historical fiction and his tendency to write notes in the margins of novels for what must have been the millionth time.

And the last time.

The sound of Jeremy continuing to walk and the sight of him entering the hallway out of the corner of Kevin's eye pulled his attention away from the books. From where he stood, Kevin could just make out Jeremy's pause in the nursery doorway.

No. No, he shouldn't have to. It was the only thought in Kevin's mind.

He knew Jeremy couldn't avoid it forever, but just not tonight.

He didn't need to go into that room where the memory of Jean's collapsed body was too fresh to even call a ghost.

"Jeremy," Kevin called softly, "I'll—"

Jeremy shook his head, a command without words, and Kevin stopped speaking.

He watched Jeremy gather something within himself and step through the doorway after a single deep breath, disappearing from Kevin's view into the room.

He had to do something.

Kevin didn't care what. Just something. Anything. A task that was controllable and achievable. A function to keep his hands busy enough to distract his mind.

He looked out across the living room and stepped forward, reaching for the nearest crumpled blanket. He folded it, laid it across the back of the couch, picked up the next one and did the same. He gathered toys, put them in the variety of wicker baskets in the corner of the room. Kevin unpacked as much as he could from the hospital duffel bag and Jackie's overnight bag from his grandparents: dirty clothes to the laundry room, used toothbrushes discarded, and more (though clean) bottles reminding him of the one on the counter.

He went to the kitchen. Kevin put the clean bottles away and washed the half-filled one. He unloaded the dishwasher when he found it was full. He wiped down the counters.

He hated how much being on the move seemed to help.
He hated how much he knew that, eventually, he'd run out of things to keep moving for.

Kevin checked the fridge and found leftover soup. He found a pot he remembered seeing Jeremy use on the stove, dumped the soup into it, and turned on the burner. It clicked, but no flame came to life—though Kevin noticed the tangy scent of gas. He flipped the dial to off with a frown. He pulled out his phone.

'How to turn on gas stove,' he typed in the browser's search bar. Kevin couldn't even say if the stove in his Chicago apartment was gas or electric, but fortunately, the internet was full of idiots as brainless as himself, and he quickly found his answer.

The burner lit easily the second time.
He searched then for the correct heat to use when reheating soup on a stove.

Accomplishable tasks. Winnable battles.
Tonight, that was soup.
Tomorrow, Kevin didn't know what it would be, but he'd do whatever it was that needed to be done.

He was Kevin Day.
He had survived the Nest and Riko and the Moriyamas.
He had risen to the top of exy, despite the setback of his hand and the alcoholism.
He had championships and trophies and a fucking gold medal, and he would not stop now.

He was Jean's brother.
And Jean never broke.
Kevin wouldn't either.

So, he stirred the soup.
He burned his mouth when he checked the temperature, but that didn't matter.
He needed to get Jeremy to eat something. Soup was easy. Jeremy wouldn't even have to chew.

Accomplishable tasks.
Winnable battles.

"Jean made that."

Kevin turned, his mouth still singed by the too-hot broth, to find Jeremy standing at the entrance to the kitchen. Based on his arms being empty, Kevin assumed Jackie was down for a nap.

He nodded at Jeremy's comment. He remembered. It was a really delicious soup. Jean had insisted hand-forming the tortellini in it was worth the effort. Kevin had told him he was just looking for ways to waste time in retirement. Jean had laughed.

Kevin could still hear it.

And then he was struck by a sudden, horrifying fear that one day he might forget the sound—just like he'd forgotten Kayleigh's.

"He makes the best soup," Jeremy continued, not moving, staring at the pot on the stove. "The best everything, really. He's a lot better of a cook than I am, even though he says he isn't."

Makes. Is. Says. Is Not.

Present tense.

Kevin didn't correct him. If anything, he promised Jeremy in his mind that he never would.

Not knowing what else to do, Kevin crossed the kitchen and wrapped Jeremy in a soft hug. It went unreturned for a long moment before Jeremy's hands finally rose to rest gently on Kevin's back.

It felt more fraught than he wished it did.

Kevin wasn't someone who relied on touch—who took to it naturally the way Jean had, almost as soon as he'd moved to LA—but Jeremy made it easy. Usually.

Now, though, there was something unfamiliar in Jeremy's body. A tension that made Kevin want to pull away, even though he thought offering comfort was the right thing to do. It felt like Jeremy wanted the hug—needed it, maybe—but only to a point. As if he could only take so much of it. As if he could only give so much back.

It was Jeremy who pulled away first.

Kevin couldn't remember a single time he'd done that before.

"I can't eat right now," Jeremy said, looking past Kevin to the pot.

"It'll be here when you can," Kevin said simply.

Jeremy nodded once, then glanced off to his other side, "I want you to read the will now." He paused, then added, "Wills, I guess."

"Okay," Kevin agreed, "Safe's in the library?"

Jeremy nodded again, wordless, and started to walk that way so Kevin fell into step behind him. Their footsteps were the only sound as they crossed the living room and then the foyer to the room just off the front door.

It had been the first room Jean had shown Kevin when he and Jeremy bought the place—smiling, talking excitedly about the built-in, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that lined every inch of wall space, all the way around a single window overlooking the front yard. Kevin had been more than happy to share Jean's thrill and marvel with him. Other than his exy memorabilia, Kevin's book collection was the only thing he actually cared about back in Chicago.

Kevin stepped closer to the heavy wooden desk and flipped on the mission-style lamp in its corner. The amber glow behind the mica shade should have felt warm—it usually did—but tonight, it didn't. The shadows stretched long between the shelves, the air close and thick with quiet like a breath held too long. Kevin's eyes roamed the books. The ones Jean had loved. The ones he'd hated. The ones Kevin had recommended that still sat untouched beside paperbacks with bent covers and cracked spines. He wondered what notes in Jean's tidy handwriting he might find inside, if he were brave enough to open one. (He wasn't.)

The scent of old pages filled the room—aged dust and dried ink, the perfume of suspended time. Of waiting. For the one who lived here. Who had lived here. Who had loved this place.

Outside the single window, the night was silent—no cars passing, no stray beams of headlights across the walls. As if the world knew not to intrude.

Inside, the house creaked faintly. Old wood settling. A house remembering.

He watched now as Jeremy bent down in front of the lowest shelf in the left-hand corner of the room, removing the books to reveal the front of a safe hidden behind them.

"One, nine," Jeremy recited, "Another nine. Two zeroes. Three. Seven. In case you ever need to get in it. It's..."

"Vine Street," Kevin filled in as Jeremy trailed off. He remembered the address of his friends' first home together as easily as any place he'd lived himself, a home he'd visited them at for so many years. "Apartment nineteen, LA zip code nine-zero-zero-three-seven. I got it."

Jeremy nodded without looking at him, turning the lever on the lock to pull the door open before digging through the contents in search of the wills. It didn't take long for him to remove a manila folder beneath a pair of passports and a thick three-ring binder. Jeremy tapped the hard plastic of that item before sitting back with the folder in-hand.

"That's all the important paperwork," he explained emptily, "Birth certificates, Social Security cards, that sorta thing. In case you need them someday."

Kevin didn't particularly like the way Jeremy kept saying in case. The phrase scraped at something inside him, but he let it go—distracted when Jeremy passed over the folder. He took a seat across from him on the floor, mirroring Jeremy's crossed legs with their knees almost—but not quite—touching. The wooden floor was cool beneath Kevin's legs. He wondered, absently, why Jean had never put a rug in here. He hadn't liked to be cold.

Kevin settled the manila folder in his lap. It felt quiet, but substantial—a soft and so heavy weight between them.

Jeremy went on to explain, "A friend of Xavier's helped us draw it up, right after we found out we were chosen for Jackie." He paused for a beat, "Didn't sign it until he was born, though. Wanted his full legal name on it. Yours too."

"The plan...," Jeremy continued, his eyes remaining on the folder, "The plan before, before everything... We were gonna give you a copy before you left so you'd have it on-hand, in case something ever happened to us at the same time. Felt important that you had your own, being Jackie's godfather and our executor."

Kevin's brow furrowed, "Executor? Since when?"

"It makes sense," Jeremy said flatly, "We die, all our estate goes to Jackie, you're Jackie's guardian. You'd be in-charge of it all anyway so naming you Executor just cuts out some red tape and you know how to manage that stuff, because of your mom."

Kevin looked down at the folder in his hands for a moment before opening it and he felt Jeremy's gaze on him as he did.

The top page clearly began the official will (Kevin could see that in the familiar formatting, even without reading the words.) but there was a folded piece of yellow legal pad paper sticking out slightly behind the title page just enough to be noticed.

Yellow, just like Jean's skin tone at the end.

Kevin gritted his teeth at the thought and pried the paper free, guessing it was what he was looking for—Jean had always preferred legal pads to spiral notebooks, just like Kevin. For Kevin, it was a left-handed thing. Jean said he liked the bright color.

Unsurprisingly, it was Jean's handwriting that greeted him when he unfolded the page. Kevin ached at the sight of the familiarly tidy, elegant pen strokes—so unlike his own tight, harsh scrawl.

"I think this is the one he talked about," Kevin said as he scanned it quickly. "Fall. The date at the bottom's just a couple days after his birthday." He turned the paper around for Jeremy to see. "I can't read the signature. It's not Jean's."

Jeremy leaned in, studying it, and he nodded once, explaining, "Olivier Fortin. His psychiatrist. And the Trojans' team therapist."

Kevin nodded too, vaguely recalling the name.

"Read it to me?" Jeremy asked quietly.

"Yeah," Kevin said, looking back at the page. If anything, it was more like a letter than a will.

"To those reading," Kevin began, "This is not legally binding, but I have thoughts I wish to be recorded in case my loved ones need them sooner than I think to make this official."

Kevin swallowed thickly, then continued, "Obviously, all of my worldly possessions are to go to my husband and my child. I have no requests for any of it—just that it be used to take care of my family and give them a good life."

He kept his eyes on the page, adding in Jean's words, "In regards to my body: I want to be cremated and returned to the sea, with my ashes scattered in the place most dear to us. My husband knows where I speak of."

"It's...," Jeremy began, hesitating until Kevin looked up at him, "Just outside the city. Up the coast. He means the beach where I took him to see the Pacific for the first time. You saw it in the pictures. It's where he proposed."

Kevin had. He'd come back to Los Angeles for the occasion, knowing when Jean planned to propose and ready to help however he could. When Jean asked, Kevin had planned their surprise engagement party, wanting to share the happy news with everyone they loved. To this day, it was still the only event he'd ever planned himself. It was his first act as his brother's best man.

So yes—Kevin might not have been able to point to the beach on a map, but he knew exactly what it meant to them.

He looked back down to the paper with a slight nod, continuing in Jean's words, "I do not want anyone present for that scattering except for my husband, my child, and my best friend. If Jeremy wishes for there to be a separate, more public service of some kind, that is his to decide. I do not have an opinion. I know I will be remembered by those who choose to, in whatever way they wish. But no funeral, please. No casket or headstone. I hate all of those."

Kevin read the next passage more slowly, his voice tightening with each successive line.

"I suppose the rest I have to say is only for them. If you are reading, Jeremy and Kevin, please know that I am sorry to have left you, in whatever way it occurred. There are no words for how deep that regret is, even just contemplating it as I write this. But my greater feeling is that I am thankful to and for you both. I hope I expressed just how much I felt so before the end."

"I am sure I feel just as badly for leaving behind a child as well—," Kevin continued, blinking hard with his eyes locked on the page, "Though Jacques is not yet born as I write this. Even without having met my son, there are no two other men in my mind who could love and protect a child better than you both."

Kevin paused then, needing the moment. The next lines were in French.

"Kévin," he read, the sound of his own name in French strange and vulnerable on his tongue, "Mon plus cher ami, merci de m'avoir donné quelque chose pour quoi survivre durant ces longues années sombres. Jérémie, mon coeur le plus doux, merci d'avoir rendu cette survie digne d'être vécue, chaque jour que nous avons partagé."

He choked on the final lines, barely able to speak them, scraping the words out from his throat, "Je t'aime, mon frère. Je t'aime, mon soleil. Tu étais mes plus grands trésors. Tu me manqueras terriblement, mais un jour nous nous reverrons. D'ici là, je t'en prie, vis bien."

Kevin let the paper fall into his lap, Jean's last words still echoing in the quiet. His left hand trembled too fiercely to hold onto the page—or himself. He reached over with his right, clasping both palms together, telling himself to stop, willing himself to stop—but unable to.

It was only the soft sound of Jeremy sniffling that finally pulled him out of it.

Kevin looked up when the noise reached him to find Jeremy staring at the sheet of paper, half-spilled from Kevin's lap. His eyes were wide, unblinking, and shimmering with slow, steady tears. He was crying so quietly, a nearly-silent weeping, that Kevin hadn't noticed until now. He couldn't even say when it had started.

Jeremy blinked at last, catching Kevin's eyes for a brief second before his gaze darted sharply away. He sniffled, louder this time, and rubbed at his face. Kevin looked away too, trying to give him space, time—whatever he needed to gather himself. He turned his focus to the official will instead, grounding himself in its precision, his hands steady again as he began to scan the first page.

That steadiness didn't last.

Jeremy had been right—Kevin did have experience with documents like these. He'd managed his mother's estate for years. He wrote his own contracts, line by line, to make sure there wasn't a single word out of place before he signed. Sure, he paid professionals to review them, but he understood the language well enough to recognize what these documents meant.

And they meant more than he'd expected.

"You gave me power of attorney," Kevin said, the words slow and disbelieving.

It was already so much—entrusting him with Jackie, with everything they owned. But now Kevin realized they'd been willing to put their lives in his hands, too.

"We trust you with everything," Jeremy said, voice soft but steady enough to draw Kevin's eyes back to him. He didn't look away as he added, "You should really know that by now. If something ever happened to both of us and someone had to decide what to do... We agreed it should be you. You're the one we trust most."

He hesitated, then added, "We wouldn't have asked you to be Jackie's godfather if we didn't trust you with our lives too."

Kevin stared at him, horrified by the weight of it. "But Jeremy, you have family for that. I'm—"

"Jean's brother. His best friend," Jeremy cut in, quiet but unwavering. "And mine too. You're our son's guardian. Don't act like you're less than that. Don't question how much we love you. It's insulting."

Kevin swallowed hard. Jeremy sighed, his eyes dropping again to the floor, vacant.

"It was just...," he continued, voice lower now, "We knew you'd always make the right call, even if it was the harder one. It wasn't even a debate. Jean and I agreed completely about it, a hundred percent."

Jeremy rubbed at his nose, his mouth trembling just slightly, "I get that it's a lot. I do. But it was only supposed to matter if something happened to both of us at the same time. Just in case."

That phrase again.

Kevin couldn't explain why it cut at him so harshly—why it felt like it scraped at the inside of his chest—but it did. It felt like a cheese grater shearing his bones away, one tiny strip at a time.

But then he knew.

Defeat.

That was it.

Kevin had never heard Jeremy sound defeated before—not by anything. The realization hit him like a blow, terrifying in a way he hadn't felt in a very long time.

"There is no 'in case'," Kevin said quietly, "You're still here, Jeremy."

Jeremy closed his eyes and held them shut for a long moment.

Then his words broke the air—and something deep inside Kevin that he couldn't name.

"Am I?" Jeremy asked.

Kevin was too stunned to answer. By the time he found breath enough to speak, Jeremy was already standing. He left the library without lifting his unseeing gaze from the floor, without another word.

Somewhere down the hall, a door opened and then closed again. Kevin didn't need to check. Somehow, he knew Jeremy had gone to the nursery.

He looked back down at the pages in his hands and tried to breathe—slowly, steadily, until he was sure his lungs could still take in air, until his chest felt open enough to keep going. Then he shifted, going to his knees long enough to pull the lamp's drawstring. The amber glow felt too garish for his aloneness but the moonlight was strong enough to read by. It felt right too, as much as anything could feel right.

Kevin resettled into sitting, leaning back against the solid weight of oak shelves, and raised the papers high enough to read.

He read it a dozen times. Then Jean's single page—twice that.

Only then did he begin to understand. With devastating clarity, Kevin realized just how deep his friends' trust in him had gone. How absolute it was. How fully they had believed in him.

He'd thought he'd known.

He hadn't. Not even close.

And yet, the magnitude of that trust was small when compared to the weight of the infinite promise he'd made to Jean.

When he could no longer bear to scan another line, Kevin tipped his head back against the shelves. He closed his eyes and, in the darkness behind his lids, he heard Jean's voice—again and again and again.

Sometimes there was a sound from somewhere else in the house, a creak of movement in another room. Kevin didn't go to investigate. He didn't move at all.

He stayed there as the sky lightened by degrees, until the first strokes of color crept into the California horizon outside the window.

Kevin stared at it, stricken.

Dawn.

It felt wrong.

Offensive. A betrayal.

That the sun should rise—dare to rise—on a day like this.

On a world without Jean in it.

Kevin closed his eyes against it so he wouldn't have to watch.

Chapter Text

Four days passed them by like ships at sea on a foggy night, nearly silent as they coexisted—ghosts in a home that felt tomb-like regardless of how happily Jackie chattered. Kevin called Ricky and Miranda diligently, once per day, but theirs was the only conversation to be had when Jeremy didn't speak outside of monosyllabic responses to pointed questions. Even the baby wasn't enough to pull more out of him, and Kevin felt Jeremy's haunting like a cinderblock on his chest, pressing harder every hour until he swore it would crush something vital, until he felt it beginning to pull dangerously at the edges of his mind.

For the first time in years, Kevin felt the dread of the Nest's darkness even when the sun was out.

It was so much worse at night too, sitting alone in the guest bedroom—desperate to sleep, desperate to not sleep.

On the second day, he called Renee. He knew her sorrowful, heartfelt condolences were genuine, but the struggle of enduring it was enough for him to know he couldn't stomach the next call he'd planned to make. Instead, he texted Aaron to tell him the news, and didn't pick up when Aaron tried to call just afterward. What was there for either of them to say to one another anyway?

On the third day, Kevin called his father. Jean wasn't a Fox, but he was something adjacent to David and Abby Wymack—something of the broken bird Kevin knew they saw in him too despite his years of wearing Palmetto orange. What he and Jean (and Neil) lived through wasn't as simple as being about school or sport, after all, and Jean had always been precious to them after they'd saved his life in a way Kevin hadn't been able to back then.

There were no saviors now.

"I'm so sorry, Kevin," Abby said gently over the line after Kevin had choked his way through recounting the past few days. "It's... There's no one who deserved it less in the world."

"Yeah," Kevin agreed, hoarse and wrung out by retelling the tale.

He wondered how many more times he'd have to. He wondered if he'd have to for the rest of his life—if grief would turn him into a broken record of the worst days of his existence, skipping over everything wonderful and good that came before.

"What's your plan now?" David asked.

Kevin could've sighed in relief at the familiar no-nonsense tone of his father, the importance given to action rather than emotion. He needed it. He felt like he was drowning in the emotion Jeremy submerged the house in. Doing was good, it helped, and the way Jeremy barely existed even in the present moment wasn't...even if Kevin had no idea how to help Jeremy not do that.

"I'm staying in LA for a while," Kevin said, "I don't know how long, but I can't leave. Not until I know Jeremy can..."

He trailed off, not sure how to describe it. Until Jeremy could what? Exist again? Accept tomorrow again? Eat, sleep, breathe again? Let his heart keep beating again?

Kevin wasn't sure, but he knew Jeremy wasn't doing most of that right now, and he certainly couldn't leave until...

Until Jeremy's eyes weren't flat. Maybe that would be enough. (Kevin didn't know what would be enough ever again, for either of them.)

Thankfully, his parents seemed to understand as David spoke for them both.

"We get it, son," he said, "Just keep in touch when you can."

"And let us know if we can do anything?" Abby added, "Anything at all, for you or Jeremy. We're here for both of you."

"Thanks, Abby," Kevin said, meaning it for once.

Everyone was always sorry. Everyone offered help. Everyone tried to sympathize, but it was so hard to not bite back about it, to not rage at the knowledge that no one really got it.

No one knew what the world had actually fucking lost when Jean died. At least, no one except those in that sage-green house.

The next call, at least, held no heartache. Kevin felt nothing as he rattled off a list of tasks for his personal assistant, including filtering the interview requests already pouring in about Jean's death and drafting a public statement from the Knox family and himself. It was Gavin's job to be useful—and Kevin made sure the kid (How could you call a man with a name like that and a face like a ten-year-old anything else?) earned his keep by day's end.

When Kevin received it later, he could admit the statement wasn't half-bad, and Ricky approved it for the family, so Kevin had Gavin set it for release in the morning. One task done, onto the next.

Public acknowledgement would hold off the vultures, at least for a little while, but Kevin had spent too much time in the public eye to think he'd be given permanent respite. At some point, he'd have to sit in front of a camera somewhere and talk about Jean—a man who was still beloved by exy fans even in retirement, and whose romantic mythos with Jeremy rivaled any sports couple Kevin could think of in recent memory. The idea of Jeremy having to do so himself, of having to sit through those questions with his flat eyes, was impossible to conjure, and there was some (albeit small) comfort in knowing Kevin could take such bureaucratic tasks off his friend's plate. He felt the same when the official death certificate arrived in that day's mail. He felt the same too when he called the funeral home and approved Jean's cremation.

He also felt like he was going to crawl out of his own skin. He felt like it didn't fit anymore, like if he could peel it off he might escape the roiling anguish beneath it.

On the fourth day, Kevin felt like an interloper as he snuck into the nursery on one of the rare occasions Jeremy left it with Jackie tucked into his arms, as the child always was now. Kevin remembered Jean lamenting playfully over the amount of laundry Jackie created on a daily basis, and it had been a full week since Jean's collapse at the house, so Kevin found his guess right based on the overflowing hamper in the corner of the room.

Laundry. He could do laundry. Granted, he didn't do his own because he paid for it to be handled for him, but it wasn't hard to read a clothing tag and set the machines to the correct setting.

Jeremy said nothing when he passed the laundry room a minute later and Kevin heard the nursery door close again. Closed door, closed blinds, a crumpled pair of thin blankets in the rocking chair. It was the only room Jeremy spent any time in (spent all his time in). It was where he kept Jackie too, always within sight, always within reach. Kevin felt it had to be bad for a baby to spend so much time in the dark, and that it wasn't his place to say anything about it.

So he didn't. He washed and dried the laundry. He folded it and left it outside the closed nursery door. He tried to find more to do, but the house was too clean already. (It was easy for a house to stay clean when no one was truly living in it.)

He retreated to the guest room.

Push-ups, sit-ups, squats, jumping jacks, high knees, lunges, burpees. Over and over, over and over again to burn the fear away, the thoughts away, the doubts and the worry and the grief that was clawing its way up his throat every time he breathed. He moved and he moved until he couldn't lift a hand to pick himself up off the carpet that night.

The fifth day came with a soft request tagged onto Miranda's daily text announcement of what meal she planned to drop off for them that afternoon. Every day, without fail, she left home-cooked meals on the porch just after five o'clock, and every day Kevin dutifully brought them inside. Then he dutifully reheated them according to her instructions a couple hours later and he ate his portion, even if he didn't taste it. He plated it and sat it in front of Jeremy too.

And Jeremy didn't eat it. He pushed it around without meeting Kevin's eyes, without taking more than a couple bites at most and saying as few words, before he disappeared back into the nursery with Jackie in his arms. Again.

'Will you ask Remy if he'd like some family company today?' Miranda asked over text, 'It doesn't have to be all of us, if it's too much. He isn't responding to his phone. Would you mind?'

Kevin clenched his jaw, even as he politely typed out his agreement to do so. He knew what Jeremy would say.

"No."

And that was all. One fucking word. One word, despite how gently Kevin asked it when Jeremy reappeared to fetch a bottle for his son hours later in the day. One word, despite the fact that Kevin knew the Knoxes were sick with worry over how their son and brother was shutting them out.

"Care to elaborate?" Kevin asked, trying (and failing) to keep the bite out of his voice.

But even that though wasn't enough to create some crack, some reaction, some something from him, as Jeremy only shook his head and walked past him without a word or meeting Kevin's eyes. He felt the oddest impulse to reach out and take Jackie from Jeremy's arms, as if taking possession of the baby might, for once, keep Jeremy from retreating back into the dark.

But he didn't. The nursery door clicked shut again.

Kevin's hand twitched at his side. He didn't punch the wall beside him—not for lack of desire, only because it wouldn't help. Jeremy wouldn't notice if he did anyway.

He was going to go mad in this house.

Hours later, Miranda's daily meal delivery was plated, and Kevin carried it to the dining table before going to the nursery door.

He didn't bother knocking. He'd given Jeremy his space. It wasn't working.

Kevin knew just how much it wasn't working when the light from the hallway spilled into the dim room and he saw Jeremy sitting with his back against the crib's railing, his legs kicked out flat against the carpet and still clad in the too-long sweatpants he'd been wearing since their first morning back from the hospital. They were Jean's old Trojans' sweatpants with the matching hoodie bearing 'MOREAU', printed in bolded letters on the back. The cardinal red was garish against the carpet, a smear of memory right where Jean had gone down. The image of it in Kevin's mind shouldn't still be there. He hated how clearly it was.

A quick glance into the crib to see a swaddled Jackie sleeping was just enough for Kevin to lower his voice into something more tender than it would've been a second before.

"Jeremy," he whispered.

Jeremy didn't respond so Kevin walked in. He refused to shy away from the spot. Yes, it was terrible but this room was not about that ending. Kevin knew what this space meant to Jean, he knew how his brother had thought of it. This room was for beginnings, and Kevin wouldn't allow it to be anything less.

He would do things as Jean would do, starting right now by pulling Jeremy out of the darkness even if he had to drag him.

Kevin crouched down by Jeremy's legs, putting himself in line of sight and at eye level with his friend. He didn't speak again until, after several seconds, Jeremy looked to him. Empty eyes bruised from sleeplessness. Oily matted hair and nail beds picked to dried-blood quicks. Shoulders collapsed inward like the rest of him had forgotten how to carry weight. Jean wouldn't recognize him—and neither did Kevin, not really. It was a shock, more striking than any Kevin had readied himself for, and he fought to contain his own reaction beneath Jeremy's flat gaze. How Jean had ever thought Jeremy could pretend his way through this, Kevin wasn't sure.

If grief had ever worn human skin, it looked like this. And Kevin couldn't watch it eat Jeremy alive. He wouldn't.

"C'mon," Kevin said softly, "Dinner's ready."

Jeremy blinked as if the words didn't make sense. Kevin had seen the look on him for days now, an odd glazed-eyed confusion as if Jeremy wasn't aware of his surroundings, and Kevin wondered if Jeremy even knew what day it was. He wondered if Jeremy cared.

Then Jeremy's semi-attention moved away as he glanced aside to the crib's railing. The flash of anxiety on Jeremy's face was enough to drain the last of the residual frustration from Kevin's system.

"He's asleep. He's not going anywhere," Kevin said, "Please, Jeremy. Come eat dinner with me."

Jeremy looked back to him again and it was instinct on Kevin's part to hold out his hand. Palm up in the open air. Easy to ignore, easy to push aside, but instead (heartbreakingly, miraculously) Jeremy's lower lip trembled as he closed his eyes tightly for just a moment. Then, without opening them again, he took Kevin's hand.

And, despite everything, it was still warm. Still Jeremy's hand. Still him, still here.

Kevin stood slowly, keeping Jeremy's hand in his, and Jeremy opened his eyes when Kevin carefully tugged him to his feet. Kevin silently closed the nursery door behind them, not wanting to chance Jackie's waking or Jeremy's deciding to retreat again, before leading his friend silently to the table and into a seat.

Jeremy stared at his empty bowl as Kevin ladled the soup into it. Miranda had called it caldo de pollo in her text but it seemed familiar enough to not need a translation, even if she'd packed tortillas and lime wedges to serve with it rather than the crackers Kevin was used to having with Abby's chicken and vegetable soup in South Carolina.

"Just one bowl," Kevin said as he took his seat when he'd filled both, "I get that you don't want it but you need it."

Jeremy nodded and picked up his spoon, even if the motion made it look like the utensil weighed twenty pounds based on the effort it took just to hover it above the food. Kevin turned back to his own and ate, but his focus remained across the table, clocking Jeremy out of the corner of his vision.

It felt like he hadn't seen Jeremy without Jackie in his arms in years. Caring for his son was the only thing Jeremy seemed to have any energy left for, and he hadn't let Jackie out of his sight for a second since they got back from his parents' house. He didn't even put Jackie down when not in the nursery and part of Kevin had been surprised Jeremy let the baby go long enough for him to sleep in his crib.

In the light of the room, Jeremy's exhausted and unkempt physical state was even more painful to witness. If Kevin could just get him to eat, to sleep, to take a shower, it'd be a victory. The Kevin who'd existed a week ago would've never guessed a bar could be so low as to call those actions 'wins' but they were and Kevin wanted one even more for Jeremy's sake than his own.

He thought he'd get one now as Jeremy took multiple bites of the soup, even if it was mostly only the broth, but Kevin's heart dropped when Jeremy sat down his spoon only minutes later. The ache of it was only made worse by how Jeremy's eyelids drooped slightly as he sagged in his seat with a sigh.

Kevin put his own spoon down too and said, "You need to sleep."

"I have," Jeremy replied, his eyes downcast and unseeing on the table.

"Whatever you've been doing isn't sleep. Not when it's on the floor or, at best, in that rocking chair in Jackie's room," Kevin said, thinking of those crumpled blankets, "You can't even keep your eyes open long enough to eat, Jeremy. That's not normal, or okay."

"I'm fi—"

"No," Kevin said, cutting him off, "We're not doing that. You're not fine and I'm certainly fucking not so don't bother saying it."

Jeremy flinched slightly, though if it was from the truth of Kevin's words or the slight growl in Kevin's tone it was hard to say. Kevin forced himself to take a deep breath before speaking again when he was sure he could be softer.

"Hey," he said, "Look at me?" It took a moment but, eventually, Jeremy did and Kevin continued, "No lying, no pretending. We don't have to do that shit with each other, alright?" Jeremy nodded once and it made Kevin just brave enough to add, "You need real sleep. In a real bed. In your bed."

"Can't," Jeremy whispered hoarsely.

"He asked me to look out for you. That means stuff like this," Kevin pressed, though he kept his voice soft. "You have to go in there eventually."

"I don't," Jeremy said, his own a little more forceful.

"You do."

"Kevin, stop," Jeremy said, the words like a plea for how they came in a gasp. He squeezed his eyes shut hard, "Don't...don't push me. Please."

Kevin swallowed thickly. He didn't want to push. He wanted to offer the guest room's bed instead, or even the couch, if it meant Jeremy would actually rest but the issue was two-fold. It was the action, and also the location. It was about Jeremy's sleep, but it was about why he wasn't sleeping where he should've been. Kevin knew there was the small creak to the hinge of the master bedroom's door—one that the nursery's door didn't have—and he knew hadn't heard it even once since they'd returned.

So even if he didn't want to push, Kevin had to because he'd promised. He knew Jeremy was broken because he himself was too but Kevin refused to let Jeremy's bleeding heart lead to the shutting down of his body. Kevin couldn't do anything about Jeremy's heart so he'd focus on what he could do instead.

"Jackie needs you rested," Kevin countered.

I need you rested.

"That's not fair," Jeremy said, "Using him against me like that."

Kevin had never claimed to be fair. He was just trying not to fail the people left behind.

"It's honest," Kevin said, "You know that."

Jeremy finally opened his eyes again to look back at him and it was enough to spur Kevin on.

"You can't keep on like this," he said with all the gentleness he could muster, "Give it one night. If you decide in the morning it was too much, we'll figure something out."

Kevin didn't know what that something would be but, honestly, he didn't think it'd be necessary. If he could just get Jeremy into that bedroom, maybe that would be enough. It was just that the first step, the first time, was terrifying. Kevin understood it, he did, and he could sympathize but he couldn't make excuses. Those weren't allowed now—not from him, not when it came to Jeremy and Jackie and their wellbeing.

Jeremy chewed on his bottom lip harshly and Kevin softened further at the familiar tick, reading its meaning with ease.

"Don't worry," Kevin said, "I'll come with you."

"You will?" Jeremy asked and God it hurt, how small and unsure the question sounded.

"If you want," Kevin said.

"Please?"

Kevin nodded in agreement and Jeremy took a deep breath, adding, "I'll, I'll sleep in there. For tonight."

He looked to Jeremy's unfinished soup, "Are you going to eat more of that?"

"No," Jeremy answered honestly.

Kevin nodded again and got to his feet. One small win at a time. He wouldn't risk Jeremy backtracking on his decision. If he got some actual sleep in a bed, his appetite would come back with the rest. Tomorrow, the goal would be to get him to eat a full meal. Or shower. Both might be too ambitious—but that was alright in Kevin's mind. Even a single act was enough to show change. One day, one step, one thing to conquer. Until Jeremy could do it himself, Kevin would walk just ahead and coax him forward—gently and with compassion, but not so softly that Jeremy stayed stuck.

He waited for Jeremy to stand, then waited for him to start walking toward the bedroom first. Just like when they'd first returned to the house—Jeremy needed to lead the action. Needed to choose it for himself. So Kevin walked beside him without leading, and paused at the door until Jeremy opened it. He waited for Jeremy to walk in first, to reach for the switch to turn on the lamp atop the dresser.

He waited for Jeremy to take the next step.
And waited.
And waited.

But Jeremy stood frozen, his gaze grazing over every object like each one was an open wound. When he did move, it was slow—he circled the bed without touching anything, even when he stopped to stand beside his own nightstand. It felt like a museum. Like contact would break some sacred rule neither of them had written but both were bound by.

But the bed was made (an old Nest habit and one Kevin still had too) and Jeremy couldn't sleep in it like that. Kevin moved toward him. His eyes caught on the opposite nightstand—on the book still resting there and the glasses placed neatly on top. He and Jean had spent long hours commiserating over their shared need for them (and their shared refusal to consider surgery), while Jeremy had always teased them, proud of his perfect eyesight despite being the oldest of the three.

Jean would never get older now.
He would never need a new prescription.
He would never finish that book.

He would never wear those house slippers by the bathroom door, never turn down his side of the sheets, never—

Never.

Full stop.

Jean was dead.

It didn't matter how many times the thought came—by accident, by deliberate reminder, or by some wordless sorrow gaping somewhere deeper than Kevin's heart. Every time he remembered, it was like the first time all over again. He didn't know how he'd ever get to the point when it wasn't.

Jeremy was still staring at the bed like it was a coffin, waiting to swallow him whole, when Kevin reached him.

"I don't think I can do this," Jeremy whispered, as if any sound might shatter the unnatural stillness of the room.

"Essaie, s'il—"

"Stop," Jeremy snapped, a full-body tremor shaking through him like Kevin had struck him.

Kevin cursed himself inwardly. He should've known.

"Not that, not now," Jeremy added, his voice lower.

Kevin nodded once sharply.
No French. Not anymore.
And fuck, he hated to let it go. He hated to lose that connection—the one they'd both learned for and through Jean. It was just another thing to bury.

Stillness returned, a long moment heavy enough to crush bearing down on them. Jeremy reached for the comforter but stopped, fingers trembling halfway in the open air.

"I wish he'd left it unmade," Jeremy said, "Just once. Maybe I could pretend if it was..."

He trailed off, but Kevin understood. If the bed had been unmade, then Jean had just left it. Or planned to return to it. An unmade bed had life in it. This one didn't.

Jeremy let his hand fall back to his side, with his flat eyes stayed fixed on the bed, but Kevin, watching closely, reached for the corner of the bedspread. He paused, waiting, refusing to look away. Jeremy swallowed and gave a small nod.

Kevin pulled the cover back and fluffed the pillows.

And—of course—Jeremy, very hesitantly, climbed into the bed still fully clothed.

He curled on his side, pulling the covers up until they were tight under his chin. Kevin thought he might suffocate under it all—his thick clothes, the warm house, his tendency to run hot—but it didn't matter. What mattered was that he had returned to this room. To this bed.

Jeremy stared toward the far wall, sightless. The windows looked out to the side yard, but his eyes didn't track anything.

"What if I can't sleep?" he asked without blinking.

"Then come get me," Kevin said. Honestly, he didn't think sleep would be optional. Jeremy's body was too wrung out not to give in. "I'm on Jackie duty tonight. You just try to rest, okay?"

What would Jean do?

The question wrecked Kevin, just like it had every day since. What would Jean say? How would he reach out? How would he comfort Jeremy?

How could Jean have ever asked him to do that—to be what Jean was, to try to do everything as he would?

Kevin couldn't. He wasn't Jean.

Jean would've done it right. Said the right thing. Reached out like only a husband could.

Like the man Jeremy loved—and had lost.
Lost, leaving Jeremy the broken remainder.
The widower.
Jean's widower.

The word hit like a baseball bat—cracking through Kevin's ribs, knocking breath from his lungs.

Jeremy didn't answer the question with more than a nod, as if he'd run out of words altogether. Then he closed his eyes, not seeking sleep but, rather, only a place to hide.

Kevin felt the dismissal in it so he didn't touch him. Didn't hover. He left the room without another word, switching off the lamp on the way out.

It was a win. Even at a cost.

Kevin sagged against the hallway wall just outside the room, though if it was to catch his breath—or his heart—it was hard to say. But his eyes caught on the nursery door down the hall.

What did it mean, he'd look after Jackie?

Other than holding him occasionally, Kevin had no idea what to do with his godson. But at least that was a problem with a solution. Jean had figured it out, so Kevin could too. Jackie needed him to.

And Jeremy needed him to as well—so he could finally sleep.

He was Kevin Day. Surely an infant couldn't be harder to manage than the last few days. With that thought, he pulled his shoulders back with determination and walked to the nursery door, opening it quietly and stepping in on silent feet.

Jackie looked like a potato.

It was the first thing that crossed Kevin's mind—and the same thing he'd said the first time he'd seen the baby swaddled with just his tiny face poking out from the cloth. The comment had made Jean laugh, even as he'd sworn swaddling helped the baby sleep.

Jackie slept now, peaceful and slack. Kevin hoped the same would be the case for Jeremy too. He almost reached out to touch that swath of dark hair—so like Jean's—but he kept his hands at his sides for fear of waking the child. Instead, he grabbed the portable monitor from the dresser, turned up the volume, and slipped quietly out.

Only soft white noise buzzed in the speaker as Kevin returned to the dining table.

He cleaned up.
Forced himself to eat two bowls of soup while standing over the sink and staring through the kitchen window there into the backyard's dark.

Calories. The Nest had taught him—and Jean—not to waste the chance to eat, hunger or not.

And when there was nothing else to do, Kevin went back to the hallway. He sank to the floor between the two closed doors.

Jackie on the left.
Jeremy on the right.

Kevin leaned his head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling.

He'd be right there if either of them called.

He wasn't going to leave them alone.

__________

When Jackie began to cry not even an hour later, Kevin knew he'd made a mistake.

It took him several seconds to remember that he was the one who was supposed to respond to that sound and, even then, he entered the nursery cautiously as he flipped on the light. Jackie's small, reddened face was scrunched up in a miserable twist when Kevin sidled up to the crib, his vibrant blue eyes half-slits as they settled on him, and reached in carefully.

"Hey, uh," Kevin said, "It's okay, Jackie. I'm..."

It felt odd to talk aloud to someone who couldn't talk back, but even without words, Jackie was clearly trying to communicate something. Too bad Kevin didn't speak infant.

"Here," he continued, sliding his hands beneath him to pick the baby up, "What's going on, huh? What do you want?"

It didn't take a genius to figure it out as Kevin maneuvered the child into his arms—and found him heavier than expected with the sodden heft of a used diaper feeling like it had doubled Jackie's weight.

"Okay..." Kevin said slowly, "So. Diaper change. That's it, right?"

He turned toward the changing table he'd seen Jean use a few times and laid Jackie onto the thick pad atop it. Jackie wriggled, one arm free of the swaddle waving angrily in the air as he kept crying, and Kevin stood there for a long moment, just looking at him, before reaching to unwrap the rest of the blanket.

"I've played in playoff games with the flu," he muttered, reminding himself. "I retaught myself exy with my right hand. I quit drinking. I can change a diaper."

It still felt more like defusing a bomb than doing any of those things, but he grabbed one of the clean diapers from the open shelving below and opened the wipes container to ready it. Then he turned to the metal snaps running down the inner seam of Jackie's outfit. There were so many of them—all the way down both legs to the booted feet—and opening them revealed...

"Jesus Christ," Kevin cursed, leaning back slightly at the smell with a gag.

He met Jackie's eyes with his own disapproving, but the baby just looked back with a quiet babble, clearly pleased his lower half was free of clothing despite the mess he'd made. At least he'd stopped caterwauling, but it was hard to be grateful as Kevin rolled him slightly and recoiled again.

"How the fuck did you get it up your back?" he asked, horrified at the yellow-brown poop coating Jackie's skin.

Jackie responded with a sweet coo and Kevin reached for a wipe, then hesitated. Wait—what was the order here? Clean what was outside the diaper first? Or strip the whole thing and tackle it all at once? Should he open the clean one first to slide it under? Was he supposed to use one of the ointments too, or were those just for some special-case scenario he didn't know about?

"Should've taken you up on it," he grumbled, thinking of Jean's offer that last afternoon to teach him the process. A pang hit his chest at the admission, but the disaster in front of him didn't leave room to dwell.

He grabbed a wipe. Then a second. Then a handful as he lifted Jackie's legs. Handle the visible mess first, then the diaper. That made sense. Fortunately, Jackie cooperated, seemingly fine with being moved around. Kevin tossed the used wipes into the lidded bin at the end of the table once he was satisfied the baby's back was clean. He stripped off the soiled onesie too—he couldn't put that back on the kid—and turned to the plastic strips holding the dirty diaper closed.

"Next step," he muttered, unfastening them.

He coughed, hard—the second gag much stronger at the full sight and smell. "Holy fuck." Another (larger) handful of wipes quickly secured, Kevin cleaned Jackie with his small ankles pinched between his fingers—at least he remembered that part—and slid the dirty diaper away to toss it in the bin too.

"Okay. Moving on."

Jackie squirmed mightily with an excited cry as he tried to slide the clean diaper under him, knocking it to the floor as Kevin fumbled. He swore again and pressed a hand to Jackie's belly to keep him from rolling.

"Don't move," he warned. "On the mat. Seriously. If you roll off this thing, I swear..." He grabbed the diaper from the carpet. "Got it, okay."

Jackie met Kevin's eyes and let out a soft grunt.

Kevin didn't even have time to wonder what that meant before a golden arc of pee sailed through the air. He yelped—a sound he'd deny until the day he died—and lunged backward, but not fast enough. The stream caught him square in the chest, just missing his chin and soaking his hoodie.

"Shit!" he barked, vicious.

Jackie let out a triumphant babble and flailed his limbs in celebration, eyes bright and lips parted in a gummy smile.

"Ohhh," Kevin said slowly, "You have no fucking clue, do you, you little shit? This is war now."

Jackie blew spit bubbles loudly in reply.

Kevin rolled his eyes, stripping off the soaked hoodie and dropping it to the floor. His socks were wet too so he toed them off and left them in the same heap. Then, with grim resolve, he grabbed the clean diaper again and glared at the baby.

"Nothing else. Got it?" he said, moving back into position.

To his surprise, Jackie didn't fight him. Kevin secured the new diaper, tested it with a finger to make sure it wasn't too tight on the round belly, and nodded in satisfaction.

"Clothes," he said, moving to the next task as he picked Jackie up and crossed to the dresser.

There were so many options, all of them looking more like contraptions than something to wear, and Kevin rifled through them until he found something that resembled the previous outfit. He laid Jackie on his back on the carpet, knelt at his feet, and reached for the onesie. Jackie immediately kicked, wriggling free.

"You have to wear something," Kevin muttered, deciding to go for the arms first this time. "You can't walk around naked." He paused. "Be carried around naked. You always have clothes on—at least since I got here—so you're going to wear this and be happy about it."

Jackie let out a cheerful shriek as Kevin slid the first arm into the onesie.

"One of four," Kevin said under his breath.

Thankfully, clothes were easier than diapers—even with Jackie continuing to squirm throughout the entire process. By the time they were done, Kevin had cursed whoever designed the thing at least ten times. A hundred buttons with no logic to their placement, on something meant to go on a baby who wouldn't stop moving, was absolute madness.

Kevin sat back to catch his breath, eyeing Jackie who was now bundled up in pale green, all four limbs wiggling happily as he gazed up at the ceiling.

"What's next?" Kevin asked him. Jackie, of course, didn't respond.

He thought back to the days he'd spent watching his friends go through this—how naturally they'd moved, how instinctive it had all seemed. Naps turned into diaper changes, those into...

"Are you hungry?" Kevin asked. "You always had a bottle next. Is that what we do now?" He sighed, closing his eyes. "Why the hell am I asking you?"

Jackie cooed in reply, and Kevin sighed again.

"All right. Let's try it. Can't be worse than that, right?"

Kevin retrieved the baby from the floor and stood, oddly pleased by Jackie's cleaned-up state as he made his way to the kitchen. He'd been in the room enough over the past few days to know where the supplies were and—opposite of how he felt about the clothing's designer—he mentally thanked whoever had thought to include measurements on the back of the formula tin based on baby weight. Luckily, he'd listened when Jeremy had crowed proudly about how much Jackie had grown, including his weigh-in at the pediatrician's office the week before Kevin arrived.

"Nutrition makes sense. Calories in, calories out. Just numbers," Kevin said, holding Jackie in one arm as he moved around the room, efficiently gathering everything and setting it out on the counter. Now that he had to move while holding the child, Jackie's small size was rather useful. "This part is easy."

Then he remembered the bottle warmer.

Kevin stared at the device for a moment, puzzled by its multitude of settings. But he'd seen Jean just stick the bottle in and push the center button—at least, he thought he had—so he copied the memory: filled the bottle with water, capped it, and pressed the one button.

"Can't be more complicated than his coffee machine," Kevin said, eyeing the silver monstrosity looming in the farthest corner of the counter. That he hadn't dared touch, despite his usual morning habit of one black cup. It looked like it belonged in a space station, not a kitchen.

Jackie gurgled contentedly in the cradle of his arm, none the worse for wear, as Kevin walked slow circles around the kitchen island, glancing over at the warmer with each pass. It seemed to be taking a long time. Finally, after several minutes, he moved to check—and that was when the damn thing popped, the cap on the bottle springing free with a loud snap. Jackie jumped violently in his arms, startled by the sound, and water bubbled over the sides of the bottle in a furious roil.

"Shit!" Kevin cursed, yanking the plug from the wall before turning to the now-wailing baby. He drew Jackie close, cradling his head against his shoulder as he bounced gently and shushed him.

"I know," he said softly, even as his own heart thundered. "Scared the fuck out of me too. It's alright. We got this."

Kevin did not feel like he 'got this,' but there wasn't time to dwell. He focused on calming Jackie, rubbing slow circles on his back and bouncing until the cries tapered into wet hiccups. Once he was satisfied Jackie wouldn't start up again, Kevin reached into his back pocket for his phone.

When in doubt, assume you're an idiot and find someone smarter. That had worked so far.

He typed the model name into the search bar, wondering idly how long it would take before all his ads turned baby-related. Luckily, the warmer was a popular one and the manual popped up right away. Kevin scrolled through it, groaning at his own oversight: the cap should've been off when he put the bottle in, he'd used too much water, the heat setting had been too high, and—confusingly to him—he was supposed to add the formula before warming the water.

At least now he wouldn't end up with lumpy powder.

Kevin followed the steps carefully, repeating them out loud like an incantation (It wasn't like Jackie could judge him for doing so.) as he prepped the bottle again. He plugged the warmer back in and hit the correct buttons.

"There," he murmured, still rubbing Jackie's back, "This'll do it."

This time, he stayed put to watch the machine with suspicion as the minutes ticked by. Eventually, it chirped softly to announce completion and Kevin retrieved the bottle. Per the manual's instructions, he tipped a droplet onto his wrist.

"Warm but not too hot," he said, repeating what he'd read, "What kind of instruction is that?"

He tried another drop, higher up on his arm, second-guessing the first attempt. Jackie grumbled unhappily, and Kevin wasn't sure if it was hunger or shared irritation.

He sighed. There was only one way to know for sure.

If it burns his mouth, it'll burn Jackie's. If not, it's fine.

Kevin brought the bottle to his lips, lightly sipped—and immediately gagged. It was bizarrely both sweet and bitter, like watery chalk dust with a metallic tang. Soggy cardboard. Evaporated milk left in the sun. It coated his tongue like punishment, refusing to leave even as he scraped his teeth against it.

"Fuck, that's gross," he said, wrinkling his nose. Still, there was no burn.

He settled Jackie back into the crook of his arm. At least this part he remembered.

"Good to go," Kevin said, picking up the bottle. "Bon appétit."

The French phrase came instinctively, a joke once traded—and Kevin swallowed thickly at the sound of it. Jackie latched on immediately, suckling with small, pleased noises and Kevin sighed, tilting his head back in a long, slow stretch.

I won't keep fucking up, he told himself. Or the universe. Or Jean. I'll figure it out. I always figure shit out eventually.

He looked down again. Jackie drank contentedly, humming through his nose, peaceful and warm in the curve of Kevin's arm.

It felt good. That was the realization—it felt good to take care of something. To care for someone. One of the two of them, at least.

Jeremy was in bed, hopefully sleeping. Jackie had a clean diaper, clean clothes, and now food. Kevin had done that. He'd made it happen—each a small win, one by one, even though he'd been clueless every step of the way.

The victories counted, no matter how simple.

Kevin sagged, the relief nearly physical. He was more settled in that moment than at any point in the last five days. He was willing to mess up—again and again—if it led to this. To feeling like he might actually be making some kind of difference, however small, for the two people Jean had left in his care.

Jackie finished the bottle efficiently and Kevin left it in the sink in favor of heading to the living room, going for the stack of burp cloths on a shelf below the television. Jean had insisted on keeping one always on-hand after a feeding—despite Kevin's teasing him for how thoroughly the baby had overtaken the house's decor. Given the earlier diaper debacle, Kevin wasn't about to sacrifice more of his clothing to baby messes now that he was down to just his t-shirt, and he privately congratulated himself on his foresight when Jackie soon burped, loud and long, onto the cloth draped over his shoulder with a sickly sour waft of milky scent following.

He tossed the used cloth aside and made a mental note to retrieve his pee-soaked clothes from the nursery when he put Jackie down to sleep. Unlike Jeremy, Kevin didn't feel the need to constantly keep the baby in his arms—Jean had been perfectly comfortable letting his son sleep unattended. Kevin wasn't looking forward to figuring out the whole swaddling thing, not after how maneuvering Jackie through getting dressed had gone, but that was a problem for later.

He wandered slow, lazy paths throughout the house, feeling Jackie grow heavier against him by the minute. In the few times Kevin had been up late enough to witness Jackie's nighttime routine, the baby usually went back to sleep relatively quickly—though he also often woke up again just as fast. That seemed to be the case now too, at least until Jackie began to squirm with the same unhappily twisted face Kevin recognized from earlier.

"Seriously, not another diaper," Kevin warned, "I don't have the bandwidth for that again."

Jackie whimpered pitifully.

"What is it now?"

Kevin studied Jackie's face intently. Maybe there was some kind of signal in it—something Jeremy or Jean could read instinctively but Kevin might learn to decode by observation. Like exy. He'd taught himself how to do that: to play with his head and drill it ruthlessly into his body until he could do it without thinking. Babies had to be decipherable too. He just had to pay attention. That was easier said than done though, especially when Jackie's lower lip started to tremble and panic gripped Kevin at the thought of him breaking into a full-blown wail with Jeremy (hopefully) asleep down the hall.

"Hey," Kevin said as gently as he could manage, forcing his voice calm, "It's alright. Okay? You're clean. You're full. You'll be asleep in a minute if you just chill out."

Jackie hiccuped, and Kevin's chest tightened in dread. He swept the baby back up onto his shoulder, cradling his head into the crook of his neck and rocking him softly.

"Détends-toi, Jackie," he whispered, "Tout va bien. Ça va aller."

Kevin swallowed hard—for a dozen reasons. For the sting of worry at using French after Jeremy's earlier reaction. For the guilt of saying it to the baby, like he was breaking some unspoken rule. For the grief that ripped through him at the sound of Jean's native tongue. For the way Jackie stilled in his arms, calmed not just by the words—Kevin couldn't say if it was the language, the tone, or the rhythm of his swaying—but by something that worked.

And it was worth it. Worth the storm barely held at bay inside himself.

He stayed rooted there for several long minutes, listening to Jackie's soft, sleepy coos just below his ear and feeling the baby's warm breaths puff against his neck. Kevin's thumb moved mindlessly, tracing slow strokes through Jackie's dark hair, along his neck and down his back, each motion in time with the sway of Kevin's body. He closed his eyes too and he wasn't sure how long they stayed like that until Jackie let out a long yawn—and Kevin found himself echoing it.

"C'mon," Kevin said sleepily (as if Jackie could do anything but), and carried him back to the nursery. He closed the door quietly behind them, not wanting to disturb Jackie—or wake Jeremy up if the baby started shrieking later—and grabbed one of the clean blankets stacked on top of the dresser.

"Okay," he said, kneeling carefully to the floor, "I'll be quick and then you can actually sleep. Hopefully for a long time, but I'll be satisfied with less if you just let this part go easy, alright?"

He flicked the blanket out with one hand, arranging it into a shape that made sense—more or less like how it had been earlier before Kevin had unwrapped it. He gently laid Jackie on top and took one side in hand.

"Seemed like a lot of tucking in corners," Kevin muttered to himself, focused on his task. "Ridiculous. Like baby origami. Except you just look like a potato."

He kept talking to himself, a little more confident with each fold, until Jackie began to wriggle harshly the moment Kevin went to secure his left arm. The first arm, which Kevin had assumed was snug, popped free of the blanket like it had been loaded on a spring. Kevin sighed.

"Really?" he asked, unimpressed. "Do you fight everything that isn't food? So far, the bottle's the only thing you've done easy."

Jackie let out a long sigh of his own—so dramatic and world-weary for a three-month-old that Kevin couldn't help snorting. Then Jackie flailed all four limbs violently, unraveling the blanket into a twisted heap. Kevin sat back on his heels, staring at the mess and trying to analyze it with the meager processing power left in his tired brain.

Bottle: no fight. Swaying and French: happy to. Getting redressed: not a battle, exactly (unless it was between Kevin and whoever designed baby clothes). Diaper change: total war. He thought back further, remembering Jackie's freed arm when he'd first picked him up. Jean had said Jackie liked the swaddle—but what if not all of it? Or maybe just not tonight?

Trying to apply reasonable adult logic to an illogical baby made his brain hurt, but Kevin didn't care what it took to get him settled. A quick glance at the nursery clock told him Jackie had been awake for not even two hours, but Kevin felt like he'd lived a full twenty-four without sleep.

"Worth a shot," he muttered, reaching for the blanket again and flattening it out around Jackie the same way as before.

This time, Kevin left Jackie's right arm free but re-secured all the other corners. To his amazement, Jackie didn't fight him at all. His legs and left arm went in easily, and the baby blinked up at him, slow and sleepy, with a long yawn. Kevin shook his head.

"That simple, huh?" he asked, and Jackie let out a soft murmur that almost sounded like agreement.

Kevin leaned back on his hands, eyes drifting up toward the ceiling. He hadn't noticed them before, but there were stars there—glowing softly green in the dark. They wavered in his vision as his eyes filled.

"Tu as toujours aimé le ciel, après tout ça. Les étoiles, le soleil..."

Kevin's voice wavered, grief fracturing every word, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut hard enough to hurt to stop the tears he refused to shed. It wasn't enough. A sob caught in his throat and slipped out before he could stop it.

"Putain, Jean."

Kevin breathed deep. He counted in Irish—still defaulting to the language that always seemed to carry him through the worst, even after so long—until the tears ebbed enough that he could open his eyes again without any falling. What he saw nearly undid him all over again.

Jackie was fast asleep. Right there on the floor, just as he'd been. His little face was completely slack in sleep with his pink lips parted and one fist curled up beside his ear.

Peaceful. Utterly and wholly at peace.

Kevin didn't even think twice. He stretched out on the floor beside him, laying on his stomach with his arms folded beneath his head to face Jackie.

"Crib's overrated anyway," Kevin whispered.

He didn't give two fucks how much his body was going to hate him in a few hours. He wasn't going to risk waking Jackie by moving him. Fancy crib be damned.

There was only the quiet melody of Jackie's breathing as Kevin closed his eyes. A few hours and he'd try again. He'd keep doing this—keep trying—until he got it right, and hopefully he wouldn't scar the infant too badly in the process.

Kevin knew Jean would've handled the whole night perfectly. And, he would've figured out how to get Jeremy to eat by now, to sleep, to take care of himself too.

Unfortunately, Jackie and Jeremy were stuck with Kevin instead. And all Kevin could do was try not to make things worse. Even if their needs pulled in opposite directions, he'd find a way to meet both—without sacrificing either. They'd already lost enough.

"Je ne laisserai aucun de nous oublier," Kevin mumbled into the carpet as sleep dragged him under.

It was a promise for all four of them.

And he didn't have time to wonder how he'd keep it before sleep claimed him completely.

__________

Jeremy woke up slow.

He always did, and honestly? He'd stopped feeling bad about it years ago. Mornings just weren't his thing, never had been and never would be. Sure, it meant he ran late a lot—early practices, press calls, brunch dates—but who really cared? Jeremy definitely didn't. Those first few minutes after waking were soft, precious, especially when the sunlight snuck through the east-facing blinds just right and painted his closed eyes in warm pink.

And even more especially when he could roll over and reach—

Jeremy's hand landed on cool, empty sheets. He huffed, annoyed in a half-hearted, fond kind of way.

Jean. Of course.

Jean liked mornings the way Jeremy liked sleep—fervently, relentlessly, and without apology. Which was rude, frankly, because Jeremy would've much preferred him to stay in bed and let Jeremy drape himself over him like a needy octopus until noon.

Sometimes Jean did come back, though. With coffee, always perfectly made and delicious. Or, better yet, with Jackie bundled against his chest. Those were the best mornings.

Jeremy considered waiting to see if this might be one of them, but his body felt stiff and achy in a way that said he'd been in bed too long. Still, a little smile tugged at his lips as he stretched with a loud groan of satisfied contentment. The only way he could've slept that hard was if Jean had gotten up with the baby overnight.

Christ, I'm lucky, he thought. It was a daily thought when it came to his husband. A several-times-daily thought.

Dragging himself upright, he padded to the bedroom door, not bothering to check the mess of his hair or splash water on his face. The scent of coffee hit him the second he opened it—rich, bold, unmistakably fresh. His steps carried him toward it on autopilot.

He passed the nursery without looking, drawn onward by Jackie's babbling and the soft hum of the radio, the sound of something sizzling in a pan. Butter joined the coffee smell in the air, luring him forward.

Home.

His favorite place in the world, not because of the house itself but because of who filled it. The ones who gave the word its meaning in every way.

The sunlight streaming in made him squint as he passed through the toy-strewn living room and he rubbed his sleep-sensitive eyes against the glare. It was definitely later than his usual breakfast hour, but he didn't care. He wasn't thinking, really—just moving, just feeling, pulled along by the promise of food and family, of his two favorite guys in the whole world only a breath away.

And then he rounded the corner into the kitchen.

He stopped.

Jackie was there, wiggling joyfully in his bouncy chair like he was dancing to a beat only he could hear.

But the man at the stove—

The shoulders weren't right. Too narrow, pulled back. The waist was trimmer. The skin at the nape of the neck was tanned, dotted with faint freckles. The hair was black, straight, recently cut. No waves. No—

Jackie squealed, high and happy, but it sounded distant. A world away.

The man turned.

Green eyes. A chess piece tattoo.

Jeremy's heart lurched sideways in his chest.

No. No. Oh God, please. No, nonoNO—

"Jeremy?" Kevin said, turning fully toward him, voice cautious and quiet, eyes narrowed.

Jeremy had always loved those dramatic survival stories in the nature magazines he subscribed to, the ones about people doing the impossible—clinging to life in places they had no business surviving, showcasing the triumph of human strength and spirit. There'd been one years back that stuck with him: a woman who'd fallen through lake ice up near the Arctic Circle. No one around to hear her scream. Just a sudden plunge into black water, freezing cold swallowing her whole before she could draw a full breath.

It had only been a story.

Until now.

Because now, Jeremy knew exactly what she meant.

The rush of it slammed into him like a wall of ice-water pouring into his chest, crashing through his bloodstream with needles and razors. His skin lit up with pain he couldn't track or explain, his entire body quaking beneath the weight of something massive and unseen. He gasped, once, twice—ragged, useless attempts like a fish dropped on the deck of a boat. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. Couldn't feel, except for this, this—

This absolute, devouring, terrifying panic.

The world shrank. Or exploded. Maybe both. Maybe there wasn't a world anymore at all—just pain. Grief. A dread so immense it made him sick to realize he'd never really understood the word before. It crashed over him in waves, heavier than anything the ocean had ever thrown at him. It gutted him, flayed him open. It stripped his skin from muscle and muscle from bone and his blood poured out of him because his heart wouldn't pump it anymore. It flung his soul down into the dark where there was no air and no light and no Jean and—

No.

Jeremy didn't even realize his knees were buckling until Kevin caught him, strong arms locking around him just before he hit the floor. The grip was tight—tight enough it should've hurt, if Jeremy still had a body left to feel pain with.

"Breathe," Kevin said. Not gentle, but not harsh either. Solid. Real.

Jeremy couldn't. His lungs were caving in. Or gone. Or broken.

"C'mon," Kevin said, firmer now. "You know the fuck how. Listen to me."

Jeremy's hand lifted, though he wasn't the one moving it. It landed flat against Kevin's chest.

Ah. There it was.

A heartbeat.

He'd forgotten what one of those felt like.

Kevin's other hand pressed to his upper back—steady, grounding, warm. Alive.

"With me," Kevin said, "Through your nose. Four counts. Go. One. Two..."

Something cracked deep in Jeremy's chest. Some hysterical, furious little piece of him shrieked at the absurdity. He was the one who taught both of them this—Jean and Kevin. He was the one who had sat with Jean in his early USC days, matching breath for breath, hand on chest, hand on back, voice calm even when his heart ached. He was the one who guided Kevin through the aftermath of the Moriyamas collapse, when his friend broke open on their couch, sobbing and choking and spilling every last secret between them like blood.

He remembered the way Kevin had gripped his sleeve, and how Jeremy had moved Kevin's right hand to his own chest. He remembered the way Jean held Kevin's scarred left hand with one of his own and the other on Kevin's back. Jeremy had counted then, softly, steadily. Had whispered through his own broken heart, his seams split by his friend's tears, just to get Kevin through it.

He never thought he'd need Fortin's lessons for himself.

But here he was.
Not a Nest survivor. Not haunted. Not traumatized.

Except now, apparently, he was. And now, apparently, he had panic attacks too.

"Kevin," Jeremy wheezed, raw and desperate for more than just air.

"I know," Kevin said, "I've got you. Keep going, but you gotta hold it this time. Do it with me. In for four, then hold it for seven. I'm here."

And thank God for that.

It was the only thought Jeremy could manage to grab onto as he followed the counts through the breathing exercise. 'Thank God for Kevin' was the only thought Jeremy wanted to have when it all—thinking, remembering, considering, everything—was so full of cruelty.

Thank God for Kevin, who'd somehow figured out how to make breakfast despite Jeremy knowing he didn't cook at all.
Kevin, who must've fed the baby because Jackie was too content to be anything but full.
Kevin, who'd been there every time Jeremy clawed his way out of the nursery, who'd sat beside him at his parents' house before bringing him home, who'd never left his side in that hospital room for all those never-ending (ending-too-soon) hours.

The hours that ruined his entire fucking life.

Thank God for Kevin, who had been a force in this despair, not just a support.
Kevin, who had become the only constant in a world that Jeremy couldn't even begin to understand anymore.
Kevin, who'd been there every single time Jeremy thought he couldn't keep going, every time he couldn't bear the idea of surviving this, but somehow did.

"Good," Kevin said, "Again. Exhale louder this time. You always make me sound like an idiot when I do that part."

From anyone else, it'd be an attempt at lightheartedness but not Kevin. No, Jeremy could tell Kevin genuinely hated it and somehow that made the situation a fraction better. That was Kevin, that sometimes too-harsh critique, but it was honest so Jeremy never minded. Neither did Jean.

Jean.
Jean.
Jean.
Jean...

And, as the attack subsided and Kevin moved closer, Jeremy folded into him gratefully there on the kitchen floor with his chest aching from sore lungs. Jeremy had always appreciated Kevin's willingness to touch because he knew how much his friend valued his personal space. Kevin had always accepted his hugs and affection without complaint and Jeremy still felt honored by it more than a decade after meeting him. He still felt that honor with Jean now too.

Or...he had. Then, not now.
There was no 'still.'
Only 'felt.' Past tense. Stripped of present and future.

Jean was never meant to be past tense.

Jeremy didn't know he was crying until he heard Kevin's voice in his ear, attempting to soothe him more with sound than with words, and by then Kevin's t-shirt was soaked through with his tears. Jeremy couldn't stop, he could never seem to make the tears stop, but Kevin didn't move away. He didn't even shuffle his weight as he continued to hold him, sure and steady and solid when the entire goddamn world was the opposite. Jeremy needed that, he needed that foundation to keep him from falling further because it was somewhere dark, something cold, that wanted to suck him down farther but he couldn't.

He wasn't allowed to go there.

He wasn't allowed because he was Jeremy Knox and he was strong because he was supposed to be, because he had to be, because his husband believed that he was. Jeremy wasn't allowed because he had a baby, a beautiful and perfect son named for his Papa, and Jeremy had to survive for Jackie's sake even though he knew he was already irrevocably failing at that.

Clearly time had slipped by without his noticing, considering the state of the other two in the room, and Jeremy couldn't let that happen. Jean (had) loved that about him. Jeremy knew Jean admired the way he refused to waste life, how he never let a day pass without trying to appreciate it. But that had always been a principle—an ideal, not an obligation. He'd never imagined it would one day mean this. That it would require such effort, more effort than he had to give.

Jean had wanted him to do better and already Jeremy was a failure, but all he could do now for his husband was to be the man Jean thought he was. It wasn't like Jeremy could give him anything else. Even if Jeremy didn't feel like that man, even if he'd never be that man, he'd fake it for Jackie's sake.

But not Kevin's. Kevin had already seen him shattered in pieces. He knew the raw brokenness beneath the mask. And Kevin would be pissed if Jeremy started pretending again. Pretending wasn't possible with Kevin—wasn't even desirable—because Kevin didn't want a strong front. He wanted Jeremy. He wanted his friend, even if that meant this Jeremy—the real, wrecked, messy version.

Because that was what he was now: a husk of the man formerly known as Jeremy Knox.

"I'm sorry," Jeremy said sometime later, after the storm of sobbing had passed and his lungs stopped dragging for air. He was still curled into Kevin's side, Kevin's chin resting on his head like a weight pinning him in place. His voice cracked as it came out—raw, overused, painful.

"Don't be," Kevin replied gently.

"You shouldn't have to do all this."

Jeremy sat back a little, though Kevin didn't loosen his hold which was comforting for how the pressure felt grounding. As Jeremy blinked around, his brain cleared just enough to register how much the room had changed since he'd gone to the bedroom last night.

"You... cleaned," Jeremy said. It wasn't really a question, considering how obvious it was everywhere he looked.

"Yeah," Kevin said simply.

"And you got Jackie up," Jeremy added, beginning to sag under a fresh wave of guilt. "Did he cry last night?"

Kevin nodded.

"You should've woken me. You don't even know how to warm a bottle, or—"

Kevin snorted, and Jeremy looked up at the sound. Kevin only raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"It's not rocket science," he said. "There's at least a thousand videos online. And I found the warmer's manual in two minutes max."

"You looked up the manual for the bottle warmer?" Jeremy asked, almost disbelieving.

Kevin nodded solemnly. "And tutorials on diapers, swaddling, how to bathe him in that weird little seat you've got." He grimaced, "Diapers are the worst part, but baby clothes with all the goddamn snaps are a close second. Yesterday I gave up and put him in a t-shirt." Kevin nodded toward Jackie, who sat flailing contentedly in his bouncer. "Took some trial and error, but we figured it out."

Jeremy's brain snagged on the word yesterday, and the casual mention of a bath, but he couldn't quite process it. He was too busy trying to reconcile the image of the Kevin he knew—the one who had physically flinched the first time Jeremy asked if he wanted to hold Jackie back in January—with whoever this solo-caregiver was. It was hard to make the lines match, though it was hard to make the lines match with a lot of stuff in Jeremy's brain at the moment.

Despite the difficulty of lining up the information, the fact that Kevin had succeeded wasn't a surprise. That was just Kevin—doing, working, striving, winning. It was as if his friend took the word 'impossible' as a personal affront and Jeremy had long since learned that, if Kevin decided to do a thing, he wouldn't just do it but he'd do it better than anyone else in half the time.

"That's a long way from not wanting to hold him," Jeremy said.

Kevin glanced back to him from the baby, "I wasn't unwilling. At least, not because I didn't—I was just scared. That's not the same thing."

"I'm glad you're not anymore."

"I can't be. I've got a promise to keep."

So do I.

The promises stacked in Jeremy's head like bricks, each one too heavy for him to lift: be strong, take care of Jackie, stick with Kevin, don't pretend. Survive.

The weight of them was unbearable—but non-negotiable.

"How'd you sleep?" Kevin asked, pulling him back to the present.

"Like a rock, I guess."

"I'd say," Kevin said, nodding, "I was about to come drag you out when breakfast was ready." He narrowed his eyes at him. "We're not doing the 'not eating' shit anymore, or 'not getting out of bed'. Got it?"

It came out gruff, but Jeremy felt the steady reassurance beneath it. The familiarity. The normalcy.

Even though nothing is normal anymore.

"Okay," Jeremy agreed softly. He wanted to argue honestly but he couldn't find the words. He knew Kevin was right, even if Jeremy didn't want him to be.

Kevin eyed him, "Okay?"

"Yeah. I gotta keep my strength up."

"Good. You do."

There was no smile behind it as he spoke, but Kevin's approval warmed something buried deep. When he stood and held out a hand, Jeremy took it with the easiness of their years between them. Kevin fussed him into one of the bar stools and then, without asking, brought Jackie over. The fluid way he scooped the baby up made Jeremy's chest clench. One night apparently had the two of them getting along exceedingly well, as well as Jeremy had hoped they would when Kevin first said he was going to visit and...

Kevin handed Jackie off and Jeremy was thankful for the respite of being able to focus on his son rather than his own thoughts. A minute later, Kevin set a coffee in front of Jeremy and turned back to the stove.

One glance told Jeremy it was the wrong shade—too dark. He took a sip and grimaced at the taste. Too little creamer, and hardly any sugar (if any). Considering it was Kevin, anything but plain black was an improvement but Jeremy couldn't stomach the acidic bite so he set about fixing it. The bitterness was easily remedied by the small sugar jar Jeremy kept at the end of the bar counter, which he tipped into the steaming coffee without use of a spoon, and he tried to be quiet as he tucked Jackie comfortably into his arm to make his way to the fridge. He didn't want to bother—

"What do you need?" Kevin asked from the stove, already lowering the spatula from the skillet brimming with scrambled eggs.

"Just the cream. I've got it."

Jeremy tried to inject a smile into the words but couldn't. His voice stayed flat. He swallowed against the sting creeping into his eyes and opened the fridge—then paused. His impending tears dissipated in his confusion at the sight of the interior brimming with fresh food.

"When'd you get all this?" Jeremy asked.

"Yesterday morning," Kevin said, his attention refocused on the cooking food, "Delivery order. I didn't want to take Jackie out without checking with you first."

Jeremy furrowed his brow as he gingerly plucked out the half-pint of cream.

Yesterday. But I didn't... I always hear when somebody's at the door.

"Plus, I don't know the store layout," Kevin added, "And someone gets stupidly fussy if I'm even five minutes late with his bottle. It's ridiculous. I still don't understand how he knows it's time for it so accurately."

Jeremy didn't respond—couldn't. He was trying to arrange the words in his mind, to make sense of how they didn't quite fit, but that was the lesser distraction. The bigger one was how Kevin appeared not even a minute later, carrying a full plate: scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and a bowl of yogurt topped with fresh fruit. Jeremy stared.

"You don't eat breakfast," he said slowly.

And Jeremy knew it because cajoling Kevin into having anything more than a black coffee and a plain protein shake for breakfast was about the same effort as pulling teeth.

"You do," Kevin said simply, nodding at the plate. "I had some earlier. Needed to test the eggs before you finally woke up."

"That's... Thank you."

Gratitude surged—and guilt came with it, sharper than ever, too sharp to pick up his fork. Jeremy didn't know how he'd manage a single bite with how it sliced him.

You shouldn't have made him stay. This is too much.

Jeremy swallowed at the thought—directed to the only one who couldn't argue back—and returned to looking at the food as Kevin spoke, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

"It's nothing." Then, as if reconsidering, Kevin corrected, "Actually, no—it's not nothing so you have to eat it. I need to know if it's garbage."

Jeremy snorted, surprised at himself. It felt strange—startling—but good. Good-ish, maybe. Good wasn't part of his vocabulary anymore. But he did appreciate that Kevin was being himself. Jeremy doubted anyone else would do so around him for a long time.

Kevin moved back to the stove, loading dirty pans into the sink. "In an hour, you're drinking the shake I prepped, too. And yes, it's more than just protein powder. You won't even taste it."

"I don't need it."

"You do," Kevin said, glancing over. "You worked hard to get your body like that. Don't waste it."

Jeremy bit his tongue to keep from saying what does it matter. Because it didn't. Not now.

The future loomed, shapeless and unbearable, an unseen and unknowable horror, a wound that would never heal. He didn't want it. Not tomorrow, not next hour, not even the next minute. Existing alone was too hard, the thought of doing more? Of doing as he had for decades? It was worse than miserable. He had no answers, only dread, only a bottomless pit where his heart used to be.

I can't do this. I can't leave Jackie. I can't get up. I can't lie down. I can't, I can't, I can't—

"Jeremy."

He looked up to find Kevin was watching from the sink, hands soapy.

"Please eat, okay? I know it's hard. I don't like it either but we have to."

A pause, then Jeremy nodded. It took effort, but he lifted the fork and took a bite. Jackie squirmed happily in his arm, and Jeremy pressed a kiss to his baby's forehead, earning a delighted coo. In the background, sports radio buzzed faintly as Kevin returned to washing dishes. Jeremy couldn't taste much, but that didn't matter. Kevin was right. He had to eat.

So he did. Slowly, with small bites. Watching the plate. Watching Jackie.

Jackie looked great. Healthy. Vibrant. His big eyes bright blue and alert, his cherubic cheeks pink, his thick hair darkening more each day. A beautiful baby. Kevin had dressed him well in a teddy bear onesie, even going so far as to make sure Jackie's socks matched the outfit. It was one of Jeremy's favorites.

Sometime later, Kevin dried his hands and said, "I'm going to run you a bath while you finish that. You've got to feel gross after not having one for so long."

"I had one at the hospital," Jeremy said, reaching for his mug. "A couple days isn't that long."

As he said it though, Jeremy felt the shift in the air between them, a rubber band pulled taut before the snap.

"...What day of the week is it?" Kevin asked tentatively.

Jeremy considered. He knew time had been...slippery but, as he thought through it, Thursday seemed right. There were some meals here and there, a sunrise or a sunset or something that made the light different. They'd come home on a Monday night—he remembered that much (Kinda. It might've been Sunday, or maybe Saturday?)—but he felt relatively confident that, at most, he'd be off by a day as he replied.

"Thursday," Jeremy answered.

Kevin paused for a long moment, "It's Tuesday."

Jeremy's brow furrowed in confusion, "It can't be Tuesday. That'd mean we got back last night—"

"It's Tuesday of next week," Kevin said, cutting him off, "It's, Jeremy, it's been eight days since the hospital."

That...

No, no, that couldn't possibly be right. Jeremy felt some desperate instinct inside of him want to laugh at that, to tell Kevin not to joke about such a thing, but it was very clear Kevin was not joking in the slightest.

Jeremy's stomach twisted sharply, a cold, sick feeling pouring down the back of his throat.

That wasn't possible though. Kevin had to be wrong, because, at most, it had only been a few days since then. Since Jean had... And, and they'd been at the hospital for...

Jeremy didn't know. Not for certain. He didn't even know how many days they'd been at the hospital, now that he actually tried to remember. How could he not know that? How could he not know how long that final stretch of time with his husband had even been? If Kevin wasn't lying (Kevin's not lying.), if it was Tuesday, if it had been eight days...

"How...," Jeremy began shakily, "How long was I in bed?"

The count in his mind wouldn't add up, no matter how he looked at it. Jeremy tried to make the knowledge fit, to wrap it around what he could remember, but there was only an ashen, hollow blankness at the corners. A ghostly gray that covered over time like a mist without memory.

"Two full days, plus part of today," Kevin said, "I tried to get you up a few times but you weren't having it. Honestly, you probably needed the sleep but I wasn't going to leave you in there all-day again. You needed real food..." He trailed off before asking, "Do you remember me making you drink?"

Jeremy shook his head and Kevin ran a hand through his hair.

"Water every four hours, meal replacement shake every six," Kevin said, "I wasn't going to let you starve, even if you wouldn't get up."

Jeremy stared at him. He could hardly picture it—Kevin, of all people, patient enough to do something like that, to keep doing something like that for days, rather than throw up his hands or demand Jeremy do so for himself.

But Kevin had. He had stayed. He always stayed, even now.

How could he be both?

How could he do something so gentle as that, and also stand there as he was now—shoulders back, stance solid, eyes focused?

"Kevin..."

The word trembled as much as Jeremy did but Kevin's expression only softened as he said, "It's alright. You wouldn't talk to me but you were willing, even half-awake. You didn't fight me on it." He raised an eyebrow at Jackie, "Unlike a little somebody who seems to enjoy being a terror for the hell of it."

Jeremy's eyes widened dangerously, looking between the two of them as the thought came like a slap to the face.

"Oh God!" he cried, "Jackie. I just, I, I left—"

"You slept, Jeremy," Kevin insisted, shutting down the wave of panic decisively as if he could strangle it in his hands. His hard stare was enough to halt Jeremy's thoughts in their tracks and his words were no more gentle, "You did what you needed to and Jackie's perfectly fucking fine. I'm not an expert, by any stretch of the imagination, but I'm not an idiot. I'm capable of keeping a three-month-old in one piece for a few days."

"That's, that's not what I meant," Jeremy said, dropping his head to squeeze his eyes shut, "I just... God, Kevin, I'm so sorry."

I'm sorry I'm a fucking train wreck. I'm sorry I can't take care of my kid. I'm sorry I left him without his daddy for so long, after he just lost his papa. I'm sorry that I don't know what day it is and I wouldn't get out of bed and I wouldn't leave the nursery before that. I'm sorry that I can't stand the fact that I lost time and that I wouldn't mind losing more of it too so I don't have to live through it. I'm sorry I'm so goddamn selfish and weak and broken because it leaves you with all of this shit that you didn't sign up for. I'm sorry I'm...

Jeremy's hand twitched in his lap, wanting to reach out, unthinking in his need for the comfort that should have been there, that had always been there until eight days ago. A squeeze of his shoulder. A palm against his back. A brush of his hair. A warm voice of love in his ear. Jean.

But there was none of that. No one.

Except Kevin—Kevin, anchoring him with steady words. Kevin, grounding him with stubborn hands as he clamped one down hard on Jeremy's shoulder, turning him on the rotating seat even as he kept his eyes closed.

"Look at me, Jeremy."

He didn't want to but, frankly, denying Kevin was something he still sucked at even after eleven years, both because he rarely wanted to and because Kevin could be very difficult when he felt like it.

Jeremy did as commanded and found Kevin bent slightly at the knees so they were eye-level.

"You're not going to do that anymore," he said firmly.

"Do what?" Jeremy asked softly.

"The 'I'm a bad dad' bullshit," Kevin answered, "The 'I can't do this' bullshit. All of it's lies, got it? You are the best fucking father I know, even if you need help sometimes. And you can do this because you're that, because you're you." He nodded down toward Jackie, "He's worth it, isn't he?"

"Yes," Jeremy answered instantly.

"Damn right," Kevin said, "So that's what you're going to tell yourself when it sucks."

"Okay," Jeremy replied after a long moment.

Despite agreeing, he wanted to correct Kevin. Jeremy knew he wasn't bad at fatherhood but the best? Absolutely not. Jean was so good at it, he blew everyone else out of the water. He was perfect at it, like he was made for it, and now... Now he wasn't because Jean wasn't anything anymore, nothing that was active and present tense and living. Jean wasn't there. He was gone. Forever.

That wasn't the forever they'd promised each other.

Jeremy's chest felt like it would cave in beneath all of it. The loss of Jean that wouldn't let him breathe and the love of Jackie that wouldn't let him quit and the determination of Kevin standing there, staring at him in a way that wouldn't let Jeremy give any less than his best, even when his best was so small and broken.

"Okay," he repeated, a little more firmly than before, and Kevin nodded in response with a firm but comforting squeeze of his shoulder. He dropped his hand and straightened, surprising Jeremy by reaching for Jackie. Jeremy blinked in confusion as he asked, "You wanna hold him?"

"I want to feed him," Kevin corrected, "Which generally requires holding him, at least until he can handle a bottle for himself."

Jeremy moved slightly and Kevin took the baby casually, settling him into the crook of one arm so easily that it was as if he'd been doing so for months rather than days. It was so oddly startling that Jeremy watched the process without moving as Kevin gathered a premixed bottle from the fridge and plopped it into the warmer with hardly a glance at the buttons to start the cycle, then returned to the opened door of the appliance to get another item.

"Here," Kevin said, setting the glass down beside his plate, "Forgot this part."

"Orange juice."

Jeremy wasn't sure why he said it when the liquid clearly was that.

"Two parts orange juice, one part pineapple," Kevin corrected, walking away as he spoke, "Plus coconut water. Keeps the acid from being too much on an empty stomach."

"You...you made it?"

"You have a juicer."

That wasn't quite an answer but Jeremy was too dumbfounded by it to question further as he took a sip of it. Kevin was right—the juice tasted lighter when mixed, easier to stomach.

Jeremy continued to do so between nibbles of the now-room temperature food but, considering his lack of interest in it, he focused on the pair of them instead. Jackie's eyes were fixated on Kevin's face, hardly blinking as he watched him with rapt fascination, and Kevin handled the infant in one arm with confident grace while juggling the bottle prep with the other. Once Jackie was eating steadily, Kevin leaned back against the counter and crossed his long legs casually, one eye on the baby and one ear still tuned into the sports talk show that was launching into an international exy segment. Jeremy tuned it out in contrast, not interested in hearing about the sport at the moment, and the minutes passed without comment until Kevin deposited the spent bottle in the sink later.

"By the way," Kevin said, drawing Jeremy's attention, "I started keeping a stack of burp clothes here." He opened the farthest drawer nearer the door to the garage at the back of the kitchen were Jeremy kept a few odds and ends to show a tidy, tightly-rolled stack of pastel cloths. "Got to the ones in the living room too late one night." Kevin grimaced, "And I don't want a repeat."

"Makes sense," Jeremy said, adding, "Um, not wanting a repeat but putting some in here too. It's a good idea."

Smile. This is when you smile because he's being insanely helpful and thoughtful and friends smile at each other like that. Babies need to be smiled at too.

But, Jeremy couldn't bring himself to. He felt fortunate that Kevin didn't seem to notice (or, at least, not to be bothered by it) as he only replied with a short nod. His friend was too focused on getting one of the clothes into place over his shoulder before maneuvering Jackie over it to examine Jeremy more closely. Jeremy kept his eyes on them though, at the ease of Kevin's gentle pats on Jackie's back and the way Kevin didn't flinch when Jackie did spit up on the cloth not far from his ear with a loud burp.

"Did you research that too?" Jeremy asked as Kevin balled up the used cloth.

"Luckily I had that one time to fall back on thanks to...," Kevin trailed off with a pause even though Jeremy finished the thought in his mind. He felt himself begin to wilt at the memory but, incredibly, Kevin stood taller. He pulled back his shoulders, the picture of unwillingness to surrender, as he added with a steady voice, "Thanks to Jean teaching me." Kevin looked over to meet Jeremy's eyes, the verdant green of them flashing with defiance, "Just because he isn't here doesn't mean he's taboo. I'm not going to avoid his name or talking about him, even if it fucking kills me."

"How?"

It was such a tiny sound, that question. It was barely more than a whisper and even weaker than that too but Jeremy had to ask it because he could barely even think Jean's name without being sure that he was ripping apart at the seams.

Kevin held his gaze steadily as he answered, "Because remembering is always better than forgetting."

God. God. How could he think... Do... Believe that?

Even as Jeremy wondered it though, he agreed. He knew somehow that Kevin was right.

"Yeah," Jeremy said.

Kevin nodded, standing still and silent for a moment before he asked, "Would you care if I took Jackie on a walk or something?" He glanced aside at the window above the sink, "He liked the jogging stroller when Jean and I took him out that one morning, and I'm going crazy being stuck in the house." Then Kevin's eyes widened, his surprise surprising Jeremy too as he gave him a guilty look, "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. It's just... The court."

Jeremy nodded in understanding. Over a week without going to a court to train must've been driving Kevin insane, especially if he hadn't even been on a run at least. It would do Jackie good too, Jeremy knew. He loved being outside and it looked nice out today.

"You could come too," Kevin offered but Jeremy jerked his head in a firm shake, bringing a frown to Kevin's face.

There was... It was hard to explain even in his own mind, in-truth, but there was a sense of the world moving out there, moving on and forward and away and into the future that Jeremy wanted no part of. Out there, life was moving on without Jean. In here, at least, time could hold still a little longer.

"I'll, uh," Jeremy said, trying to remove the new worried frown from Kevin's expression, "Take that bath, like you said. I should."

"Good," Kevin said genuinely, the frown lessening, "I'll go start it since you're close to done with that. He needs changing before we head out too."

Jeremy nodded again with a soft thank-you that Kevin only waved off as he left the kitchen for the nursery. Even from the distance across the living room, Jeremy thought he heard Kevin speaking lowly as if responding to Jackie's excited coos, like the baby knew he was in for some kind of treat. It was astonishing still to think of all Kevin had done, of all he'd been handling by himself, of him doing so much for both of them and without a single word of protest, without asking for any thanks.

The kitchen was almost silent now, with only the radio's murmuring (which, thankfully, had moved onto softball), and Jeremy looked back down to his plate. He chewed with focus, even if it was tasteless. Kevin had gone through the trouble of making it and Jeremy knew he needed to eat so there was no point in being slow about it. He even made himself sip the juice too until it was only half-filled.

Breakfast, now an act of defiant fortitude.

Then, Jeremy realized he'd been mindlessly running his thumb along the underside of his wedding band. Jean used to tease him for the tick of it, especially for how it had dulled the shiny gold of the precious metal into something matte and darker over time in only that one spot. Jean would tease him but then he would kiss him for it too and...

Jean would never kiss him again.

He would never use that favorite mug of his that hung from a peg on the underside of the cupboard, there next to the coffee machine. He'd never use one of the chef's knives from the butcher block, the set that he'd researched for two solid months before buying. He'd never make Jeremy's coffee perfectly in the morning or bring it to him in bed. He'd never bring Jackie to that same bed on their son's particularly difficult nights when sleeping between his fathers was the only solution to calm him, which meant Jeremy would never hear Jean sing French lullabies under his breath again to coax Jackie back into sleep.

Or. Or...nothing. Nothing because Jean would never do anything again.

Jeremy only had a second of warning to dash to the half-bathroom around the corner, throwing himself through the door between the garage and kitchen before falling to his knees to empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl. He heaved until there was nothing left, his throat raw and his eyes burning as he sobbed between gasps. He cried for so many reasons, too many to count or name, and it wasn't quiet. It was the messy, wretched sort of crying, the kind full of snot and choking that made ribs feel kicked in. Jeremy's mouth tasted sour with lingering bile; the bathroom reeked with it and...

And then—a hand smoothed back the hair stuck with sweat to his forehead. Another coaxed him wordlessly away from the rim of the bowl. Jeremy kept his eyes closed as the lid fell shut and the toilet flushed. His back met the opposite wall, cold seeping into his bare feet and through the seat of his (Jean's) sweatpants, before a warm cloth gently caressed his face, wiping away the remnants of his breakdown.

Jeremy was not even given the relief of pretending it was Jean's hand cupping his chin as the cloth moved. It was Kevin's, and Jeremy knew it. The shape of Kevin's hand was unfamiliar, the temperature and location of the callouses different, the length and width of his fingers foreign. Most of all, there was the absence of cool metal where a wedding band should be, would be if it were the hand Jeremy longed for.

"You'll survive this," Kevin whispered as the cloth fell away and the hand at Jeremy's chin slipped to the side of his neck.

I won't.

Despite thinking and believing that, Jeremy rasped, "I don't have a choice."

"No, you don't."

The brutal honesty should've hurt. It should've felt like a fist to the teeth. But it didn't—because it was the truth, delivered in his dearest friend's voice. It was simple when Kevin said it, spoken like an unquestionable directive. There wasn't a choice because there was Jackie. There wasn't a choice because Jeremy had promised Jean, even if not in so many words, at the end.

Jean, for all that he loved him, would have been so disappointed in Jeremy for giving up like he had been—and Jeremy knew it.

"It's been a whole week," Jeremy said, swallowing thickly around the truth of it.

"Yes," Kevin said.

"How...?"

Jeremy opened his eyes for the first time since getting sick. Kevin was kneeling beside him, steady and solid, his hand still braced against the side of Jeremy's neck as if he could haul him out of this hell by the scruff. His eyes were such an impossible shade of green. Jeremy had read descriptions of them over the years, people waxing poetic over his friend's beauty as they always did: emerald, clover, moss, Kelly, meadow, forest. On and on.

But Jeremy thought the best descriptor—the one Kevin would most appreciate—was that they matched Kayleigh Day's.

"How long can you stay?" he finished, the last word cracking raw out of his throat.

Kevin's thumb swept softly against his over-flushed skin. "As long as you need me to."

"That's not an answer."

"It is."

Kevin moved without preamble, standing and offering both hands. He pulled Jeremy up gently, slipping an arm around his waist. Being sick after barely eating had taken a heavier toll than Jeremy wanted to admit. His knees wobbled and his head pounded, but he didn't try to hide how much he leaned into Kevin's strength.

The fabric of Kevin's running shirt was soft and smooth against Jeremy's cheek as they walked.

"Here," Kevin said, steering him toward the fridge.

"I can't keep anything—"

"Just water," Kevin insisted. "You need to rinse your mouth out."

Jeremy sighed but nodded, accepting the bottle Kevin handed him. The cold condensation stung his palm and he tilted it back with effort; the cool slide of it down his throat helped, if only marginally. When he went to hand it back, Kevin shook his head.

"Keep it with you," he said, already coaxing Jeremy onward into the living room.

If he'd been able, Jeremy would have smiled at Jackie's delighted shriek from his play blanket. His four limbs jerked excitedly, starfish-wild at the sight of them.

"One more minute," Kevin told Jackie, who shrieked again, more demand than greeting this time. Kevin shook his head, "I think you adopted a banshee. Seriously, the lungs on him."

"Yeah," Jeremy said in monotone, wishing he found it funny, wanting to—but failing—as they walked down the hallway.

It surprised him when Kevin followed him into the bedroom. Not upset him—just surprised him. More so when he noticed the large, filled bathtub as they crossed into the attached bathroom. A few bubbles drifted on the surface, the water glistening with the slick of oil—lavender, the scent unmistakable.

Jean's favorite.

The comfort and the sting of it hit at once. Jeremy swallowed painfully.

"Are you going to be okay on your own?" Kevin asked, his arm finally falling away.

"Yeah," Jeremy said wearily. "Enjoy the walk or run or whatever with Jackie. Usually I'd be crawling out of my skin to move around but..."

But I'm a widower. But my husband died at thirty, even though he was healthy. But I'm a single father. But I have no fucking clue about tomorrow, much less next week, next month, and God, a year like this is... I can't do it. I can't. But I don't have a choice, even though I wanna crawl in a hole and never move again, because I have a son and he needs me and Jean wanted me to, to be...

"I get it," Kevin said quietly, "There's no shame in rest and recovery."

"That's rich coming from you," Jeremy said, voice flat.

Kevin shrugged, like it needed no defense, "Circumstances change."

He turned and disappeared into the bedroom briefly, returning a minute later to press Jeremy's phone into his hand.

"I charged it while you were asleep," Kevin said, "My ringer's all the way up." He ducked slightly to catch Jeremy's gaze where it lingered on the phone. "You call me immediately if you need something."

Jeremy nodded. "Okay."

Kevin nodded back, brief and firm. He didn't linger, only told Jeremy to take his time and that he would be back with Jackie soon. Then he was gone.

Jeremy stood frozen in the bathroom, the phone heavy in his hand, until he heard the front door close minutes later—the soft final click of the latch too loud in the sudden silence.

He lifted his phone and the screen illuminated. Jeremy knew it would hurt to see the picture, but the blow was worth it. He gazed at the photograph of Jean holding Jackie to his chest, his large hand wrapped around their son's much smaller one to wave at Jeremy behind the camera. His smile was so bright, matched perfectly with the loving light in his gray eyes.

Below it, even before Jeremy unlocked the screen, there was a flood of text messages stacked one atop another. The notification count on the app was obscene, with the email and phone apps no better, so Jeremy turned Do Not Disturb on to hide the glaring red from his sight. He didn't want to read them, to respond to them, to acknowledge anything outside these four walls. He knew he should at least call his parents, but he just...couldn't. The pressure of having to tell them he was okay was too great. The thought that they wouldn't believe him was even worse.

He navigated to his voicemail with a shaking hand. Jean had always complained that Jeremy didn't delete them quickly enough and saved too many of them, causing the box to often be too full to leave another, but Jeremy had never been so grateful for one of his own bad habits as he was then. He tapped the topmost one in the saved section, from only a couple weeks before, and brought it to his ear.

"Chéri," Jean greeted him playfully in the recording, "Remind me what brand of olives you wanted for Kevin's visit? I texted you but you must not be looking at your phone. Having too much fun with petit Jacques, oui?" Jean chuckled, "I am sure that you are. Return my call when you are able. Je t'aime, mari. Au revoir."

He moved onto the next one, pressing Play like a starving man presented with a feast. It was from twenty-six days ago. The next, two months. Then five months, seven months, a year, a year and three months—back and back throughout their years together.

Jean's voice was music.

Jeremy listened to them all once, his mouth trembling as he fought to stay silent enough not to miss even a breath of his husband's speaking. He listened to them again, and he savored despite the falling of his silent tears. He crumpled to his knees the second time he listened to Jean sing him a lullaby on a recording from September of the year before. It had been Jeremy's first exy road trip without Jean by his side in ages, and he had admitted to having a hard time sleeping alone. Jean always helped when Jeremy needed it, in any way he could. He always took care of Jeremy in the most exquisite ways—but Jean couldn't do that anymore.

The other side of the bed would be cold for the rest of Jeremy's life.

He opened his eyes, and the remnants of his husband were everywhere: Jean's aftershave on the vanity, his toothbrush in the cupholder, the charger for his razor dangling from the socket. There were the towels he had chosen folded over the rack Jean had hung himself. There were the candles Jean had placed around the tub's edge that they used to light before resting in the water together, where they spent hours dreaming, and dreaming, and dreaming aloud of the future they had forever to plan for. The future they'd live through together, loving each other every day.

Relics of a life unlived, now nothing more than lifeless artifacts.

It was only the knowledge that Kevin would be back with Jackie soon that motivated Jeremy to uncurl from the fetal position and peel himself off the floor. He stripped down where he stood, tossing his phone atop the pile of clothes. The bathwater was chilled, but Jeremy didn't hesitate as he stepped into it—because it didn't matter. So much didn't matter anymore.

How many baths had he wasted, taking them alone? How many hours had he sacrificed by sleeping-in when Jean got up early? How much time had he lost on stupid chores and meaningless errands and evenings with other family and friends? How many days had Jeremy sacrificed by playing for the Knights last season after Jean retired, or by being away when Jean spent his final year at USC? How many memories had he never formed by doing none of that—by not seeing how precious and temporary his entire fucking life was—by not appreciating the perfection that he inhabited every day with Jean by his side?

Even as he thought it, Jeremy knew it was hindsight eating away at him, because he had appreciated it. He had felt it, and he had told Jean every day that he was thankful for him—just as he told him every day that he loved him. That didn't lessen the sting of missed opportunities though, because it should've been more. He should've told Jean how loved he was more, he should've kissed and hugged him more, he should've made Jean laugh and smile more, Jeremy should've talked to him more and spent more time with him—but especially after Jackie came along.

It was because it had been perfect that Jeremy knew just how much was lost, and how completely it was hopeless now in the aftermath.

Jeremy sank beneath the cold water and held his breath. He held it and held it until he was made dizzy by the lack of oxygen in his blood... And then he kept holding it.

He didn't want to die. He knew that.
Not with how it would leave Jackie fatherless, not with how it would force a greater, unchosen burden onto Kevin's shoulders.

But Jeremy did want it to stop.

Just... the world.

He wanted to pretend it wasn't there, even if only for a minute. He wanted to pretend that, if he resurfaced, it would be back into the life where he didn't have a dead husband and an empty bed and a ring without a match.

Jeremy burst out of the water with a heaving gasp, sputtering and coughing as bathwater slipped down his throat and into his lungs.

Jean's ring. His wedding band. Where was it? Did Kevin have it safely stowed somewhere? Did the hospital have it, or the funeral home? Had the cremation already happened? Where... Where was Jean?

It was shameful to think of how much he didn't know as the questions bombarded him, but it hurt worse to not consider it all than it did to block it out. His husband was out there... No, his husband's remains were out there somewhere, and Jeremy didn't know a single detail of it other than the wishes Jean had expressed on that one sheet of paper. All that Jean was physically still in the world was just out there, and Jeremy felt a frantic desperation clawing its way through his skin to know the answers.

He scrambled out of the tub, his feet slipping dangerously against the tile in his haste and his body still unwashed, to grab one of the towels hanging nearby. He threw it around his hips to cover himself as he ran out of the bedroom, a dripped trail of lavender-scented water in his wake. Jeremy didn't even know if Kevin was back, hadn't even thought to question it, before he came upon him in the living room.

Kevin was sitting back on his heels in the middle of the space, his hair soaked flat with sweat and his shirt darkened with it, as he tucked one edge of Jackie's swaddling blanket beneath the baby's back. He froze though at the sight of Jeremy, his expression turning concerned.

"What's—?" Kevin began.

"Jean's wedding ring," Jeremy babbled in his panic. "His ring. Where is it? Do you have it?"

"No," Kevin answered. Jeremy made a small, wounded sound, the panic escalating, but Kevin quickly added, "It's alright. I know where it is. The funeral home has it, and everything else he went to the hospital with. We'll get it all back when we pick up his ashes."

"He's...," Jeremy started to ask, swallowing before continuing, "The cremation's done?"

"Yeah."

"When?"

"Sunday."

The first day I spent in bed.

"I was planning to tell you about it later, after you had time to clean up and maybe eat something," Kevin said gently. "We can go pick up his urn and stuff tomorrow anytime after ten." He paused, then added, "I can go by myself too. The pick-up won't take me long, and you can stay here with Jackie. Everything's done, all the paperwork and bullshit, so I'll be in and out."

"When did you have time for all that?" Jeremy asked.

But what he meant was: How can you do all of this? Where do you find the energy, the focus, the strength to move and do and take care of it all when I can't?

"Does it matter?" Kevin replied simply, without judgement. "The point is that it's done and there's nothing for you to worry about."

"There's a lot to worry about," Jeremy muttered, under his breath but not enough to be unheard.

"Not today," Kevin insisted. "Today is about washing the oil out of your hair, eating solid food that you keep in your stomach, and spending an hour on the back patio."

"The patio?" Jeremy asked.

"It came to me on my run," Kevin said, glancing at Jackie then back to Jeremy as he spoke. "You're like him, like a plant or something. You don't want to go on a walk? Fine. But you need time outside, and you haven't had any in weeks. You need sun."

Mon soleil.

The so-familiar phrase arose in his mind with startling suddenness, spoken in that cherished voice and causing Jeremy's breath to catch so viciously that he coughed with a harsh seize, the water in his lungs reminding him of his earlier haste. Jeremy swallowed down the coughing as quickly as he could, as he did the words themselves too.

He was going to have to get better at that. He couldn't break down every time somebody said 'sun' or 'husband'. He couldn't fall apart when his sister spoke French.

It had been a long time since Jeremy truly thought about how resilient Jean was, despite it being a foundational piece of him. In that moment, Jeremy couldn't think of a trait he wanted (needed) to emulate more.

"I want to go with you to get his ashes," Jeremy said. "I... I'll call Mama today and ask her to keep Jackie for a little while tomorrow. We can pick him up and scatter Jean right after."

Kevin frowned. "You should consider that more before deciding. There's no rush."

"He wouldn't wanna be kept in a jar, Kevin. Not in the dark, you know that."

Kevin looked away, his attention turning back to the half-swaddled infant before him as Jackie mouthed at the side of his small fist. Jeremy watched as Kevin returned to the process while he spoke.

"Still," Kevin said patiently, "Just give it some thought, that's all. We'll do whatever you want tomorrow."

Despite speaking only two sentences, Kevin completed the swaddling by the time he was through. It was absurdly efficient, much more than Jeremy's own progress with it, as if Kevin had years of experience rather than days. He picked Jackie up, cradling him to his chest as the baby kept his one free hand pressed to his lips, and stood carefully with his gaze back on Jeremy.

"Go wash your hair," Kevin continued, "It sounds stupid, but it'll help, at least a little."

Jeremy nodded, taking a deep breath as he turned back to the hallway toward the bedroom. He had to clear his throat with a single rough cough though, thanks to that deep breath, and Kevin's voice made him pause after a step.

"And don't hold your breath underwater like that," Kevin said firmly. "You'll make yourself sick with that shit in your lungs."

"How'd you know I did?" Jeremy asked hesitantly, his back toward the room. The question felt like an admittance to something more, like some kind of dark guilt.

"I'd rather not say."

Ah, the code. The Nest. Of course.

There was a certain tone of voice for each man when they spoke of that place, of those years, that Jeremy had learned over time. It came out in moments like these, when a memory was triggered, regardless of how long it had been or how dead the Moriyama organization was. Every time he heard it from either of them, it made Jeremy's chest constrict achingly. Now though, that meant he had to focus on not coughing again.

"It wasn't like that," Jeremy insisted, needing Kevin to know it even if he didn't turn around to face him.

I'm not dangerous. Don't worry. I won't kill myself. Don't worry. It wasn't like that, I swear. Don't worry.

"I didn't say it was," Kevin said softly. "I know you wouldn't do that to them."

Jeremy closed his eyes for a moment. Despite so many great romances ending in such ways, with the remaining lover wishing for death, that wasn't what Jeremy wished for.

He wanted his life back, even though that was impossible.

He didn't want to die; it was just too hard to think about how to live in this world now. And even if he did want to die, it wasn't an option with Jackie to think about. It wasn't an option when Jean's memory needed to be treasured. And, even though he'd used 'them' as if he wasn't part of it, death wasn't an option when it meant leaving Kevin alone with a child he hadn't signed up for and the ghosts of two dead friends to haunt him.

Jeremy didn't speak on that though, choosing only to nod a final time before leaving the room. He was just...tired, despite literal days of sleep, and he couldn't bring himself to step back into the tub with its too-cold water and Kevin's voice in his mind. Jeremy unplugged the drain and got into the standing shower instead. Jean had picked the deep plum tile when they remodeled it soon after moving-in (entertained by the color name of 'Jungle Nights'), along with the rainfall ceiling shower-head high above Jeremy now.

He couldn't decide which broke him more: forcing himself to empty his mind into blankness, or remembering the moments shared there in their myriad variations.

Remembering is always better than forgetting.

Jeremy heard Kevin's words in his mind, turning them over and over as he washed himself so many times that his skin felt rubbed raw by the effort and his scalp burned from the scrape of his nails.

When he stepped out of the shower, it was no longer the body that had been with Jean in the end. Every trace of the hospital was gone now, every inch of skin that Jean had touched sloughed away with soap and sorrow.

Even the most basic tasks took too much out of him. Jeremy ran a comb through a fourth of his hair before abandoning the task. He didn't open the tub of thick vanilla-scented lotion. He didn't pick up his dirty clothes. He knew he needed to brush his teeth, the texture of them fuzzy against his tongue and the taste of his being sick still lingering at the edges, but it felt like the sort of thing that required a full checklist to accomplish.

Get toothpaste from cabinet. Uncap tube. Pick up toothbrush. Wet it. Squeeze tube. Set down toothpaste. Lift arm. Move wrist. Take care of yourself even if it's pointless, breathe even if you don't want to. Don't look in the mirror. Don't. You'll regret it.

And Jeremy didn't. He focused on brushing his teeth, fanatically counting each stroke—one, two, three, four—clinging to the numbers like a lifeline, like air he might forget how to breathe, like he could keep himself from wandering and losing time by doing so. He didn't look in the mirror before he left the bathroom. Not even the smallest of glances.

He didn't want to know the face of the Jeremy Knox who existed after Jean Knox.

He didn't want to risk falling into the endless pit of that doppelgänger's eyes, the hopeless vastness there that held none of the love Jeremy used to think of as his for a lifetime.

Chapter Text

The door to the private, small reception room clicked softly as it closed behind Kevin, leaving Jeremy alone. He was thankful for the moment to himself, as well as not having to deal with whatever final paperwork the two men had been discussing. Those details felt so inconsequential compared to what sat before him on the cloth-draped table.

Jeremy reached out with trembling fingers, hesitating at the last moment before brushing his touch tenderly against the urn's surface.

"Bonjour, ma lune," he whispered aloud, the words hanging in the stillness of the room with the only other sound being the background electrical hum of the overhead lights. The room had a pantomime quality to it, a luxuriant artificiality that didn't mock mourning so much as played at the trappings of it. The faint smell of lilies from a nearby vase lingered in the air, but despite the tranquil surroundings, the language tasted like lies on his tongue.

"I'm gonna take you home today," he continued. "Well, I think so. I could go ahead and take you to our spot, but I don't think I can yet. I need some time with you first, okay? Just a little. I won't keep you in there too long. I know you wouldn't like it."

Jeremy knew he should feel worse about talking to a jar of ash, but he didn't. There was a strange comfort in pretending Jean could hear him, in speaking to the husband who no longer had a body to respond.

"Jackie's doing alright. He... He misses you. I can tell he's looking for you." Jeremy swallowed thickly. "I wish... I wish he'd said 'Papa' for you, but I'm gonna teach him how to with your picture. You'll still get to hear it, you know, if you're out there somewhere."

He wished he had some kind of belief in a higher being to give him comfort. Jeremy longed for the steadying conviction of a community that would reassure him Jean was waiting for him and that they'd be together again. The Knoxes had never been church folk, but Jeremy thought that kind of faith would be really nice in a moment like this.

"Let's, uh...," he muttered, reaching for the box sitting beside the urn, "Let's see what they left us, huh?"

He lifted the lid and set it aside, focusing on finding the one item the director had promised was at the top. Jeremy quickly spotted the velvet bag, easily visible just as described, and the sight of it soothed some of the anxiety tightening his chest. He picked it up and pulled the drawstrings with a rushed yank. When he tipped the bag into his palm, the familiar weight of metal touched his skin.

Jean's wedding band.

Jeremy stared at it for a moment, then dropped the bag in favor of running his finger along the dark silver curve before reaching for his neck. He'd dug through their bedroom earlier that morning for an empty chain (though he couldn't remember buying it or why he had), and it felt right to slip Jean's ring onto it. The dark metal was cold against his skin at first, a harsh reminder of the warmth Jean would never offer again, and the way the weight of it settled on his chest, heavy and comforting all at once, felt like the final breath of a man he would never see again.

It hurt, and it felt right.

Jeremy made a mental note to get a better one soon, a stronger chain that didn't feel so fragile against his skin, but it was good enough for now. The solidity of it against his chest was grounding in a world made only of sorrow's shifting sands.

If Jean couldn't wear his ring, Jeremy would.

He stood motionless for a long minute and let the ring settle against him, feeling its presence there anchor him to the reality of what had happened. For a moment, he didn't know what to do next but, when the feeling of numbness began to creep back in, his hands moved instinctively, reaching for the other items of the box.

Jean's clothes were there too, the same ones he'd worn during his last day at home, and Jeremy wrinkled his nose as he pulled them out to examine them. The fabric was stiff, the shirt cut along the side—likely by someone in the ER to access Jean's body quickly—and it all smelled like the airless, too-clean room of those final days. The clothes at home—the dirty laundry, the things Jeremy had wrapped up in the closet to preserve the smell—were so much better. He knew it wouldn't last, but he wanted to try. Jeremy wanted to save as much of Jean as he could for as long as he could. Even now, he was wearing one of Jean's t-shirts under his husband's jacket. The shoulders were too wide and the sleeves too long, but Jeremy couldn't have cared less.

He found Jean's wallet beneath the clothes, surprised (and not) that he hadn't noticed it was missing. Jeremy thumbed through the contents, pausing over Jean's USC student ID, which he'd kept even after graduation. The picture showed his husband as he had been in those early weeks in California: the dark, wavy hair more mop than anything, the '3' tattoo (the one he'd had removed before their wedding) still visible beneath his eye. There were other photographs too—small, two-by-three snapshots of them over the years and some recent ones of Jackie. It wasn't unusual for Jean to ask Jeremy to reprint something he'd captured with his camera, shrinking it to fit in Jean's wallet.

'I enjoy knowing I have your smile in my pocket.'

The memory in Jean's voice wasn't enough to coax a smile from Jeremy now.

He lingered over the most recent picture of Jackie, a close-up of the child's cheerful face, with sparkling blue eyes and a grin that seemed to radiate warmth. He and Jean had never spent a day apart until now. From the moment they brought their son home, it was always Papa and Jackie, always a together pair. Jeremy had been a distant second in that respect, gone so often, busy with meaningless things.

His lungs seized at the thought of how little Jackie had now in his life, of how much the three-month-old had lost without even understanding the gaping hole now at the center of their family. Jackie would never understand it. He wouldn't have any memories of Jean. The realization of it was like icy hands wrapping around Jeremy's throat.

"Don't," he told himself, his voice barely above a whisper as panic began to press in on him.

The tension hit him with a full-bodied tautness sharp enough to almost groan against, if he'd had the air to do so. He couldn't afford another panic attack now, not after the one yesterday that had broken him so badly. He couldn't lose his breath again, not alone.

I have to be fine, he told himself, but the thought felt like a lie. It was a lie because Kevin said not to do so but it was such a flimsy foothold as his heart hammered in his chest. He wanted to believe it, he was desperate to believe it, to convince himself that he could hold it together for someone. But the infinite weight of it—of forever failing, of never being enough again—felt like a crushing burden he wasn't sure he could carry much longer.

Still, he couldn't give in. Not when he was already failing in so many other ways: not taking care of Jackie, not holding up his end with Kevin, not keeping his promise to Jean...

"Stop," he gasped, his hands trembling as he squeezed them together in a desperate attempt to steady himself. Please, stop. I need to breathe. His lungs refused, and he felt the icy grip tightening further again. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ground himself.

I can't lose it now. Not here.

But then, it came.

You are safe, mon amour. Just breathe.

Jean.

Jean's voice.

Jeremy knew it was only in his mind, that it was he himself conjuring it, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter at all when Jean sounded so real, when it was love in every syllable, and the frozen grip on Jeremy's lungs loosened just enough.

It is not real, Jer. I wish it were, as you do. It is alright if you need it for now.

Tears filled Jeremy's eyes behind his closed lids, his voice shaking weakly as he said aloud between ragged breaths, "I'm always, always gonna need it. Need you. Oh God, I... Love, I can't—"

You can and you are. Just breathe, mon soleil.

Jeremy nodded to himself, forcing the breathing technique over his body, resting his hand against his chest and pretending it was another's. It was a struggle to keep the count right, to hold the breath at the top for long enough and let it out loudly, but it slowly began to work. Even in the midst of it, Jeremy felt the first tendril of relief wrap around his heart.

He could hear him, even if it was imaginary.

It was the closest Jean had felt since it all began. Jeremy could picture him now with a clarity that surpassed the fleeting visions of Jean that only appeared in his dreams—dreams that dissipated too quickly, leaving only the sharp sting of loss in their wake. Now, as he stood calm with even breaths, his eyes closed and Jean's voice in his mind, Jeremy could feel Jean standing there beside him—the heat of his nearby body, the gentleness of his breath, and the weight a room carried when they were alone together...

"Jeremy."

It was a different voice that cut through the stillness, real and present, from right beside him. A different body, but one that still held warmth and weight, one with a different cadence of breath but was still gentle too. Someone different, but someone who was still there, despite everything.

Jeremy opened his eyes to Kevin peering down at him, the barest space between them as Kevin examined his face with furrowed brows. There he was, just as he had been—attentive, not suffocating; taking care, not overbearing. Jeremy didn't deserve it—not the kindness nor the devoted friendship of a man so good. Not when he still found himself wishing, in his loneliest moments, that he'd been the one in that hospital bed instead.

Even if he didn't deserve it though, he was so grateful for Kevin—for Jackie's sake, but (selfishly) his own too. He was grateful for the way Kevin's voice, his presence, seemed to pull him back from the edge of the emptiness that threatened to swallow him whole. He was grateful for Kevin's hand on his shoulder just as it was then, right at the crook of his neck. Kevin's calloused thumb rose and fell in a soft sweep against Jeremy's skin and he was warm—warm when Jeremy himself was nothing but cold.

"He's here," Jeremy said softly. He didn't explain what he meant because he knew Kevin understood.

Kevin nodded, "He is. Let's get him out of here."

Kevin's gaze flicked to the base of Jeremy's throat and, before Jeremy could wonder what caught his attention, he felt Kevin's hand shift against the necklace. Kevin looked at him, pressing a fingertip to the thin strand with a quiet question in his eyes. Jeremy nodded, unable to put words to the weight of it—the metal against his skin, the final connection to Jean, a piece of him that Jeremy could carry with him always—but he didn't have to because he saw it reflected back at him in Kevin's expression.

Kevin gingerly pulled the necklace free from the t-shirt's collar, just enough to see the ring dangling from it, and his green eyes softened noticeably at the sight. There was that too to be thankful for—Kevin's blatant and clearly-read expressions. The way his emotions were so obvious when he didn't withhold himself. It'd been oddly easy to read Kevin, Jeremy thought, even from early in their friendship. Kevin was slow and very rare to trust (understandably so) but, when he did, he hid so little from those who had it. Jeremy was honored to be one of those few. And, Jeremy was grateful for it too now in a different way than ever before—it was easier not to feel the need to pretend when Kevin didn't in the slightest.

"That's perfect," Kevin whispered.

"I thought so," Jeremy agreed.

Kevin gently returned the ring beneath Jeremy's collar, the metal securely back against his chest, and leaned over to pick up the box of Jean's other items. Jeremy was relieved in some way that Kevin had left the urn for him to carry as they reentered the searing light of the parking lot minutes later.

Though Kevin insisted that spending time outdoors would be good for him, Jeremy found himself hating the sun more with each passing day. He trusted his friend's advice, but the warmth felt more like a reminder of everything he'd lost rather than any sort of comfort.

__________

Kevin glanced aside as he drove away from the funeral home, his heart sinking at the sight of Jeremy cradling the urn protectively to his chest. The way he'd been standing before it when Kevin returned to the reception room—close-eyed and motionless, so lost within himself that he hadn't even turned the first time Kevin said his name—worried him immensely. But then, so much about Jeremy worried him after the past few days.

If anything, Jackie was somehow the easier of the two to care for, and Kevin hated it. He'd hated those hours (days) of pacing, debating what to do with Jeremy's mindless refusal to get out of bed, with the panic attack that Kevin wasn't sure Jeremy would truly overcome, with the loud, shattering heartbreak of his sobbing that had drawn Kevin to the tiny half-bath beyond the kitchen. And Christ, the terror that had overtaken Jeremy entirely when he bolted out of the bath still dripping wet—? Kevin felt the lingering fear in his own blood hours after that conversation ended, especially with the sound of Jeremy's waterlogged cough burned into his mind.

"It's pretty," Jeremy said, nonsensically, as they turned onto the interstate, pulling Kevin from his spiraling thoughts.

"What?" Kevin asked, distracted as another car cut too close. He cursed under his breath, yanking the wheel sharply to avoid a collision. Fuck, LA drivers truly were the worst in the entire goddamn country (in Kevin's absolutely correct opinion).

"The urn."

Oh. Honestly, Kevin barely remembered choosing it from the funeral home's emailed options last week. Its deep sapphirine marbling, accented by dark gray stone, had a certain quality that reminded him of Jackie's eyes, he supposed—though, now that he looked more closely, it was a touch paler than Jackie's bright gaze. Maybe that was why.

"I'm glad you think so," Kevin said, because he couldn't think of anything else to say and because he needed his full attention for the road.

With LA's jammed, chaotic traffic—and given that Kevin rarely drove, thanks to being able to walk to his training stadium—he made a point not to let his mind drift while behind the wheel. The interstate wound snake-like through the county's outer hills, the scrubby San Rafaels rising on one side and the city sprawled like a concrete blanket on the other. Nearly half an hour passed in silence before Jeremy spoke again, just as Kevin reached their exit.

"There's a certain day I wanna scatter his ashes," Jeremy said.

"Which one?" Kevin asked, relieved to be back on quieter streets.

"May third."

Kevin turned the date over in his mind. May third was a little over a week from then, and he wondered what significance it held to make it Jeremy's choice. Regardless, if it was what Jeremy wanted, then it was what they would do. It wasn't as if Kevin had a deadline—except that he did.

He hadn't lied yesterday when he told Jeremy he'd stay as long as needed, not entirely. The Sirens didn't start training camp in Chicago until mid-June, though Kevin always began his independent regime much sooner (as in, he typically would have begun already). So yes—he'd stay as long as Jeremy needed...to a point.

But he hadn't appreciated the deadline until now, until watching Jeremy's brokenness unfold in real-time yesterday. What if he hadn't been here for that? The possibility of Jeremy needing support and Kevin's not being there was worse than living it beside him.

Every day though stretched Kevin's own wound a little wider—a wound separate from the tragedy they lived in now. A wound only exy could create—or the lack of it. It was lesser of course by far but still pressing, contributing to the discomfort in his own skin day-by-day. These couple of weeks were the longest he'd voluntarily gone without stepping onto a court in... Well, ever. Even when he came to LA each summer, he and Jeremy always used the Knights' stadium with the head coach's blessing. They'd done so just days before... all of this.

As it was, Kevin did his best not to think on it. He'd dodged two calls from his hellish head coach (knowing there would be no condolences, or even basic sympathy) by handing them off to Gavin, who was under strict orders not to bother Kevin unless it was an emergency. Kevin pushed himself hard on his daily runs with Jackie—something he intended to make a twice-daily event for the sake of his sanity—and spent nights doing bodyweight training in the guest room while the baby slept.

It wasn't nearly enough to quell the growing, gnawing itch inside him, but he didn't have a choice on two fronts: Even if he had a stadium nearby, Kevin didn't like the idea of leaving Jeremy alone for hours at a time. His lengthy runs were already...trying for Jeremy to endure. A full training session? Out of the question. And he certainly wasn't going to mention it. Exy was too fraught a topic—too tied to the past, and to the future.

"Aren't you gonna ask why that day?" Jeremy asked, startling Kevin from his thoughts.

It was worrying, how quickly Kevin had grown accustomed to Jeremy's silence. Never in their friendship had Jeremy needed so much prompting to talk—and Kevin hated that too.

He should have known he'd lose them both if one of them died. He just hadn't thought it through, hadn't needed to...because neither of them were ever supposed to go first. They weren't supposed to die—not before he did. It had always been an unconscious acceptance of fact, until now.

"I wondered," Kevin admitted, slowing at a red light. "Figured you'd tell me if you wanted to."

He glanced over. Jeremy wasn't looking at the urn anymore—he was looking at Kevin.

This new Jeremy was... 'different' didn't begin to cover it. Sorrow hung at the corners of his mouth, grief dulled his gaze into perpetual flatness, the weight of loss bowed his shoulders and hollowed his frame as much as his lack of appetite. Even with Jackie, Jeremy barely seemed anchored to the world, and Kevin had yet to see the faintest trace of a smile.

He didn't expect to anytime soon.

Jeremy was no longer the blazing, radiant sun Jean had once called him—the emblem of his captaincy, both in college and the pros. Now he was something quieter: a burnished, shadowed gold, like sunlight gone to rust or jewelry tarnished by unkind age. No less precious. Just...dimmed. Kevin had teasingly called him 'sunshine' over the years, a friendly mockery that had always contrasted Jean's sweeter endearment in French. Realizing he might never say it again, might never see Jeremy smile back at him in response to it, was another loss in a sky already too dark.

"It's the day you sent him to me," Jeremy said softly.

Kevin's world tilted.

Behind him, the driver honked angrily when Kevin missed the light changing to green. He jammed the accelerator, jumping them forward.

May third—the day Jean boarded a plane in South Carolina. When he left and Kevin gave him no reason to stay. When they were barely on speaking terms and Kevin was too ashamed to try mending what he'd ruined between them. When Jean was still carrying the marks from Riko's near-fatal beating and was still broken in more ways than body. When Jean was a shell of the man he would become.

And, May third—the day that same plane landed in California, and Jeremy Knox stood at the gate to welcome Jean Moreau home.

Kevin had heard the story of that first meeting from both sides over the years, but he wasn't sure if the date had ever come up.

"We used to kinda celebrate it," Jeremy continued. "Not like a real holiday. Just a quiet thing. Jean... He cooked me dinner that first time, to mark the occasion. It kinda stuck after that. Every year."

Nine years of life with him. Not enough, but more than enough too.

Jean's words, in his own voice, slid through Kevin's mind, as sharp and fresh as the day he said them.

Kevin gripped the steering wheel tightly, his jaw clenched.

What a fucking waste.

Jeremy only got nine years—and he'd made the most of every goddamn day. He'd given Jean the life he should've had all along.

But what had Kevin done? He'd wasted more than double that time. He'd lived in hell with Jean, let him suffer, left him there. Then he'd handed him off to Jeremy out of shame, not even trying to reach out to Jean until Jeremy encouraged him to. For fuck's sake, Kevin hadn't just wasted time—he'd stolen it. Stolen Jean's life, same as the failing liver had. Maybe worse.

How dare he think he was worthy of being called Jean's brother? Of being the one left to care for Jean's family?

Kevin startled sharply when Jeremy's hand wrapped around his wrist—solid and unbearably warm—making Kevin's breath hitch hard.

"It's alright," Jeremy said softly—opposite of his firm grip. "Whatever you're thinking, you're wrong."

"You don't know that," Kevin said, hating how thin and weak his voice sounded.

"I know what you look like when you're beating yourself up," Jeremy said, tightening his hold to the edge of pain. "So stop it. If I'm not allowed to, neither are you. Life's beating us up enough already. We don't need to help it."

Kevin swallowed thickly and gave a single, jerky nod. It wasn't bullshit, what he was thinking—but it wasn't helpful right now either.

He could drown himself in the truth of his failures later, when he was alone. Right now, he couldn't afford to, because he wasn't.

Jeremy kept his hand there for the rest of the drive, silent and steady. Kevin didn't dare move. It felt too much like a lifeline, too much like something that might vanish if he shifted wrong and he needed it not to. Just for a little while. It wasn't until they pulled into the driveway that Jeremy let go.

When they got inside, Kevin touched Jeremy's elbow lightly, giving a wordless nod toward the back door, and it was a relief when Jeremy followed without argument. Kevin stepped outside first and sank down to sit on the edge of the patio, stretching his long legs into the grass. He looked over his shoulder to find Jeremy lingering just one step out the sliding door, then patted the space beside him.

"We've got time before they bring Jackie back," Kevin said softly. "Let's sit with him for a little while." He turned his face up into the sun, staring into its full blaze even as his eyes watered fiercely. "He liked days like this."

Kevin waited.

He doubted Jeremy would refuse—not with how anxious he'd been the past day—but sitting outside seemed to trigger something odd in him that Kevin couldn't quite pin down. Still, the fresh air was good for him so Kevin didn't offer comfort or an easy out; Jeremy wasn't allowed to hide, not even from the sun, not on Kevin's watch. He simply closed his eyes against the sharp light and waited, silent, until finally he heard a faint shuffle of footsteps and the creak of wood.

Kevin rolled his head toward the sound and opened his eyes, finding that Jeremy had sat down beside him at last. His flat brown eyes gazed out across the empty backyard, seeming not the blink beneath the sun's glare. Between them rested the urn, the stone a brilliant ultra-blue where the light caught it, and Jeremy's fingertips brushed the base as if he couldn't quite bear to stop touching it. Kevin reached out too, letting his finger drift across the slowly-warming stone, before turning his face back up to the sky again, trying to enjoy the light enough for the three of them.

For a while, there was something like peace—just the three of them and the easy hush of breeze-swept air—until a voice carried out from inside the house.

"¿Mis niños?" Miranda called, her voice gentle even as she raised it.

"Outside," Kevin answered, rising easily to his feet while Jeremy stayed where he was, still resting his fingers on the urn.

Kevin didn't force a smile when Miranda appeared in the doorway with Jackie in her arms, but he nodded and accepted her hug when she offered it.

"Did everything go alright?" she asked him.

"Fine," Kevin said.

Jackie babbled brightly in her arms, smiling gummily up at him, and Kevin reached out to brush a hand over the baby's soft hair—both in greeting to him and in relief at having the child returned to them. He glanced briefly over his shoulder to the silent figure on the porch, then back to Miranda.

"Is Ricky inside?" he asked, wanting to give Jeremy a little space now that he was finally letting visitors near him again. It felt important for mother and son to have a moment of their own without his hovering.

Miranda nodded. "He's in the kitchen putting things away. We brought dinner for you two." She leaned in a little and added more quietly, "And the recipes you wanted, just in case."

"Thanks," Kevin said.

When they'd dropped Jackie off earlier, he had asked Miranda for copies of instructions for a few simple meals. Kevin wasn't much of a cook (by any stretch of the imagination), but he could read directions and wield a knife. Making something edible couldn't be more difficult than what he'd picked up to take care of Jackie, he guessed. Besides, Kevin didn't want to rely on Miranda bringing dinner every day while she was grieving too, and there was no telling how long it would be before Jeremy felt like stepping foot in a kitchen again.

"I'll go help him," Kevin said, casually moving toward the open door—

"Kevin!"

Shit. He'd forgotten about that.

He spun immediately at the fearful call of his name, finding Jeremy's wide, stricken eyes fixed on him—the urn forgotten in the spike of his panic. Kevin's heart jolted hard, his body reacting instinctively before he even understood the cause. He did know what it was though, he should've remembered, and he chided himself for doing so as he closed the distance in a few long strides, crouching low and reaching out to settle his hand at the crook of Jeremy's neck.

Kevin didn't know why that particular touch helped, only that it did—and that was enough. Jeremy leaned into him with a shuddering breath, resting his forehead against Kevin's chest, his hands fisting tightly into the fabric of Kevin's shirt. Kevin cradled him there, lowering himself to his knees with his other arm moving to wrap around Jeremy's bowed back. He ached at the smallness of him. Kevin bent his head to speak quietly against Jeremy's hair where it tickled his cheek.

"It's okay, Jeremy," Kevin murmured, rubbing his thumb in slow, steady strokes along the now-familiar stretch of skin. "I'm just going into the kitchen with your dad. I'll leave the door open, if you want. Or I'll stay here. Whatever you need. It's alright."

"How'd... how'd you know?" Jeremy whispered.

Kevin hesitated. He didn't want to admit it, in case Jeremy felt the need to hide it.

"Every time I've gone to leave a room since your shower yesterday, you freeze up. And when I'm around, you watch me like a hawk," Kevin said quietly. "Same with Jackie. But it's okay. It'll get easier."

Ever since Jeremy's shower the day before, it had been like this—the opposite of how he'd shut himself up in the nursery before. It started with Jeremy's panicked insistence that Kevin stay outside with him, instead of leaving him alone on the patio. Jeremy had followed Kevin into the nursery to check on Jackie, sat at the kitchen counter without blinking while Kevin prepped the baby's afternoon bottle, shadowed him through every room, every moment.

It wasn't uncomfortable to Kevin but the constant, twitchy awareness of Jeremy was startling in its newness and completeness.

Kevin had almost apologized when he took Jackie for a second run at dusk. He nearly had when they came back to find Jeremy watching for them through the blinds, waiting by the front door so close that Kevin nearly hit him with it.

And Jeremy hadn't even said anything. He'd just looked up at Kevin, those wide eyes empty of everything but fear. It was the only emotion to break through the flatness.

That was why Kevin took the shortest shower of his life after that run, and then had invented a reason to sleep on the couch that night, even though it'd been Jeremy's turn with the baby. Kevin didn't want to risk some kind of breakdown by placing himself out of sight while it was so obvious Jeremy needed him close. And Jeremy hadn't called him out on the transparent excuse either. He hadn't asked why Kevin started to warn him before leaving a room, explaining himself as casually as he could force his voice to be—which he'd forgotten before going to the kitchen just now.

The only time Jeremy hadn't panicked when Kevin walked away was at the funeral home—and Kevin suspected it was only the promise of retrieving Jean that had kept him calm.

"I...," Jeremy began, his voice muffled against Kevin's chest. "I'll be okay. But...leave the door open? A little?"

Kevin squeezed him gently. "Sure."

"Thanks."

"I'm gonna let go now," Kevin said, slow and careful.

He felt Jeremy nod against him and eased back, though he kept one hand steady at Jeremy's neck for a moment longer. Slow releases seemed to work best, ever since the panic attack.

"You need anything from the kitchen?" Kevin asked, "You haven't eaten. I've got a shake prepped."

"I ate lunch before we left," Jeremy said.

"You took a few bites of lunch," Kevin countered.

He appreciated that Jeremy had kept something down, but it wasn't enough. Not nearly. Jean's old clothes—already too big—hung off him now in a gaping way, the sharp hollowness impossible to miss with Jeremy always within sight.

"I heard Mama say there was dinner," Jeremy said. "I'll eat, I promise. Actually eat. As much as I can, anyway."

"Good enough," Kevin acquiesced, pushing himself up slowly.

He lingered a moment longer, catching Jeremy's gaze tracking him the whole way up. Kevin's hand twitched at his side, almost in a move to reach out again, but he clenched it into a fist and turned toward the house.

It was hard to walk away. But Kevin forced himself to, even with the heavy pull of Jeremy's eyes at his back, dragging at him like gravity.

"Is there anything I can do?" Miranda whispered when he reached her again.

"Just be there," Kevin said and she nodded, understanding without needing anything more from him. She stepped forward toward her son, with her grandson in her arms, and Kevin slipped inside.

There was no real break to be had. With the kitchen being right there, Ricky Knox looked over from where he stood by the sink as soon as Kevin stepped in.

"What was all that about?" Ricky asked, nodding toward the window above the sink. Both the patio and backyard were in full view from there.

"He gets scared if Jackie or I are out of sight," Kevin said.

"I thought he was stuck in the nursery or bed," Ricky said, half a question.

"It's new." Kevin sighed, feeling the weight of it settle deeper in his chest. "Probably not a good development, but I'll take it compared to the alternative. The only time he's been okay alone was when we first saw the urn at the funeral home."

Ricky turned back to the window, squinting through the glass. "You picked a good one."

"Jeremy likes it," Kevin said. "Honestly, I couldn't have told you what it looked like before today. I got lucky he approves."

"I doubt he's got the energy to disapprove of much right now. He's not in his right mind to handle anything—even something simple as that." Ricky studied him, his dark eyes still clear and steady, a sharp contrast to Jeremy's hollow ones even though they were the same color, "Mir and I can't tell you enough how grateful we are for what you're doing."

"I promised Jean," Kevin said, letting the words stand for themselves.

"Yeah," Ricky said. "But you would've done it anyway. Our boys wouldn't love you like they do if you weren't a good egg. We've seen that plenty for ourselves over the years." He narrowed his eyes slightly—less suspicion, more understanding. "Don't let yourself burn out though. It's a lot, being a caregiver. We took in my dad after his stroke 'til he passed. Then my mom stayed with us after that 'til lung cancer got her in the end. Take it from someone who's lived it: this shit will eat you alive if you're not careful."

His voice softened, rough at the edges, but warm. "We're here for you too, kid. You need something—not just for Remy or Jackie—and you call us. No point trying to be a one-man army when you've got back-up."

Kevin nodded, a tight, grateful gesture that felt too small to express the weight of it all. He appreciated the offer more than he could say—but he knew he wouldn't take it. The Knoxes had their own losses to carry. And besides, Kevin had made the promise. He alone had to keep it. Still, it was a small relief, knowing there were people close if everything went wrong. More wrong.

"How's everyone else? The twins?" Kevin asked, trying to shift the weight off both of them.

"Kind of you to ask," Ricky said. "They're coping—some better than others. Shame they had to fly out, but you know how it is. Life doesn't stop moving."

"Unfortunately," Kevin said, honest as anything, and Ricky nodded.

"They said they'd come back if Remy decides on a memorial or something. We'd help too. Probably too much for him to deal with right now—and you've got your hands full already. Has he mentioned anything?"

Kevin shook his head. He'd already told them of Jean's wishes after reading the pseudo-will. Cremation. Only three people at the scattering. No formal service, unless Jeremy decided otherwise. Jean had been clear.

"No, but... I think it'd be good for him," Kevin said.

He glanced out toward the backyard again. He couldn't see them or hear much—only some murmured conversation and the occasional bright shriek from Jackie splitting the soft afternoon air—but he still felt the need to check.

"I don't know when he'll be ready," Kevin went on. "Small would be better, if he chooses to. Family, close friends. Maybe some of the guys from USC or LA. It'd... It'd help him remember Jean as living, I think."

"I'm guessing that's hard for him right now," Ricky said, quieter.

"I think every time he tries to, it just goes straight to the fact that he's gone."

Their conversation fell away as Jeremy and Miranda appeared in the doorway, stepping into the kitchen—the baby bundled close against Miranda's chest, and the urn cradled in Jeremy's hands.

Jeremy set it down gently on the countertop beside Kevin and stood there, looking up at him. His eyes were glassy, blurred with either fresh or unshed tears—but beneath it, Kevin caught the faintest flicker of something else.

Something small, something still alive, something fighting to surface through the fog.

"We're having arroz con pollo tonight," Jeremy said, his voice carrying an odd tone that seemed both frail and determined all at once. "It's Jean's favorite. We're gonna eat it and be thankful that he's home."

Kevin's gaze lingered on him, sensing the stubborn resolve in Jeremy's words, as though he were trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. It felt both fragile and desperate, but honestly, Kevin didn't care what they ate so long as Jeremy actually did eat—preferably less like a small bird, more like the professional athlete he was.

"We are," Kevin agreed softly, his voice steady, and Jeremy let out a breath, a subtle but noticeable release that softened his shoulders. "Do I need to cut something up or...?"

"I made it already," Miranda said, glancing toward Ricky as her husband moved to the fridge. "Along with a few other things to get you two through the next couple of days." Her gaze shifted to Jeremy as she added, her tone soft but firm, "My boys always eat well, don't they?"

Jeremy nodded, a movement that seemed to carry years of quiet understanding between them. Kevin felt the weight of that nod, and his own gratitude for it, as though Miranda's words reached something buried deep inside him. It was clear to anyone who knew Jeremy that he'd lost a dramatic amount of weight in the past few weeks, and it was likely even more obvious to his parents who hadn't seen him during that time.

Ricky set a large, shallow ceramic platter down on the kitchen island. The red stone, glistening beneath the plastic wrap, looked inviting, and Kevin found himself drawn to it.

"What is...?" Kevin began, unsure of how to even pronounce the Spanish words.

"Arroz con pollo," Miranda said slowly, almost reverently. "It translates to 'rice with chicken' but it's much more than that. It's a stew that you cook down until the rice soaks up all the goodness from the broth and sauce. Tomatoes, peppers, saffron, and there's a little smoky, spicy kick but not too much." The faintest smile curled at the corner of her lips. "It's my abuela's recipe—goes back even before her. She called it un abrazo en un tazón."

"A hug in a bowl," Ricky translated softly from beside him.

Kevin nodded, taking in the simplicity of the words and the weighty comfort behind them. He looked at Jeremy, feeling the familiar tension in the air, and asked quietly, "You want to eat now?"

Jeremy paused for a moment before shaking his head slowly. "Could we...?" He hesitated, then straightened, his voice steady again as he spoke with a quiet finality, "I'm going to make coffee and get some cookies out. It's the afternoon. La merienda."

Kevin blinked, the words unfamiliar to him, but he nodded all the same, moving toward the absurdly complex coffee machine. Unlike the warmer, this one had taken multiple attempts—both by reading the manual three times over and watching countless YouTube videos—before Kevin could get it to work right.

"You don't have to go through the trouble," Miranda said gently.

"It isn't," Kevin replied, already gathering the necessary items. He could tell Jeremy was making an effort, and that effort—however small—meant the world. It was important to keep this rhythm of normalcy, to keep moving forward, and it was more than worth it to see how Jeremy seemed to find a little something more to himself with his parents there.

There was a soft conversation behind him, entirely in Spanish, as Kevin worked. He had to admit, he was starting to get the hang of the language, at least in small bursts. That was the funny thing about languages—how much could be gleaned by the way things were said when the words themselves weren't understood.

In the days with only Jackie, Kevin had inspected every inch of the house—learning where everything was, where each item lived, how the cupboards were stocked. It had made things easier, made responding to Jackie's needs quicker, and now it helped in this moment too. Kevin moved efficiently, focused on his task and finding peace in the easy rhythm of his process.

"I got it," Jeremy said quietly, his presence at Kevin's side so sudden that Kevin nearly jumped. "I said I'd make it. I wasn't volunteering you to do everything."

"I went through the trouble of figuring this thing out," Kevin said, nodding to the coffee machine. "It's not a problem."

"I want to."

Kevin stepped back, not fully leaving Jeremy's space, but just enough to give him room to work. He leaned against the countertop, watching Jeremy as he prepared the coffee with a focus that bordered on meticulous and a clear difference from his usual ease in the kitchen. Kevin paid particular attention to the way Jeremy mixed his own drink, eyeing the amounts of sugar and cream, in an effort to memorize them. It was a small thing, Kevin knew, but it mattered. It mattered because it was a part of what Jean had done. What Jean had done for years, without fail, to care for Jeremy. And Kevin knew it was his responsibility now to continue that. He had yet to make Jeremy's coffee correctly and he was determined to do so the next time he attempted it.

Jeremy set four cups down on a tray before moving toward the pantry, rummaging through the overstuffed shelves. A long moment passed before he spoke again.

"Kevin? Can you...?" Jeremy's voice was tentative.

"What do you need?" Kevin asked, moving over to him.

Jeremy pointed to the top shelf. "Can you grab that purple box?"

Kevin glanced at the shelf, finding the box Jeremy referred to, and retrieved it without comment.

"Thanks," Jeremy said quietly, his fingers curling around the box. But instead of moving away, he stared at it, his gaze distant.

"I don't know why he put them up there," Jeremy whispered, his voice trembling slightly, "He knew I couldn't reach that shelf."

A long, heavy silence settled between them, thick with unspoken sorrow and the weight of everything left unsaid. Kevin, unable to ignore the grief in Jeremy's voice, reached out and laid a hand gently on his shoulder, letting the warmth of his touch say everything. Jeremy leaned into him, the awkwardness of the cookie box between them not even registering. For that moment, standing there in the doorway, Kevin couldn't have cared less as he wrapped his other arm around Jeremy's back.

If Jeremy needed a hug every day, if he needed ten, if he needed to be held for hours on end—even with a cookie box digging into Kevin's stomach—he would do it without hesitation. Kevin would stay there, offering whatever comfort he could, for as long as it was needed. He would never question it. He didn't then either.

"I'm okay," Jeremy murmured much later, his voice thick with quiet exhaustion. Whether two or ten minutes had passed, Kevin couldn't say.

"You don't have to be," Kevin replied softly, his hands still resting on Jeremy's back and neck.

"I know," Jeremy said, leaning back, his expression still tired but steadied. "You're good at letting me be like that too." His eyes found Kevin's, full of regretful sadness. "God, I haven't even thanked—"

"Don't."

Jeremy's eyes widened sharply at the interruption, but Kevin didn't feel an ounce of guilt for the bite of his tone. He couldn't stand the idea of Jeremy thanking him—not for any of it.

Being there with Jeremy and Jackie was the only thing that kept Kevin afloat. That was the truth of it.

Even with his itch to return to the court, even with the uncertainty of what Chicago and training might bring, even with the hole Jean had left, being able to focus on the Knoxes kept him grounded. It wasn't until Jeremy's anxiety surfaced the day before that Kevin had realized it, and he saw it too now in the moments he cared for Jackie. Even if Kevin himself didn't react the same way to being without them as Jeremy did, there was something immense and grounding to having the pair of them nearby, something that kept his own grief from turning as fully manic and destructive as it wanted to be. Without them, he would have broken—he couldn't stand the gnawing, vicious monster of his despair that seeped in when he didn't have one of them close.

He wouldn't tolerate being thanked for giving something that had become as much of a lifeline to him as it was to Jeremy.

"I don't understand," Jeremy said slowly, studying Kevin's face as though trying to piece him together.

"You don't need to," Kevin replied quietly, dropping his arms from around him. "C'mon. Coffee's probably cold."

Jeremy hesitated, and then nodded, stepping back to the tray. His brows furrowed as he placed the cookies on a plate, his movements slow and heavy with thought. He crumpled the plastic wrapping, sealing the box. For a long moment, he stood there, silent, his hands resting on the edge of the counter.

"What is it?" Kevin asked, sidling up next to him, ready for whatever moment—panic or tears or whatever—might come.

"I need you to promise me something," Jeremy said, his voice barely more than a murmur, his eyes fixed on the tray in front of him, unseeing.

"Anything," Kevin answered without hesitation.

"Stay as long as you can," Jeremy said, his voice cracking with an emotion Kevin had heard far too often in the last few days. "I know, I know you've got Chicago and training, and a whole life. But I... I need you here with me. As long as you can be. Please?" His eyes lifted, pleading, raw. "You're the only one who gets it. You make it... I don't have to pretend with you. It feels safer when you're here. Can you stay? Until you absolutely have to go?"

Kevin could never have denied him that—not with the raw honesty in Jeremy's voice, the plea clear and unguarded. The promise slipped out of him effortlessly, without a second's hesitation, as if it were already settled.

"Yeah," Kevin said firmly. "As long as I can. To the last minute." Then, he added, "Unless you change your mind."

Jeremy let out a short, shaky snort—not a laugh, considering the disbelief in it—shaking his head as the tension eased just a fraction. "Not gonna happen." He took a long, deep breath. "Good. Okay. I feel better. That's... That's something. I know you sorta mentioned it yesterday but I needed to hear you say it. Like, clearly. That makes it solid, you know?" His voice trailed off. "I have no idea if that makes sense."

Kevin nodded, understanding perfectly and feeling a weight lift between them. It was as though the promise tethered them to something solid, grounded them in an unshakable way to something made more real with the words. It set a line in the sand for them to make this time less nebulous with a firmness that could be counted on. It felt as certain as the sun rising, a constant neither of them could deny or had to doubt: Kevin would stay until the very last second that the life beyond these walls demanded otherwise from him.

"I get it," Kevin agreed, reaching for the tray and pulling it closer. "We've taken forever with this." He glanced over to where the urn sat still on the counter. "Wanna bring Jean?"

Jeremy nodded, his eyes softening. "You read my mind."

It was small, but Kevin thought Jeremy moved just a little lighter on his feet as he crossed the room, cradling the urn in his arms as gently as he held Jackie. He walked into the living room, Kevin trailing behind, where Ricky and Miranda looked on their arrival with tender smiles, sitting on the carpet with Jackie between them. The baby's bright blue eyes gleamed, growing even brighter with the added company. Kevin set the tray down on the coffee table and handed out the mugs as Jeremy took a seat on the floor between his parents.

Kevin didn't say much, mostly letting the conversation swirl around him—names he didn't recognize, talk of jobs that didn't interest him. He kept his focus on Jeremy, noticing how the mundanity seemed to ease him. There were no questions about the future, no mentions of Jean, no heavy reflections on their loss. It was just a quiet afternoon—parents visiting their son and grandson, simple and warm. At least, aside from the urn cradled in Jeremy's lap.

As the others spoke, Kevin's mind wandered back to the conversation in the kitchen. The thought of calling Gavin to figure out a longer-term plan for being in Los Angeles gnawed at him with unanswered questions. How long could Chicago wait? How could he train in California without a court? What could be handled from a distance, and what couldn't be? The impending call to his head coach loomed too, and the prospect of it all nearly gave him a headache. Still, he didn't regret his promise in the slightest. He was lost in his thoughts so much that the world around him faded until, a little over an hour later, the Knoxes said their goodbyes.

"There's reheat instructions on the card," Miranda whispered in his ear as they hugged goodbye. "For arroz con pollo. Make sure you eat well too, alright?"

"Yes, ma'am," Kevin said, returning the embrace before straightening.

Miranda smiled, and it looked genuine. Kevin wondered how she could do it so effortlessly, or if her acting skills were just better than her son's.

He reheated the dish and plated it while Jeremy got Jackie settled in his chair at the dining table. They didn't speak as Kevin brought the food to the table, and they took their seats—one across from the other, with Jackie at the end. Kevin poured two glasses of wine from a bottle he'd found in the pantry. It felt right. This was a homecoming, a celebration of sorts, even if a somber one.

Jean's urn sat in front of his usual seat to Jeremy's left—the one Jean had occupied for every meal they'd shared in those final (hadn't known were final) days. Kevin's gaze lingered on the blue marble for a long moment, lost in the stillness, until a flicker of movement pulled his attention away.

Jeremy took a massive bite of rice, so much that some of it fell back onto his plate. There was something defiant in the motion, and it made Kevin's chest fill with a warm rush of emotion.

There he is. Still fighting.

Kevin took a bite of his own, and then another, the flavors unfolding with each spoonful. They ate in near silence, matched bite for bite, with the only sound being Jackie's babbling in the background. When they were almost finished—wine glasses empty—Kevin caught a soft, barely-audible whisper from Jeremy across the table.

"Welcome home, Jean," he said.

Despite the quietness of the words, there was so much love in them that Kevin closed his eyes for a long moment. He reached out in his mind to Jean, wherever he might be. Kayleigh had her god and saints, but Kevin had never followed that belief after the Nest buried him. There was no holiness underground and, even after resurfacing, Kevin had never refound his mother's faith—but that was okay. He didn't need a book or a credo or a list of rules to tell him that somewhere, out there, his brother still existed in some way. That even if there were only ashes left on the earth, Jean himself was still in this room. He was still in this house, still present in the three of them sitting together.

Bienvenue à la maison, mon frère, Kevin thought, his eyes still closed, J'essaie. Je te jure, j'essaie pour eux. Je... je ne sais pas si ça marche, si ça aide, mais je n'arrêterai pas.

__________

It wasn't a large beach by Southern California standards, but its quietude made a certain kind of sense, Kevin thought as he expertly navigated the stroller down the wooden planks to the sand. It fit how Kevin imagined them: Jeremy picking a place like this years ago for Jean's first trip to the ocean—casual, secluded, stress-free—and Jean appreciating its privacy later, when he knelt here to ask for Jeremy's hand. It suited them both, and Kevin felt oddly honored to see it for himself now, after hearing about both days from both men's points of view.

Kevin had been surprised when Jeremy pointed out the small pull-off on the side of the two-laned highway. He wouldn't have guessed there was beach access here, considering the lack of other cars, even after Jeremy explained that most of the surrounding land was privately owned. Kevin appreciated the emptiness. A few human forms dotted the far distance, accompanied by dogs, but no sound reached them by the time they reached the end of the walkway. It felt right—that it was only the three of them, as Jean had wished.

The sand here was lighter than in Los Angeles proper, almost creamy under Kevin's bare feet. He and Jeremy walked in silence with Jackie staring wide-eyed at the rolling waves and the urn tucked against Jeremy's chest. Kevin glanced around as they went, confident enough now with the stroller not to watch the path ahead eagle-eyed. He had taken Jackie out twice a day for their runs, and miraculously, the baby always napped best during those times with the world rushing by around them.

Kevin needed the motion, the burn of it. With each day without exy, the itch inside Kevin festered into something worse: a slow unraveling, a gnashing at phantom bones, a hollow hunger devouring him from the inside out. He played games in his mind to stay sharp, strategies and tactics, but it was never enough. None of it was. His body craved the rush of meaningful movement, the competitive fight, the precise flow of a game that no longer existed. Every day without it stretched longer, the starvation in his chest more frantic, more desperate. Lazy, he thought sometimes. But the word didn't quite fit. Lazy wasn't it. Helpless—yes, that one felt like the closest thing to the truth.

The past eight days since retrieving Jean's ashes had passed in a strange haze compared to the frenetic aftermath of the hospital. Kevin no longer felt clueless about how to care for Jackie or keep the house running. Miranda's recipes gave him some direction—his results were edible, if not pretty—and he was gratified to see Jeremy eating regularly, even if it was without his usual enthusiasm. Jeremy avoided the kitchen itself, but he sat out on the back patio every afternoon without complaint, soaking in the fresh air and light, and Kevin always joined him, with or without Jackie. At first, it was to keep Jeremy's lingering anxiety at bay. Now it was habit.

The panic had faded somewhat from Jeremy's eyes when Kevin left to run or shower. His skin held a steady flush from the sun these days. It was a comfort Kevin had no words for.

They had settled into a strange every-other rotation of nights with Jackie, at Jeremy's insistence that Kevin shouldn't have to take each one. Supposedly, the off-nights were meant to offer uninterrupted sleep, but Kevin couldn't remember what it was like to sleep deeply anymore. He had always been a heavy sleeper, more log than man, but not now. He hadn't asked Jeremy how he was sleeping either. Whatever happened behind the master bedroom door wasn't Kevin's business, so long as the bruises under Jeremy's eyes didn't darken again.

Sometimes Jeremy was so sluggish it looked like walking across a room might defeat him. He wore Jean's clothes constantly, layered thickly despite the warm house, muttering sometimes about how the fabric was losing Jean's scent. He forgot showers, avoided exercise, zoned out for long stretches with empty eyes. Kevin could be patient with all of that though. Grief had its own strange hold, one that could only be tolerated with time.

But what he couldn't, what disturbed him most, was the urn.

Jeremy carried it everywhere now, almost as much as he carried Jackie. At first, he only set it beside him—on the table by Jean's reading chair, at the kitchen counter while making a bottle. But soon Kevin noticed it tucked under Jeremy's arm even when juggling the baby, saw his fingers constantly tracing the urn's smooth curve. Jeremy took it into the bedroom when he showered, set it on the patio chair beside him, brought it to the dinner table and kept it in his lap. He cradled it like it was something alive.

Kevin didn't know why the sight unsettled him more than anything else, only that it did. The house had never felt so haunted. And it confused him sometimes, how they seemed to move forward and backward all at once, like a record jumping the same broken groove.

Maybe that was why, on the beach that May third, the emotion Kevin felt most wasn't sorrow, or even hope. It was relief.

Jean would not have wanted this. He wouldn't have wanted Jeremy clinging to the urn as if it were a talisman, a stand-in for the man himself, because the brutal truth was this: Jean was dead.

His oldest friend. His wonderful brother. The best man Kevin had ever known.
He was gone, which meant that what Jeremy held now was not Jean—it was nothing more than dust, bone, and ash. That was all.

It was that and his knowledge of their shared past that allowed Kevin to see the scattering for what it was, because he understood how Jean had expected to die: forgotten. Erased. Nothing grand, nothing more than a plausible accident that no one would question too deeply once they'd outlived being useful to dangerous men. Maybe it would've been fall, or a heart attack, or an exy injury that turned bad.

Maybe it would've been a car crash.

Kevin never let himself linger on that thought, even when his mother's memory seemed to be rising his mind more often by the day.

So, it was because of those whispered fears—shared by two children hidden underground—that Kevin knew this ritual wasn't really for Jean, no more than any funeral of Kevin's would be for him. This act was for Jeremy. Another goodbye, grief-laden but softer this time. Instead of a hospital, it could be done in a place of love and beginnings, a little sweetness with the bitter.

It was a lot like being at the house, in that way.

To Kevin's mind, the past week had been worse than the ones before. The urgency was gone, the routine starting to be settled, and all of that left too much empty space for his thoughts to fill. Some days, Kevin thought he might claw his own eyes out if he stayed another minute—but he knew there was nowhere else he was meant to be too. It was just that the house was too alive with Jean—full to the brim with him—and Kevin couldn't stand it, even when he knew he'd choose remembering over forgetting every time.

The photos were the hardest. Smiling faces he knew the stories behind, and moments he shared beside them in the frames. Frozen moments now lost with no opportunity to be repeated. But even if he ignored the pictures, there was just still so much: Jean's ugly reading chair, his books scattered everywhere, his handwriting on fridge notes and calendars. It was relentless, the way it all kept going—and it gutted Kevin in ways he couldn't name.

Sometimes he swore he saw Jean in the corner of his eye. Not a ghost—Kevin didn't believe in those—but a flash of wavy dark hair, a scarred forearm, there and then gone. And in those flashes, Kevin would think, He was just here. Here, here, only weeks ago. Happy. Alive. Now he's not. Now he never will be.

Then Kevin would get to work: meal prep, patio sitting, cleaning, phone calls, house maintenance, taking care of the baby or Jeremy, anything that wasn't in his own mind. When he ran out of tasks, he'd lock himself in the guest room or he'd hit the pavement outside. He'd push his body to collapse—running, lifting, anything to feel the burning proof that he was still alive. He moved and moved until his body shook and would go no further, until sweat blinded him to the world around him.

Sweat was the only moisture he permitted himself.
Tears were out of the question.

And still, and still, even on the hardest days, Kevin couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

The vow he'd made to Jeremy—to stay as long as possible—anchored him. He clung to it harder than even Jean's final promise, when the infinity and confusion of his brother's wording seemed too immense to wrap his mind around. The solidity of his words to Jeremy and of Jeremy's presence itself (even in silence, even with the omnipresent urn) gave him a center of gravity in which to steady himself.

Focus on Jeremy and Jackie. Keep the world spinning. Keep standing.

It was instinct, a relic from the Nest: put your head down and push forward. Ignore what couldn't be changed. Pretend you had no heart if that made it easier.

Survive.

It was so much harder to do that around a baby though.

Jackie made it impossible to shut down completely as Two the Raven had taught himself to. The child's toothless smiles, his blue-hour eyes, his too-big-for-his-size sounds—he was just too full of life not to feel the passage of time around, not to feel in general. There was something to those moments, when Jackie first opened his eyes to him after a nap or when he tucked his small face into Kevin's neck, that made being alive so potent that it broke something within him too. Kevin wished, sometimes, that he could ignore it. But he couldn't.

That said, Jackie wasn't that bad.
Actually, he was pretty incredible, Kevin thought.

The only light Kevin ever saw in Jeremy's face anymore came when Jackie smiled or babbled at him. Kevin's YouTube recommendations had long since turned into an endless stream of baby-care videos, each leading to another hours-long deep dive. One night, while wandering the house with a fussing Jackie in his arms, Kevin found his way into the study. There, a book sat on the corner of the desk, battered and marked with sticky notes: The New Father: A Dad's Guide to the First Year by Armin A. Brott.

Kevin took it to the couch and started reading, interested as much in Jean's annotations as in the content itself. The next morning, he downloaded the audiobook (his preferred format, considering the break it gave his often-tired eyes) and made listening to it part of his runs. It was informative, so much so that he found himself eager to start the next chapter.

Kevin knew he wasn't Jackie's father but he was his godfather. He was the man Jean had trusted and that Jeremy still did so, however Kevin could make a difference, he would. He studied the book as diligently as any in his life and incorporated a variety of suggested activities (after, of course, cross-referencing the research with other academic writings) into his time with the baby: motor skills practices, emotional reflexes exercises, story time with books. Whatever Kevin could learn, whatever might help, he tried, and Jackie thrived under the attention. He ate it up like it was a nutritional resource. As much as the child's energy made Kevin ache with the passage of time, there was something better about the sting of that than the hollow plod of Jeremy around the house with that damn urn against his chest.

And that was the next looming problem, one Kevin knew he couldn't solve alone: exy. Exy for both of them.

In another month and a half, teams would be starting training camps. Of course, that meant the Chicago Sirens for Kevin—which was its own mess to deal with, especially with his lack of training—but Jeremy hadn't mentioned his job with the Los Angeles Knights. Not once, not a single word.

And they needed to because so much revolved around it. For starters, they needed a daycare plan for Jackie, because Miranda and Ricky couldn't be full-time options, as much as Kevin wished otherwise. He couldn't stand the idea of leaving the child with someone he didn't know, or trust, but he couldn't see an alternative with Jeremy's playing schedule in-mind. They would just have to vet potential candidates well, and that required time.

At least money wasn't the issue, thanks to how Jean had planned well. His savings with Jeremy would cover whatever Jackie needed. Even if they somehow didn't, Kevin's resources were more than adequate alone for the Knoxes' care and it wasn't as if he used much of it for himself. (Though mentioning so would be a last resort—Jeremy was notoriously difficult to discuss finances with as Jean had bemoaned to Kevin many times.) Kevin and Jean had been alike in that way too, the Nest teaching them both to always prepare for the worst-case scenario, to shore up all defenses against fate and man. At least now, when they needed it, both brothers were prepared that way.

In fact, Jeremy could even take some time off if he had to—but Kevin hoped it wouldn't come to that. Jeremy needed something of his own. He needed movement, physically and otherwise. He needed purpose, to live with his innate drive speeding him forward.

Something more than just surviving.

That was how he and Kevin, in contrast to Jean, were alike—the need for that momentum—but right now, it was hard to say which of them was succeeding or failing more in that respect. It was impossible to imagine how Jeremy would handle any of it when he still got anxious over Kevin or Jackie not being in the same room as him. He very rarely left the house or took any phone calls. How to encourage Jeremy to engage with the wider world, in a way that was safe and good for him, still eluded Kevin but it was an issue that he had to find a solution for, and soon.

At least there was one thing Kevin didn't have to dedicate much thought to beyond showing up (and making a speech, which was still unwritten)—the memorial service for Jean, scheduled for the following afternoon at USC's Trojan Stadium. Kevin hated the phrase celebration of life. He understood why the Knoxes chose it, but what was there to celebrate when the life in question had been so unfairly, so quickly, so devastatingly stolen? It wasn't his decision to make, though, because Jeremy had accepted it when his sisters proposed it during their phone call last week.

What in the hell could he possibly say to eulogize the longest-lasting person in his life? The man who had stood by him even when Kevin hadn't deserved it? The only person capable of loving him despite all the horror he'd put him through? Every time Kevin sat down to consider it, the words eluded him.

"Kevin?"

He blinked back into awareness, realizing the beach and the world around him had completely fallen away. Jeremy stood a step behind him—Kevin had to turn to face him—but his hand was already on Kevin's elbow.

"Everything okay?" Jeremy asked, his voice threaded with concern. "I said your name three times."

"Fine," Kevin said. "Just lost in my head."

Jeremy nodded in understanding and glanced toward the water. "I was thinking here's a good spot."

Kevin looked around, not sure why this particular stretch of beach, but there was no one in sight, so he supposed that was good enough.

He unstrapped Jackie, the baby grinning delightedly at being lifted. It still surprised Kevin sometimes how natural it felt to tuck Jackie against his chest, as if he'd been holding him for months rather than just a few weeks. He looked back at Jeremy. "Want to walk out into the water?"

"Yeah," Jeremy said. "I think that'd be right."

Kevin waited for him to step forward first before falling into step beside him. Jean had always loved water of any kind. Kevin thought of a tattered postcard, now lost somewhere along the way, of a sea in the south of France as he stepped into the Pacific. He had expected it to be warmer under the strength of the sun, but it was surprisingly cool, soaking into his pant legs. He hadn't thought to roll them up, but neither had Jeremy; his own jeans darkened as he strode through the soft waves.

The hot sun countered the chill of the ocean, beating down on them, and Kevin instinctively shielded Jackie's head with his hand as he felt the heat soaking into his own scalp. The darkness of his hair was the only physical trait he shared with Jean (besides their height), though Jean's had always been wavier, picking up a brownish tint in bright light, while Kevin's stayed the full, deep black of his mother's. Standing there in the sunlight, Kevin could see now that Jackie's hair was more like his own than he'd realized before: barely touched by the brightness, nearly as dark as ink.

Jeremy paused when the water lapped at his knees, and Kevin did too, grateful Jackie remained quiet without his usual babbling. Kevin often thought the baby was unusually perceptive with the way he seemed to sense what was happening around him, just as he had at the hospital. Still, despite sleeping fourteen to seventeen hours a day (the knowledge courtesy of the fatherhood book), Jackie always seemed to save his worst moods for nighttime. In his more exhausted moments, when his own brain ached from lack of rest, Kevin mused that Jackie must've been an owl in another life—prone to nocturnality and enchanted by the sight of the moon. Kevin knew he'd never slept so badly in his life as he had since coming to Los Angeles—and he knew it wasn't Jackie's fault.

It was silent for a long time, the roll of the waves and the occasional screech of a gull filling the air. Jackie dozed off not long after they stilled, lulled by the sound and Kevin's occasional brush of his thumb through his hair. Kevin looked over to Jeremy eventually, taking in the way his friend's eyes stayed fixed on the horizon with the urn clutched tightly to his chest, his forefinger running slowly, repeatedly, across the marble surface.

Jeremy looked ethereal in that moment, timeless somehow in the depth of feeling in his eyes. There was sorrow there, of course—but there was so much else, too. All the good memories he held of this place, all the love of the man who had always been with him here, carried alongside the grief.

Maybe Jeremy didn't burn as brightly as he once had, but his light was still too natural to be denied. For the first time in what felt like years, Kevin saw it: the Jeremy Knox who still lived beneath the mourning, the one beloved by the world and treasured by his family. The Jeremy who was a universe unto himself—just as Jean had always known. Just as Kevin knew too, even if only in his lesser way.

"Your plane landed about two hours ago back then."

Kevin's gaze stayed on Jeremy as he began to speak, his voice steady, carrying easily over the waves and into the endless stretch of sky. Jeremy's eyes remained locked on the horizon, unblinking.

"You were scowling the first time I saw you, coming out of the terminal," Jeremy said. "The sun was in your eyes, annoying you, but all you did was grumble when I asked if you were okay. You didn't really talk—and, God knows, you definitely didn't complain—but when we got to the car, I gave you my extra pair of sunglasses anyway. Those big cat-eye frames." He huffed with the smallest sound of amusement, "They looked so adorable on you."

Jeremy took a long breath and went on, "I knew meeting you was a big deal after everything you'd been through, even though I didn't know much back then. Just the bandages you still wore. And the little Kevin had said to convince me to take you on as a Trojan. As if I needed convincing—by either of you."

He sighed audibly. "God, I had no idea how important that day would be. How could I? There's no sign the universe throws over a stranger's head that says, 'Hey! Here he is! This one!' Neither of us knew. But it didn't change anything, you know? It just made all the days after—us learning each other—that much more precious."

He shook his head lightly, voice thinning to a whisper. "It wasn't fate or soulmates or anything like that. What we had... what we made... it was ours. We chose it. And I think that made it perfect."

Kevin couldn't have looked away from him, not even under threat of violence. Jeremy was—

He was a warrior.

He was a triumph of a man, standing there with his shoulders squared, his eyes fixed on the horizon, and his voice steady even when it trembled. He'd never been more glorious, not even with all the cracks showing, not even as silent tears streamed down his cheeks and the salt of him mixed with the brine of the sea.

"I still hear you, mon amour," Jeremy said, voice stronger again. "And I remember everything. It still breaks me, thinking about it all—about you. About losing...losing you. But I'll get better at remembering without letting how much I miss you kill me like it has been. I'll get better at taking care of Jackie too. I'll be a good dad, I promise. I'll help him remember you without it hurting so much."

He inhaled deeply, as if the act of breathing alone kept him standing, and added, "And thank you so much, love, for giving Kevin to us. I couldn't do any of this without him—and you knew that. You knew I'd need him, so I wouldn't get totally lost. I'm so fucking thankful for that. For him. I don't know how you knew we'd only get through this together, but you were right. You were always right, mari."

Kevin's throat tightened with every word, each one striking like a blow to the heart. Jeremy was right in a way Kevin had never admitted—not even fully to himself. He hadn't thanked Jeremy for letting him stay, for asking him to stay longer, for giving him exactly what he needed to survive. He hadn't thanked Jean either, not even silently, for being the reason Kevin still knew how to move forward at all. For giving Kevin a reason (two reasons) to do so when nothing else would've been enough.

The sound of his own name, spoken in that tone, the feeling of something else surrounding the three of them, the sense of Jean there among them—

It drove Kevin to reach out. He rested his hand on Jeremy's shoulder, squeezing firmly, then shifted to cup the crook of his neck. Jeremy leaned into the touch with a long, quiet sigh, his eyes closing briefly. He didn't look at Kevin when he opened them again, but he didn't pull away either.

"I..." Jeremy's voice cracked before he cleared it, steadying himself. "I love you so much, Jean. God, those words are so small. They've never been enough—not for what I feel or what you gave me. But you knew. You always knew I love you, every minute, every day. And I know you still know, wherever you are. I know you see me here—with Kevin and Jackie—and that you love us too, just like we love you. We...we won't ever stop."

"But it's, it's time to set you free, ma lune. Because the real you, the whole you, is here." He pressed his palm firmly to his chest. "You're right here in all of us. And we'll never lose that. You'll never lose us either."

Kevin barely kept himself upright, his knees shaking, muscles trembling with the force of Jeremy's words. His eyes burned, his breath faltered. Beside him, he felt Jeremy's body echo the same desperate effort to stay standing as he turned the lid of the urn until it clicked free.

The wind was gentle, coming from the south. The moment felt ripe, inevitable.
Jeremy took a single step forward, close enough that Kevin kept his hand on him.

And then—
Jeremy thrust the urn forward into the ocean breeze.

The ashes burst free in a silver-lined cloud, carried over the blue-green water, rising toward the bright azure sky, scattering further than Kevin could see and to places he'd never know. A slow trickle of the remainder fell into the ocean as Jeremy upended the urn carefully—until it was done.

Behind them, the tide sighed against the sun-warmed sand, the sound soft and steady, a quiet heartbeat beneath the cloudless sky.

Jean was gone.
The urn was empty.

Jeremy replaced the lid with a soft click, stood a moment longer looking out over the horizon, and then turned back to Kevin. His brown eyes widened slightly as he stepped closer, the warm depths of them softening. He reached out and cupped Kevin's face tenderly, smoothing his thumb across Kevin's cheek.

Kevin felt it. His skin was wet. Jeremy's form blurred before him.

For the first time since Jean's death, Kevin cried.

It was silent.
No sound, no sobbing.
Just tears.
And Kevin let them come.

He closed his eyes and focused on the warmth of Jeremy's hand, the gentleness that anchored him and kept him from collapsing into the sea. He held onto the feeling of Jackie's small body curled against his chest. The salted air filling his lungs, alongside the memory of the one he'd lost forever.

After a long moment, Jeremy guided him closer, slipping his hand into Kevin's hair and coaxing him to lower his head. Kevin let himself be pulled into the crook of Jeremy's shoulder as he continued to cry, resting in the safe place where he always held Jeremy too when he was broken. There was shame in needing it and he knew Jeremy didn't think less of him for it because Kevin was the same with him in moments like these. Kevin was just too tired, too raw, to force himself to bury it again—not with Jeremy's hand soft in his hair, his skin warm against his own where their cheeks pressed together. He no longer knew whose tears dampened his face—his or Jeremy's—as his lungs slowly relearned how to draw breath, and his body emptied itself of grief.

Jeremy scratched his nails lightly against Kevin's scalp, a comforting, grounding touch. Kevin had never felt so wrung out in his life.

"Let's go home," Jeremy whispered against his ear.

Kevin nodded against his neck, then straightened, blinking against the sting in his eyes.

He couldn't bring himself to meet Jeremy's gaze as they made their way back to the beach. Now that it was over, he was too ashamed of his weakness to do so, his avoidance meaning that he didn't notice at first when Jeremy slipped away—not until Kevin looked down and saw Jackie safely tucked into the stroller, the sun cover pulled low, without the sense of his friend's nearness.

Kevin turned, searching, and found Jeremy crouched silently a few paces away, scooping sand into the urn. He added a few small rocks, worn smooth by the sea, and delicate shells left by the tide.

Kevin didn't need to ask. Somehow, he understood.

The urn wouldn't be empty after all. It would hold this place—their place—in memoriam to the man who had loved it most.

__________

Kevin drove them back to the house, thankful for the distraction of traffic, something to focus on other than everything that had happened at the beach. When they arrived, the process was wordless as they each went their separate ways to change into dry clothes but Kevin lingered in the guest room, hesitating before he snatched what he needed from the dresser—what was causing him to hesitate in the first place—and returned to the living room.

Jeremy's back was to him when Kevin reemerged, settling the still-dozing Jackie into his rocking swing. Kevin watched them for a moment, his gaze lingering as Jeremy straightened, frozen in place as he looked down at his son.

"I have something for you," Kevin said softly, not wanting to wake the baby.

Jeremy turned, faint curiosity in his eyes, but Kevin gestured with his head to the couch, urging him to sit before saying more. Jeremy padded over quietly, joining him, and he settled with his body angled in Kevin's direction, one leg propped on the cushions.

Kevin extended the thin rectangular box without ceremony.

"What's this?" Jeremy asked, taking it with both hands.

"Jackie and I made a stop after the grocery store the other day," Kevin said, swallowing thickly as a burst of sudden nerves twisted in his stomach.

It wasn't quite the truth—he'd picked it up with Jackie two days ago, but it had been in the works since the day after they brought Jean's ashes home. Only now did Kevin consider how the gesture might be seen as overstepping, as if it were his place (and it wasn't) to make such a decision.

Still, he didn't regret it—not for a second.

Kevin watched, his chest tightening with anxiety, as Jeremy pried the box open. Jeremy's brown eyes went wide, his chin trembling as he let out a small gasp. His fingers reached out, shaking slightly, and he traced the smoky matte silver of the thick curb chain inside.

The solid platinum chain would be substantial but not burdensome, Kevin had been assured. He thought the weight of it, while bearing Jean's wedding band, would bring Jeremy comfort; he hoped it would ground him when the rest of the world seemed to slip away and when Kevin's own strength—there or not—wasn't enough. The delicate, thin chain Jeremy had been using felt too fragile, too easily sundered, and the jeweler had promised that this metal, with its interlocked curb design, was exceptionally difficult to break. It would keep that precious part of Jean secure against Jeremy's chest. It could last a lifetime, as long as it was cared for. He knew Jeremy would do that.

It was more than Kevin could give him with most things, including Jean himself.

"For Jean's ring?" Jeremy asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Kevin nodded. "Yeah." He looked down at the chain. "It'll be heavy enough that you can feel it when you wear it. In a good way. And you don't have to worry about it breaking, even if Jackie tugs on it. It's waterproof. You can sleep in it..." He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. "I just wanted to keep it safe."

Jeremy's eyes glimmered when Kevin met them, though his lips still trembled. He didn't smile, but that tiny flicker of light was enough to loosen the knot of worry in Kevin's chest. Jeremy's expression said it all—Kevin had done good.

"Will you put it on me?" Jeremy asked, and Kevin nodded, taking the box back from him.

Jeremy shuffled around, turning his back. He lifted his hair—longer now, partly from letting it grow in the off-season, partly from neglect—and Kevin silently removed the pale gold chain he'd been wearing. His fingers trembled slightly as he slid Jean's ring from it, then onto the new, heavier chain before fastening it around Jeremy's neck. Kevin's touch lingered for a moment, the warmth of Jeremy's skin contrasting with the coolness of the metal, before he dropped his hand. Jeremy turned back to face him.

Jeremy's fingers rested gently on the new pairing, his eyes downcast. Kevin felt a small rush of pleased pride at how the platinum complemented the dark gunmetal of Jean's wedding band.

"Thank you, Kev," Jeremy said.

And God, what a relief it was to hear. 'Kev.' It was such a small thing, but Kevin had missed the affectionate shortening of his name after so many weeks without it.

"It's absolutely perfect," Jeremy added, then looked up to meet Kevin's eyes. "I meant what I said out there, you know?"

"Which part?" Kevin asked.

"That I couldn't do this without you. You're... You're the only thing that keeps me from losing more, Kev. I—"

Jeremy cut off with a small hiccup, his hand tightening around Jean's ring just before Kevin reached out, pulling him close. It was instinct now—knowing when Jeremy needed to cry, knowing when he needed to be held while he broke again. Jeremy leaned into him without hesitation, resting his forehead on Kevin's shoulder. Kevin stroked through his hair soothingly, gently working out the knots the sea breeze had created. He let Jeremy cry softly, murmuring an occasional comforting hum to remind him he wasn't alone, his other hand tracing slow, steady lines up and down his back.

It didn't take long for Jeremy to calm, especially considering how things were these days. His eyes were only slightly pink when he straightened again. Kevin let his hand slide from Jeremy's hair to his shoulder, then moved the other one back into his own lap. He leaned in slightly, catching Jeremy's gaze.

"You could do this without me," Kevin said softly, not giving him time to interrupt, "But I'm glad you're not. I'm glad you're letting me do what I can, even when it's not enough."

"It's as close to being enough as anybody possibly could," Jeremy replied. "Does that make sense?"

"It does," Kevin agreed.

The only thing that would ever be 'enough' was if none of this had ever happened. Only one man could make it be 'enough'—and that man wasn't Kevin.

But fuck if he wasn't going to give it everything he had, even if it never felt like enough, even if he knew he could never be that.

They both looked over as Jackie let out a small snore, but the baby stayed asleep, so neither of them moved from the couch.

"I never took his monthly picture," Jeremy murmured after a moment.

"His what?" Kevin asked.

"Those ones we sent you of him on a blanket, with the numbered onesies?" Jeremy prompted.

Kevin vaguely remembered those. It was a guilty thing to realize how little attention he'd paid to those photographs from his friends before arriving in Los Angeles but it had been during the season so Kevin knew his own attention to the world at-large was limited as playoffs grew closer. Kevin furrowed his brow slightly, but Jeremy didn't seem bothered.

"It was Jean's idea," Jeremy continued, "He saw where people had done it online and liked the idea of having a picture on every twenty-fourth of the month to mark Jackie's getting older. Babies change so fast, he said we'd forget it if we didn't..." Jeremy trailed off, looking back to Jackie, "We'd write down this list of— You know what? Here, I'll just show you. I'm not making sense."

Jeremy reached for his phone from the coffee table and quickly navigated to a photo album, pointing to what he was speaking of. Kevin looked at the trio of pictures (though, in truth, there were at least ten varied copies of each staging), taking in the various items assembled around Jackie as he lay on a blanket, looking up at the camera above him with his vibrant eyes alight. In each one, a bright pastel number on his white onesie marked the birth month of the photograph and a chalkboard to the side of him listed a variety of information like what he'd learned to do that month or what he enjoyed and didn't along with his current weight and length.

Kevin wasn't sure how long he'd been staring at the pictures when Jeremy spoke, his voice distant and small as he gazed sightlessly at the floor.

"I don't even know what to put on the chalkboard," Jeremy said, "I haven't been paying attention."

"Smiling," Kevin said thoughtlessly.

"What?" Jeremy asked, looking to him with a blink.

Kevin pulled up the three-month photo and pointed, "See? It isn't listed here because he started after you guys took these. I remember the phone call after he did for the first time because I was starting to pack for coming here. So, smiling. That's a milestone we can list."

Another thought came and Kevin stood, leaving the phone behind as he rummaged through one of the wicker baskets, picking up a set of plastic keys on a ring, "These have made him stop crying at night at least a dozen times, even though I have no fucking idea why." He leaned over to a stack of books, "Goodnight Moon works like a charm. And getting his hair washed is a 'like'. Doesn't like body wash, he definitely likes shampoo."

He straightened, continuing to comb through his mind for more solutions, looking off to the side of the room unseeingly while thinking the details through to accomplish the tasks.

"The scale's in the nursery closet," he continued, "I saw it when I put laundry away and thought it was weird. The onesies I haven't seen..." He trailed off, considering, "But there's only a couple places they could be that I haven't—"

"Kev."

Kevin paused, the cardboard book in one hand and the plastic keys in the other, only to realize he'd been standing in place and rambling since picking them up.

The sight of Jeremy, in that singular moment, stole Kevin's breath away.

There on the couch, bathed in the fading amber light of dusk, Jeremy's expression glowed with wonder. It was surprise and awe and a gentle softness that Kevin was so used to seeing on his friend's face but never turned in his direction. It was an even more potent relief to see it than to hear Jeremy say his nickname. Now though, Kevin couldn't quite find a way to breathe and it was in a different way than he'd become accustomed to over the past few weeks.

The one thought in Kevin's mind wasn't a new one, not at all, but it took on a certain bright clarity that it hadn't before.

Fuck, he's beautiful.

It was a statement of fact more than anything. The sky was blue, grass was green, and Jeremy Knox was the most beautiful man in the entire world. Kevin had thought so when he met him and he hadn't stopped over the years. Every time Jean had said so, Kevin agreed (even if not out loud).

"How...?" Jeremy began, luminous in the dimming light of day, his dark eyes somehow brighter than stars, "How can you do all of this?" His voice wavered, as if he couldn't understand how Kevin was carrying the weight, as if he was amazed by him doing so.

"I made a promise," Kevin said, pausing, "I, I failed Jean in so many ways when we were younger."

"You didn't—"

Kevin cut him off gently when Jeremy began to protest, just like Jean always had after they'd reconnected.

"I did, Jeremy. You're the only one alive who knows how much I did too." Kevin's voice hardened with conviction, "But I will not do that now. I won't fail him again. I won't fail you, Jeremy. Not while I breathe, not when it comes to you and Jackie. Whatever you need or want or don't want, I'll make it happen. Jean wanted that. He asked me, in his last moments, to be that man for you two."

It was an unconscious choice. He barely registered it. One moment Kevin was frozen; the next, his body was moving without permission—crossing the few feet between them, drawn as if by gravity. His chest felt too tight, his heart hammering against his ribs, his breath catching in too-quick lungs. His hands fumbled, clumsy with the force of it, the items in them falling away. But the words alone were not enough. Kevin needed to anchor them physically, with his own body.

He kept his gaze locked on Jeremy's, holding onto that singular point of light. Then, Kevin knelt before him without hesitation.

All of him, everything he was and had to give, he offered into that space between them: steady, open, and unflinching.

"I'll be that guy, Jeremy," Kevin vowed.

It felt like the same promise as the one to Jean but different too, given to the other half of the coin and somehow completing the honor of it.

"I'll learn how to make your coffee perfectly, with the right amount of sugar and cream," Kevin continued, the words spilling out of him in a rush, as if they'd vanish before he could speak them, "and I'll figure out how to tell the difference between the sounds Jackie makes. I'll get better at cooking shit, learn how to do that one-handed magic trick you do with getting his carrier in and out of the car. I'll come up with the best goddamn monthly pictures and do whatever else it takes to make sure you're taken care of—just like Jean wanted."

"And I want to do it for me too," Kevin admitted, feeling his heart fall out of his chest and not regretting it for how honest it was, "I would've fallen apart without you, right from the start. You and Jackie keep me from losing more of me too. LA's where I'm meant to be right now, with you two."

"But you're leaving," Jeremy said slowly, the words almost seeming to pain him, "Chicago, the Sirens, exy..."

"A topic for another day," Kevin said, "As long as I absolutely can, remember?"

Jeremy nodded and there was so much trust in his expression it would've broken Kevin's heart if he didn't mean every single word of what he'd said.

"Good," Kevin said with a decisive nod. He stood up and reached out his hands, pulling Jeremy to his feet. Kevin squeezed Jeremy's hands and that small glimmer to him as he held Kevin's gaze was breathtaking. It was a sight, one Kevin knew he'd never forget regardless of what came next. It was the first breath after drowning, the first ray of sunlight after a flood.

Life. It was still there, no matter how tremulous.

"Let's take some pictures, okay?" Kevin asked.

"Okay," Jeremy agreed.

For once, Jeremy didn't look haunted. It wasn't exactly joyful—Jackie was the only one smiling—but it wasn't sad either.

Kevin found the onesies stacked neatly on a high shelf in the nursery closet, and Jeremy pulled out the scale. The sweet tenderness of Jeremy's voice, soft with pride, as he congratulated Jackie on his continued growth pulled something tight inside Kevin's chest. He dutifully recorded the numbers as Jeremy recited them—and made a mental note to himself too to check them against the growth chart in the parenting book later. The toys were arranged, the chalkboard filled out, and Jackie grinned up at them with his twilight eyes as Jeremy made silly sounds behind his phone, snapping photos. Kevin noticed—but didn't comment—how Jeremy lingered over his camera, where it had sat untouched since the day Kevin arrived, before opting for his phone instead.

Later, as Jeremy scrolled through the pictures while Kevin sat with Jackie in his arms, bottle aloft as the baby gulped it down, Kevin thought the photos turned out pretty well—not that he was any expert.

"You want me to send you some?" Jeremy asked, his voice edged with a hope so faint it would've made any answer but yes, please impossible. Kevin nodded and, from the end table, he heard his phone buzz as Jeremy sent him whatever he'd chosen.

"Oh," Jeremy said, his thumb still moving over the screen, "Did we ever send you these?" He turned his phone to show a picture of Jackie, red-faced and fat-lipped, tears shimmering in his eyes, while Jean looked down at him with a fond smile.

"Why would you send me that?" Kevin asked, appalled. "What the hell were you guys doing to him?"

Kevin's heart flipped over at the rawness of the sound that Jeremy made—something that held the amusement of a chuckle, but was too rough to be called such.

"We were at Mama's salon," Jeremy explained, still gazing at the picture lovingly, "And we learned that Jackie is one-hundred percent not a dog fan." He glanced at Jackie in Kevin's arms, then reached over to gently touch the baby's cheek. "At least not yet. Auntie Trinie's puppy is kinda big, isn't she?" Then, to Kevin, "Penny's a Great Dane."

"Is that sentence supposed to make sense to me?" Kevin drawled. "Who's Trinie?"

"Kind of like an adopted aunt," Jeremy replied, scrolling through his pictures before showing one of a massive, long-legged dog standing next to a statuesque black woman with plum-colored hair. "That's her. The coppery color's how she got her name. Isn't she pretty?"

"You said it was a dog, not a horse," Kevin said, frowning, before turning to Jackie to whisper conspiratorially, "No wonder you freaked out."

Jackie didn't make a sound, in favor of continuing to eat as he neared the end of his meal, but Kevin was pretty sure he saw a sort of knowing agreement in the child's eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous. Penny's sweet." Jeremy pointed to the woman in the picture. "And that's Auntie Trinie. If you ever visit Mama at work, you'll meet her. They're inseparable. Work together all the time."

Kevin had no plans to ever visit, but he nodded anyway because it seemed important to Jeremy that he did. Then he turned back to Jackie, working to remove the empty bottle from his iron grip. He didn't need to ask before Jeremy got up and grabbed a burp cloth from the stack across the room, handing it to Kevin before flopping back onto the couch, his focus returning to his phone. Kevin watched him scroll slowly out of the corner of his eye, patting Jackie's back in time with a rhythm that had become second nature.

The burp came quickly, and Kevin bundled the dirtied cloth up tightly, setting it aside for later. He lowered the baby onto his lap, laying him flat on his back. It had become a habit over the past week to do so after feedings, working Jackie's little arms and legs through the exercises Kevin had researched. Jackie, oblivious to the purpose, wriggled and grinned, his gums showing in a wide, joyful smile.

"Are there other ones?" Kevin asked, drawing Jeremy's attention as he held Jackie's feet and rotated them in small circles. Jackie kicked playfully, curling and uncurling his toes.

"Of what?" Jeremy asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. His expression softened when he looked at Jackie, reaching out to pat his full belly.

"Pictures I didn't get to see." Kevin's voice dropped slightly as he spoke, the sound of it more vulnerable than he'd intended. Jeremy's eyes snapped back to him, and Kevin quickly looked away, unnerved by the intensity in them. He continued, "I haven't even been here a month yet, and he's already changed. I probably missed a lot."

Jeremy's head dropped gently onto Kevin's shoulder. Kevin startled at the unexpected weight but remained still, letting Jeremy stay there as long as he needed. After a moment, Jeremy straightened, picking up his phone again. Kevin watched him scroll for several minutes before pausing on a picture and opening it. A black-and-white photo of Jean, looking down at the impossibly small beanie-capped baby in his arms, tears shimmering in his eyes, his smile soft and full of love.

"The night Jackie was born," Jeremy explained quietly. "The first time Jean held him." He lingered over the photo, his gaze tender, before looking at Kevin.

Kevin wasn't much for visual art. He preferred books—mostly nonfiction, mostly educational. Art was something meant for other people. But there'd been one image in a history textbook at PSU he remembered returning to again and again, despite how irrelevant it was to his own studies.

If he was honest, he'd first lingered on it because the gold veins of the vase reminded him of the scars on his left hand. But it stayed with him for more than that. The concept of kintsugi fascinated him. That an artisan, whose craft was based on creating perfection, would take something shattered and—instead of hiding the cracks—remake it into something new? A new thing just as awe-inspiring, perhaps even more so, because of its brokenness? Something about it stuck with him, quietly. Like it meant more than he could admit. Like it was something he wanted to believe in, even when it was applied outside of the art world.

Now, years later, Kevin saw that picture in a new way, not by looking at the phone screen but at his beloved friend.

Jeremy Knox was not ruined.
Broken, yes—but not beyond repair.
He been shattered, but the pieces of him were still there, waiting to be made whole again.

Kevin knew, someday—And God, he hoped it wasn't too far away—that Jeremy would reassemble those pieces. His every crack, his every split seam, would create a new masterpiece. A stronger one. A more breathtaking one because of the flaws being embraced rather than ignored or hidden. Something more beautiful and precious because of what had happened, not despite it.

That was the Jeremy Knox Kevin saw now.
The one that would rise again, in time.
The one that might be starting to, even if he didn't know it yet.

And again, it was a day of firsts, as much as it was a goodbye. Kevin had shed his first tears in the sea, and now, for the first time, he felt hope. Hope that his friend would become himself again. A new self, but no less incredible.

"And yours?" Kevin asked, his voice trembling as he fought to contain the wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. "Of holding him the first time?"

Jeremy swiped right on his phone, showing a black-and-white picture of himself, grinning as widely as Kevin had ever seen with his cheeks wet with tears.

"Happiest day of my life," Jeremy said softly, leaning into Kevin's side and resting his head on Kevin's shoulder.

Kevin turned his head slightly, resting his cheek against Jeremy's hair. It was a quietly comforting touch, a contended one with nothing else beyond it other than that, and Kevin breathed in the faint scent of him. Then he glanced down at Jackie, swallowing thickly at the smile that was as breathtaking as Jeremy's had once been. And at the hope that he'd see it again.

"Hopefully Jean wouldn't be offended by that," Jeremy said, his voice light, though the tenderness in it kept it from being playful.

"He wouldn't be," Kevin said confidently, knowing it was true. He continued to toy with Jackie's feet, his cheek resting against Jeremy's hair as he asked, "Show me more? As many as you want, Jeremy. I don't want to miss a thing."

"Okay," Jeremy whispered, still and silent for a moment before adding, "Thanks, Kev."

Kevin nodded, staying quiet, unwilling to break the fragile moment. Jeremy began to scroll again.

They spent hours on the couch, the pictures between them. Jeremy talked more in that time than he had in weeks, maybe more than he had in all the other conversations combined. Kevin listened, drinking in every word like the first rainfall after a decade in the desert. His own camera roll filled as Jeremy sent him more pictures—mostly of Jackie, but some of Jean, too.

With every photo of his brother saved to his phone, Kevin wished—desperately—that there was a future where they could have more of this. More smiles, more photographs, more memories. But if there was any obvious lesson he'd learned since arriving in Los Angeles, it was that wishes were nothing more than sand, slipping through fingers no matter how tightly he tried to hold on.

Still—

Kevin found himself reaching anyway, gathering what he could, holding it close. And somewhere in the warmth of Jeremy's head on his shoulder, in the languid weight of Jackie asleep in his lap, a fragile hope stirred—something small and stubborn, like a seashell half-buried in the tide.

Maybe not everything had to be lost.

Maybe, with time and patience, something new could be found—something broken could be remade, the twisted cracks filled with gold, gleaming in the light of hope.

Fragile things broke.
Some were discarded... but not all.
Some things were worth saving, even with the imperfections they bore.

Including him.
Including them.

He was still here. So were they.

And for the first time in his life, Kevin chose to stay. To truly stay, in every conceivable way.

He chose to hold on.
And he knew—felt it in every battered, mending part of himself—that he would never let go.

Not of them.

Chapter Text

Kevin watched himself in the mirror above the guest room dresser, adjusting the collar of his black Tom Ford suit. The fabric was smooth and heavy beneath his fingers, tailored years ago with exacting precision to fit his frame. The jacket hugged his shoulders and tapered clean down his torso, built for a man who moved with power but carried himself with quiet control. Normally, that kind of confidence settled over him like a second skin at public events.

Not today. Today, the clothing grounded him only so much—his mind kept drifting, looping through the eulogy he couldn't stop rehearsing.

Still, the effort to have the suit sent from Chicago—with the correct accessories—had been worth it, despite Gavin's lengthy list of second-guessed questions. Kevin's shirt matched the rest with its deep black, crisp against his skin and sharp at the collar beneath the peak lapels. Even the cufflinks—silver, simple, nothing flashy—were deliberate: a whisper, not a shout. Kevin had long since learned how to speak through clothing, and today, the message was clear.

It was a tribute, not a performance.

Jean had always preferred black, and Kevin intended to wear it like armor—every thread a vow, every crease a memory he refused to let fade. Here, he was just Kev. Out there? He was The Kevin Day. The public face, yes—but today, also the lifelong friend and chosen brother of Jean, the protector of Jeremy and Jackie, the shield of the Knox family. He would not fail them today, no matter how much he wanted to lock the front door and spend the afternoon hidden away with the only two people who mattered anymore.

The Kevin Day wasn't afforded such luxuries.

He picked up his tie from the dresser just as Jeremy stepped through the open door to his left. His own suit was a dark blue, just shy of navy, paired with a white shirt but absent a tie—a rebellion Jeremy had held onto for years, given how much he hated wearing them for any occasion. Through the open collar, with the first couple of buttons undone, Kevin caught a glimpse of Jeremy's platinum necklace against his golden skin, paler now from too much time spent indoors.

"Can I?" Jeremy asked, nodding to Kevin's hands.

"What's that?" Kevin replied, confused.

"Do your tie."

Kevin blinked, more thrown by the answer than the question. He had been tying his own ties since he was a kid. Maybe there'd been a time Kayleigh had done it, but he couldn't remember. No one had offered, that was certain.

Still, despite the oddity of the request, Kevin nodded. Jeremy closed the space between them, lifting the thin matte black silk tie from Kevin's hands and working it beneath the collar with quiet efficiency. Kevin watched wordlessly, somewhat entranced by the way Jeremy's face shifted into complete focus, as if this small task demanded all of him. He adjusted the length with care, mouth pressing briefly into a line as he checked the fall of the fabric.

"I don't like wearing them," Jeremy said, speaking toward Kevin's chest rather than meeting his eyes, "but I do like tying them. Jean always let me." He paused, holding an end of the tie in each hand. "There's a lotta ways to do it. Any preference?"

"Whichever you choose," Kevin said.

Jeremy considered for a moment, then nodded. "A four-in-hand would look good with the outfit. Plus, it suits you."

"How so?"

"It's sleek," Jeremy said, beginning the practiced loops and twists of the knot. "Dignified. Modern, but in a timeless way. Very 'The Kevin Day,' like you insist on calling yourself at these things."

Kevin smirked down at him, the tone affectionately teasing even through its bittersweetness. It reminded him, painfully, of how Jean used to joke about his chess piece tattoo, his public image—or call him 'Queenie,' a name Kevin had loathed and would kill to hear again. The only difference now was the sadness that lingered, tinting even the bright jokes in shades of grief.

"I trust your opinion," Kevin said, not hiding the faint amusement in his voice.

"Good," Jeremy said, deftly tightening the knot. "Because I'm right."

Kevin stood still as Jeremy finished, then laid his hands flat against Kevin's lapels. His gaze lingered on the tie, though Kevin sensed he wasn't really seeing the fabric at all. After a second, Jeremy leaned in, resting his forehead against the knot. He wasn't crying, wasn't trembling—but there was a fragility to him that Kevin recognized immediately. Gently, careful not to wrinkle the fabric of Jeremy's suit, Kevin placed his arms around him and laid his cheek against the top of Jeremy's head.

In the mirror, Kevin caught their reflection: Jeremy folded into him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jeremy was the only person with whom this kind of touch ever came easily. Kevin didn't do casual affection. He hated PDA, didn't cuddle when dating, and when he hooked up—which was rare, considering his reputation—it was only for a reason and nothing more. Even in his friendship with Jean, it had taken time and hard-won trust to make space for touch without pain after so many years of knowing tenderness was an exploitable weakness.

But Jeremy?

With Jeremy, from the first day in Texas more than a decade ago, it had been simple. Softness, given and received without thought.

Kevin had never thought to thank Jean for that—for allowing Kevin to keep sharing that kind of closeness with Jeremy despite them being together. Most men wouldn't have allowed it.

Another thing Kevin had failed to say. Another thing Jean had somehow known without needing the words. Maybe Jean had understood. Maybe he knew how rare such ease was—for both of them.

"This is a good thing," Jeremy whispered, minutes later, still not moving. "Jean deserves to be remembered like this. He deserves a bunch of people telling stories, remembering how much they loved him. He'd want everybody to feel better. Us included."

Kevin wasn't entirely sure about all of that. Jean hadn't asked to see anyone but the Knoxes at the end, and he'd only wanted the three of them to scatter his ashes. He hadn't wanted a gathering or a fuss.

But Kevin knew the service today wasn't just for Jean. It was for Jeremy. Even from the grave, Jean had left the door open for Jeremy to be surrounded by life. To be reminded that there was still love left to claim.

After all, funerals were for the living.

(It hadn't felt that way at Kayleigh's but, for Jeremy's sake, Kevin would hope for better today.)

"He'd want it for you," Kevin said, speaking into Jeremy's hair, leaving the rest of his thoughts unsaid. "That's the important part. I'll be right next to you the whole time, okay? If it gets to be too much, you say the word—and we leave."

"That'd be rude," Jeremy mumbled.

"I don't give a fuck."

Jeremy snorted. It wasn't quite a chuckle—too short, hollow, missing its old easy music—but it was something. Each small burst of it felt a little closer to laughter, like a step toward something with warmth. And the sound—the potential it held—eased the figurative weight on Kevin's chest just slightly. It was enough.

"Ready?" he asked, stepping back.

"Yeah," Kevin said, slipping the flashcards containing his speech into his jacket's inner pocket. "Come on—let's get the baby."

They both helped get Jackie ready, though it was more about gathering his things than tending to the child himself. Dressed and dozing after the snack Kevin had insisted on giving him an hour earlier, Jackie barely stirred. He'd suggested feeding the gremlin early to avoid a meltdown when they were inevitably running late later, and Jeremy had agreed—almost eagerly—before taking care of the feeding himself so Kevin could shower.

It wasn't long before they were on the road, Jeremy behind the wheel for the first time in recent memory, heading toward USC's campus on the city's west side.

Kevin hadn't been to the Trojans' stadium since Jean's final year of college, when he flew out for Jean's graduation, but the school grounds were just as manicured and saturated with color as he remembered. With final exams wrapped the week before and the late-afternoon sun casting long shadows, the campus felt quiet—hushed in a way that struck Kevin as respectful rather than deserted.

Jeremy navigated them to a lot tucked behind the stadium, already half-filled with sun-warmed cars. Kevin undid his seatbelt but paused when he noticed Jeremy hadn't moved. He gave it a beat, then reached over and tapped the top of Jeremy's hand lightly. Jeremy turned his head slowly to meet Kevin's gaze.

"Remember what I said," Kevin murmured, firm but gentle. If this set Jeremy back, he'd never forgive himself for telling Ricky it might be good for him.

Jeremy nodded, whispering his agreement, and Kevin stepped out.

He was more than capable of prepping the stroller—even one-handed, when needed—but today he was grateful to avoid the carrier altogether and just unbuckle Jackie from it. The baby's eyes glittered as he let out a high, excited shriek and kicked hard against the padded base.

"Not yet," Kevin told him quietly. "I'd rather go for a run right now too, but we've got to do this bullshit first." Jackie responded by blowing spit bubbles like he disapproved of the whole endeavor, and Kevin nodded solemnly. "Yeah, trust me. I know."

He didn't even feel embarrassed when Jeremy stepped out of the car and caught him mid-conversation with his godson. It felt more natural to talk to Jackie than to ignore him—especially with how much the baby craved attention and responded to the world around him. Kevin glanced up.

"Stroller or bag?" he asked.

"Stroller," Jeremy replied.

Kevin nodded and hefted the massive diaper bag from the back, winding the long strap around his hand instead of slinging it over his shoulder. There was no telling how long they'd be here, and Kevin vastly preferred being over-prepared to coming up short—especially where Jackie was concerned.

Jeremy stood behind the stroller, waiting patiently while Kevin locked the car—but as they started walking, his tight, white-knuckled grip on the padded bar creaked faintly. With the stroller ahead of him, it looked almost like a shield—something solid Jeremy could hide behind.

The Knoxes were good people. They really were. But whoever thought hosting Jean's memorial here was a good idea had clearly lost their mind. Kevin didn't need to brush against Jeremy to feel the tension radiating off him as he moved ahead to open the door. Ghosts haunted this place, maybe more so than any other. Of course Jeremy would feel it.

Kevin fell into step beside him as they passed through the back entrance of the stadium, his mind drifting to the brightest memory he had of this place. Losing the championship to the Trojans in his own fourth year—after winning it the year before against the Ravens, in a victory that was about so much more than sport—and Jeremy's fifth hadn't even stung that badly. (Not that he hadn't still been pissed about it. He just hadn't been only pissed.)

Some part of him had been proud. Jeremy had reached his goal of winning the trophy on his last shot, and Jean had experienced what it was like to win without sacrificing everything they'd once believed was necessary to do so. Kevin had learned that lesson with the Foxes, in the rough-edged way they did things. But Jean got it cleaner, and softer, at USC—as he deserved to.

But, of course, his first words to them after that game had been to scold them. Kissing each other on the court in front of everyone was unprofessional. Reckless. It would give them a reputation. (A waste, Kevin thought now. He should've congratulated them first.) As expected, they'd just laughed. Jean had rolled his eyes; Jeremy had hugged him hard enough to bruise. Then they'd invited him out for the summer—his first annual pilgrimage to LA, the beginning of the era, when the three of them became the three of them.

It hurt to think of it now, but the remembering was worth it.

He'd failed to do that with his mother, and he wouldn't fail again—not with Jean.

So as they stepped out of the tunnel into the glow of stadium lights, Kevin didn't brace himself. He remembered the man his brother became here. At USC, Jean had found his own footing. Made friends. Fell in love for the first time. Chose things for himself. He'd been free in every way he'd deserved, and Kevin carried that image like another layer of armor over his suit as they walked through the open plexiglass door ahead.

Jeremy pushed the stroller through first, out onto the cardinal and gold court, and Kevin stepped in beside him. He scanned the room as they moved forward. The decorations were understated—something he was quietly grateful for—round tables with white cloths, a modest coffee and snack service off to one side. Jean would've had a field day with that—joking about how disgusted the Ravens would be to see food set out on a court and how, now that they were free, neither he nor Kevin had to care in the slightest.

The memory nearly drew a smirk—until his gaze caught on the memorial photograph on the easel beside the heavy podium at the back of the room: a poster-sized gilt, ornate frame, surrounded by a cascading swell of white flower arrangements, echoed in smaller bundles centered on each table. The set-up was made more intimate by the golden curtains draped behind the memorial display, sectioning off the sprawl of the court beyond and softening the space with gentle folds.

Christ, Jean looked so vividly alive in that picture.

Kevin took in the sight of his brother's smiling face, blown up large enough to catch the glint in his gray eyes even from a distance, the light overhead sharpening his every feature. The ache in Kevin's chest didn't just throb—it bloomed sharp and brutal, like a steel-toed boot driving dead-center through his ribs.

Reflexively, Kevin reached out, grounding himself with a hand on the small of Jeremy's back—and the moment he made contact, his own pain dropped away.

There was a faint tremble beneath his palm—not enough to see, but more than enough to feel.

Kevin looked aside, instinctively checking. Jeremy's expression was polished and composed, almost serene: not smiling, but not crumbling the way he did at home, no real grief and no hint of his everyday rawness. Shoulders straight. Eyes forward. Mouth relaxed but firm.

Someone greeted them as they passed, and Jeremy smoothly offered a small nod, a fake smile, a polite, "Good to see you too."

Nothing in his face gave away the way his body shuddered beneath Kevin's hand. There wasn't even a flicker of the tremor to be seen on the perfectly-placed mask. All of it was seamless enough to fool anyone who wasn't touching him.

Just like the suit Kevin wore as armor, just like the persona he cloaked himself within, Jeremy had his own version, apparently—one worn better and more completely, maybe even sharper, more honed. He'd teased Kevin for his, but this?

There was a The Jeremy Knox, too, even if never acknowledged aloud.

This was the face of his friend pretending, but Kevin could feel the strain with every step Jeremy took. His breathing was growing shallower, more ragged, as if the farce he was carrying mattered more than his own lungs.

Kevin leaned in, voice low and steady against the shell of Jeremy's ear. "Breathe slower, Jeremy. Everything's alright."

"The picture," Jeremy whispered back. The two words cracked, almost a whimper.

Kevin flicked his eyes to it for only a heartbeat—Jean, forever caught mid-laugh—and then back to Jeremy. Stay close, he told himself as they continued to move, Stay here, with him.

"I know," he said softly.

"It's...," Jeremy took a slow, shaky inhale of breath through his nose. "I'm—I'm fine."

But Kevin heard him swallow, a warning bell of a sound, too small for the room but huge to him. A chill crept under his skin, his stomach twisting, as he realized how easily he might have missed this if he hadn't been close enough to feel it. Had Jeremy fought like this, with this expert mask, in the past and Kevin hadn't seen? Had he believed it, as everyone in this room clearly did?

'I know you do not like to show when you are struggling but do not break yourself further by pretending. Rely on those you have with you. Rely on Kevin.'

Jean's words floated through him, so clearly it almost felt like a hand on his shoulder, bringing him to a halt so he paid attention. It was a blade sliding into its sheath, not cutting, but settling—true, and final. A reminder. And, for the first time, Kevin understood—not just Jean's fear, but his faith and hope too. He'd known it would come to this for Jeremy, at some point, and he'd trusted Kevin to see him through it. That knowledge, his brother's confidence, settled heavily but encouragingly in his chest.

"You don't have to pretend with me, not even here, when we're out like this," Kevin reassured, keeping his voice steady, providing a foundation. "You know that but it's okay if you don't want them to see. I don't want them to see me either, not really, but we've got this. And the second you want to leave, we leave. I swear."

Jeremy gave a small nod, almost imperceptible, and rather than continue walking, he leaned back a fraction into Kevin's hand. Kevin felt the intentionality in him—the fierce, stubborn work of breathing slower, of holding steady. But also, the way he trusted Kevin with it, with his being Jeremy's safe place to land, with his being granted Jeremy's truth and holding him up in it.

God, he was brave. Impossibly strong. It hit Kevin so hard he almost couldn't stand it, so hard that it stole his breath away even once Jeremy was walking again (albeit it slowly).

He wanted to hug him for it, to give all the support he could. He wanted to shield him, to tear him from this place and take him home, but it was a room full of people that Jeremy clearly didn't want to be seen by. Not completely. So Kevin would do this—as much as Jeremy wanted. He would keep the honesty of it within the bubble only the two of them shared—the small precious space between them, the quiet place where they alone understood the cost of Jean's death.

But Kevin didn't say any of it aloud. It wasn't the time. So instead, he pressed his hand a little firmer against Jeremy's back, dragging his thumb in a slow, repeating arc along his spine in silent comfort. Jeremy nodded again, almost like he could hear every word Kevin wasn't saying, and some of the tension loosened from his body. One thread at a time, one breath and then another, he regained himself.

Only after Jeremy's breathing had evened out did Kevin glance ahead again. The Knoxes were thankfully close now, but the path still wound through the crowd. He caught sight of familiar faces as they continued forward—Trojans, Knights, scattered names from the exy world. Some he didn't know but that wasn't surprising since the Knoxes had managed the guest list, with Jeremy's input once or twice.

He shouldn't have been surprised to see Renee there, her pale hair tucked neatly into a low bun, her dark dress falling just past her knees. He hadn't seen her in-person in years.

He couldn't say the same for the three men who stood with her.

His gaze snagged—

A well-known glint of light blond hair. Familiar hazel-gold eyes, locked onto his, unblinking.

Kevin stiffened, his breath catching painfully tight in his throat.

"You didn't know Aaron was coming?" Jeremy asked beside him, slowing his steps.

Kevin stopped short, bewildered by the casual but so perceptive comment—and by Jeremy's speed in noticing. The slight tilt of Jeremy's head told him his friend had already read the surprise on his face. Of course he had.

No, Kevin hadn't known Aaron was coming to the memorial. Hadn't even known he'd been invited—though maybe he should've guessed. The Knox family knew they were dating and had been for a while. But Kevin hadn't spoken to Aaron since the day after Jean died. (And, technically, it had just been a text—not speaking at all.) Weeks had passed in silence between them, and Kevin hadn't spared it a second thought. The world had narrowed too far—reduced to a sage-green house, two lives inside it, and the ever-present echo of Jean. Nothing existed beyond that.

And Kevin hadn't missed it. Hadn't missed him.

"Must've slipped my mind," Kevin said, grateful his voice didn't crack under the lie.

A glance at Jeremy told him it didn't matter—his friend had heard it anyway, even if he didn't know why.

"You can go over there, you know," Jeremy said. "I won't fall apart if you leave my side for a minute."

Kevin wasn't sure that was true. Not after the way Jeremy had looked minutes ago. But his breathing was even now, and the tautness in his limbs had settled into something quieter—fragile, yes, but no longer trembling. Like a too-thin twig under strain. Kevin still worried about the moment it might snap, but Jeremy's brown eyes shimmered with something close to reassurance.

"Go say hi to your friends. And your boyfriend," Jeremy added, soft and steady. "I've stolen you away from him enough as it is." He nodded toward the cluster of people ahead. "Jackie and I'll be over there with my sisters."

"Okay," Kevin said, heart easing a little. At least he'd know where to find him—and knew that Alex would intervene if anyone pushed too far with her brother and nephew.

Jeremy nodded. "Tell Aaron thanks for me, too. I never said it, for helping at the hospital."

Kevin agreed and lingered for a moment, watching Jeremy close the final steps toward his sisters. Only once the Knoxes had gathered around him and Jackie did Kevin turn, crossing the court with steady strides toward the four Foxes. He refused to flinch. Refused to be cowed. But those three sets of eyes—two hazel, one ice-blue—were too much to meet all at once so he looked to Renee first and extended a hand.

"Thank you for coming today, Renee," he said. "I know it's a long journey."

Or he thought it was. Last he'd heard, she was doing humanitarian work in Haiti.

"I'm honored to be included," she said, her smile as gentle as the hands that enclosed his. She glanced past him, toward where the photo of Jean must've been, then met his eyes again. "It's a cruel thing to lose someone before their time. But God works in ways that defy our understanding. Blessings can be hidden in grief—it just takes time to see them."

"Don't say that in front of Jeremy," Kevin snapped. The sharpness surprised even him, but he didn't take it back. Still, Renee's expression didn't waver.

"I understand," she said. "But you of all people know it's true, considering what brought you to the Foxes. And to your father."

Kevin's spine stiffened. He didn't like being reminded how close he'd come to losing everything—or rather, how close he'd come to never finding it in the first place. He hated how easily she could still see it.

He'd made a mistake starting with her. Time and distance from PSU had dulled his wariness, let him be lulled by her softness. Kevin had forgotten how disarming she could be—how easily she saw people. Her tone of voice was delicate, but it never dulled the blade beneath, as any Fox knew well. Kevin thought he might particularly know too; it took a certain kind of woman to have the (reckless) bravery to dive into the Nest alone. He turned from her too quickly, not bothering to respond since he didn't know how to, and found his eyes settling on Neil to her right.

The icy blue of Neil's gaze hadn't thawed with age. He studied Kevin in silence, then asked—

"How bad was it?"

How much did Jean suffer? Kevin understood the real question.

"It could've been worse," Kevin said.

Because it could have. And Neil—former Four, almost-Raven—was the only other person here who could fully grasp what worse might have meant for people like them.

Neil gave a short, tight nod. "Do they need anything? Knox and the kid?"

Kevin resisted the urge to look Jeremy's way, though he knew exactly where they stood. This wasn't the time to show cracks within his armor, those soft vulnerable parts. Not with these people. But, he desperately wished he could look, even if only for a second, for how he knew the sight of the pair of them would ground him.

But this was his to deal with alone.

Kevin answered, "No. I'm handling it."

The offer surprised him honestly. Neil didn't typically look after people outside his inner circle. Then again, it was easy to be exiled from that circle—Kevin had lived it off and on now for years.

"How's training out here?" Neil asked.

That, at least, didn't surprise him. With the two of them, it always circled back to exy. It was the safest ground they had—though even that could turn sour quickly too nowadays.

"I haven't done much," Kevin admitted, one shoulder lifting. "Shit's been busy."

Neil arched a judgmental brow. "You shouldn't slack off. The Sirens already missed playoffs last year. Word is the championship was a fluke. People say you're losing your touch."

"Losing it so much Denver wouldn't take me?" Kevin shot back.

"That offer's off the table," Neil said, cool and sharp. "You missed your shot."

"Shame."

Kevin hadn't wanted Denver. Still didn't. He wasn't planning to leave Chicago—not with the Sirens' potential for another title—but the jab still caught somewhere raw. Just like it had two seasons ago when he first turned Neil down. He didn't regret it—not with a trophy to his name. What he regretted was the widening crack it left in a friendship already fraying at the edges.

Who they'd been back then—Kevin and Neil and Andrew—was forged in extraordinary conditions. Bonds shaped by pressure and violence—but outside that environment, without something to offer, it all fell apart. What had been tightly woven unraveled without the danger that once kept them bound, especially once the two of them grew closer and Kevin started dating Aaron.

In truth, Kevin wasn't sure they ever would've noticed him if the three hadn't met in the particular way they did. They certainly wouldn't have chosen him, not if he hadn't had something to exchange for their attention.

"You can't afford to fall behind," Neil said.

Kevin's jaw clenched. He didn't want to think about this. Not now. Not here. Not on a court he wasn't even going to use today, was only going to stand here atop of meaninglessly.

"I don't have a leash anymore," Kevin bit. "I can get as behind as I fucking want."

"Still dramatic," Andrew drawled, low and dry. A cat with a mouse. Kevin had never been the cat, not with him. "Must be exhausting at your age."

It was the first time he'd spoken, though Kevin had felt his watchful presence all along. Even when Andrew seemed to be scanning the room lazily, Kevin wasn't fooled. He met those hazel eyes squarely.

"Neither does your sugar addiction." Kevin glanced deliberately at Andrew's stomach.

Low blow. But he was done with this conversation—and he hadn't even reached Aaron yet. His boyfriend stood silent at Andrew's side, eyes as golden and too-observant as ever. A mirror, in look and in threat.

Andrew scoffed, but a sharp smile tugged at his mouth. He could taste Kevin's irritation in the air, and couldn't help but draw blood. Foxes always had teeth. It made them survivors, and predators.

"And yet," Andrew said, quiet and deliberate. "You'll still lose every point that counts. It'll eat you alive. Same as always." A pause held, a blade against ribs, "You look one bad swing from a breakdown. Been too long off the court for you, right, Day?"

Kevin's blood spiked. He opened his mouth—then shut it. Andrew's eyes didn't waver. Hazel on green. And just for a second, Kevin saw something flicker beneath the golden surface—curiosity, maybe. Or a warning. Andrew had never liked what Kevin's anger hid: the broken boy with the busted hand, always too cowardly to be worth the effort of protecting, always making promises he couldn't keep.

"Alright, boys," Renee cut in sweetly, "This isn't the day to let your inner Fox out. How about we go find some coffee? Andrew? Neil?"

Neil nodded, still watching Kevin closely. Andrew shrugged, then slung an arm around his husband's waist and followed Renee. (That stung too—finding out they'd married without telling him. Eloped, apparently. They hadn't told anyone. Not even Aaron.)

Kevin turned to the last of the four. One more role to play.

Aaron hadn't said a word—but he hadn't needed to. His silence was practiced, patient. His mind more devastating than any weapon. It took real effort for Kevin to arrange a small, polite smile after the others had already drained him dry.

"Hi, Aaron."

He made himself meet Aaron's eyes, but his voice came out thinner than he would've liked.

"Hey," Aaron returned, equal parts restrained and flat. "How's Jeremy?"

"It changes day by day, but he's surviving," Kevin said.

"And you?"

"The same."

Aaron nodded, glancing past Kevin's shoulder at the packed gymnasium before his gaze returned with surgical precision. He looked good. Of course he did. The tailored gray suit, the impeccable navy tie, the short blond hair styled with professional artfulness. Kevin had seen him dressed like this dozens of times for fundraisers and hospital boards, and yet it looked displaced here, like Aaron didn't quite belong in the space they occupied now, like he'd wandered into someone else's grief by mistake.

Or maybe Kevin was the one displaced.

It wasn't the first time Kevin had wondered how he ended up dating a stranger. He'd thought it more and more lately, and maybe had been for longer than he cared to admit.

"You haven't called," Aaron said after a beat.

I haven't wanted to.

"It's been a lot around here. Haven't had the time," Kevin answered. Aaron didn't challenge the obvious lie.

Kevin knew he should have called. Or at least, that he should've wanted to. He should've wanted to reach out to his boyfriend during the worst month of his adult life. But he hadn't. They'd never been that kind of couple, even in the beginning. Not like Jean and Jeremy, who checked in just to hear each other's voices. Honestly, Kevin wasn't even sure what kind of couple they were.

And it wasn't just that he hadn't wanted to—it hadn't even occurred to him. Not once. Not even unconsciously. It had taken the shock of seeing Aaron in the gym to remind Kevin that their relationship was still technically active.

That had to mean something, the realization—however faint—ringing through him like a distant, hollow bell. Kevin just didn't want to figure out what it meant. Not here. Not in this place. Not when he was more armor than man, more persona than person, keeping the performance just barely together with sheer muscle memory.

"When are you going to have the time to come home then?" Aaron asked, his voice sharpening just enough for the frustrated edge beneath it to cut.

Right. Chicago.

The word 'home' didn't quite land. Kevin hadn't thought to have Gavin check on his apartment there (He'd have to remedy that.), and Aaron's townhouse certainly didn't qualify for the word. He had a few things there, but not much—Kevin rarely stayed long. His penthouse studio near the stadium suited him better, and besides, Aaron worked long hours even after his promotion. They'd floated the idea of Kevin moving in a few times over the years, but neither of them had taken any real steps to make it happen.

Maybe that had been the sign. Maybe all of it had been.

Kevin tried to remember the last time a place had truly felt like home. Not Boston—his time with the Dragons had been like Chicago, more routine than rooted. Palmetto maybe, briefly, but it had always felt like a stopgap. Abby's house—now his father's too—had been a haven, not a home. A place to return to but not to belong. The Nest was laughable even to consider.

Contae an Chláir.

The thought of it struck him unbidden—a flashing image of a stone facade worn smooth by salted wind and sea spray, nestled in grass too green to be real and the scent of peat smoke in the air. The Day house in County Clare, his mother's ancestral home and, his too supposedly. It'd been passed down through generations and was now owned by the only surviving one. Kevin paid the taxes on it every spring but he hadn't honestly thought of it in a long time. Not until now.

Kevin shook the thought loose.

I need more sleep, he told himself, blaming the drift of his attention on that.

"I don't know yet," Kevin said, which was only partially true. He had made a promise to Jeremy—he just didn't have a return date yet. "Probably not until closer to training camp. Jeremy needs me here."

I need to be here.

Aaron's mouth thinned. "He doesn't really though, does he?"

"Aaron," Kevin warned, the undercurrent of the tone too-familiar, "Don't—"

"I waited. Gave you space during the season, just like you asked. But this? You disappearing out here, without a word?" Aaron scoffed, such a quiet sound for how much it held, "Jeremy doesn't need you specifically. He'll have to figure it out on his own eventually—but he has a family. A wide support network. You don't have to stay in LA. You should want to be at home with—"

"I want to stay with him, for fuck's sake. Drop it," Kevin hissed, vicious and with venom, without regret for either.

He kept his voice low, not wanting to draw attention, but the force behind it cracked anyway. Aaron didn't flinch, but Kevin saw the flash in his hazel eyes, unmistakable and sharp, that gave him away. The tick of a vein, just there at the back hinge of his jaw. Kevin had pissed him off. It was anger, or something older and harder to name.

Kevin wasn't even sure why it ticked Aaron off. They barely saw each other in Chicago as it was. Was it really that hard to just trust him? He'd made a promise to Jean, yes—but that wasn't even the whole of it anymore. He wanted to be here. With Jeremy. With Jackie. It was the only thing that had made any kind of sense lately. He'd even said as much to Jeremy, and had been accepted for it.

So anyone else who couldn't accept that could fuck right off.

Kevin took a long breath, forced his shoulders down, softened his voice by degrees.

"I'm sorry. Snapping like that was rude." He exhaled. "I just need you to take my word for the fact that being in LA is good for me. Alright?"

"Fine," Aaron said.

It didn't sound fine, but Kevin wasn't going to push. Not today, not in a time like this. He'd deal with Aaron and the rest of their bullshit in Chicago. And it would probably (definitely) be a fight, and it wouldn't be a clean one—they weren't the sort of couple who fought prettily.

"Jeremy wanted me to thank you," Kevin added, pivoting. "For stepping in with the doctor at the hospital. We both appreciated it."

"Sure," Aaron said. "It was the least I could do. If he needs advice or recommendations for Jacques sometime, I can—"

"Jackie."

Aaron blinked. "What?"

"He goes by Jackie, not Jacques."

Only Jean had called him that—Jacques—in that soft, effortless French that made the full name sound like a poem. Anyone else saying it sounded wrong. Too harsh. Too stiff and rubbed raw. Especially coming from Aaron, who didn't know the shape of it.

"Right," Aaron said after a pause, his eyes narrowing. "Jackie."

His tone grated, not quite mocking but far from warm. Everything about standing here was too strained. Too distant from how it felt at the house. Even in their shared grief, Kevin never felt as trapped with the Jeremy and Jackie as he did now. Aaron's gaze stripped him bare, peeled the skin back to get at the hollow underneath.

Then, after a beat, Aaron added, "You looked... natural, walking in with him. With Jeremy, and the baby. Comfortable."

Kevin stilled. For a moment, it felt like the air between them thinned to glass.

So there it was—the thing Aaron hadn't said. The thing he probably wouldn't in a clearer, honest way.

Kevin knew, distantly, what Aaron was angling toward with that comment—that he'd always wanted that kind of life. The picket fence. The baby pictures. The posed holiday cards and stability shaped like a future. The first time he mentioned it, it was a meandering musing of his future after being acquitted post-trial. The second time he mentioned it, now years ago, he said he wanted it with Kevin.

Kevin had said no.

There was no third mentioning of it.

Kevin didn't feel cruel for saying so. It wasn't because he didn't care about Aaron's happiness, but because he had his life already—his name, his game, his body, and past that continued to haunt. The Kevin Day was non-negotiable, the weight of a legacy already too heavy on a second-generation of shoulders to consider passing on—even if Kevin liked kids, which he didn't. All he'd ever wanted was exy.

He just wasn't built for anything but the court.

And now Aaron had watched Kevin walk beside Jeremy, a baby in the stroller before them, looking—what? Settled? Belonging? Like it was something Kevin wanted, but not with Aaron?

Kevin ground his back molars together, suddenly too aware of the weight of his suit, of the sweat collecting at the base of his spine, of the heat crawling up the back of his neck.

It wasn't fair. Kevin wasn't that man. He hadn't held Jackie in front of anyone, hadn't done anything wrong. He wasn't playing house. He was surviving—and being the friend Jeremy needed to keep from sinking further. He was keeping his promise to his brother. That was all.

So why did it feel like Aaron was accusing him of something else entirely, of something more?

Kevin looked away, jaw clenched so tight it ached, almost too much to speak through.

"I'm just doing what I can," he said finally, voice a shade too neutral.

It wasn't an answer. Not really. But it was all he could give...or rather, it was all he was willing to give Aaron.

"Excuse me."

Kevin turned, breath catching in grateful relief for the interruption, to find Coach James Rhemann of the USC Trojans standing just behind him.

"Coach Rhemann," Kevin said, warmth slipping into his voice more easily than usual. He didn't know the man personally but he was thankful—viscerally—for his appearance. He turned fully and offered his hand, which Rhemann shook easily with a solid, meaty palm.

"Good to see you, Kevin," Rhemann said, then offered his hand to Aaron. "Mr. Minyard, right?"

"Doctor," Aaron corrected, shaking in kind.

Rhemann's friendly smile didn't falter at the correction. He turned back to Kevin with it still in place.

"I was hoping to talk to you for a minute, if you can spare one?"

"Of course," Kevin said, already gesturing aside to lead him away.

He didn't realize he'd failed to say goodbye to Aaron until they were too far apart—and clearly, Aaron hadn't noticed either. Neither of them had offered to talk more later, and Kevin didn't regret not doing so.

"What's on your mind, Coach?" Kevin asked once they reached a quieter stretch of wall.

"James, please," Rhemann said with a faint grin. "You're a grown man now, not some college kid. No need for titles."

Kevin gave a short nod in acknowledgment, smiling politely.

"I wanted to tell you," James went on, "that you did a good job getting Jeremy out to something like this. I know it's not easy. When the loss is still fresh, even if you think it's the right thing... it's still hard."

"He wanted to," Kevin said. Then, slower, "As much as he wants anything these days."

"I get that." James glanced across the room, his gaze lingering as his voice softened. "I lost my Annie when you boys would've been no more than kindergartners. Helicopter crash in the hills—she was a trauma nurse, overseeing a patient transfer."

Kevin swallowed hard, and for a moment he could barely breathe. The thought struck sharp and sudden:

At least we had the chance to say goodbye.

James continued gently, "It doesn't get easier—but it also does. Don't worry if that doesn't make sense yet. You just learn to keep living. That's the goal. And Jeremy will, too."

He reached into his jacket pocket and held something out. Kevin extended his hand automatically, and James tipped the contents into it: a small slip of paper and a ring with three keys.

Kevin stared down at them, his brow furrowing.

"The paper's for Jeremy," James said. "Didn't want to overwhelm him with the suggestion, but... there's a widower's support group I think could be good for him. I've been a member for decades. They're good men. No pressure—but when the time feels right, maybe you bring it up. Figured you'd know when's best."

He nodded to the keys next. "Those are for you." He touched them in turn. "Back doors here. Locker room. Equipment room."

"Here?" Kevin echoed, still confused.

"Jeremy called me bright and early today. Said you needed somewhere to train while you're in LA. Trojans won't be back the rest of the month, so the court's just sitting here empty." James smiled and tapped his foot affectionately on the wood beneath them. "Put 'er to good use. Even when the kids get back, you're more than welcome to keep coming by. Practice schedule's on the bulletin board outside the locker room. Helps if you want to avoid any lookie-lous."

He winked. "They're good kids, though. They'll leave you alone—even if you're pretty much a god to them."

Kevin's hand closed around the keys on instinct, crumpling the paper too, but he didn't care. He couldn't care, not with everything he felt in that singular moment. His breath stalled in his chest as the weight of the keys hit him—not the literal weight, though that was there too with cold metal pressing into his palm—but the meaning behind them.

Jeremy had thought of this. While drowning in his own grief, with the eyes of everyone on him, Jeremy had thought of this. Of him. He'd called Coach Rhemann first thing in the morning—not for himself, but for Kevin. He'd asked his former coach to give Kevin a court. This court, the one that meant more than any other.

Kevin hadn't even said a word. He'd done his best to not even hint at his inner turmoil over it. He never would've even asked.

But Jeremy had known.

He'd known, without needing to be told, without needing to be asked, and he'd done something about it. He'd filled the gaping hole of need gnawing ever-deeper in Kevin's chest. He'd given Kevin the one thing he wouldn't voice aloud.

And it mattered so much that Jeremy did. That Jeremy still saw him. Still knew him. And somehow, even now, he was finding ways to take care of Kevin with the same quiet, deliberate tenderness that had carried them through everything else. Like it was natural. Like instinct or breath.

No one had ever done that for him.
Not like this. No angle. No ask. No expectation. Just... care.

His throat closed tight. The swell of emotion was sudden and sharp, enough to make his knees buckle slightly before he locked them. It didn't matter that the court was full of strangers, that the paper was wrinkled in his grip, that the keys clinked faintly in his pocket now like they'd always belonged to him.

He's still taking care of me.

"Thank you," Kevin said, voice low and thick with it. "I'll take good care of your court."

"I'm sure you will," James said with a nod. "Don't be a stranger. If you kids need anything—really—just call."

Kevin nodded and thanked him again, but he didn't linger. He excused himself with quiet urgency, as quick as he could without being rude, slipping the keys and folded paper into the safest pocket he had like he was tucking away something sacred.

And maybe he was.

His steps carried him before he even made the choice. He needed to find Jeremy.

A glance at the Knoxes showed only Jackie—content in Alex's arms—while the others spoke to guests he didn't know. No Jeremy in sight.

Kevin's heart kicked up. The gym felt too open, too loud, too full of people who weren't him. Weren't Jeremy.

He scanned the crowd until the shifting bodies parted and there—on the farthest side of the court—stood Jeremy, talking to two women Kevin didn't recognize from behind. It didn't matter. His gaze locked onto Jeremy like it always did when he let himself stop running from it. And then he did stop, just for a second, as something in his chest cracked wider.

Because Jeremy had done this for him. On today of all days. And the moment of it felt immense.

Grief still lived in Kevin's bones, still pressed down on his chest with every breath—but now it shared space with something steadier, warmer. Gratitude. Maybe even awe. Some word that applied to miracles. And a longing so raw it curled under his skin like heat.

He crossed the court in long strides, knees a little loose, heart a little too full. The keys clinked softly with each step, a sound only he could hear. A sound that tethered him but not even close to as surely as the man he walked toward did.

If they had to be broken, at least they were broken together.

"It's bullshit," one of the women was saying as Kevin approached. "Just all of it."

"It is," Jeremy replied with a quiet, staid nod.

But even as he said it, his gaze rose over the woman's head to meet Kevin's. The relief in Jeremy's eyes matched Kevin's own entirely. He never should've walked away to talk to the Foxes—not when he knew, in his bones, that he belonged at Jeremy's side and nowhere else. Jeremy didn't look away, not even when the woman spoke again.

Her voice trembled with a mix of frustration and pain. "That they couldn't do anything at all? I mean—"

"Honey," said the second woman gently, laying a hand on her arm.

"I know, you explained it. I heard you. But just because there's a medical fucking reason doesn't make it easier to accept. Not when it's Jean."

Kevin passed the pair without looking, keeping his eyes on Jeremy as he reached him and scanned him wordlessly, needing to see that he was okay. Jeremy held his gaze as Kevin placed a hand to the small of his back—a subtle, steady pressure that told him the tension from earlier hadn't returned. Kevin recognized the women now, former Trojans Alvarez and McDermott—Jeremy's old teammates, and good friends to Jean too. Kevin had only faced them briefly in college, never more than opponents on the court, but perhaps their closeness to his friend had helped Jeremy keep his calm.

"Catalina," Kevin said politely. "Laila. Thank you for being here."

Jeremy shifted subtly closer to him. Not like he would've at home, but enough that their sides brushed, a warmth shared. They both remained there and Kevin didn't question it, not with how he was drawn in by the same quiet need. Despite the full room—despite the many there who had loved Jean—no one else understood the depth of the loss the way they did. Only the two of them, bound in the quiet intimacy of shared sorrow, held together now by Jackie's light and the ache of what they'd survived.

Laila nodded, her voice softening even more. "We wouldn't miss something like this. Jean was the most wonderful man. And such a good friend. We're heartbroken... how sudden it was, and everything."

"And pissed off too, but whatever," Catalina muttered.

"It's okay to be both," Jeremy said simply. "I am."

Brutal honesty, effortless—and it made Kevin ache. He nodded, unable to find words and caught in the force of it, so he was surprised when Jeremy leaned in to hug both women in parting then without talking more, murmuring that they'd talk again later. Then he turned to Kevin with a slight gesture of his head.

Kevin followed, a flicker of worry rising. Jeremy had seemed fine just moments before. But he said nothing until they'd reached a quiet corner near the far plexiglass, out of range of the crowd.

"What is it?" Kevin asked. "Are you alright?"

"I brought you over here to ask that," Jeremy said, his brown eyes soft as he rested a hand on Kevin's bicep. "What's wrong, Kev? You looked off the second you walked up."

So much for armor—Jeremy had seen straight through him, and somehow it wasn't surprising. Of course Jeremy had noticed. Kevin dropped his gaze, ashamed by how visible the crack in his facade had become. Of anyone, least of all Jeremy, seeing him so obviously undone.

"It's just a lot," he said vaguely.

"Yeah. It is."

Kevin's jaw clenched. "You shouldn't have to say that. I'm here to support you. I shouldn't need—"

"Kev." Jeremy's voice was gentle, but there was a firmness behind it, a cutting off that brooked no argument in continuation. "You aren't weak."

"I—I didn't say I was," Kevin said hoarsely.

"But you were thinking it." Jeremy gave his arm a soft squeeze. "I know you promised to take care of me, but it was unsaid that I'd take care of you too. We stick with each other, remember? If anything, I'm the one who's been failing you. You've been doing everything on your own."

"No," Kevin protested. "No, I haven't. You haven't failed at all, Jeremy. Really..." He searched his face, desperate to convey it. "You—you asked Rhemann to give me keys to the court."

"Yeah. You'd be training hard by now if you weren't here. Runs with Jackie aren't enough for you. I know that."

"I shouldn't leave you alone that long," Kevin said, even though the words rang hollow.

Jeremy shook his head. "None of that. You will because it's what you want and I want you to. I want you to be taken care of too—and exy does that. You need it for yourself." He glanced around the gym. "Honestly, it'll make me feel a little better too. Knowing you're here. Keeping this place alive."

Kevin closed his eyes and tried to breathe through the sudden sting behind them. His breath caught when he felt Jeremy's palm brush gently against his cheek. He opened his eyes again.

Sometimes it was too much, being close to someone like Jeremy—someone who saw so much but also made the world fade away with a single look. His attention had always been like that. Consuming and comforting all at once.

"I'm here for you too, Kev. All of you. Not just the version of you that you let people see," Jeremy said softly. The world fell away under the sound of his voice. "We're both here, so don't hide anything from me. Just like I won't hide from you. Okay? We're doing this together. All of it. Every day."

Doing this—living, surviving, finding a way forward one day at a time. Together, side-by-side, no matter how broken or lost. Honest and open, even within grief. All of it just as Jean had asked them to be for one another.

"Thank you," Kevin said, choking slightly on the words. He had to clear his throat before he could add, "I'm not going to hide either, Jeremy. I just... I need to do my best for you. Does that make sense?"

"Oh, Kev," Jeremy said fondly. He didn't smile, but it was there in his voice. "You don't know how to do anything but your best. Taking care of Jackie and me included. That's why we're so lucky to have you."

That Jeremy could still talk about luck—after everything—was staggering but Kevin understood it. He felt it too, for the sheer honor of calling Jeremy his friend.

His dearest one, by far.

Jeremy stepped in closer, letting his hand fall from Kevin's cheek to loop through his arm. His fingers brushed Kevin's wrist before settling into the crook of his elbow—familiar, unhurried, like the kind of touch meant to remind someone they weren't alone. The gesture looked casual, but Kevin felt the tether of it—Jeremy anchoring him in place before the tide could pull him under again. And Kevin's body reacted before his mind caught up, angling toward Jeremy too, drawn to the contact the way skin seeks heat in the cold.

"I've still got people to talk to," he said, voice low, his gaze holding Kevin's. "But I don't want to do it without you. Stay with me?"

Always.

Kevin didn't say it aloud, but he didn't need to. It echoed in him, deep and certain. Jeremy was the sort of man you'd follow off a cliff. And even with the rocks waiting below, you wouldn't feel a second of regret. Kevin had known that since he was a Raven and only nineteen—since he learned the summer sun in Texas was the weaker light, the lesser warmth, in comparison to the man beside him. That lesson had only grown clearer with each passing year of their friendship.

With Jeremy's arm woven through his own, Kevin escorted him back into the event and settled them just beside Jean's photograph. He angled their bodies deliberately, positioning himself between Jeremy and the image so it wouldn't be the first thing Jeremy had to see as the line, already forming before them, began to move. The heavy podium loomed on Jeremy's other side. Behind them, the golden curtains blanketed the air. There was a trapped sensation to it, Kevin thought, as the first pair of semi-recognizable faces stepped forward with soft, sad smiles.

The line of mourners seemed endless as time passed immeasurably. The condolences were all heartfelt, Kevin saw it in the sorrowful expressions and heard it in the bittersweet tones of voice, but they were too similar as they expressed their regret for Jeremy's new lot in life, for how sudden Jean's death was, for Jackie in-general, for how they were all too young to be burdened by such tragedy.

Each repetition tightened the spring coiling at the base of Kevin's spine, though his voice remained even and polite, his thank-yous steady, his expressions of sanitized grief precise.

Jean would've found it nauseating. Kevin wished he could've leaned over and murmured some snide comment the way they used to, shared between them like always with matching wry smiles. But instead, he focused on Jeremy, who was growing more brittle by the minute. He kept his polite mask in place, nodding and thanking and enduring with no visible cracks, but Kevin felt Jeremy's growing weariness in the slight bow of his back, the faint crease deepening at the corners of his mouth.

Kevin offered comfort where he could—his thumb drifting up and down Jeremy's spine, a soft squeeze to his shoulder—and was met each time with a brief, grateful glance. Jeremy, who had always been the most gifted people-person Kevin knew, who once seemed energized by this sort of thing, now looked like he was dissolving inside it.

Still, he didn't ask to leave. If anything, it was Jeremy who comforted others more than they comforted him, which irked Kevin inexplicably. He couldn't explain the sting—when people offered Jeremy quiet support, when they said things about the hardship of single fatherhood, when they spoke of how difficult this must be with such a young child to raise alone.

Kevin wanted to bite back. Jeremy wasn't alone. He didn't need saving, but if he did, that job was taken. Kevin was already doing everything he could—had sworn to do it. Jean had entrusted him with this, with them, and if Jean had believed someone else could handle it better, he'd have asked them. But he hadn't.

He'd asked Kevin.

And Kevin clung to that trust like its own promise, like a lifeline—believing in Jean's belief, even when he didn't believe in himself.

Each well-meaning comment tightened Kevin's urge to find Jackie, to press the baby to his own chest and to take him and Jeremy home. His Knoxes. He kept scanning the crowd, looking for the child. Though each time he saw Jackie was still with family, it reassured him a little less. The distance felt too far, too gaping.

Kevin had never imagined that giving the eulogy would come as a relief—but it was. When the time came at last, he led Jeremy to his seat in the foremost table and moved toward the podium. He drew the cue cards from his pocket with steady fingers and looked over to Jeremy, who sat with Jackie in his lap, Miranda on one side and Emme on the other. The Knox family, their chairs pulled from around the table to create a solid line of support.

He touched his tie absentmindedly, recalling Jeremy's careful hands adjusting it for him back at the house, and turned his gaze to the gathered crowd.

"Even if I'd had a hundred years to prepare the perfect words for a day like this, I wouldn't have been able to," Kevin began, voice clear and steady in the hush of the court. "It's cruel in that way—that even in trying to do justice to the man who meant more to me than anyone else, I still fall short. But my hope is that the words you share between you, in Jean's memory, will do what mine can't."

He let his gaze drift past them all, over the crowd and toward the far end of the court where a netted goal stood still and empty. He couldn't meet their eyes. He didn't want to be seen, not by these strangers. But he owed Jean his full self, or as close to it as he could get—and for that, Kevin had to pretend he was speaking to no one but the man who should've been here to hear it.

"Jean Yves Knox was so proud of his last name," Kevin said. "I'd seen him happy before, of course, especially after he came to Los Angeles—but I'd never seen him as overwhelmingly happy as he was on the day he told me Jeremy was glad to share his name. Jean didn't have a family before coming here. Not really. He'd never had friendships like the ones he made at USC. He'd never fallen in love. I didn't even know the Jean Knox who came to be in LA could exist. But he did. And that version of him—the one we knew here—was the truest one. The one who should've always been."

That came from you too, mon frére.

Kevin cleared his throat, pushing Jean's voice from his mind so he could continue.

"Jean was the most resilient man I've ever known," he said, steady again. "There was nothing that stopped him from moving forward—not even himself. He was braver and kinder than he believed he was. And he was funny too in a sharp, unexpected way that could knock the breath out of you with laughter. I'm sure plenty of you knew that, too."

A soft wave of chuckles moved through the court. Kevin didn't acknowledge them.

"He was a professional to his core. The hardest worker on any exy court. A champion, both collegiate and pro. An Olympian. A gold medalist." Kevin swallowed, forcing himself onward. "But Jean would've said none of that was important—not compared to what he truly treasured in his life, all of which is in this room. He was a friend to all of you. A son to Miranda and Ricky Knox. He adored Alex and Emme like the little sisters he never had. And Jean was..."

His voice broke, a small tremor he couldn't mask. He looked to Jeremy—always Jeremy—drawn to the quiet strength in his brown eyes.

"Jean was my brother in all but name," Kevin said, "in every way that mattered. He was the best husband to Jeremy and the most devoted father to Jackie. Jean surprised me constantly. He inspired me every day. And he gave me faith that things like love, and joy, and hope were real—even when they felt like fantasies."

Kevin turned his eyes outward again, letting them sweep the crowd unseeingly.

"I want to prove him right by finding those things for myself one day. And I hope you do, too, because Jean wanted that for all of us. He wanted us to be free, and to treasure the days we have. He knew better than most how precious time is—and how easily it can be lost. He didn't waste a single day. Not one. He was proud to know each of you. To call you friends. To call you family..."

His voice softened.

"To call you his husband," he said, looking directly at Jeremy, "and the father of his child."

Jeremy hiccupped, a soft sob muffled by his hand. His mother and sister leaned in close on either side of him in comfort and support, but his eyes never left Kevin's. Kevin gave him a tremulous smile—small, unthinking—and slipped into French without planning to.

"You were the greatest gift of his life, Jérémie," he said, voice so low it felt private. "Jean told me so himself, countless times. You were everything he ever dreamed of, and more. You never could've been anything less. And I'll make sure you know it—I'll tell you what Jean would, so you don't forget. He loved you so much, mon très cher ami. With everything he was. And wherever he is now, he still loves you. Just like you love him."

Silence settled heavy after those final words. A spike of panic lanced down Kevin's spine and he fought to keep his face from showing any sign of it. Jeremy had told him—weeks ago—not to speak French. And still, the words had come. Not from the cue cards. Nowhere rehearsed.

But it had felt right. True. The words themselves, the language used. Even though Jeremy looked away from him for the first time since he began the eulogy.

Kevin had closing remarks prepared. He swallowed hard, trying to keep the vulnerability from roiling to the surface and glancing down to move on to the final card, but there wasn't time to restart as Jeremy's shifting drew all of Kevin's attention back to him. He watched in silence as Jeremy lifted Jackie into Miranda's arms and rose with a small tug at his suit jacket. His gaze fixed on Kevin again, remaining there—brown eyes luminous and unwavering—as he crossed the short distance to the podium. He glanced toward Jean's photograph once, then stepped into Kevin's side and leaned his head against his arm.

Kevin breathed. For the first time since since stepping up behind the podium, he truly breathed.

It wasn't part of the schedule for Jeremy to speak. But Kevin knew, without question, that he would.

"I just wanna thank you all for being here," Jeremy said, voice low but firm enough to carry in the quiet court. "In case I haven't had a chance to say it to you individually yet. You meant a lot to Jean. To me too. I—"

His voice caught. Sharp. Raw. He swallowed hard, and Kevin, beneath the podium, reached over to find his hand. He closed his fingers around Jeremy's and squeezed once—solid, anchoring.

Jeremy gripped back with bruising force but Kevin would've let his bones break rather than let him go.

"I couldn't have said anything better than what Kevin did," Jeremy finished, ragged. "I just... I wanted to say thanks. So thank you. Gracias. Merci beaucoup."

The French cracked delicately at the edges. His gasp for air was soft, audible only to Kevin.

Kevin spoke one last time, voice pitched to carry the closing. "Please take this time to connect with each other, to remember Jean, and to share those memories freely. Thank you for attending today to support Jean's family and for remembering him."

A ripple of nods and the quiet shift of chairs answered him, but Kevin didn't linger, not caring if the ending seemed abrupt. He slipped an arm around Jeremy's waist, kept their joined hands hidden from view, and turned them away from the podium.

Jeremy followed without a word, his chest hitching harshly once, twice. Kevin felt the telltale tremor beginning beneath his touch—too fast, too shallow, the way Jeremy breathed in the earliest days of grief when the reality struck too hard. There was no time to waste.

With steady urgency, Kevin parted the golden curtain and drew Jeremy behind it, one hand firm at his waist. The fabric whispered closed behind them, muffling the court's gentle rise of voices.

In the dimmer light, with only the hum of fluorescents above and the faint scuff of distant shoes, Kevin kept hold of Jeremy as the first real shudder wracked through him. He shifted, hands rising to cup Jeremy's face as he bent slightly at the knees to meet him at eye level. But Jeremy's eyes were clamped shut, the strain in them mirrored by the tight line of his jaw beneath Kevin's fingers. Harsh, uneven breaths wheezed from between lips barely parted.

"Je suis là," Kevin said, voice firm and soothing as he continued in French. "Open your eyes now. Look at me, Rémie. Come on—stay with me."

Jeremy's whimper cut through him. His hands scrambled up until they found the lapels of Kevin's jacket, fisting them tight like it was all he had left to hold on to. When his eyes finally opened, they shone with raw pain—and the sight of it stole Kevin's own breath as Jeremy kept fighting for his.

"It's—it's...," Jeremy choked out, "God. It's so hard. I can't. He's..."

"I know. I know," Kevin crooned, smoothing his thumbs along Jeremy's damp cheeks as the first tears fell. "Put your hands flat now. Count the beats a few times. You need to breathe for me, okay?"

Jeremy nodded faintly, pressing his palms flat to Kevin's chest against his shirt. Kevin began to whisper counts, matching them to the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat. The panic hadn't hit as hard as the last time—not yet—and Jeremy's breathing, though shaky, began to settle after only a few cycles.

"Mon Dieu, Rémie," Kevin murmured, awe in his voice as he kept the grounding motion of his thumbs along Jeremy's skin. "You're doing so good. You really are. You're so strong—just like Jean said. I always knew it too. But today... today you've been incredible. You keep proving both of us right."

"I'm not, though," Jeremy whispered, his eyes closed again, leaning into Kevin's touch like it was the only thing holding him upright. "I'm a mess. I'm always gonna be a mess."

Kevin shook his head once before he leaned in and kissed Jeremy's forehead, barely a brush of lips against skin, and whispered into the warmth there.

"You aren't," Kevin said, soft as breath. "You're as perfect as you've always been, Rémie. Fais-moi confiance, d’accord? I know it doesn't feel like it—but I can see it."

Jeremy inhaled deeply, the breath catching but full enough for Kevin to feel the rise of his chest. Only then did Kevin realize they hadn't moved. His hands still held Jeremy's face; Jeremy's palms were still spread against his chest beneath his suit jacket. They were so close, every point of contact warm and real and grounding. Jeremy's skin was so soft—warmer than Kevin expected, comforting in a way that made it hard to let go. His forehead still pressed lightly to Kevin's lips, which hadn't moved.

Kevin pulled back slightly, just enough to see his eyes. He needed to see them—Jeremy's eyes always told him what he needed to know. And when their gazes met, Kevin felt it like a shift inside him. Jeremy's eyes were wide and brown and shimmering with the remnants of tears, his face tipped up to hold Kevin's too and catching the lights above them. Beautiful, just like Jean had always said. Perfect, just like Kevin had always believed—even then.

"Can—?" Jeremy's voice was small, rough. "Can we go home now? Please?"

"Absolutely," Kevin said, the word escaping on a rush.

"Are you sure? I don't wanna make you—"

"I wanted to leave as soon as we got here," Kevin said, shaking his head. "Trust me. All I want is to get you and Jackie outta here."

"And you, with us."

Kevin's chest loosened with quiet affection, deep and grounding, like something unfolding inward. Something quiet, warm, unnameable. He nodded. "Always, Jeremy. C'mon. Let's get the baby and go."

Jeremy nodded too, but didn't move away. Instead, he leaned more fully into Kevin's touch, shifting his hands to rest over Kevin's, still cradling his face. He closed his eyes, and for a few long, steady breaths, just stayed—resting into it like it was the only place he could exhale. Kevin didn't move either. He didn't need to question it. Jeremy needed this, whatever this was, and Kevin would give it to him. He'd give Jeremy anything, everything—without hesitation. Jean had always known he would.

"Okay," Jeremy said softly, eyes opening again to look up at him. "We can go now."

Kevin gave him one of those barely-there smiles in agreement. He let his hands fall from Jeremy's face, moving one instead to the small of his back. But Jeremy surprised him again by taking Kevin's arm instead—looping his own through it wordlessly and leaning heavily into him as they started forward toward the curtain. Kevin straightened up with purpose.

Jeremy was worn paper-thin and Kevin could feel it in every point where they touched, the faint tremble to his limbs and the tiredness of his muscles fighting to hold firm. He would get him—and Jackie—out of here. Away from the noise. Away from watching eyes. Away from the weight grinding Jeremy down and his valiant effort not to crumble.

And away from the strain pressing in on Kevin himself. He could feel the mask, so well-worn and practiced under stress, slipping back into place as they stepped through the curtain: the armor, the expert stillness of The Kevin Day. It scraped across his skin now, raw and unwanted but as necessary as ever as they made their way through the crowd. He appreciated the people who'd come to honor Jean. But that was it. He didn't know them. They didn't know him.

Kevin didn't pause when someone called out to the pair of them walking by—he didn't care to be polite, giving only a single wordless nod—and he found the Knoxes quickly, thanks to his height, on the far side of the court nearest the exit. Jeremy moved ahead to hug his parents when they reached the group and Kevin exhaled as Emme passed Jackie into his arms.

The baby's weight against his chest calmed him. A tiny tether. A real thing in all the unreality. Kevin had never wanted out of a public space more in his life—and that was saying something, considering the events he'd once attended as a Moriyama pet.

"Thanks for watching him," Kevin said, settling Jackie into the stroller as Emme pulled it closer. He ran his fingers gently over the child's hair, brushing his small ear, then passed him the ring of plastic keys to hold.

"Merci pour ce que tu as dit à Remy," Emme said, continuing in French, "And for taking such good care of them. He'd be lost without you—anyone can see that. And I know it would mean the world to Jean, if he could see it for himself."

Kevin cursed himself silently. He hadn't forgotten that Emme spoke French—he just hadn't thought about it when he used it with Jeremy during the eulogy. He glanced aside to where Jeremy was still saying goodbye to Alex and his brothers-in-law.

"I was worried it'd upset him," Kevin said quietly in the same. "Jeremy's... It's hurt him too much to use French since it started."

Emme nodded, eyes sad. "I understand. I think the language and Jean will always be tied together for me too, even if I knew it before we met." She offered a gentle smile. "Still, it's good to hear it from a friend. Merci pour ça."

"Any time," Kevin said—and to his own surprise, he meant it. The thought of speaking it with her didn't bother him at all but English felt safer for now. It was hard to say where Jeremy's thoughts were on French at the moment and Kevin didn't want to trigger something further, definitely not before they got home.

Jackie gave a small, fussy sound—grumbly and tired, and Kevin knew the warning signs all too well. Without a word, he patted the baby's belly and pulled down the sun shield on the stroller.

"We better go," Kevin said. "This was a lot—for both of them. They need rest."

"You're right," she agreed. "Call if you need us. All four kids will be in town for a few more days."

Kevin promised they would, and stepped back just as Jeremy came over. He hugged Emme fiercely, and she kissed his cheek before letting him go. Kevin didn't hesitate—his hand found Jeremy's back again as he began to steer them out, pushing the stroller with practiced one-handed ease.

He didn't look back.

__________

The walk to the car was quiet, thick with exhaustion. Kevin unlocked it with the keys from the diaper bag, ushered Jeremy into the passenger seat, and buckled Jackie into the car seat in back. The stroller went into the trunk, folded in seconds: fast, clean, efficient. Less than five minutes. Kevin allowed himself a small surge of satisfaction. He'd started tracking time on tasks like these after his first solo outing with Jackie.

Accomplishable tasks. Winnable battles. Even the small ones mattered.

Jackie babbled softly as they drove. Kevin watched him in the rear view mirror—saw the little eyes fluttering, blinking, fighting valiantly not to close. They finally did, not even ten minutes in.

It took longer for Jeremy to speak. And when he did—both his voice and the words themselves hit Kevin like a sudden shift in gravity.

"You didn't say goodbye to Aaron." It was an observation, but it carried more weight than the words alone. "Are you guys okay?"

Kevin wondered if they ever had been.

Aaron had always been a roller coaster. A challenge. Something thrilling to give his effort to in the past. But over time, it had become easier to just... not.

He could admit now that he'd been more invested the first time, during his last year at Palmetto and into his first as a pro. He'd meant to make it work, despite the distance between PSU and Boston, despite the demands of exy. But then Aaron made his choice, and Kevin had appreciated the lesson. He focused on his game, like he was meant to. He didn't let anyone else consume that much of him again—until Chicago. Until he dove, stupidly, into the rise and fall of Aaron again.

Kevin didn't often let himself think about what Aaron got out of it. He liked Aaron's sharp mind, his biting wit, the way he understood exy without explanation (both its rules and its personal significance). Aaron didn't need a footnote for the scarred left hand or the hatred for the entire state of West Virginia. He already knew it all. He'd seen it.

The second time had been better, in the beginning. The newness of rediscovery, the foundation of a past. Maturity helped, as did the comfort of a mutual, core understanding: their careers came first.

But it got worse, in time. Hot and furious one minute—fighting over something meaningless—then sedate and half-interested the next. Burning or freezing. Never in between. Never easy. Never warm. Never safe. Kevin didn't know what those kinds of relationships felt like, the ones were vulnerability didn't come with the potential for being bitten later. They weren't meant for men like him.

Aaron was the only one who'd been around long enough to see the full map of him. That shared history made it feel impossible to exist elsewhere, like anyone new would only ever scratch the surface. And starting from zero? With the army of skeletons in Kevin's closet? Absolutely not. Not with what he carried. He didn't have it in him, nor did he care enough, to try such a wasted thing.

He should've been better at being alone by now. He was an adult. He had more years outside of the Nest and its partner system than he'd spent inside. The Kevin Day—the icon, the pillar, the statue—was always fine on his own. But that caricature didn't have flaws. Didn't need. Didn't break.

Real Kevin clung and, when closeness backfired, it wrecked him. Riko had hurt him to a near-crippling degree. Jean had spent years being hurt because of him. Andrew and Neil had cut ties the moment he lost his usefulness.

The only person who'd ever chosen Kevin outright—without condition, without keeping score, without making him suffer for it—was sitting beside him now.

"I shouldn't have asked," Jeremy said, glancing down at his lap. "I just... I feel bad. He probably feels neglected, since I've been taking up all your time and—"

"I think he's fucking Katelyn again."

The words broke out of Kevin before he'd even consciously thought them.

His hands clenched on the wheel. He shouldn't have said it. He hadn't even wanted them to know—not again. Not after what happened the first time, when Aaron cheated and Jeremy's anger had burned hotter than Kevin's own while Jean did his best to comfort more soothingly than at any point of Kevin's life before then.

Kevin couldn't stand it, the protectiveness he didn't deserve then, the softness that he never had.

So what if he'd never measured up to the girl Aaron always returned to? The one who'd dumped Aaron sweetly, maturely, to study abroad—only for him to go crawling back the second she returned to PSU and Kevin was in Boston?

He should have ended it, the second (this) time, when Aaron admitted it. But the season had been busy. His captaincy demanding. Then the holidays. Then Germany. Then Jackie. Then the playoffs. There was always something.

It was amazing, really, how well a person could ignore what they didn't want to confront.

Jeremy turned sharply in his seat, twisting toward him with wide eyes. "Are you—wait. Seriously?" His voice cracked with disbelief. "Is that a guess or did he actually tell you, like in college? No, he couldn't have. Right? You guys broke up back then and you're—"

"He told me," Kevin bit out. "Fessed up in November. But I'm not confident it stopped then."

"November?" Jeremy echoed, stunned. "That's six months ago. You—you went with him to see Nicky over Christmas."

"Well, it's not like I announced it."

"You didn't even tell us! What the hell, Kev? You were here. With Jean and me. Right after Jackie was born."

"I remember."

"Then why the fuck are you still with him?" Jeremy's voice sharpened. "If he admitted it and you think it's still happening—why?"

Kevin glanced at him—reflex more than choice. The road was blessedly quiet. Jeremy hadn't raised his voice like this in months. Not since Jean. Not since the silence that grief stitched into him. But now, his righteous anger felt like searing heat after a deep freeze. Blazing, direct, unmistakable. And, every single flame of it was razor-focused on Kevin.

"It's not worth it," Kevin muttered, eyes back on the windshield.

Of course, that wasn't enough for Jeremy.

No, not when he was like this. This was a version (the only version) of Jeremy Knox that had to be weathered—the zealous, ferocious, overprotective version of him that Kevin had always found admirable when it came out for others. When it did for him though? This version of Jeremy was impossible, and a real pain in Kevin's ass.

"Oh, fuck you," Jeremy snapped. "Don't give me that shit. You mean you're not worth it. That's what I hear. And it's complete horseshit."

Kevin checked the mirror—Jackie was still sound asleep, slumped peacefully in his seat despite the rising storm around him.

He sighed, voice softening. "Jeremy, it's whatever, okay? It's been a long day—"

Jeremy pulled out his phone with a low, furious muttering of curses and something about making it a long day for someone else. His thumbs flew over the screen and Kevin knew exactly who was going to be on the receiving end of whatever it was Jeremy typed out.

He reached over and wrapped his hand around it. "Don't."

"Hands off," Jeremy shot back.

"No. It's none of your business."

"Like hell it's not. You're my best fucking friend, Kevin!"

Kevin blinked. But Jeremy didn't stop.

"If Jean ever pulled that shit with me? You would've done something about it. I know you would. But you're—"

"Jean would never," Kevin hissed.

"I know that. Obviously. And that's my point! You know what the right response is. You wouldn't tolerate it for someone else—but you're doing fuck-all about it for yourself."

"It's different. Aaron and I aren't like you guys," Kevin said tightly.

"Like you guys?" Jeremy repeated, shaking his head, "Loyalty isn't a big ask here, Kevin. That's like bare-fucking-minimum."

"Look, you don't get it, alright? I chose to stay when he asked for another shot."

"Yeah, you seem really thrilled about doing that too, months later."

Kevin spoke over him, "I asked for the space, to finish up the season. I couldn't divide my attention—"

"Kev, when shit matters? Like, oh I don't know, someone you're actually in love with—You wanna to fix it then. Not later, not after exy season. But you came here right after wrapping up, to Jean and me. Don't you think that means something?" Jeremy took a harsh breath, his words having come too fast to keep up with, and still he continued, "I mean, why do you even—?"

Kevin cut him off. "Goddamnit, it doesn't matter. I made my choice. End of discussion. You have to respect that."

Jeremy let out a disgusted scoff. "I most certainly do not have to respect that, Kevin Day. That's the dumbest thing you've ever said to me."

Kevin rolled his eyes. Why had he even opened his mouth? If he'd just waited, the evening might've stayed quiet. They could've gotten the rest they all needed. But now Jeremy was lit up, and there was no shutting him down.

As the sage-green house came into view, Jeremy kept going.

"You never should've gotten back with him. I wanted to say it so many times, but Jean thought we should be supportive of your choices. Well, look where that got us. If you'd just—" He groaned loudly, dramatic and exasperated. "Why don't you ever demand better, Kev? You do with literally everything else in your life. Why the hell is your heart less important than exy, huh?"

Kevin pulled into the driveway too fast, a whip of the wheel, a jam of the break. He threw the car into park with a punch of the gearshift too.

He was done.

He didn't have to listen to this. Jeremy's insane overprotective bullshit was the last thing he could handle right now. When Jeremy got like this, reason went out the window. He never let things go, never saw the goddamn point of letting Kevin hurt in peace. Kevin yanked off his seatbelt and tossed it aside, hand going for the door handle.

He refused to engage in this conversation for even one more second—

But he gasped when a hand shot out and stopped him cold.

Jeremy grabbed a fistful of his tie and shirt, yanking him back and shoving him hard against the driver's seat. Kevin froze, breath locking tight in his lungs, as Jeremy loomed over the console, close enough for heat to roll off his skin, for Kevin to see every angry breath push through his chest.

It never made sense how brown eyes could burn, but Jeremy's always had. That was just Jeremy—he made even colors do impossible things. It was the first time Kevin had seen him blaze like this since Jean died.

"You are not allowed to think like that, understand?" Jeremy said, voice low and rough, almost a growl. "You don't deserve it. You don't deserve any of that shit."

Kevin flared, heat rising to meet heat. "You know better than anybody exactly what I deserve."

Because Jeremy did. He knew about the Nest. About the abuse. About how Kevin didn't save Jean when he should have, over and over again.

"You're right," Jeremy said—and then, before Kevin could build another wall, he spat, "That's why I know you deserve the best of fucking everything."

Kevin blinked, confused. But Jeremy didn't stop. His words came like an avenging wildfire, searing through every bone in Kevin's body and stripping him bare.

"How could you deserve less than that, Kev? You put your entire life on hold for Jackie and me. Who does that? What other man would take care of us day and night, without one goddamn complaint? And you don't just deal with it—you do it well. You do it best. Even when it's new, even when it's hard. That's you. That's always been you. And it's unbelievable that you think we're the ones who deserve all of that, but not you."

He glanced at the baby's carrier, then back to Kevin, eyes blazing. "Newsflash, Kevin Day: You are worth just as much. I will not let you forget that."

His grip on Kevin's clothes tightened, grounding the point like a stake to the heart.

"I know better than anyone what you deserve: the world, Kev. You deserve the whole goddamn world. I've believed that all along, even after you told me about Evermore—and I believe it even more now. So if I have to keep living...if I have to find a way to be happy somehow—then you do too."

He leaned in, tone dropping into something fierce and low and deadly quiet. "We're not doing this halfway. Jean didn't want us to just survive. That's not enough. We don't honor him by scraping by. We honor him by building something better—and that's you and me and Jackie. You are my dearest friend too, Kev. I won't accept anything less for you than the best. So if you wanna take care of us, to give us the best, then you have to take care of yourself too. Got it?"

Kevin didn't answer. Couldn't. That would've required breathing, thinking—something. But he couldn't do anything but stare.

It was a different kind of lost than he was used to.

Because all he wanted—all he wanted—was for Jeremy to keep looking at him like that. To not stop. And that scared him more than anything—because if Jeremy saw all the way through, he might never look at him like that again.

Which was why Kevin didn't know what he was doing until it was already happening.

It was hard to track sometimes, what counted as normal between them. Jeremy was naturally affectionate. Kevin wasn't. But even he knew this wasn't normal.

Kevin reached out.

He wrapped his dominant hand around Jeremy's, firm and slow, and tugged it away from his shirt. His larger palm closed around Jeremy's fingers tight, skin to skin—scar to smooth.

The marks Kevin hated most, against the person he trusted most.

Jeremy didn't flinch. He never did, not from Kevin.

And Kevin brought his hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss against it—hard and deliberate—without breaking eye contact.

Jeremy didn't move, but Kevin felt it. The breath that caught in Jeremy's chest caught in his too, like it echoed in the space between them. Like it knocked something important loose, something vital.

Kevin didn't know what it meant—Jeremy's reaction, his own, or whatever this was. Didn't know what this even was, only that it mattered.

The logical reasons didn't hold. Yeah, it had been a long day. Yeah, the memorial had wrung them both out. Yeah, it would've been easy to blame the emotional fog or the physical exhaustion or both.

But none of that explained it because Kevin had never kissed Jeremy's hand before.

He hadn't kissed his forehead before today either.

He'd kissed Jeremy's cheek twice—once on his and Jean's wedding day, again the first time Kevin met Jackie. Jeremy, being Jeremy, had kissed Kevin's cheek a hundred times over the years. But Kevin had never returned them. Never initiated.

Not until now.

It was a bruise of a kiss—tender and aching—but it fit. Jeremy's skin was blazing hot beneath his lips, just like his eyes still were as they continued to hold Kevin's. Jeremy watched, Kevin watched him back.

Neither of them flinched.

"Fuck, Jeremy," Kevin breathed, reverent. "You're such a goddamn warrior, you know that?"

"I'm not," Jeremy said, too quick, too firm.

"Bullshit," Kevin snapped. "You are. Anybody you care about would say so. I saw it from the start. Austin day two ring a bell?"

"The conference?" Jeremy asked. "Uh...no?"

"That scrawny kid getting picked on?"

Jeremy's eyes widened. "Oh right! Paul Holcomb, the Bearcats dealer."

"Of course you remember his name," Kevin said with a soft eye-roll. "You bullied down three giant backliner assholes, for a total stranger, with just a smile. And they loved you for it, hung around you the rest of the week like kicked puppies."

Jeremy scoffed. "You're exaggerating. They just wanted to be on the winning team. Your team, if I remember right. Shame they didn't let us play together."

"We had our one-on-ones after-hours," Kevin said quietly.

Jeremy nodded, just as soft. "Those were great. Honestly, I totally forgot about Holcomb. But I remember your beatdown in the locker room. That stuck with me more."

Kevin blinked. "Locker room?"

"Yeah," Jeremy said, confused. "When you defended me."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did." Jeremy looked stunned. "That jerk from Boise State? Kept throwing those awful homophobic slurs around? I was gonna do my usual thing, kill'em with kindness and all that—but you jumped in first. Scary intense, even without yelling. Gave me chills. I thanked you that night, Kev. In our room. You really don't remember?"

Kevin shook his head slowly. "No."

And it didn't make any sense—so little that he couldn't even imagine it. Nineteen-year-old Kevin had been nothing but fragments: Two the Raven, terrified and beaten down; The Kevin Day, a mask with too much riding on his image. Neither version would've risked speaking up for a variety of reasons, not even for Jeremy.

But maybe...maybe it being Jeremy had been enough.

Jeremy smiled.

It was smaller than usual. Softer. But it was real. Kevin's lungs seized at the sight of it because—Oh God, it was real. It was tender, it was beautiful—and it was the first honest smile Kevin had seen from him in almost a month.

"Of course you don't remember," Jeremy said fondly. "You remember all the things you blame yourself for—wrongly, by the way—and then conveniently forget all the good stuff. You and Jean, seriously. You really were brothers, both thinking that way despite being the two best men I've ever met."

"Don't get carried away," Kevin said, but a small smile rose before he could stop it.

"I'm not," Jeremy insisted, squeezing Kevin's hand. "Kev, you're—"

Kevin startled.

He realized, too late, he was still holding Jeremy's hand. And he dropped it fast—too fast—like he was throwing it away. They both jumped.

"Jesus," Jeremy said, half-laughing, "Scared the crap outta me. You offended by holding my hand now?"

"No," Kevin said hoarsely. He cleared his throat, starting to apologize, but the words died as Jeremy's hands moved towards him.

"Sorry," Jeremy said. He began smoothing Kevin's clothes where his grip had rumpled them beyond repair. "God, I made a mess of you." He tugged gently on the knot of Kevin's tie, loosening it with an expert flick before flipping open the top buttons of his shirt. "There we go. Now you can breathe. I don't know how you didn't rip it open as soon as we got outta there."

Kevin wasn't sure either—because he was too busy reeling. Reeling from the seconds-long brush of Jeremy's fingertips at his throat. From the precise tug on the tie. From the way Jeremy did both so casually, so automatically. The way he'd let Kevin hold his hand, kiss it, kiss his forehead, cup his cheeks, hold him—just hold him—lean in like Kevin's hands were safety, like his touch alone could keep him from breaking too far...

It wasn't like they didn't touch. It wasn't like any of it meant anything. They were friends, best friends—which Kevin knew with devastating clarity now that Jeremy had reiterated it multiple times. Kevin was keeping his promise to Jean—supporting Jeremy, which included occasionally touching his ridiculously physically affectionate friend.

And it was too much right now. Way too much.

"Don't know," Kevin said. His throat felt rubbed raw again. "Shit—need to get some water."

Jeremy nodded. "Yeah. Neither of us have had anything since we left earlier." He glanced into the back seat. "I can't believe he's slept through all this. How is it he's a log during daytime naps but wakes up at the slightest creak of a floorboard at night?"

"I don't know, but I'd hand over half the money in my accounts if somebody found the answer," Kevin said.

"That'd be quite a payday."

"Worth it," Kevin said, pushing open his door. "I'll get him. I need more practice with the carrier anyway."

Jeremy nodded, and they climbed out together. Honestly, Kevin just needed to breathe. To collect his thoughts outside the SUV's too-close cabin, away from Jeremy's knowing eyes and warm hands and the unbearable ease between them—and the way Jeremy had called him his best friend, like it was obvious. Like everything he'd said in the car wasn't melting Kevin's brain. Like the barest hint of skin-to-skin contact didn't spike Kevin's blood pressure into orbit.

"You okay?" Jeremy asked.

Kevin looked up, meeting his gaze across the back seat, where Jeremy stood in the opposite open door, reaching for the diaper bag. Kevin had barely unclipped the first latch of the carrier before falling motionless to his thoughts.

"Yeah. Just stupidly tired," Kevin said.

Jeremy snorted in agreement, "It's been a day, that's for sure."

Kevin managed to free Jackie's carrier with minimal jostling—but short of dropping it, nothing was waking the baby up. His head lolled with a wobble as Kevin walked, and Kevin smirked at the sight, somehow finding it silly and endearing at once.

The tiredness was definitely getting to him.

Jeremy opened the door for them, and they both moved to kick off their shoes as he glanced down at Jackie and said softly, "Why don't you nap with him for a bit? You've got the night shift."

"I'm fine," Kevin said, relieved Jeremy didn't offer to take over himself. (He liked the nighttime rhythm they'd fallen into, the quiet teamwork of shared responsibility.) But he frowned down at his shoe—laced too tightly to slide off the way Jeremy's had.

"Kev...," Jeremy drawled, mock-scolding.

"It's—damn shoes...," Kevin muttered, shifting to set the carrier down.

He didn't get the chance. Jeremy knelt easily on one knee, pulling the laces of Kevin's shoe free without a word. Kevin froze, watching the curve of Jeremy's head—mesmerized by the tousled blond-brown waves like he'd never seen them before. Jeremy cupped his ankle lightly, leveraging it just enough to slide the shoe off, then repeated the motion for the second foot.

When he stood again, he met Kevin's eyes. Casual and easy—like he wasn't doing something Kevin could barely keep his mind intact through.

Jeremy raised an eyebrow, already shrugging off his suit coat and letting it drop to the floor. "Now that we've avoided your temper tantrum, go take a nap. I've got dinner. Did you have something planned for tonight?"

"Eggplant parm," Kevin choked out. He was losing track of how often his voice failed him today. Or how often he forgot to breathe.

"That sounds delicious," Jeremy said, already toeing off his socks and undoing another couple shirt buttons. A shaft of afternoon light caught the line of silver at his throat as he pushed a hand through his hair, shaking it free slightly from how he'd styled it. He gave Kevin a small, amused smile. "Well, get to it then. Or did you forget where your room was, captain?"

It was a well-worn joke, one Jeremy used exclusively—the shared title a teasing reminder of their mirrored roles. Kevin rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance, hoping it masked whatever else was breaking loose under his skin.

"Going," Kevin said. "If you're sure...?"

Jeremy nodded. "I'm sure. I wanna cook. It'll be better than a nap for me right now. I miss being in the kitchen—and it's good for me. Feeding my family."

Kevin swallowed thickly at the word. "Don't burn the kitchen down," he said, barely managing it.

"I won't."

Jeremy stepped forward, kissed the top of Jackie's head, then reached up to cup Kevin's cheek, his thumb brushing softly across Kevin's skin. "Get some rest, okay? I'll come get you when the food's ready."

Kevin nodded, holding himself rigid against the rising urge to lean into the touch.

They could all nap, couldn't they? The bed was big enough. Jeremy was tired too. And he'd already shed half his clothes, which Kevin would have to pick up later because Jeremy was a menace about leaving his stuff—

Don't say any of that. What the hell is wrong with you, Day?

"Great," Kevin said, barely above a whisper. "Thanks."

Jeremy gave him another small smile and let his thumb sweep once more along Kevin's cheek before turning away toward the kitchen. The moment he left, Kevin dragged a deep breath into his lungs and exhaled hard, as if he could empty out whatever this was before it consumed him.

He didn't allow himself to glance toward the kitchen as he passed it, heading to the guest room. It didn't take much thought to lift Jackie gently from the carrier—he was getting good at this, especially when the baby was limp with sleep—and ease him onto the bed just below the pillows. Kevin removed Jackie's tiny shoes and took a breath of relief.

The baby couldn't roll yet. He'd stay where Kevin put him. That was weirdly comforting.

Kevin made a mental note to check the parenting book later. When did that start to change? He needed to be prepared for it, just in case.

He moved on to handle his own clothing, peeling the layers of armor away methodically and placing everything on the correct hangers before grabbing a worn pair of shorts and a T-shirt. There was an odd domesticity to it, he thought—to his things having a place and Jeremy being back in the kitchen for the first time since the hospital. To the light teasing and the small smiles, the soft touches and the harder ones in the inexplicably too-thick car.

It was too much to contend with in his muddled brain—but fear wasn't at the root of it. No, maybe it was something more like comfort or curiosity. Something gentler and warmer than anxiety could ever be.

He glanced at the mirror above the dresser as he wound his tie around one hand to store it without wrinkling the silk, but the fabric was already crumpled—stretched and creased from how fiercely Jeremy had gripped it.

He is improving.

Kevin sighed and dropped his gaze to the top of the dresser. Jean's voice tended to come to him in moments like these now—more often since they'd scattered his ashes at the beach—when everything around Kevin fell quiet. As much as it unnerved him how real Jean sounded, as if he were just over Kevin's shoulder in the same room, Kevin also hoped he never stopped hearing his brother so clearly. He knew what it was like to forget such details.

"Stops and starts," Kevin muttered, barely moving his lips. He told himself he was crazy for talking aloud to a voice in his own head, but he was too tired to care.

That is better than only stops, Jean replied.

Kevin thought of the memorial service, then the incident in the car, and the moment when they came inside. The near-panic attack and the trembling and the tears, versus the furious strength of conviction and blazing eyes and vicious grip, versus the tender hand wrapped around his ankle before cupping his cheek and telling him to rest. He thought of the court keys sitting right there on the dresser before him.

Broken and blazing and sweet. Only Jeremy could be so many things at once.

"I know but I hate the stopping parts," Kevin admitted, placing the tie in the top drawer of the dresser.

They are less and less, Jean said, He is improving because of your care. I was right to leave him with you.

"That remains to be seen."

It does not. Today is the first time his fire returned, and it was for your sake alone. That is a good thing—for you both.

Kevin snorted. "He's too much of a protector for his own good."

I would have been upset to learn it too.

"I know you would've," Kevin murmured. Now that Jeremy knew, a part of him regretted never telling Jean—not because it mattered really, but because Kevin wished he'd said so many things before the end.

Jeremy was angry when you returned to Minyard after he treated you so unkindly. It is love that fuels his protectiveness. You are important to us, Kévin.

"You would've just pitied me for it," Kevin said weakly.

I would not. I only would have wanted better for you. For you to have what I had.

"That's impossible. That's why I didn't want you to know—most of all." Kevin swallowed thickly, closing his eyes as he leaned into his hands atop the dresser, head bowed. "Not you two."

Why?

"Because you guys were perfect," Kevin admitted, "What you have—had—I don't know. It's still perfect now."

That was not by accident. We built it—deliberately, day by day. You could have that too. You do not lack the will, mon frére. You lack the reason to try.

"It doesn't matter. I don't want that. Not with Aaron."

Who said anything about Minyard being that?

Kevin's eyes opened sharply with a breath that came in too fast. He met his own gaze in the mirror, then shook his head violently. That was why responding to the Jean in his head—the brother who now only existed in dreams, a figment conjured by grief and guilt—was dangerous. It wasn't fair, arguing with a voice that lived inside him, a voice Kevin's thoughts gave words to since it knew what was in his head. It wasn't fair to put the sound of his brother to that mess.

He turned away from the mirror, disgusted with himself for giving in, blaming the exhaustion. But he paused at the bedroom door on his way to the bed. Kevin cracked it open and stood still, silent, until he heard what he hadn't realized he was hoping for.

The radio was on. Faint. Barely audible. But just enough for him to catch the gentle croon of Spanish lyrics drifting through the house. The rhythmic chopping of a knife. The bubbling of a pot.

Life.

Kevin exhaled—and for the first time in so so long, he thought they might just survive this. No, not thought. He knew, in a quiet but unshakeable way, that they would.

He padded across the carpet in bare feet and slid onto the right side of the bed, facing the door he'd left ajar. The soft melody of Jeremy's cooking drifted in like the sunlight through the closed blinds behind Kevin's back. He settled onto the pillow and looked at Jackie's blissed-out little face, lips parted around tiny cooing snores.

Kevin smiled. He didn't question the impulse to reach out and brush the baby's cheek with his forefinger, then slip it into Jackie's open palm beside his head. Jackie's fingers curled instinctively around his, even in sleep.

It was a day full of moments Kevin couldn't explain—and this was just another one. But, it didn't take long for sleep to come, carried on the lullaby of home.

__________

Jeremy stood by the bed and just watched.

They were such a picture, the two of them, two quiet shapes in the late afternoon dim. Dark hair and faces slack with sleep, resting atop the quilt rather than beneath it so Jeremy could appreciate the image of perfect peace. Kevin and Jackie were curled into one another: the smaller one nestled into the curve of the bigger one's chest, Jackie's tiny fingers latched onto Kevin's one forefinger. Godfather and godson, already inseparable—even in sleep. It was getting harder to imagine, day by day, that Kevin hadn't actually chosen it for himself, the role he'd taken with Jackie, because he was so good at it, Jeremy thought. And right now? This picture of them two? It was almost too much—both precious and heart-wrenching—how cute they were.

Jeremy smiled. The expression still felt a little strange there, a little foreign, but it fit the moment.

He knew better than to believe good moments meant the bad ones were over. A day could be full of both—had been filled to the brim with both, like this one today. Grief still lived under his ribs, sharp and aching, like a ball of ice heavy with spikes, pressing into the pit of him. Jeremy had missed Jean so fiercely today that it felt like his lungs would collapse. And they nearly did. The fact that they didn't? Well, Jeremy couldn't take credit for that.

There was something to knowing he hadn't been alone—not for a single breath of it, for any moment however good or not—that made the weight easier to carry.

The only sound in the room, mixing with the motes of dust dancing weightlessly along the faint sunbeams through the closed blinds, was the cadence of their gentle breathing as Jeremy reached out. He threaded his fingers through Kevin's hair—thick and black as ink, sliding between his fingers like silk, like cool water rushing through a stream. Jeremy kept his touch light, not wanting to wake him unnecessarily—Kevin needed his rest, no matter how he denied it—but God, it felt better here than anywhere else in the world. Right here, with Kevin, with Jackie, with the hush of a safe room at home surrounding them.

It didn't make the grief go away, but it made standing under its weight possible.

The words of Kevin's eulogy earlier, the tender tone of its delivery, lingered in Jeremy's mind. It was such a beautiful tribute, the way he spoke about Jean, about his love and memory, about his endurance that Jeremy still wasn't sure how to emulate himself. Jean would've treasured every word from him. He would've loved Kevin even more for it, if that was possible; if it was, Jean definitely would for how Kevin had and was taking care of them. How Kevin was holding it all together, holding Jeremy together, when Jeremy himself didn't think he could take one more step.

Jeremy had crumbled, shattered, and thought he'd never get up more times than he could count...but then Kevin was there. Steady green eyes that didn't flinch from the ugliness of Jeremy's sorrow, a hand to the back or neck that grounded when breath was too hard to find, an arm wrapped around to keep him from sinking deeper into despair's pit, a side to lean into as protection from the storm. A refuge.

And every time, Kevin's touch, his nearness, it was like it pushed life back through Jeremy's skin, reminding his blood how to flow and his lungs to expand and his heart to beat.

The memory of the conversation in the car surged forward—Aaron—and Jeremy shoved it away with a shake of his head. No. Not now. Aaron didn't get to take anything more from this day; his name wasn't allowed in this house. If Jeremy let himself feel the anger, really feel the full fire of it still simmering beneath his skin, he actually might break something.

It was strange how much his anger still burned, how deep it cut. He'd tried to let it go over the years—but every time he thought of Aaron, of what he'd done, it stirred something raw inside him. Kevin—Kev—deserved better. He always had. He deserved devotion. He deserved worship. Adoration, respect, loyalty, perfection. He deserved everything that was good and kind, and Jeremy couldn't imagine a day when he'd accept anything less than that for his most beloved friend. Not for this wonderful man—who gave so much, who held on when everything else seemed to fall apart no matter how hard it was.

He didn't deserve even one iota of Aaron's bullshit. Kevin never had and Jeremy had always known that asshole was wrong for him.

As you told me countless times, mon amour.

Jean's voice in his mind was a balm, every time it came to him. Here, in a moment like this? Its sweetness was so precious, the little tease of it (because Jeremy absolutely had bemoaned Kevin's dating habits at-length to Jean, who only smiled and let him ramble before reminding him to be supportive) bringing a tender memory to mind. It made it easier to set the anger aside, letting that tenderness fill him up in this quiet place of peace. This moment was what he wanted to focus on solely.

Then, the kiss to his hand in the car earlier flickered up in his memory unbidden.

That, and Kevin's lips pressed to his forehead as calloused hands cradled his face.

None of it was Kevin's usual style, not by a long shot. Jeremy frowned slightly, even as his fingers kept drifting through Kevin's hair.

Kevin was affectionate, sure, but not really that kind of affectionate? He wasn't someone who kissed foreheads or hands, at least not that Jeremy had seen before. It was kinda hard to know? Jeremy supposed he could think of a couple times Kevin had kissed his cheek over the years, one of which was pretty recent (back in December after Jackie was born), but those were like 'special occasion' things.

Unless—well—Maybe it was just the day getting to him? A memorial service didn't really feel like a special occasion (definitely not in comparison to Jackie being born and his own wedding day) but today had been hard. It'd worn both of them thinner than usual, being out like that and every moment feeling so difficult. So, honestly, yeah. That made sense. Kevin would rather bleed from the eyes than admit exhaustion, but today had wrung them both out. Jeremy figured he'd just been acting a little weird because of it, which was silly in a way, but achingly sweet.

It was nice, the way Kevin comforted him even when he didn't have to. Even when Jeremy knew physical touch wasn't exactly Kevin's comfort zone. But God, he was good at it. It was a shame other people didn't get to experience it for themselves. And, seriously, he gave great hugs. He was easy to touch when he let himself be. Jeremy felt a quiet, full-bodied gratitude for it, the past weeks lending an additional layer to the honor he always felt for Kevin allowing him that.

The mattress shifted with a quiet rustle and Jeremy blinked, actually seeing rather than staring blindly at them, to find Kevin moving just enough to disturb the silence. He didn't roll over, just squirmed a bit in place. A soft, annoyed grumble escaped him—pure wordless sleep-talk—and Jeremy's smile tugged a little wider. Kevin turned his head on the pillow, cracked one green eye at him in a narrow slit, then groaned and shut it again. Adorable.

Jeremy started to step back, ready to let him wake up in peace—but Kevin shifted again. This time his head moved noticeably into Jeremy's hand, nuzzling into the touch like a sleepy cat. Jeremy's breath caught with a little chest squeeze, so far removed from the sensation of panic that it didn't compare at all. He kept petting gently, fingers slipping through that ridiculously thick, impossibly soft hair. Kevin let out a low, contented hum at the motion. Jeremy added the occasional scratch to his scalp. There was something steadying to the motion that was enhanced by knowing Kevin felt something in it too, something beyond the physical sensation of how the softness made Jeremy's fingertips tingle just a little.

Let dinner wait. Let time crawl. This—this was what mattered. His best guys, safe and sleeping. A warm bed. A little peace. A meal he'd prepared for them, there when they wanted it. These were the moments that kept Jeremy afloat, though not as vitally as these two people did.

"Mmmh...time is it?" Kevin asked, voice slurred with sleep and his eyes still closed.

Jeremy's voice went instinctively soft. "Dinner time."

Kevin gave the faintest nod. "M'kay." Then his hand reached up, fingers curling lightly around Jeremy's wrist, keeping him there. "One more minute. Feels nice."

Jeremy sat on the edge of the bed, settling in because he knew Kevin well enough to know it took him more than one minute to get going. Kevin's back met his side through the fabric of their shirts, warm where they touched. For a moment, the whole world quieted. It was the best part of the day, though Jeremy wasn't sure why despite how forcefully he felt it. Maybe because it was simple. Soft. Honest. A peaceful room, a sleeping baby, fading sunlight behind closed blinds. This, right now, felt like safety.

Home. It felt like home, right here. All the way home. Completely home, a contrast to how it hadn't felt that way since Jean died. Not whole. It wasn't a place to escape grief but it was a sanctuary of sorts within that sorrow.

He ran his fingers through Kevin's hair again, trailing them lower this time, to the nape of his neck. Where the dark strands met warm tanned skin, a few freckles gathered there like a little constellation. Jeremy had never looked close enough to trace a pattern, but he did now, thoughtlessly, because he could.

After a while—definitely more than a minute—Kevin rolled slightly onto his back. Slowly, both eyes opened this time and found Jeremy's. Green, rich, and full of something soft and unguarded. Jeremy couldn't breathe for a second. Kevin looked so young like this—so untroubled. Exactly how he should always look. Jeremy wished—achingly—that he could give that to him rather than the worry he'd caused recently. Jeremy would try to...no, he would do better. Kevin was (more than) worth that effort. They'd both promised that too, to each other and to Jean. Jeremy knew he had to start doing so, even if he failed, even if some days made it impossible.

"How's cookin'?" Kevin mumbled, barely awake.

"Great. I enjoyed it," Jeremy said with a quiet smile.

"Good, good..." Kevin turned again, his hand finding Jackie's belly and giving it a gentle pat. His voice was still so sweet with sleep when he muttered, "C'mon, little man. Up and at 'em. You hungry?"

Jeremy's heart almost exploded. Little man? Since when did Kevin call him that? It was stupidly cute.

Jackie was about as slow to wake as Kevin, which Jeremy found fitting. He didn't mind. He liked sitting here, doing nothing. Liked the feel of quiet with them. Lately, silence had felt cold. But not this. This was warm.

And then—

"Rémie?"

Jeremy froze, blinked, his hand tightening just a fraction.

It landed like a soft blow. No, it wasn't a blow but it was a touch of some sort. A caress. A hand wrapped gently around his stuttering heart, a swipe of a thumb warmed by sunlight. It was something new to the day too, something to blame on the oddity of the events: Kevin had never called him that before today.

And it did something to Jeremy—twisted his chest, made his lungs wobble—but not in a bad way. It was different than his family's use of 'Remy', the nickname that'd stuck since childhood. That had a Spanish flare but this version, this newness, had a breath of French. Just different enough to notice, just enough for it to feel different within him.

In all honesty, French still hurt. What Kevin had said at the memorial was beautiful, it was more than worth the sting and the tears, but it was hard to hear it and know the only reason Jeremy had learned it was gone. He knew too that it might always be like that, and that he'd have to weather it now too along with everything else because Emme and Kevin still spoke it, and it was the root language of Jackie's names.

But Rémie? It didn't hurt somehow. There was no sting. Not at all. There was a softness, a slanting of letters. Not a nickname so much as a promise: gentler, maybe even truer. Jeremy liked it, and it was weird but he felt like he shouldn't mention it? Like, if he brought it to Kevin's attention, he wouldn't use it again?

God, what an odd day. So full of strange thoughts and big feelings, all of it harder to put words to than usual because of the effort everything else took.

"Hm?" Jeremy answered, voice low.

Kevin, eyes still shut, murmured, "Can't get up. Even though that feels good."

Only then did Jeremy realize his fingers were still in Kevin's hair, still stroking absently down his neck and behind his ear. He froze again. That kept happening. "Sorry," he murmured, starting to pull away.

Kevin didn't move. "Don't be. I said it was good."

"Right," Jeremy said, too fast, too tight. He stood quickly enough to stumble a little over his own feet.

"Right," Kevin said, repeating it in that too-fast, too-tight tone teasingly. Then he yawned, stretching slightly and turning as he added. "Don't make it weird."

Was he making it weird, Jeremy wondered.

The confusing thought earned a short scoff from Jeremy and a low chuckle from Kevin as he reached for Jackie while still half-lying down. Jackie squealed, happy for the attention now that he was waking up further, when Kevin lifted him onto his chest. Jeremy watched them, a rush of warmth swelling behind his ribs.

Kevin rose, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, just close enough that Jeremy stood right in front of him, their knees nearly touching. He looked up, a small smile tugging at his lips, head tucked into Jackie's soft hair. His thick lashes cast delicate shadows over his cheekbones, his black hair mussed, a faint pillow crease still marking his cheek.

Jeremy didn't know why he reached out. He just did. It was instinct—just wanting one more moment of this closeness before time moved them forward again, one last breath of this tender softness before the world snapped back into focus. To stay here. In this gentle, safe dream. This good dream.

So, he just...did. His hand moved without hesitation, without a tremble. His fingers slid through Kevin's hair again, slow, deliberate, unthinking. Their eyes met. Held. Kevin's gaze was wide awake now, every shade of green alive in the dim light. There were so many greens there, different depths, different tones, impossible to name.

Jeremy's breath caught.

Kev.

One word, a whisper in his mind, as if it were the only one he knew, the only one that mattered.

He continued, fingers trailing down the back of Kevin's head. The silk of his hair was warm, so close now, and Kevin's neck, the skin there—so soft, so delicate. Jeremy didn't stop. Didn't even think to. He just wanted... So he let his hand keep moving, exploring the curves of Kevin beneath his touch, brushing along the shell of his ear down to the lobe. And still, he kept going, cupping the back of his head, thumb grazing Kevin's temple. There, on the edge of his hairline, was a single freckle—waiting for attention. Jeremy passed over it once. Twice. Gently with the pad of his thumb.

Kevin never looked away. Not for a second. And Jeremy took him in, all of him, all of his attention held in that moment. His attention on only Kevin and Kevin's only on him.

Then Jackie shrieked.

The world picked back up, time started again.

Both of them startled. Kevin swore under his breath, shifting Jackie upright with an exasperated murmur about scaring them, but his words felt distant to Jeremy. He stepped back, suddenly lightheaded, too hot. The air was thick. When had he last had a drink of water?

Without a word, Jeremy stepped in and took Jackie from Kevin, the ease of passing him back and forth now natural enough for Kevin not to comment. Jeremy pressed kisses a little too hard to Jackie's head, like he could ground himself in the familiar weight of his son. Jackie's tiny hands, wet from his mouthing them, moved damply against Jeremy's skin. It was a welcome distraction.

"Okay," Jeremy said, straightening up and moving for the door, forcing his voice bright, casual. "Dinner's probably cold by now, but it'll reheat fine. Who's ready to eat?"

Kevin's voice came from behind him. "Thought you were fixing it."

"Huh?" Jeremy turned, finding Kevin adjusting his hair in the mirror.

Jeremy swallowed, suddenly aware of—God, Kevin was pretty.

It wasn't new information. Kevin had always been gorgeous—and Jeremy knew the whole world saw it too. Jeremy even used to joke about it—how it felt like strolling through a cologne ad whenever he walked between Jean and Kevin. People stared. All the time. And they weren't subtle about it. Jeremy loved it too. He loved being flanked by two such tall, gorgeous men. He loved kissing Jean's hand when someone flirted with him, showing off their wedding rings, and watching Jean smile adoringly in response. He loved pulling Kevin close by the waist, guarding his personal space from the overzealous attention that made Kevin uncomfortable.

It wasn't like he hadn't noticed before how beautiful Kevin was. But sometimes lately, it felt like it was a new realization.

If people only knew how beautiful Kevin was inside, though—how brilliant, how soft, how deeply he felt things, even if he couldn't say them aloud. If people knew that? Well, they wouldn't stand a chance.

Kevin raised an eyebrow at him and Jeremy blinked, realizing he was still staring. His eyes darted aside, "I, uh, didn't get it all the way?"

Why was that a question?

Kevin smirked, then gave a final glance at his reflection. "Guess there's a reason your mom does hair and not you," Kevin said, voice rough but teasing.

Jeremy snorted. The joking, the lightness—it was grounding, bringing him back to this moment. To this new reality they shared but with the hint of what they'd always had between them too.

Kevin walked over, resting a hand lightly on the small of Jeremy's back, guiding them toward the hallway. They paused in the doorway, neither moving forward right away. Jeremy leaned into the touch, feeling the weight it carried. There was something heavier than the physical pressure of Kevin's palm, something in the meaning behind it. It was rare, this kind of gesture, and Jeremy knew it meant more because it was coming from Kevin. Jeremy knew his friend didn't offer this kind of tenderness to just anyone and Kevin had given him so much of it today. He'd saved him with it. Over and over.

Jeremy wasn't sure how he'd stay tethered to the earth if Kevin ever stopped.

Jean and Kevin were like brothers in a way the word went beyond blood. Jeremy thought of Jean then, and how he'd been like that in the beginning too. How he'd had to learn what touch could really mean. That sense of trust in it, of safety it gave those who shared it. It had taken time, healing. But eventually, Jean's touch had become something others knew too as he learned how to share himself that way. With their family, their closest friends. With Kevin himself. And Jeremy wanted that for Kevin too—wanted others to know what he knew. Wanted the world to witness the exceedingly good man Kevin was in every way.

It always felt sad when Kevin left after his summer stays because Jeremy knew that the Kevin they loved didn't really let himself out in the wider world. He'd hoped—had always hoped, regardless of his personal dislike—that Aaron was coaxing that side of him out. That his teammates in Chicago were, since they were the only people around him. It stung now, knowing Kevin didn't have that. That he wouldn't have this—what they shared with Jackie here—when he left again.

But Jeremy didn't let himself think about that. He couldn't afford to. He had the promise Kevin made to stay as long as he could. That was where it stopped. The thought of those green eyes not looking back at him, holding him here, was too much to bear.

Kevin's thumb brushed his spine again, heavier, grounding him. Kevin ducked his head slightly to meet his gaze.

"You sure cooking really went alright?" he asked.

"Yeah, it was good," Jeremy said, still a little confused.

"You're kinda spacy, but not in a 'gonna-cry' kind of way?" Kevin grimaced, his tone light but concerned. "If you're okay, though, it's whatever. Maybe you should've napped too."

Jeremy chuckled softly, "I really am good, Kev. Just thinking, but not... not about sad stuff at the moment, I guess?"

Kevin smirked. "Improvement. I'll take it. So, can we go eat while you're thinking, or do you need to stay here for your brain to work?"

Jeremy snorted, amused. "We can eat."

Kevin rolled his shoulders. "Great. I'm starving. And I was really looking forward to this one, seeing how it turned out."

"Really?" Jeremy asked, surprised.

"Yeah, cooking's not that bad. Nice to see something turn out better fast, instead of after hours of work like it takes on the court."

Kevin glanced down at Jackie, who was still happily in Jeremy's arms. "Can't wait until you're done with that formula shit. It tastes gross. You'll like real stuff better."

"You tasted it?" Jeremy asked, disbelieving.

Kevin flushed, a sight so rare it made Jeremy's heart skitter, despite the sadness that clung to his edges. Kevin blushing happened so infrequently, Jeremy couldn't remember the last time he'd seen it, but Kevin was clearly and so adorably embarrassed then that the pink washed over his cheeks quickly, rosing his neck and brightening the tips of his ears. It made Jeremy think of before too, of those little moments of vulnerable innocence that still marked him but rarely surfaced.

Kevin muttered, "Had to make sure it wouldn't burn his mouth somehow, didn't I?"

Jeremy grinned. Wide enough that he didn't have to think about it or find it strange. Kevin's blush was a treasure—fleeting, incredible, a sight to remember.

"God," Jeremy whispered, amazed, "You're too good, you know that?"

Kevin's gaze softened, voice just as quiet, "I'm not, but I'll keep trying to be."

"You already are, Kev. You're so so good for both of us. The best."

Those myriad green eyes. That small, shy-but-pleased smile. Rosy cheeks, still-mussed hair. Soft and open, so precious.

And they were still in the doorway.

Jeremy chuckled, shaking his head. "Okay, this time, I swear we're actually going to eat. We can have more heart-to-hearts once our stomachs are full."

Kevin echoed the sound, his hand still at Jeremy's back, guiding him forward but this time with a light push. Jeremy glanced down at Jackie, who was watching him with wide eyes, thumb in his mouth. He used to joke with Jean that babies could see into people's souls when they had that look. It was odd, though. Jackie hadn't made a sound—he should've been asking for his bottle by now—but instead, he just watched quietly.

They moved into the family room, then the kitchen, where Jeremy set about reheating dinner and serving it. They sat down, and Jeremy tucked everything away—the thoughts, the feelings, the weight of it all—just for now. He focused on the warmth of the meal, on the way Kevin handled Jackie so easily, on how Kevin smiled over his plate of food and his hunger was genuine as he ate three plates. (Jeremy, to his own surprise, finished two before he realized it.)

Jeremy ate up these moments even more greedily than the dinner. He needed them. He knew they were brief—that the sorrow would swallow him up again in time—but he also knew they were real. This was the now. He didn't know how long the now would last, but he hoarded it just like he did the memories of Jean and Kevin's soft comfort. He hoped too—hoped that someday, these moments would fill more of their days.

They were small fires, little flames—but enough. Enough to keep the darkness from creeping closer.

And the two people with him? They weren't just holding the nothingness at bay—
They were the reason he hadn't fallen into it.

They were everything.

And even though Jeremy had already lost everything once... he knew he still had so much to lose.

Still he wondered what, if anything, might be gained too.

Chapter Text

"I... I think I'm ready?"

Kevin looked up from the couch to find Jeremy hovering just beyond the hallway and standing stiffly with a slight shift from foot to foot. Dressed in loose jeans and a T-shirt under a wrinkled, oversized flannel—sleeves rolled, buttons undone—he looked ready. But, though the words were about the outfit, the way his voice trembled told Kevin it was about more than that too.

He set his laptop aside and crossed the room. Jeremy was lightly biting his lip, radiating nervous energy as the habit always showcased. Kevin took his hand and gave it a warm squeeze, along with a small, encouraging smile.

"You look great," he said.

It was mostly true. Jeremy was always beautiful, but Kevin had quietly hoped he might wear something that was entirely his. The jeans seemed to be but the shirts were clearly Jean's—too wide across the shoulders, laying long past the waistline. The navy suit he wore to the memorial service had been the only full outfit of Jeremy's own since they'd left the hospital. Still, it was a step forward—small, but good. Jeremy going out at all meant progress, even if it took Jean's clothes to get him there.

"They'll be here soon, right?" Kevin asked.

Jeremy nodded without looking up so Kevin lifted his free hand, gently curling a finger under Jeremy's chin and coaxing up from there until their eyes met. Jeremy's were dark and uncertain, but he held Kevin's gaze and Kevin hoped he saw a steady confidence that he could take with him beyond the house.

"If it gets to be too much, tell them," Kevin said. "They're your sisters. They'll understand. Or I'll come get you if you'd rather that." Another squeeze to his hand. "This is good for you, yeah?"

"Mhm," Jeremy mumbled.

"And you like the restaurant. Nico's?"

Jeremy nodded again. "It's our favorite. We always go when they're in town."

Kevin didn't mention they'd skipped it last time but he didn't blame them—grief made even favorite places feel wrong. Back then, Kevin hadn't wanted Jeremy out of his sight anyway and, in all honesty, part of him still didn't now. But discomfort wasn't necessarily bad. Sometimes it was just a sign of growing and they both had to accept it as part of the process.

"Then it's good you're doing this for them too," Kevin said, knowing the focus on his sisters would help Jeremy feel braver. "One last sibling hurrah before Thanksgiving. Knoxes out on the town, making trouble."

Jeremy gave a small snort, not a laugh but his eyes crinkled faintly at the corners as if considering one. "We never make trouble."

"Maybe not Emme, but you and Alex?" Kevin smirked. "Absolutely."

The smile Kevin earned in return was small but genuine. Jeremy leaned into the touch beneath his chin and closed his eyes. The breath he took was deep, but it landed differently—less anxious, more grounded—and when he met Kevin's gaze again, the hesitation had cleared from his brown eyes.

"You sure you still wanna keep Jackie?" he asked. "You've got your meeting."

Kevin shrugged. "He just went down for a nap. He'll probably sleep through the whole thing. And if we woke him up now, he definitely wouldn't be fit for public consumption."

"I just don't want you to have too much going on when you need to pay attention to your coach..."

Kevin scoffed. "Booker doesn't care if anyone's paying attention. He'll rant anyway. Doesn't deserve the attention I do give him."

He'd already put off the Sirens' leadership too long—finally caving to the lengthy list of missed calls by having Gavin organize today's call for him.

"Kev—" Jeremy said, almost scolding, nearly playful. Kevin grinned at the tone of it.

"It's true. Just because Stevens and Rhemann are saints doesn't mean all coaches deserve respect. Booker never has." He clicked his tongue. "But he wins, so fuck it."

He let the statement hang for a beat, hoping—just a little—that Jeremy might take the bait and bring up his own pro team. But he didn't.

"All that matters is winning," Jeremy said, slowly, like he was testing an idea. His eyes drifted past Kevin but, before Kevin could ask about it, a knock at the door shifted their focus.

"That's them," Jeremy said, stepping back.

Kevin followed him to the front door, relieved to see two identical faces waiting outside. Now a few days after the service, today was the last one Alex and Emme had in Los Angeles before heading back to Phoenix and Nice for the fall. He was glad they'd convinced their brother to leave the house for a quiet lunch at the local pizza shop. Nico's wasn't just any place in the city with good food—it was owned by one of Ricky's old friends, which Emme had confirmed the day before in her text chat with Kevin. He hoped a comforting spot with familiar faces would help Jeremy relax, maybe even enjoy himself.

He hoped too that it wasn't too much too soon. The memorial had taken a lot out of Jeremy and the days since had been quiet, the kind of routine Kevin was grateful for and recovery Jeremy needed. Kevin had even managed a few hours at the Trojans' stadium, though his attention usually veered back to the house—to Jackie, to Jeremy—sooner than he'd admit and he'd cut his time short in favor of returning to them.

Emme was the first to step forward with a bright smile, pulling Kevin into a hug he wasn't surprised by. She was her mother's daughter in every way. Alex offered a simple nod, cool but not unkind.

"Ready to go?" Emme asked after hugging Jeremy too.

"Yeah," Jeremy said.

"I borrowed Mom's car—it had the car seat in it already," Alex said, "Saves you from driving."

"Oh—sorry, I didn't think to say—Jackie's not coming," Jeremy replied.

Alex frowned. "Huh?"

"Kev's keeping him. They're gonna meet us at the house later."

Alex's expression shifted in a blink, her eyes narrowing on Kevin. Some small edge of annoyance—or something more complicated—flashed across her face. Kevin met the hawkishness of it curiously. He wasn't exactly a stranger at taking hard looks from others but they'd gotten along politely enough over the years.

"Wouldn't you feel better having him with you?" she asked Jeremy—even, but pressing. Like she didn't trust the decision, or his ability to make it. The darting glance aside at Kevin though made him think that neither Jeremy nor Jackie were the focus of her questioning. "Jackie probably would, all things considered."

Kevin bristled. This was progress—Jeremy letting Jackie be out of his reach for a couple of hours. He didn't want Alex undermining that, or making Jeremy feel guilty in any way about it.

But Jeremy shook his head. "Jackie'll be good here. He loves being with Kevin."

Kevin met Alex's pointed look, steady and unapologetic as he added, "He's napping right now anyway so waking him early would mean a full meltdown. This way, you guys can actually enjoy lunch together."

Jeremy gave him a grateful smile and Kevin returned it with a small one of his own.

"Whatever," Alex muttered, turning away. "Might as well go then. Traffic's a bitch. We're already gonna be late."

Kevin raised an eyebrow at her retreating back, and Emme offered a sheepish look in response.

"Sorry. She's just... not looking forward to Phoenix tomorrow. She wants to stay longer, be around to help you guys more if you needed, especially with Jackie." She let out an unhappy sigh, "But, when she tried to call off a few more days, the clinic gave her a hard time about being out so much. They pretty much said she had to come back."

"I'm sorry," Jeremy said, guilt creeping into his tone.

Emme's eyes widened. "Oh no—don't feel bad, Remy. That's not on you. She's just extra grumpy. I know she's a lot in a mood."

Kevin snorted. "That was nothing. Jesus, the Foxes would eat you two alive if that counts as hard to handle."

Jeremy's smile was quiet but brighter, his eyes softening as the rise of guilt previously growing dropped away from his expression.

"C'mon!" Alex shouted from the car, leaning dramatically against the open driver's door. The stance wasn't quite intimidating—more annoyed teenager than fearsome sister (even if, Kevin remembered, she was the youngest).

"Coming!" Emme called back, then trotted off with a wave over her shoulder, "See you later, Kevin!"

Kevin nodded and turned to Jeremy, who wasn't moving. He was silent as he gaze drifted over the yard, farther away than its bounds.

Kevin reached over and rested a hand at the crook of Jeremy's neck. As he'd hoped, the contact brought him back. Jeremy blinked, then turned Kevin's way and leaned into the touch. Kevin stroked his thumb gently across his skin. Quietly, patiently, giving Jeremy whatever he needed to regain himself.

Jeremy stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Kevin's waist and resting his head against the now-familiar space connecting Kevin's shoulder and chest. Kevin held him close too, his hand running slowly along Jeremy's spine, grounding both of them. If Kevin could bottle his own calm heartbeat, the steadiness of this moment, and send it with Jeremy, he would've. But this was the slow road back—relearning how to do simple things again: going out, making plans, taking calls, letting go.

They had time to take it slow, but not forever. Six more weeks, give or take.

Kevin's flight was booked now—June nineteenth. The absolute last possible day he could leave for Chicago and still make the Sirens' training camp. It would get him there barely more than twelve hours before the start, but that didn't matter. He'd promised Jeremy: he'd stay until he absolutely had to leave. Right to the last minute. It'd made knowing which ticket to purchase easier but the actual contemplation of leaving was too impossible to visualize. Maybe by then, Kevin would have it all figured out for them both.

There was a countdown clock hovering somewhere unseen and silent above him, its dreadful ending approaching closer, but thankfully it was quieter for now.

Okay," Jeremy whispered into his shirt. "I'm ready."

Kevin nodded, releasing him gently and letting Jeremy be the one to step back. He lingered though, hesitating.

"I'll see you in a few hours?" he asked anxiously.

"Three o'clock," Kevin said, though they both knew Jeremy knew that.

"Three o'clock," he echoed.

"On the dot. You know how I feel about being late." Kevin tried to add a light tease to his voice, but this time Jeremy didn't smile at it. He continued gently, "You're all ready. You've got this."

"Right."

"Alex is gonna blast her terrible country music," Kevin said, earning the smallest twitch of a smile for it. "And Emme'll talk about the little assholes in her classroom."

"Shouldn't call fourth-graders assholes," Jeremy muttered, but his smile grew.

"And you're gonna order that cinnamon fettuccine Alfredo and a cherry Coke, because for some reason, you swear it tastes better at Nico's."

Jeremy blinked. "How in the world do you know that?"

"You've mentioned it a lot over the years," Kevin said with a roll of his eyes. "You seriously underestimate how much you talk about food."

"I think you underestimate your memory," Jeremy said, a spark of playfulness returning. He stepped forward again, hugging Kevin tightly but without tension, tipping his head back to look up.

That smile—his real one—broke through as their eyes met. Accomplishing it felt better than scoring a point on the court in Kevin's mind.

"Thanks. That helped a lot."

"Reminding you what your usual is?" Kevin teased.

Jeremy chuckled. "No, reminding me of me."

Oh.

"And the cherry Coke does taste different," he added, "Nico adds the maraschino syrup himself. Not premixed." His expression lightened, "Want me to bring you one? Try it for yourself?"

"I'm in training," Kevin reminded him, though Jeremy knew too that Kevin rarely drank soda in-general.

Jeremy didn't pout so much as just not move, waiting in watchful silence for what he clearly considered to be the right answer.

He sighed. "Fine. A small one. Don't be mad if I don't finish it."

"I won't. I'll just drink the rest."

"It's a plan." Kevin glanced toward the car. "Go on. I'm shocked Alex hasn't started honking."

"Going."

Jeremy stood on his tiptoes to brush a light kiss to Kevin's cheek. And then he was gone from Kevin's arms in a blink. Or it felt like a blink to Kevin since the world seemed to have frozen for a moment but Jeremy only continued heading down the steps like any normal afternoon, waving over his shoulder.

"Good luck with the Sirens," he called.

Kevin blinked. "Yeah."

He watched the car pull out, waving once in response to Jeremy and Emme doing so, until it disappeared from view. Then he closed his eyes and exhaled.

Kevin had tried not to linger on how strange his behavior had been the day of the memorial—especially not in how normal everything felt in the time since. If anything, maybe how normal everything felt now should've been strange in itself. Jeremy was back to cooking dinner. Jackie babbled on like always. There were afternoons in sunshine and hours at the stadium, the ball's thump the only sound surrounding him. Sure, there were still rough patches—Jackie refusing to settle back to sleep or Jeremy crying into Kevin's shoulder—but even those had become routine. He wasn't okay with them being normal, not exactly, but they made more sense (and seemed safer) than whatever the memorial had dredged up in him.

Feeling steadier, Kevin walked back inside, checked that his phone's ringer was turned up in case Jeremy called, and got to work. Gavin—who Kevin admittedly felt a little bad for—had coordinated the upcoming video call with Sirens head coach Arnold Booker, the team's head of marketing Lina Peters, and various staff on both ends. Gavin hadn't complained but Kevin had no doubt it had been a nightmare to organize—not because of tech, but because of the people. Any time spent dealing with Booker (and Peters, to a lesser extent) was unpleasant at best.

But the Sirens won. They'd won the championship two seasons ago—their third in a decade—and their main competition remained Kevin's former team in Boston, followed by Denver, Miami, and Seattle. Kevin could recite the last five years of rankings in his sleep, along with every team's lineup. He wasn't the nicest captain in the pro league—not by a long shot; that was Jeremy, hands down—but he was a prepared one. His players never lacked for intel on the competition. If they didn't use that intel properly, well, that was on them. And Kevin made sure they knew it.

As he set up his laptop in the office and organized his notes on the large desk, Kevin tried to recall—Jeremy and Jean had won a championship once too. Four seasons ago? He retraced, running over the list in his mind:

Last year, neither Chicago nor LA made it past round one.
Two seasons ago, Kevin had won his first with Chicago (third overall personally), but LA didn't make the playoffs.
Three seasons ago, Chicago lost in the Finals, LA didn't qualify again.
Four seasons ago, Kevin's second title in Boston (second overall), LA made Elite Eight.
Five seasons ago, Boston in the Final Four—LA's title season.

Right. Five seasons ago. Had it really been that long? Kevin should've remembered immediately—he'd been there. April in Miami had been miserably humid, but Jean and Jeremy had come to all of his championship matches, no matter the city and always wearing his number-two jersey like absolute saps. It punched him in the chest now to think that would never happen again—not just because Jean was gone, but because maybe Jeremy wouldn't want to either. Kevin was especially glad, in hindsight, that he'd made it to their one title win. He'd been in a foul mood, sulking over Boston's early exit, but watching them win as pros—like they had together at USC—had lifted something in him. He'd been proud of them, even if he wasn't on the court.

It had been LA's only title in over a decade, while Kevin had two with Boston and one with Chicago. The Knights had been a long-shot that season, upsetting predictions and pulling through by luck of the draw more than anything else. They scraped into the top eight some years, but were generally considered mid-tier—despite Jeremy's talent. Kevin had always believed Jeremy could've done better, and might have told him so after Jean retired, but he'd known Jeremy would never leave his hometown or his team of friends. The Knights reminded Kevin of a weaker version of the Trojans—known more for being good people than good players but without the hunger of younger pride.

He couldn't say the same about Boston, and definitely not about Chicago. But he hadn't picked them for camaraderie. They'd hired him to win, and he'd signed on for their likelihood of doing the same.

He moved Jackie with care into his floor rocker, not wanting to leave him in the nursery in case he woke up and thinking the slow motion might keep him asleep while Kevin worked. He placed the rocker beside his own chair, close enough to tap gently with his foot to help Jackie continue to rest peacefully, and pulled up the video conferencing app. He checked his reflection on the screen, smoothed down his wind-tossed hair, and took a long, steadying breath—to calm himself and to slip into character with his armor intact.

Gavin appeared first in the lower-right corner of the screen. He gave Kevin a polite smile and a nod, which Kevin returned straight-faced. The rest of the squares populated quickly, everyone punctual and silent—until the center tile lit up with a stocky, buzz-cut man already frowning.

Honestly, Kevin had never seen his head coach's face look any other way.

"Turn on your mics," Booker groused. "Let's get this over with."

Kevin unmuted as the others did the same. No pleasantries. No hellos or how's your off-season. The Chicago Sirens were a business venture more than a team, exy an investment of capital more than a game. At least Boston had liked the sport. Their approach had been cold and statistical, almost more analytical than Kevin's own—which was saying something—but they looked forward to being on the court. Kevin couldn't say what the Sirens looked forward to beyond increased cash flow and filled trophy cases. He hadn't bothered to question it before.

"Day," Booker barked, narrowing his eyes. "Tell me you haven't been so busy you couldn't manage to look over next season's reports."

"I have," Kevin said.

"Assessment," Booker demanded.

"PERC front-loaded the schedule," Kevin answered smoothly. Gavin had forwarded the reports the day before, along with everything else for the meeting. Kevin had reviewed them during Jackie's overnight wakeups, pacing the room and reading aloud to help lull the baby back to sleep. If Jackie could talk, he'd know as much about the Sirens scheduling as Kevin did.

Kevin continued, "We're set to play more top-sixteen teams in the first half than anyone else. The Commission clearly didn't like our placement last season. They want the Sirens to either prove themselves or get knocked out of the running early."

"I'm unimpressed with last season," Booker snapped. "You all deserve a hard schedule. Serves you right for that piss-poor performance in round one."

Kevin clenched his jaw. He wouldn't bite. Booker thrived on confrontation, always pushing for a fight. At least it was just words—no metal-tipped cane like the Master—but the flavor of viciousness was familiar.

"Last season showed the need for change, I agree," Kevin replied, letting it slide. There was one very obvious name to bring up if Booker was so upset with that particular performance considering Miller had been nothing but dead-weight in that game (and with most others). "Shuffling the striker line-up might—"

"If you say one fucking word about Miller, Day, so help me Christ, I'll bench you."

The pressure building at the base of his skull, molars grinding, flared with heat.

"You can't bench me if you want to win," Kevin snapped without thinking.

He immediately regretted it, watching the protruding vein in Booker's head pulse.

Not the way to start this, he scolded himself, just as Lina Peters jumped in.

"Let's save the snarling for later, boys," she said brightly. Her painted smile, like her coiffed hair, was fixed in place. "How about we switch to something more pleasant?" She said it like a question, but it wasn't one.

She turned her focus to Kevin. "Now, Kevin, we've prepared some fabulous material for this season's new campaign, including a fantastic opener in August. I'm sure you'll love it. But there are a few details we can't finalize until we know when you'll be back in town. A couple of public appearances—nothing crazy—and in-studio shoots. Photos, promos, the usual rigamarole."

She flipped through the massive day planner she never seemed to be without, her faked politeness continuing to ooze in her voice. "Give me your return date, darling, would you? We need to start locking things in."

"June nineteenth."

He didn't hedge. He wouldn't change his mind no matter what they said, and he already knew what that would be. Ever since he signed with Chicago, the team had taken his constant presence as a given fact. The only reason his annual summer trip in LA didn't get more pushback was because it ended early enough not to interfere with anyone else's schedule.

He braced for the range of reactions, each of which he predicted down to the person—surprise, confusion, and in Booker's case, outright fury.

Peters cleared her throat delicately. "You won't be in Chicago until the day before training camp?"

"That's right."

"No it's not. That's fucking stupid," Booker spat. "We have meet-ups."

"Video conferencing seems to work just fine," Kevin said coolly.

Booker's face reddened. "What about pre-camp prep?"

"I have access to stadiums and facilities here in LA," Kevin said evenly. "I'll be in my usual condition by camp's start."

"Like hell you will. You're sloppy without someone on your ass," Booker sneered.

'Is that the best you can do, Two? Why can't you just get it right for once? I have to do everything for you.'

Booker continued, echoing with the sound of Riko's taunting in Kevin's mind, "And you've got no supervision out there."

"I know how to train and feed myself perfectly well, Coach," Kevin replied, too much of a sneer placed on the title. "You won't know I wasn't in Chicago."

"I better not. If you can't win, Day, it won't matter how much they pay for your face. Mommy's name won't keep you in this league. Looks to me like you don't give a damn about your responsibilities, but that was always a matter of time with you." He scoffed, shaking his head, "Knew you'd fall back on that laziness eventually. Think you can coast on those trophies forever, huh?"

Jackie murmured in his sleep, and Kevin glanced down. He'd been rocking the chair too fast. He eased up—on the motion, on his breathing.

He hadn't expected sympathy—but it had never hit him this hard before. The Sirens staff weren't those kinds of people. Still, some basic human decency wouldn't have gone amiss. No one said Booker was out of line because this was standard operating procedure. Kevin had known that when he signed—and fought with his father about it until Abby stepped in. David had pushed him hard, insisting Kevin recognize the team's priorities for what they were: a single-minded obsession with winning at all costs, one that bordered on dangerous and reeked of Evermore—even without the scars to prove it. Kevin had disagreed—it wasn't that dramatic and winning was the whole point of playing anyway—and he'd never second-guessed his transfer to Chicago. Not until now.

Not one condolence, despite Kevin's knowing they'd all heard about it. No question about how Jeremy was holding up. Nothing. It didn't matter somehow that Kevin hadn't expected anything, not with how his chest pulsed with something hot and oily over it. The Knights and former Trojans had sent flowers and cards to the house. Renee had even passed along sympathetic messages from Foxes Kevin hadn't spoken to in years.

Kevin looked back at Peters, swallowing the rest of his anger and hurt down. Kev could fall apart later, but The Kevin Day was still working.

"June nineteenth is the best I can do," he said, keeping his tone polite by force. "Public appearances are voluntary per my contract but I'm sure others would be happy to fill in. For promos, there's uncut footage from last year's shoots. That should work for now."

He glanced toward Gavin's square, then back to her. "I'll have Gavin clear the first week I'm back, outside of training hours. Schedule whatever studio time you still need by then and I'll be there. Is that acceptable?"

It was more flexibility than he usually gave, more grace than any of them deserved from him. But there were hours left on the call, and he couldn't afford to fight both Peters and Booker at once. Booker was always a fight. Peters, at least, could be negotiated with—even if he knew he'd hate himself for offering so much of his time to her like a blank check.

She smiled, nodding obligingly. "That'll work. I'd prefer new material, but it's not like you look any different from last year. We'll get by until you're back."

"Thank you," Kevin said, grateful to have at least one thing go smoothly.

"I would recommend getting you scheduled for at least one event," she continued. "I know you aren't contractually obligated, but you are the face of the Chicago Sirens. The fans want to see their captain."

Kevin groaned inwardly. Of course she'd push for more—he'd already given so much ground so easily. He watched as Peters flipped through her planner, asking her assistant, "Barb, what was that one date again?"

"June twenty-sixth, ma'am," Barb piped in. "First Saturday after training camp begins."

"Right." Peters tapped a nail against the page—long, manicured, filed to a sharp red-painted point. "Booster club charity dinner. Seven p.m., black tie." She smiled brightly. "Perfect. You'll get a decent meal after a long day, and it's the kind of event that benefits from your charming youth."

Kevin bit back a grimace. 'Charity dinner' was code: old men touting decades-old sports conquests, women in cloying perfume pawing at him. He never ate at those things, for a dozen reasons.

"You can even bring that handsome partner of yours," she added breezily. "Doctors always impress at those kinds of events. Surrounded by their own sort of people."

As if it could get worse. Aaron would've worked a double at the hospital before setting foot at one of those—even before... whatever they were now.

For a second, Kevin considered if he should call him. They hadn't spoken since the memorial.

But then he thought of Jeremy in the car. Blazing eyes. Flushed cheeks. An avenging angel.

And just like that, the idea of Aaron evaporated entirely.

Peters' expression was expectant, like she knew he wouldn't refuse. Kevin nodded. "Sure." Then glanced down at the bottom square. "Gavin?"

"Yes, sir," Gavin squeaked, flipping to his calendar. "Adding it now."

"Are we done with the show pony bullshit?" Booker snapped. "We've got actual exy to deal with." His camera tilted off-kilter as he fiddled with it, muttering. "Goddamn hate this video call shit. Hate sitting here."

As if he wouldn't be sitting around a stadium conference table instead, had Kevin been in Chicago. The thought gave Kevin a sick little flicker of satisfaction: if Booker wanted meetings, he'd have to keep doing them this way.

"Get out your game schedules," Booker barked, settling his camera. "Review first, then line-ups, then training programs. I want all this shit done today. Already wasted enough of my time."

Kevin gathered his materials and didn't bother pointing out that Gavin had coordinated everything—right down to the laptop Booker was using. All the man had to do was sit down and press a few buttons, but you'd think someone had told him to hike the Himalayas barefoot.

"First up, Boston," Booker said. "Because PERC wants to fuck us right from the start..."

They ground through the full season's schedule. Peters noted travel and marketing angles. Booker and Kevin parsed play-time details. When it came time for the line-up, Kevin kept Miller's name out of the discussion—he'd fight that battle in-person. The man had a grandfather on the board and just enough skill to warrant being in the league. But not as a starter and definitely not opposite him. Kevin had to compensate for him every night, and it pissed him off to distraction more often than he liked to admit.

They moved on to training camp: daily requirements, individual expectations, captain's duties. It felt never-ending in a way no seasonal prep ever had—not even Boston. By the end, Kevin's whole body ached with effort, mental and physical. His hand hovered over the End Call button, waiting for Booker's final word.

Then Peters piped up.

"One last thing while I have you here, Kevin." He stayed silent. "We've received several interview requests for you. In light of Jean Knox's untimely death."

The way she said it—casual, emotionless—sent Kevin's blood to going both hot and cold.

"Barb's got a list sorted by outlet value," she went on, as if listing dinner options. "Have a look and let us know which one you prefer. I'll coordinate things for your return to Chicago."

Kevin opened his mouth—but a soft whimper cut through the quiet. He looked down instantly to find Jackie was waking, lip quivering and eyes bleary as he hiccuped a complaint. Kevin leaned aside, out of frame, and unbuckled the harness.

"Hey, little man," he murmured. "It's okay, I got you. Here we go."

Behind him, Peters kept talking—heedless and falsely sweet. "Gavin, doll, you've got all this down for Kevin, right? I'm sure other media requests went to your office too. Make sure you give Barb a call later to pass along the contact info. It's important we pick the best one to—"

Every word only added fuel to the fire inside him.

Kevin sat back up, Jackie cradled against his shoulder. The baby nuzzled sleepily into his skin, continuing to fuss. He needed changing. He was hungry. And this call needed to end.

"Excuse me, ma'am," Gavin cut in, voice pleasant. "I'm afraid that won't be possible. Mr. Day's interviews are outside the purview of his Sirens contract, per the 'likeness and commentary' clause. So any decisions about them fall to him personally. I wouldn't want to waste Miss Barbara's time on something your office doesn't control."

Kevin snorted.

Loudly. Too loudly. But there was something hysterically funny about Peters' raised brows, Barbara's parted lips, and Gavin—sweet, young Gavin—smiling but with teeth. It was like seeing him through a funhouse mirror—still polite, still meek, but with a glint of steel at the edges.

Where the hell had this kid been?

The sound from Kevin only seemed to encourage Gavin. "Although," he said, adopting a regretful expression so fake it was practically performance art, "you're right, it'd be more efficient if we synced up. I'd appreciate it if you just emailed me the requests, include the contacts, please. I'll sort through them for Mr. Day. You already have so much on your plate."

"Well," Peters said, bristling but trying not to show it, "I still think it'd be best to handle your interviews in-house, Kevin. There are bound to be questions about the season, and we could use Jean to—"

Use.
Use.

As if Jean hadn't spent his life being used, so long as there was profit to squeeze. A life only permitted while he stayed lucrative.

With that one word, the last thread inside him snapped.

"We will use nothing," Kevin said icily, each syllable honed to a blade. "The requests are coming in because my brother is dead, for fuck's sake. Have a heart for two goddamn seconds and maybe you'd realize how fucking insensitive you sound, Peters. Jesus."

"Day, you're outta fucking line—" Booker growled.

Of course. Couldn't resist jumping in, even when it wasn't about him.

Kevin didn't even glance at him as he cut the coach off. "Gavin," he said, gaze steady on his assistant, "call me in twenty. I have to make a bottle, but I'll be ready by then."

Gavin nodded.

Without another word, he snapped the laptop shut and stood. Jackie let out a long, unhappy cry. Kevin laid his cheek gently against the baby's head, patting his back as he carried him toward the nursery. It was a comfort to them both.

"I know," Kevin said, voice dipping into a sing-song rhythm, "They're dicks, aren't they? I think they are. A lot. Maybe I shouldn't have left Boston, huh?" He grimaced. "Actually, I don't know if that'd be better. They probably wouldn't have been such assholes, but I don't think they'd care. Not really."

Jackie's cries dwindled to pitiful whimpers as he rubbed his eyes, unhappy and bleary. But Kevin wasn't anxious anymore about how Jackie woke—he could be a mystery sometimes, sure, but he was also surprisingly predictable.

Case in point: his whimpers faded the moment the wet diaper was swapped for a dry one, replaced by faintly happy babbles. Then, hearing the bottle warmer kick on, those babbles soured into impatient grumbles—deeply offended, as always, that food wasn't already in his mouth.

Kevin babbled back mindlessly in French while they waited. It might've been his imagination, but he really did think the language distracted Jackie best when he was upset. His words turned quickly into a low stream of complaints about the Sirens' leadership, muttered in a long-suffering rhythm as he checked the bottle with a practiced wrist-drop. He had the angle down now, the temperature, the pace—thanks to far too many baby care videos. The difference in how easily Jackie burped after was worth the attention.

By the time Jackie was halfway through the bottle, right on schedule, Kevin's phone rang. He leaned down, balancing the bottle with his chin, and fished his phone out of his back pocket with his free hand. He tapped Speaker and set it on the counter.

"Hello, Gavin," he said.

"Hello, sir," came the reply.

Kevin didn't wait. "Would you like to explain what the hell that was at the end of the video call?"

"Sir?"

"Oh, did you already forget calling Peters out in front of her whole staff or—?"

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Day!" Gavin burst out, clearly panicked. "I—I didn't mean to be dis-disrespectful—it was, I mean, she was being..."

"Being?" Kevin prompted.

"...Very rude to you, sir. And to your friends." Gavin's voice rose in both volume and resolve. "I mean, seriously. You were holding a baby and she was just... cruel. It was cruel, Mr. Day, and I didn't appreciate it."

Kevin couldn't help chuckling. Gavin had lasted longer than any assistant of Kevin's since his graduation from PSU—which admittedly wasn't saying much—but he was capable. Accommodating to a fault, yes, and shaky in self-confidence, and he still looked like he belonged in middle school. The nervous sputtering didn't help. And yet... with Jackie in his arms, eyes wide and content, Kevin felt something disconcertingly like fondness. For Gavin's loyalty. Even if he paid him for it.

"Just to be clear, Gavin," Kevin said, "I'm not mad about it."

"You're not?" Gavin sounded shocked.

"Not at all. She was being an ass. I appreciate you stepping in before I made it worse. Thanks."

There was a pause. "You're welcome, sir," Gavin said, quieter. Then stronger: "Whatever you would've said would've been deserved."

Kevin scoffed. "Maybe. But it's better I didn't."

"If you say so. You'll be glad to know Barbie already sent over the interview info. She didn't know that clause was in your contract and felt awful for not checking. Asked me to apologize to you personally."

"Barbie?" Kevin asked.

"Oh—Barbara. Ms. Peters' personal assistant. We're friends." Then, lower: "Between us, sir? She's job-hunting. Ms. Peters is a nightmare—absolutely no pleasing her. I'd have quit after a week."

"Pretty sure the last guy who worked for me said the same," Kevin said honestly. He had no doubt Peters was impossible, and he wouldn't apologize for the demands he placed on those around him either (though he hoped he had a little more tact than she did).

"There's a difference between strong preferences—like yours—and impossible ones. If I do my job right, you don't look for things to criticize or gaslight me into thinking I messed up."

"Yeah, because I'm not a dick," Kevin said. "Most of the time."

"Compared to Ms. Peters, sir, you're exceptionally easy to please."

Christ, if that's Peters, what do Booker's assistants say about him? Kevin thought, easing the bottle away from Jackie. As expected, the baby let out a shriek of pure outrage—less sadness than full-bodied offense.

"You finished it. Chill," Kevin muttered. "You'll just get sick if you have more."

"Is... is that the baby, sir?" Gavin asked, soft.

"Well, I'm not the one banshee-screaming, so yeah."

"I didn't mean—"

Kevin grabbed a burp cloth and slung it over his shoulder, lifting Jackie with practiced ease. "Relax, Gavin. Yes, he's the baby. His name's Jackie, my godson."

Had he ever actually called Jackie that aloud before?

"Hi, Jackie!"

And there it was—that tone. The one he recognized now from Knoxes and their brand of softness. Baby people. Puppy people. A sugary voice that felt like it belonged on a cartoon, or like it would give you cavities.

"You have kids?" Kevin asked.

"Oh no!" Gavin replied, scandalized. "Just a big family. Lots of little cousins."

"No siblings?"

"No, sir. Just me."

"No more 'sir.'"

"...Excuse me?"

Kevin waited for Jackie to burp, then tossed the cloth aside. "The sir stuff. And the 'Mr.' stuff. You say it constantly. It's weird."

"...What should I call you then?"

"Either name works."

"Okay... Day?"

"It's a name, Gavin, not a question."

"Right." There was a note of resolve to his voice as he added, "Day. No mister, no sir."

Kevin huffed, amused. "Great. Now that we've covered a bunch of meaningless bullshit, how many interview requests do you have?"

"Forty-seven."

Kevin grimaced. That was more than he'd expected by at least a dozen. Jackie let out a deafening shout right after Gavin spoke, like he was offended on his behalf, and Kevin smiled at the timing. He picked the phone up and carried it into the living room, still on speaker.

"Who's calling most?" he asked.

Gavin sounded annoyed. "The Kathy Ferdinand Show. By far."

"How far?"

"Eleven calls and emails as of this morning. I think it's a standing task for one of her staff to bug us until they get a response. Honestly, si—Day? It's really annoying."

Kevin wasn't shocked. He'd lost track of how many interviews he'd done with Kathy over the years. She'd keep pushing until she got a yes. He lowered to the carpet, stretched out his legs, and laid Jackie on his back across his lap. The baby kicked happily as Kevin worked through their usual foot and leg exercises.

"Going forward," Kevin said, the phone beside him, "change the canned response. Tell them I'm out of contact until the last week of June and I'll respond to all requests before the end of the month. Having something solid like that might shut them up. Maybe."

"Even a little would be nice," Gavin muttered.

"Any other calls?"

"Nothing pressing. But if the usual schedule holds, the Sirens' coaching staff should be sending out game tapes soon."

"Forward those when they do."

"Of course."

Jackie flailed gleefully when Kevin moved on to his arms. He clung to Kevin's pointer fingers as they mimed some kind of absurd baby interpretive dance.

"I've got two tasks for you," Kevin said. "One for end-of-day, one in the next few days. Ready?"

He could practically hear Gavin reaching for his notebook. Kevin continued, "Today: I need a complete set of my usual gear ordered and over-nighted here. Borrowing Trojans' stuff won't cut it if I'm actually going to train."

"Racquet too?"

"Yeah."

"Two?"

"Three, just in case."

"Got it," Gavin said, "Anything else you want included?"

There was something, but he'd need to check sizing.

"Actually—hold off on ordering until I text you later," Kevin answered.

"Understood. What's the second task?"

"Go by my apartment. The mail hold will have ended by now, and God knows what's happened in there. If a pipe busted or it burned down, I wouldn't know."

"It's a pretty high-end building to just burn down," Gavin offered, aiming for comfort but landing just shy. "Did you need me to do anything there? Do you have plants or something?"

Kevin snorted, "Do I seem like the type to have plants?"

"I don't know... Anyone can like plants?"

Kevin sighed. First the sir/mister thing. Now the next habit to break Gavin of would be using questions for statements.

"No plants. Just make sure the place is intact."

"Okay."

A final thought occurred and Kevin said, "One more thing. Take money from the accounts and buy yourself and your family dinner. On me."

"...Huh?"

Kevin rolled his eyes, "You stood up to someone a lot more powerful than you, for someone else's sake and when you didn't have to. That deserves something."

A younger Jeremy in Austin, smiling up at three massive backliners with a cowering freshman behind him.

"I appreciate it," Kevin added, "And I won't take no for an answer."

"I... okay. Thanks, Day. That'd be great. My family's still out in Vegas but—it's still nice."

"How'd you get from Vegas to Chicago?"

"School. I had a math scholarship to UChicago."

"You never thought about teaching?"

Kevin couldn't imagine what else a math degree was useful for but, well, he'd chosen history (and loved it).

"No," Gavin said emphatically. "University politics were the worst. I like what I do now."

"Good." Kevin scooped Jackie up now that they were done with the exercises. "When you get dinner, don't just grab fast food. Spend the damn money."

"Right. I will."

"I'll text you soon about the gear order. Have a good one."

"Thanks. You too, Day. Bye Jackie!"

God, that tone again. Before Kevin could correct it, Gavin hung up. Kevin checked for texts from Jeremy, finding none and hoping that was a good sign. Then he saw the time and swore under his breath.

He was going to cut it close to the three o'clock deadline.

"Let's check the garage quickly before we get you changed," Kevin said, rising to his feet.

Jackie stared up at him, little hands opening and closing, legs kicking with excitement. As if he understood what 'garage' meant—though Kevin highly doubted it. Still, he answered the brightness in Jackie's eyes as if it made perfect sense.

"We never go on runs right after you eat," Kevin added, thinking of the stroller left open in the garage from how often it got used. "You'd throw up everywhere."

He passed through the kitchen, past the half-bath and laundry room, and flipped on the garage light. It was mostly a storage space—moving boxes still unopened, seasonal decor, an artificial Christmas tree—with the cars always parked in the driveway. A quarter of the floor was covered in gym mats, scattered with free weights and a bench: Jean's setup. He'd once mentioned to Kevin that he rarely used it after retiring—especially after Jackie was born.

In the far corner, Kevin found the heap of gear Jeremy had tossed there after their last visit to the Knights' stadium. He'd considered borrowing some instead of relying on the Trojans' spare kit, but Jeremy's build was different enough that the fit wouldn't work. And Jean's gear...

Kevin didn't want to touch it. Didn't want to scuff the leather, stretch the mesh, bust a lace, leave a mark. Not the gear Jean had set aside after retiring—after becoming a father. The role he'd stepped into so fully, and for such a heartbreakingly short time.

Kevin swallowed hard, adjusting Jackie in his arm and shifting gear pieces with his free hand. He made notes in his phone—sizes, materials, brands—moving automatically through the familiar checklist of a pro exy kit. He didn't bother looking at the stand of racquets in the corner. He already knew what Jeremy used. What Jean had used. How many hours had they spent debating materials and weight, trading stats and philosophies past midnight?

Jackie babbled something nonsensical, and the soft sound somehow pulled Kevin's chest open again. He drew a full breath, returning to the present once more.

Then a glance at his phone made him curse loudly. His research had taken longer than planned.

Jackie let out a delighted shout as Kevin jogged to the nursery, thrilled by the extra bounce, and he swapped him into a clean outfit in record time before ducking into the guest room to do the same for himself. He grabbed a couple pre-mixed bottles from the fridge, double-checked the diaper count in the bag by the door. Shoes, keys, sunglasses—because Jesus, California's sun felt harsher by the day.

The motions didn't require thought anymore. He buckled Jackie into the car seat, slid into the driver's seat, and caught sight of him in the rearview mirror. Jackie watched him in return, wide-eyed and shining.

Kevin smiled.

"We're getting okay at this," he said.

Jackie flailed all four limbs with a triumphant huff.

Kevin chuckled, pulling on his sunglasses and easing the car away from the sage-green house.

__________

The drive to the Knoxes took longer than expected, but Kevin had learned to build extra time into any driving estimate when it came to LA traffic. They pulled in four minutes before the hour and Kevin efficiently retrieved Jackie from the back seat, having used the stops at red lights to send a quick message to Gavin—and get back confirmation that the gear order had been placed. He felt a rush of relief knowing the new equipment would arrive soon. It was hard enough to focus without the added distraction of ill-fitting, sub-par gear.

He wondered idly how Jeremy would react if he asked to store the gear at the house. He'd have to return to Los Angeles more often than before—once or twice a year wouldn't cut it with how life had changed—so having the gear on-hand would be useful. But still... Kevin felt a vague hesitation against voicing the request, though it was hard to pinpoint exactly why.

And there was the question too of when (or how) to offer the new gear to Jeremy. Kevin couldn't explain why he'd bought it, not really—Jeremy already had at least four full sets in the garage, plus whatever was at the Knights stadium. It just felt like maybe (someday, eventually) it might make returning to the court easier if he could wear something unburdened by the past, the memories, the ghost of touch. Even though Jeremy seemed fine with Kevin training at the stadium, Kevin sensed that exy as a topic—especially with Jeremy's upcoming return to the Knights—wasn't one to bring up just yet.

With Jackie in one arm and the diaper bag slung over his shoulder, Kevin headed toward the front door. The Knoxes were always loud, regardless of the mood, and he recognized familiar voices drifting on the breeze from the backyard. He detoured to the side gate and slipped inside through the fence instead as Jackie's little head turned, eyes wide as he took in the bright sunlight and the new surroundings with doubled curiosity. Kevin smiled as Jackie let out a delighted string of babbles, their gazes locking for a moment, but he looked away as they rounded the corner of the house.

Kevin hadn't realized how tightly worry and hope had been coiled inside him until he saw Jeremy then. His chest loosened, unfurling and warm, at the sight of Jeremy there with a soft smile in place and brown eyes focused on Alex as she gestured wildly across from him. The five of them were gathered around the empty fire pit in the small yard near the patio—a scene that would have felt ordinary just a month ago. Before Kevin could fully take it in more, Jackie announced their arrival with a bright cry of excitement at the sound of voices.

Everyone's attention snapped toward the baby, but Kevin kept his gaze on Jeremy. He was grateful for the chance to watch Jeremy's quiet smile bloom into something wider and brighter, eyes lighting up in a way that felt precious and fragile.

It had only been a few days since Kevin first saw a genuine smile reappear, but he committed every one to memory—just in case they disappeared again.

"Hey, man!" Patrick called, waving.

Kevin nodded quickly in response but barely noticed because Jeremy was already on his feet, jogging over and capturing Kevin's full attention.

"Hey, Kev," Jeremy greeted warmly, hugging him around Jackie before leaning in to kiss the baby's head. He looked up at Kevin. "Was he good?"

"Great," Kevin said.

"What about your call?"

Kevin shrugged. Jeremy raised an eyebrow, so Kevin added, "It was fine. No major problems but not exactly pleasant, either."

"Did they give you a hard time about staying out here?" Jeremy asked. "I know they usually keep you pretty busy in the off-season. I don't want to make it harder—"

"Don't do that, Jeremy," Kevin said gently, laying his hand on Jeremy's shoulder in reassurance. "We've talked about this, right? I want to be here with you and Jackie, and it'd be a lot harder not to be. Anyone who has a problem with that can just fuck off."

Jeremy's smile was small but sweetly honest, gratitude shining in his eyes.

"Yeah," he agreed. "You're right. I just... it's hard not to feel guilty about it sometimes."

"I know," Kevin said, then narrowed his eyes playfully. "But don't." Jeremy chuckled, the tension easing under Kevin's touch. "How was lunch?"

"Delicious. I meant to save leftovers, but it was too good." It felt like a small victory every time Jeremy ate to fullness, and the knowledge he had warmed Kevin's heart. "And it was nice to hang out with the girls." His voice softened. "It was... good, that I did. Thanks for that."

"I didn't do anything."

"I wouldn't have gone if you hadn't made me feel safe enough," Jeremy countered. "You did a ton, just like always."

Kevin didn't have a chance to respond before they were interrupted.

"Do I get to see my nephew sometime this century, or do I have to come steal him?!" Alex yelled.

Jeremy rolled his eyes fondly. "We're coming, geez!"

Then, to Kevin, "C'mon. Everyone's been waiting for Jackie to get here." He wrinkled his nose at Jackie playfully as he took him from Kevin. "Most popular baby in LA, aren't you?"

Jackie babbled happily, smiling wider at the sight of his father, and Jeremy looked on him with equal light. It wasn't the same—nothing could be—but Kevin watched for those small echoes of the Jeremy who had looked at Jackie that way just a month ago, clinging to those familiar flickers like the break in clouds after a storm. Kevin hoped it would become normal again, that Jeremy would find that easy joy with the baby once more, so he said nothing. Just waited gently, the way he thought Jean might have.

He followed Jeremy toward the group, shaking hands with Xavier, accepting a one-armed clasp from Patrick and a full hug from Emme. Alex didn't greet him, her focus entirely on Jackie as she took him from her brother gratefully. She cradled Jackie close with absolute tenderness and closed her eyes with a deep inhale against his hair.

"Fuck, I'm gonna miss this," she said, opening her eyes to retake her seat.

"You work in labor and delivery," Emme reminded her.

"Not the same at all," Alex grumbled. "Enough that I might honestly quit. They've been such..."

Kevin turned back to Jeremy as he took the nearest beside him, leaning in to speak quietly so as not to interrupt Alex's rant.

"Be right back," Kevin said. "I gotta put the bottles in the fridge."

"'Kay," Jeremy said, followed by a small burst in surprise, as if the detail had mattered all along, "Oh! Your drink's in there too."

"My drink?" Kevin asked.

"Yeah, the cherry Coke. I got you the smallest one Nico had."

Kevin snorted, amused he'd forgotten but glad for some reason that Jeremy remembered. "I'll get it. Want anything?"

"Nope, just want you back out here."

It was such a small thing, an unnoticed gesture, but the lightness in Jeremy's expression—the sun in his gaze, the gold in his hair, and the warmth Kevin had nearly forgotten how to hope for—was more than enough to make Kevin's step lighter as he headed inside.

In the kitchen, Kevin found Miranda humming to herself as she flitted between simmering pots and cutting boards. Her apron read something in Spanish, decorated with hearts and lipstick kiss marks. She looked up when she heard him arrive.

"Hola, Kevin," she said cheerfully, waving him over. "Hug me quickly. The sauce is at a crucial point—I have to keep stirring."

Kevin smiled and did as Miranda asked but lingered beside her at the stove a moment, watching as she stirred with one arm still relaxed around him. The pot simmered, its scent unfamiliar—exotic in a way that reminded him of how little he knew about food beyond fuel.

"It's a molé," she said, "I've had it going a couple hours now, but the moment you add the chocolate is the most important."

"Chocolate?" Kevin asked.

"I know it sounds strange, but trust me—it won't taste like dessert once it's on the chicken."

"I wouldn't question a thing you told me about anything in a kitchen," Kevin said, stepping away to drop the diaper bag onto a sliver of freed counter and start unpacking bottles. "You're responsible for ninety percent of what I can cook."

"Oh, there's ten percent you didn't have to read off my cards for?" Miranda teased.

"Yeah, the handful of protein shakes I know how to make."

Kevin slid the bottles into the fridge and caught sight of a paper cup labeled with his name in hot pink Sharpie. He smiled at it but left it alone.

"Well, I can't help with those," Miranda said. "I've never been one for drinking something I could just eat—calories, protein, or both. Why have a shake when you could have something like this?" She nodded toward the oven, where Kevin assumed the chicken waited.

"Shakes are efficient," Kevin said. "No thinking involved."

"Has it been hard, thinking about what you've cooked lately?" she asked genuinely. "Remy said you've done a wonderful job."

"He's exaggerating."

Jeremy had cooked a few meals since the eggplant parm—which, admittedly, Kevin couldn't stop eating then—but seemed more entertained by watching Kevin's kitchen adventures instead. Kevin didn't mind being the fool if it made Jeremy smile—even if he regularly burned things, often nearly lost fingers, and oversalted half the time (undersalted the other half).

"Maybe. But I bet it's more true than not," Miranda said, shifting to a cutting board piled with leafy greens Kevin didn't recognize. "Cooking isn't just about putting food on the table. Filling stomachs fills hearts. Shared meals make a family. It's stressful now, sure—but you're at the beginning. All things are difficult when they're new. One day, it'll be instinct, and you'll see how kitchen time is about a lot more than food. It's worth it—even if it's not efficient."

Kevin hesitated, then asked, "Do you... Could I get the recipe for arroz con pollo from you sometime? I know it's personal—being from your grandmother—but I..."

He trailed off. Her chopping slowed a little, the motion itself seeming like an extension of how she listened.

"I was thinking I'd make it to surprise Jeremy," he added, "For when Jean's... On the sixteenth."

The one-month mark of Jean's death.

There wasn't really a word for it, not in a monthly way. It would've been easier if there was, for there to be something shorter and less devastating than 'anniversary'.

"I'd be happy to, Kevin," Miranda said softly. "That's very sweet of you."

Kevin didn't answer. He wanted to do it for Jeremy—but also for himself. To learn how to make Jean's favorite dish, even if he'd never get to share it with him.

"My first kitchen student I didn't birth," Miranda said cheerfully. "I suspect you'll be easier to teach than those three."

"What about Jean?"

Kevin barely managed not to grimace. The question had come out too fast, too sharp—like an accusation.

Miranda didn't seem to notice. "Oh, that was all him and Remy. I got the sense Jean didn't want us to know he couldn't cook when he moved here. Like a lot of things with him at first." She shook her head, smiling fondly. "Silly boy. As if we would've judged him for that. I don't know how he managed to learn in that tiny dorm kitchen."

She turned from the stove, grabbed a few items from the cabinets, then beckoned him over. "Here. We'll make today's rice now, so you can see the process. It won't be exactly the flavor of arroz con pollo, but the technique's the same."

Kevin stepped beside her again, smiling faintly to himself. She was such an oddity to him, radiating that warmth of goodness Jeremy carried too. The way that no barb from Alex, or even Kevin himself, seemed to get under her skin. Serene, gentle, and yet the Knoxes revolved around her.

She was their gravity.

Their pillar of strength and comfort. She was something else too—something almost like magic—that made her kitchen more than a room and her food more than sustenance.

He lost track of time as she walked him through it. The chop of the onions. The browning of them with dry rice. The careful addition of stock, the slow rise of bubbles, the bloom of heat and spice. The smooth stirring that brought it all together like it had always belonged.

Kevin only looked up when he turned to grab another item and saw a figure leaning in the doorway.

Jeremy stood there watching, silent with his arms folded loosely, content to observe even after Kevin noticed him.

"Thought you were coming back outside?" he asked, eyes flicking to Kevin's chest.

Kevin flushed, well aware of the ridiculous apron he wore—big rainbow hearts, more Spanish he couldn't decipher. Miranda had insisted he do so in order to keep his clothes clean, and he hadn't argued. But now, with Jeremy watching him—

"Kevin is making our rice," Miranda called, following with a bright stream of Spanish and a grin over her shoulder at her son.

Jeremy chuckled—whether at the words or Kevin's expression, Kevin couldn't tell—and stepped forward as he translated. "Apparently you're doing a fantastic job."

"I've barely done anything," Kevin muttered, trying to will the heat out of his face.

"I doubt that," Jeremy said, brushing his arm as he passed, then pressing a kiss to Miranda's cheek and murmuring something quietly before pulling open the fridge. He retrieved a stick of butter and set it beside her, then held out the labeled cup. "I wanna hear what you think."

Kevin sighed and took the cup. He eyed it like a trap, ignoring Jeremy's bright, expectant gaze. It was stupid, the sway Jeremy had over him, but Kevin didn't fight it. He took a sip.

The soda was richer than a regular cherry Coke, the maraschino rounding it out and taking the artificial bite out of the drink while the carbonation remained intact. The sweeter aftertaste of it clung slightly, more syrupy and candied. Like a dessert. And that—

"Jean really liked this, didn't he?" Kevin asked, still staring at the straw as the thought crystallized. "The cherry."

"Yeah," Jeremy said, soft and a little distant—not quite sad, but longing. "Always cherry. I... I actually didn't think about that until right now."

Kevin nodded and took a longer drink, swallowing the swell of carbonation—and with it, the memory of Jean's last bowl of jello.

"Do you like it?" Jeremy asked.

Kevin shook his head, wiping his mouth. "Not really. Too sweet."

Jeremy smiled knowingly, not the least bit disappointed. "I had a feeling." He reached out. "I'll finish it."

Kevin handed it over gratefully as Miranda chimed, "How about something with less sugar, Kevin? I love Nico, but that Coke is gross."

Kevin chuckled. "Glad someone else has taste around here."

Jeremy narrowed his eyes, sipping long through the straw, undeterred and content.

"I'll take credit for the things my kids have good taste in," Miranda said, "but some things?" She shrugged. "Those are their father's fault."

Jeremy snorted. Kevin smiled at him.

Miranda waved him over. "Come on, help me whip up some agua de pepino con limón, and then you're off the hook."

"Yes, ma'am," Kevin said, stepping forward as she began to rattle off the ingredients for him to fetch.

A gentle touch to the small of his back stopped him. He turned to find Jeremy behind him, fingertips warm along the line of his spine.

Jeremy's look was hard to name with a single word. Grateful, certainly. Tender, definitely. But it was something else too—something full of wonder. Alive in a way that lifted Kevin's chest as though with pride. He didn't understand what he'd done to earn that look, but it felt like he had. Like that expression was because of him.

He smiled at Jeremy.
Jeremy smiled back.

Miranda, without turning, prodded them both to get to work.

__________

It had been a good day—or as close to one as Kevin could remember having recently. Jackie had slept more soundly than usual, Kevin's morning training had been productive, and he'd found everything on Miranda's arroz con pollo list at the local store she'd recommended. He planned to cook it the day after tomorrow, the recipe memorized in preparation of doing so.

Then he'd returned home to find two large boxes on the front porch, each stamped with a familiar logo.

He barely got the groceries into the fridge before hauling the boxes inside, eager and intending to open them then—until Jeremy's calling out from the backyard had him pausing. One moment, the arrival of the gear was the best part of the day but, in the next, then it was Jeremy's saying he wanted to join Kevin and Jackie on their afternoon walk that was marked as the highlight of the day thus far.

Usually it wasn't a walk per se, but Kevin wasn't about to push for following his typical running pace when Jeremy hadn't exercised in weeks. Since Kevin had resumed training at the stadium, he'd cut back to taking Jackie out only once a day, usually in the evenings. But he figured Jackie would enjoy the slower pace just as much—especially with Jeremy there.

A win. Another small one. But Kevin was hoarding every victory greedily, using them to anchor himself when Jeremy's eyes went flat or glassy, when he cried and needed holding again. It happened less as the days passed, which meant something. And Kevin still preferred Jeremy to show those moments openly rather than pretend they weren't there. Kevin could do both—appreciate the ways Jeremy's old self kept resurfacing and support him when the weight of this new life was too much to carry alone.

While they waited for Jeremy to change and finish a phone call in the bedroom, Kevin couldn't resist opening the boxes. Jackie lay on his back beside him in the living room, bright-eyed and tracking every motion as Kevin pulled back the protective packaging.

He started with his own gear, inspecting each item with the same meticulous scrutiny he'd always used.

The helmet: high-vent polycarbonate shell with dual-density padding and a loose chin strap—Kevin hated the feel of tight leather under his jaw on the court, and hated how he knew the ease with which a strap could be used against him thanks to Evermore.

The mouth guard: medical-grade silicone. The neck guard: steel-reinforced clips to keep it from shifting. Shoulder pads: low-profile compression foam with mesh backing. Rib padding: slim-fit EVA foam that locked in seamlessly to the former piece. Arm pads: moisture-wicking, elbows reinforced.

Then the gloves—Kevin's hands always took the worst of it, but his left still carried the legacy of what had been done to it too. He'd gone with his usual combo: synthetic leather, mesh, foam padding with plastic inserts, and extra-grip palms. Last, the shoes: low-cut with aggressive traction and a TPU outsole.

Satisfied, he set the pile aside and moved on to the racquets, carefully nestled in a long, extra-padded box.

Kevin had honed his kit over years by ruthless trial and error. Everything was chosen for a reason: lightweight, full range of motion, complete protection. Pro exy was harsher than college—more violent, more demanding. The players were stronger. Faster. Heavier and more precise. And Kevin was always the target—always the top scorer, the name everyone wanted to take down.

He wore his gear accordingly but, unlike the armor of The Kevin Day, this armor he liked. This armor was just his.

As he worked, he found himself talking aloud to Jackie, narrating details of each piece with a smile. The baby wouldn't understand a word—but he didn't need to. He was fascinated by anything held in front of him, and that made it more enjoyable than unpacking everything alone in the guest room.

Kevin tapped a finger against the shaft of a racquet, holding it above Jackie's head.

"It's a heavy, but you wouldn't think so only by the look of the carbon fiber—no wood in the pros, not like college. Wood splinters on a hard check." He lifted the mesh netting. "And this—the rope nets used by colleges are more an homage to traditional than straight practical. Mesh fiber allows for better aim, faster catches on passes. You'd be surprised how much it matters."

Jackie reached up and curled his fingers through the net with a determined tug.

"Hey! Look at you, grabbing shit yourself." Kevin chuckled. "You're getting better at that. But you gotta give this back. Here."

He picked up one of his gloves and traded it for the racquet, avoiding any potential complaint as Jackie clutched the glove with both hands, gleeful.

"Let's check out your dad's stuff," Kevin said, casting a glance toward the hall. Jeremy was taking forever. "A quick look. If something's damaged, I'll have to order replacements."

Jackie squealed like he approved, flapping the glove up and down. Kevin grinned, pushed his own gear aside haphazardly, and reached for the second set. He'd need to look over the additional racquets later but he was too eager to see how Jeremy's gear had turned out.

Kevin reviewed Jeremy's a little faster than his own but smiled at the updated pieces—this kit wasn't just a replica of the ones in the garage. Gavin had followed Kevin's instructions to the letter: newer models, a few extra features, and flashier colors than Kevin would've picked for himself. It brought back a thousand conversations over the years. Long-winded, spirited debates between him and Jeremy about every single item in a striker's kit—materials, brands, weight, protection. They'd argued like it mattered (because to them it did): Kevin stubborn, Jeremy just as much so, Jean mediating between them.

He missed it. God, he missed it. Missed them.
The three of them. The varietal pairs of them: the happy couple, the proud survivors, the fierce strikers.

He missed Number Eleven.

The world-class athlete who played with joy, who lit up every stadium with his grin brighter than the overhead lights. The friend who'd spend hours discussing exy with him, neither of them noticing the time pass. The man who'd taught him a way to love the game that Kevin never knew in the Nest. The teammate who—shared team or no—had always felt like one in spirit.

Kevin wondered if he'd have to keep missing that Number Eleven—if the version who showed up for the Knights this year would feel both different and the same as the Jeremy in this house. He'd just have to wait a little longer to see.

Kevin picked up Jeremy's arm guards—the ones with extra inserts, since Jeremy never protected his wrists enough—and spotted Jackie trying to gnaw on the glove.

"Yuck," Kevin said, snickering as he gently pulled it from Jackie's mouth. "We don't know where that's been."

Jackie frowned, disgruntled by the loss.

"Here. This one's clean," Kevin offered, handing him the ring of plastic keys.

The baby accepted it without protest, mouthing happily, and Kevin turned back to Jeremy's gloves. Flexible cross-lacing around the fingers. Durable stitching. Light blue details that weren't Knights colors, or Trojan ones either—Kevin had made sure Gavin avoided those.

No, this blue was softer. Calmer. Meant to ease Jeremy back in.

"Done!" Jeremy called from the hallway, emerging with a blanket in hand. "Weather said it's unseasonably chilly, so I grabbed a—"

He stopped mid-step, mid-sentence.

His gaze dropped to the gear spread across the floor. Then to Kevin, still holding the blue gloves. Then to Jackie, gnawing on his toy and surrounded on all sides by exy equipment.

The shift was immediate. Full-bodied.

Jeremy's whole expression changed. It wasn't anger, that flicker of something flickered behind his eyes. Not a flame. It was a...recoiling. Something quiet and visceral. The discomfort of walking into a memory you didn't ask for, reminded of something you'd rather not name.

Kevin straightened and leaned back on his heels calmly, but his heart kicked hard against his ribs, panic rising before reason could catch up. It felt like being caught doing something wrong—but he pushed past it. It was just gear. Nothing Jeremy hadn't grown up with.

"What is all that?" Jeremy asked, though he clearly already knew.

"I had Gavin order me a full set," Kevin said, keeping his tone even. "If I'm going to train seriously out here, I can't keep relying on spares."

"Ah."

Toneless. Jeremy still hadn't moved.

Kevin tightened his grip on the gloves, enough to feel the leather creak. "If you didn't mind it, I want to store it in the garage here. For when I come back."

He hadn't meant it to sound loaded—but it did. He meant: when I come back, not if. He meant: I'm thinking about later, for all of us—about staying part of this. But whatever hope he'd held for how Jeremy might receive that, the promise of a future in it, was dashed in an instant.

Jeremy grimaced. A fleeting, startled expression—but deeply horrified.

"Jeremy—" Kevin started.

"What're those?" Jeremy asked sharply, eyes flicking to the gloves. "In your hand."

Kevin eased his grip, let the gloves show.

"You only wear neutrals," Jeremy went on, still fixed on the dusky blue. "Practice gear is a thing for you. No team colors. Ever."

"They're yours," Kevin said. He kept his voice flat and neutral, refusing to let it fray, but the chill coming off Jeremy was worse than anything Kevin had expected. It was foreign. Wrong. Kevin knew Jeremy's anger, his grief, his joy. He thought he knew all the other emotions between those too but he didn't know this. This strange, cold distance. This quiet venom.

"I ordered gear for you too," Kevin added, lifting his chin. "New stuff, that you might actually want to try out. I thought it'd make it easier for you to have something not tied to the rest of it."

"Easier to forget Jean, you mean?" Jeremy said, low and even. Like thunder in the distance—not close enough to hear clearly, but heavy in the air with warning. "You think I'll want to play if I've got new, pretty clothes?"

Kevin sighed. The moment had veered off course, and he didn't know how. He regretted unpacking the boxes here, in the open and unavoidable. He should've waited to show him, at least until he better understood where exy lived now in Jeremy's head. Because it didn't feel like it used to. Jeremy never asked what drills Kevin ran, not anymore. Not like before, when they'd talk for hours, sharing details like secrets.

He only ever asked how training went. Not what it entailed. Kevin hadn't appreciated the difference until just then.

A long silence followed, filled only by Jackie's content burbling. Kevin didn't know how to claw the moment back. The ease they'd had even earlier today felt impossibly distant now. Already fading—so fast it might never have existed.

Then Jeremy said, flatly, "I'm not going on the walk."

Kevin blinked. "What?"

"You two go ahead."

Jeremy turned back toward the hallway.

"What happened?" Kevin stood quickly, gloves still in hand. Panic stirred in his chest at the sight of Jeremy's retreating back. "Jeremy, just tell me what's— You said you felt up to it."

"I changed my mind."

His voice was quiet. Not cruel. Not angry. But final. And the air between them turned brittle. Kevin could feel it fracturing—like fissures webbing across ice. He could feel something larger in it, something in Jeremy's words that surpassed just this one instance, but that was only a feeling so he focused on what was real.

"It's just gear," he said, trying not to sound defensive—but he did. He heard it in his own voice, and hated it. Hated how, even as it had an insistent bite to it, there was also a raw plea that went beyond the items, beyond this moment too. "You don't even have to use it. I just thought—maybe it'd help."

But Jeremy was already walking away.

The bedroom door closed—not slammed, but hard enough to crack something in Kevin's ribs. The silence afterward hit harder than shattering glass.

"Fine," Kevin muttered. "Fine."

The word came out like a curse. He stood there alone, still holding the gloves, eyes locked on the hallway. The impulse rose quick and hot—to follow him. To bang on the door. To demand he face it. Face exy. Face the thing Jean learned to love through Jeremy. Face what Jean would have wanted for him to keep—that solace in sport, that second home of a court.

If Jeremy would just—

Jackie shouted, high and insistent.

Kevin shut his eyes. Breathed. Then walked over and knelt to scoop Jackie up—soft weight and twilight eyes, a bubble of spit at his rosebud lips.

"Guess it's just you and me," Kevin murmured.

He grabbed his shoes at the door and bundled Jackie into the stroller with practiced ease. It was earlier than usual for them to go out and, though the May sun was bright, the air had a strange chill. Kevin paused long enough to tuck the blanket around Jackie before stepping out onto the sidewalk.

He barely noticed the cold.

It would've been a walk—if Jeremy had come.

But he hadn't.

So it was a run. A hard, fast one. Too hard, too fast—especially after training earlier that day. But Kevin's legs wouldn't slow, and his breath came hot in his throat, and Jackie jostled gently in the stroller, perfectly content, watching the world blur by.

Kevin didn't know if he was running from the moment or through it.

He didn't know what he was running toward.

All he knew was that something inside him had caught fire again—and this time it didn't carry the heat of happiness or the warmth of hope. There was no joy in that flame as it pushed him closer—too close—to the edge.

__________

Jeremy didn't notice the smell at first. He was too busy trying not to notice the date. He'd spent the entire day not noticing it—sitting alone on the bed for long hours after waking, staring blankly across the backyard, trying to keep his mind blank so it didn't land on the number that looped endlessly in his head.

Sixteen. Sixteen. Sixteen. Sixteensixteensixteen.

May sixteenth.

One month.

One month since Jean died.

One month since everything else had died too—their future, their plans, their dreams. The version of himself that existed in the life they'd built together. Everything. Gone.

Now, all that remained were thirty days of surviving without him. Thirty days in the house they'd made a home, in clothes that were losing (no longer held) his scent, in rooms where Jeremy still heard the echo of his voice.

Jeremy hated himself for missing the numbness of those first days without Jean. At least the gray haze had dulled the pain. But now, thirty days in, the grief had shape. Weight. Teeth. Permanence.

It took everything not to collapse beneath it. To not stay curled up in bed, to not sink to the floor and stay there. He'd barely spoken. Barely moved. He held Jackie when Kevin needed a break, gave him a bottle. Sat still on the patio in the sun, which felt like nothing on his skin. He showered. He drifted. From task to task, seat to seat. Breathing, but not really alive.

So when he stepped into the kitchen that evening, it wasn't the sight of Kevin at the stove that stopped him because that had become oddly—but comfortingly—familiar. No—it was the scent in the air. Garlic, onion, tomato. Cumin. Coriander. Saffron.

It hit him like a wave. Like stepping into a memory.

Kevin turned, reaching for a small dish on the island. He froze when their eyes met, green on brown. There was a flicker of something rare on his face—uncertainty. Maybe even fear.

Kevin Day wasn't someone who got nervous. Not about difficult drills or pushy press or impossible-to-win games. Not about anything. But he looked it now.

"I... uh. Miranda gave me the recipe," he said, gesturing with a wooden spoon. "The one you like. Jean's favorite. I tried to get it right, but it's..."

He trailed off. Jeremy said nothing. Their eyes fell away from one another. He stepped toward the stove, slow and reverent.

The smell was right. Uncannily right. Jeremy had eaten the dish when his mother brought it by, but smelling it here—in this kitchen—was different. It was everything. It was Sundays with Jean, apron tied around his waist, Jackie tucked in one arm. It was coming back from a road trip and breathing it in the second he stepped through the door. It was their first apartment on Vine Street. Their dorm kitchen at USC. It was Jean's smile the first time he made it alone, presenting it to Jeremy, proud and beaming.

Of every dish in the world, arroz con pollo wasn't just special. It was love.

Kevin kept talking, like the quiet itself made him anxious. "I had to Google 'sofrito,' which I still can't pronounce obviously. The recipe just throws it in like I'm supposed to know what it is. I think I overcooked the chicken. The rice is probably wrong, it didn't come together like it did with Miranda. The tomatoes were at least the right brand, but—"

"It's perfect," Jeremy said.

Kevin stopped mid-sentence.

"I haven't tasted it," Jeremy added, softer. "But it's perfect."

He felt Kevin's attention on him as he spoke, but he didn't look away, even as Kevin returned to stirring in silence. Jeremy stood nearby, breathing in the scent like he could fuse it into his lungs to keep with him always. He didn't move until the dish was nearly done. Then he quietly gathered plates and silverware, setting the table just as Kevin carried the pan over. He laid down a towel beneath it, glancing toward Jackie dozing peacefully in his rocker swing.

"He'll wake up soon," Kevin said. "Probably. Took longer to cook it than I thought. I was hoping we'd be done before he did so you... could enjoy it. I guess."

Jeremy nodded and sat. Kevin joined him, and neither moved.

He didn't have to look to know Kevin was watching. His attention had weight. Jeremy felt it as he reached for the spoon and served himself. Kevin followed his lead.

One bite. Two. Three. Jeremy set his fork down. The spices clung to his tongue. He needed the moment—just a moment—to let it sink in. The taste. The smell. The memory. All of it filling his senses at once. Anchoring him. And Kevin didn't interrupt. He didn't rush. He just let Jeremy have it, the sensation that was something like peace settling against his skin and lingering even as he began to eat again.

The arroz con pollo wasn't exactly like Jean's, but it never could be. Jeremy used to joke that even though Jean and his mom followed the same recipe, he could tell them apart in one bite.

Kevin's wasn't either of theirs. The rice was too fluffy. The chicken slightly dry. The spices a little underdeveloped.

It didn't matter.

What mattered was Kevin had tried. That he'd remembered. That Jeremy hadn't needed to ask. That on this day—thirty days after everything ended—Kevin had thought to do this for him, even though Jeremy knew he was grieving too.

They didn't speak as they ate. Or as they cleaned up side by side. The silence wasn't heavy—it was sacred. Jeremy let it fill him, heart full with something he hadn't felt all day. Something appreciative. Something like gratitude—for still having this, even if so much else was gone.

Through the kitchen window, the California horizon had deepened into violet dusk. Wisps of blue and pink curled high overhead. A cotton-candy sky. Jeremy had always loved those.

"Do you want to get him?" Kevin asked.

"Hmm?" Jeremy looked over.

Kevin nodded toward the living room, soap suds on his forearms. "I think I hear him waking up." Then, softer, "I've just got a couple things left to finish here. I'll come join you. If you want."

"Yeah," Jeremy said quietly. "Okay."

He set the drying towel aside and went to the living room, finding Jackie in a wonderful mood despite just waking. The baby blew a raspberry at him, his blue eyes gleaming with sleepy wonder.

Jeremy smiled.

"Hey, honey-bear," he said softly, gathering him close. "You must've slept real good, huh? Look at you, so happy." He nuzzled Jackie's cheek, kissed him there, then rested against him and whispered, "I'm glad you're happy, lovebug. Especially today. I always want you to be happy, even when I can't quite get there. Alright? Can you do that for Daddy?"

Jackie burbled, soft and sweet against his cheek.

"Gracias, mijito."

Jackie's good mood continued through the diaper change in the nursery. Even there, the scent of arroz con pollo hung in the air—warm and comforting. It should've eased something. It did ease something.

But under the quiet, beneath the dreamlike haze of remembered better days, something else still burned.

He'd tried to ignore it, the same way he'd tried to ignore the date, but the feeling had been there for a couple days now. Maybe longer.

That flash of heat he'd felt when he saw the exy gear spread out across the living room. The way his chest had twisted at the sight of Kevin holding those gloves, as if it were something wrong—deeply, viscerally wrong. Not because of what they were, but because of what they brought with them. Memories. Associations. The future. The unbearable contrast between what had once been safe and was now tainted. The reminder that the man who used to wear that gear, who'd loved that world, was gone. That man hadn't been scattered at sea but he was truly gone.

Number Eleven.
Face of the Knights.
The Sunshine Captain.
That man was as surely dead as Jean was.

Jeremy hadn't apologized for his reaction. He didn't know how to, couldn't explain what he was reacting to—not even to himself. Kevin hadn't mentioned it, and they'd reached an unspoken truce to bury it and keep going.

But it was still there. That bump under the rug, tripping Jeremy every time he crossed it in his mind.

It wasn't really about the gear. Or even Jean. It was about all of it—past, future, the absence of safety, the presence of loss. And something else too, low and constant, restless and hot, humming beneath his skin even now as he picked Jackie up from the changing table.

Anger.

Not rage. Not the kind that shouted or broke things. Not the kind that felt justified in how he loved those precious to him. Just an unyielding, unfamiliar pressure. A heat that sat there, no matter the day, the weather, the moment. It twisted his stomach. Made him want to snap. Or go blank again, if only for the relief of numbness—even though he'd sworn not to go back to that grayness. Because if he did, he wasn't with Kevin and Jackie, not really.

But what was there to be angry about? It changed nothing. It fixed nothing. It wasn't productive. Jeremy had never been an angry person. Even when he (rarely) felt it, he never acted on it and he was proud of that control over himself. Jean used to say he admired that—that Jeremy could lead without ever raising his voice.

Le calme dans notre tempête, notre capitaine soleil.

Hearing Jean's voice in his head didn't help. Jeremy wished it did but it didn't quiet the coals glowing in the pit of him.

He wasn't calm anymore. He wasn't any kind of light. He wasn't anyone's captain—not even of himself.

Jeremy wasn't a lot of things he used to be.

He returned to the living room with Jackie, still carrying the slow burn he couldn't name, couldn't shake. Part of him wished Kevin would bring it up—because Kevin would know what to do. Kevin always knew what to do. But he hadn't. He wouldn't. Maybe because he thought Jeremy was ashamed of it, and maybe Jeremy was.

Regardless of all of it—the known and the not, the missing and the grateful, the back and forth, the exhaustion—Jeremy felt steadier here than anywhere else. Because Kevin was here.

And Kevin was gravity.

He didn't keep everything out. Kevin couldn't fix everything. But his presence anchored Jeremy in place, right at the center. Kevin's green eyes gave Jeremy something to hold onto, kept things steady just enough not to be lost further.

"Can we take that walk now?" Jeremy asked.

Kevin blinked, the towel paused in his hands. "Yeah."

"There's a path a couple streets over. Jean used to like it. It's quiet. Lots of trees. I want to go there."

"With me?" Kevin asked, gently.

"With both of you."

Kevin's smile was small—barely there—but oh, it helped. It combined with the scent of memory in the air and the warmth of Jackie in his arms and pinned Jeremy to the earth in a way that felt like peace, not suffocation. Like a cool hand across the simmering pressure in his chest, quieting it for now.

"Let's go then," Kevin said, tossing the towel aside. "We've got time before his next bottle to get a decent walk in. I need to work off those carbs anyway."

Jeremy snorted, rolling his eyes. As if a carb—or anything—had ever stuck to Kevin Day in his life. It would take months of Knox family meals to coax him out of that obsessive single-digit body fat.

Jackie squealed with delight at Kevin's approach, gummy smile wide as Kevin tickled his fingers across the baby's belly. They headed for the garage and were out the door in moments—their pace easy, their hearts aching but full.

As they walked beneath the cotton-candy sky deepening toward darker dusk, Jeremy pointed out all the little things Jean had loved about this stretch of their neighborhood. The pressure inside him shifted—not gone, but changing shape. He didn't know what to do with it yet. Only that it wouldn't go away on its own.

He had to confront it, and do so alone.

But maybe—just maybe—it wouldn't burn everything down, if he was strong enough to withstand it.

__________

Kevin had been trying not to make a big deal out of it. Just little nudges here and there, quiet encouragement during the slow hours when it was just the two of them. He'd demonstrated the motion with his own body, lying on the floor like an idiot while Jackie watched, wide-eyed and visibly amused. But Kevin sensed it, the same way he knew when a shot left his racquet was going to score.

Jackie was close. So close to rolling over, Kevin could taste the possibility in the air. He'd already come close a few times in the days since Jeremy started joining them on their evening walks—tipping onto his side, his body twisting, legs kicking in the air like he couldn't decide whether to flip or fly. The first time it happened, Kevin had gone straight to the parenting book. He'd studied the section like he was prepping for a final exam, watched videos, adjusted their post-bottle exercises.

Jean would've known what to do by instinct, one for fatherhood that Kevin would never possess, but Kevin didn't mind the work if it helped. Jackie was worth it. And Kevin had to admit—it was exciting. The tension of waiting. The potential that held energy. The breathlessness of holding for the exact moment Jackie tilted far enough that Kevin didn't dare blink in case he missed it.

So tonight, when Jeremy wandered off to refill his tea, Kevin took the chance again. Jackie lay on his back on the blanket, wide awake and squirmy, full of kinetic energy with limbs moving like he had places to be. It was just the sort of mood that he'd been most receptive to practicing recently.

Kevin lay just out of his line of sight—one of the videos said babies might roll if motivated to find something. He tapped his fingers against the floor beside Jackie's head.

"You gonna do it for real this time, little man?" he murmured. "I know you can."

Jackie squirmed, stretching his neck to find him, squeaking in protest when he couldn't.

"If you wanna see me, you gotta do it," Kevin encouraged. "No help this time. Just like we practiced. Give it a shot. C'mon."

He watched the sparkle in Jackie's eyes. The baby kicked both feet, flailed his arms—pure motion and life. Another squeak, higher pitched. His face wrinkled in deep concentration. Then he shifted.

Kevin held his breath.

Jackie tipped.

Too far.

Just right.

It wasn't graceful. His arm got stuck under him, his head flopped a little too hard onto the blanket—but he was over. He was on his stomach. Jackie picked his head up and locked wide eyes with Kevin.

The world paused. The moment stilled.

Then Jackie let out a sound Kevin had never heard before. As if it had all caught him off-guard.

Not a shriek. Not a babble.

A laugh.

One single, breathy, open-mouthed puff of joy—like a champagne cork popping in a silent room.

Kevin gasped—and from his right, another breath caught and echoed back. He looked over to see Jeremy standing frozen at the edge of the kitchen, tea mug abandoned mid-motion on the counter.

"Did...?" Jeremy stammered. "Did he just...?

"He laughed," Kevin said, turning back to Jackie, his voice thin with wonder. "He just—he laughed. After rolling over. I..."

Jackie blinked at him, unfazed by the way he was tilting Kevin's world off-center. Then, as if surprised by the noise himself, he did it again.

A high, hiccupy giggle burst out of him, fuller this time. His whole tiny body moved with it, little head bobbing. Joy, wild and uncontained.

Then, Kevin laughed too—shocked, amazed. The kind of laugh that didn't feel like it belonged to him, a stunned bark of overwhelmed delight. A laugh he hadn't felt coming, just broke out unannounced. A laugh he hadn't known he needed. And Jeremy dropped to his knees beside them, breathless laughter tripping him up, eyes wide with disbelief. For a moment, they were both just there—two men knocked flat by a baby's laugh.

Jackie flailed happily, bottled lightning and beaming, drool glinting on his chin. Eyes crinkled with glee, pleased as the center of their rapt fascination. Kevin stared at him, this bright, living thing, and thought: My godson.

His.
The only one who could call him so.

And Jackie had laughed for the first time. He'd rolled over for the first time and Kevin had been there for both. The firsts of something in Jackie's lifetime.

He'd missed all the others—Jackie's first smile, first coo, first night home. Kevin hadn't been in the room for the first sound of Jackie's beating, beautiful heart. He'd heard the stories afterwards, from far away.

But he was here for this.

And the feeling was a ferocious deluge. It was the fire of joy tangled too with the acid of guilt—sharp, searing, unearned. He'd just wanted to try, to help, to give both Jackie and Jeremy something with it maybe. And now, Jackie had—he'd rolled over and laughed.

And Kevin was the one there for it, in this moment that wasn't his to have. But he had it anyway.

Not Jean.

Jeremy whispered, "His first real laugh. And, and he's on his tummy too. Rolled over all by himself."

Kevin couldn't speak. He just nodded, still watching Jackie, who was now gnawing on the edge of the blanket and grinning around it at them.

"You did so good, little man," Kevin said softly. "We're proud of you, yeah?"

"Papa would be too, honey-bear."

Kevin glanced aside. Jeremy's voice had cracked, and his brown eyes were shimmering wet with too-familiar tears.

Kevin's smile wavered as the guilt began to eclipse his joy.

How was it possible to be so fucking thrilled to have been there and also so fucking heartbroken that Jean wasn't? That he hadn't seen this and that Kevin had?

Jeremy rubbed at his eyes, voice trembling. "'M sorry. I should be happy. I am. But—"

"I know," Kevin said, shifting up to sit beside him and pulling him close. Jeremy leaned into his shoulder, eyes still on Jackie. "I totally get it. Really." Kevin's throat tightened. "I'm the one who's sorry though."

For coaxing Jackie into it.
For laughing when it wasn't his moment.
For being the one who was there.

"Don't do that," Jeremy whispered.

It stopped Kevin cold. Silencing his thoughts, erasing further apologies.

"Don't be sorry," Jeremy said more clearly, tilting his head back on Kevin's shoulder to look at him. "He laughed, Kev. You made him laugh. You saw him roll over first. That's so special. I'm... I really am glad it was you."

Kevin's breath stuttered, a violent rattling in his lungs. Jeremy's gaze was too much—too kind, too honest—knocking things loose in Kevin's chest, so he looked back to Jackie, now attempting to eat his own fist with great commitment and resting his head on it instead of holding himself up.

Something inside Kevin cracked further. Fine lines spidering deeper and longer across already-thin ice.

He didn't deserve this. But he had it. And he'd promised to stay. To see it through.

And Jackie—impossibly, wonderfully—was laughing. Jeremy had laughed too, fully and brightly, for the first time in over a month. So had he.

It wouldn't be the last first Kevin saw. He hoped it wasn't, that he wouldn't miss a single one because he wanted them all. He wanted them for himself and to stand in for Jean, to hold space for the wonder he knew Jean would've felt.

Beside him, Jeremy wiped his face again, caught between a smile and something heavier. "Jean would've loved this."

Kevin didn't answer right away. The words landed somewhere deep, in a place still raw and smoking. He wanted to say, I know. Or maybe, I wish he could've. But neither felt enough because Jeremy knew those. Nothing felt like enough for a moment so full of both loss and gain.

So instead, he just murmured, "He's still part of it."

Jeremy nodded, sinking heavier into Kevin's side with a quiet sigh. His hand drifted to Jackie and brushed the baby's cheek, absently tender and deeply sweet.

"So are you," Jeremy murmured. "You're part of it now. From now on."

That landed harder than Kevin expected.

He didn't say thank you.
Didn't agree.
Didn't promise anything.
He knew somehow he didn't need to.

So Kevin just sat still. Watched Jackie. Breathed through the tangle within himself.

His arm curled tighter around Jeremy's waist—reflexive, as if Jeremy were the one keeping him anchored there with the two of them.

And inside, something else burned. Not just guilt. Not just joy. Something coiled but kinetic. A heat that sat low in his spine, pushing to move. Hypnotic. Hungry. Demanding to become something.

He didn't know what it meant yet but it was different than any before.

Whatever it was, it had caught—and it wanted to burn. It wanted to go.

__________

June arrived with violence.

Kevin had never seen a summer storm in Los Angeles before—and according to the news, neither had anyone else in recent memory. Not one like this. The so-called "storm of the decade" rolled in a week after they took Jackie's five-month pictures (laughing, rolling over, bright-eyed as ever) with ominous clouds the color of old bruises rolling in from the Pacific. The air below stayed unnervingly hot and disturbingly still.

Then came thunder—distant, almost polite—and the heavens cracked open.

Rain fell in torrential sheets, flooding the city that never expected it and wasn't built to endure it. Storm drains overflowed, dry riverbeds surged, mudslides ripped through canyon neighborhoods. Lightning snapped trees, took out power grids. Palm trees bowed and bent, fronds shearing off in great, lashing arcs of wind.

The storm passed as quickly as it had arrived, leaving cloudless skies and a thick, almost tropical humidity in its wake. Within days, Los Angeles emerged blinking into the light, shell-shocked and wide-eyed at the damage left behind. Awe and horror.

Kevin knew that combined feeling intimately.

In the outskirts, nestled near the San Rafaels, the sage-green house had weathered the storm well, a credit to its strong foundation and the conservation planting that kept the hillsides anchored. The few power outages they had were brief.

But those inside didn't fare as well.

Jackie—normally so happy, so adaptable—turned out to be terrified of storms. That might not have mattered in normally sunny Los Angeles—or if it had just been a passing shower. But it wasn't—it was three unending days of thunder and wind and Kevin couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Jeremy sleep since Jackie rarely did too as the outdoors raged. Jeremy looked hollowed out—heavy-limbed, barely blinking—doing everything he could to comfort Jackie while holding his own frayed edges together.

Kevin felt the ease they'd found slip away hour by hour, rained out and buried beneath the heaviness of the sky. The house closed in around them, oppressive and stifling, and Kevin found himself unable to reach either of them. Unable go on a run or to the stadium. Incapable of doing anything that made him feel useful.

So when the sky finally broke open into sunlight, Kevin did too.

"Go sleep," he told Jeremy, who sat slouched on the couch with a grumpy, still-squirmy Jackie tucked in his arms. "I'm gonna take him for a run."

"You sure?" Jeremy asked sleepily, yawning into his shoulder.

"Yeah. Radar says we're clear. He always passes out in the stroller, and you need a break."

"So do you. You've been up too. Watching us."

"This is my break," Kevin said, soft but firm. "I don't wanna drive to the stadium 'til downtown's cleared up more, but our street looks fine."

Jeremy nodded slowly, eyes barely open. "'Kay. Be careful?"

"Yeah," Kevin said, already bending to scoop Jackie from his arms. The baby came easily, limbs drooping, though he made a sour face like he already suspected something unpleasant. Kevin raised an eyebrow at him. "Aren't you scary? How dare it storm when you can make a face like that."

Jeremy huffed a tired laugh and stood, moving with a kind of exhausted float. Kevin smiled. It was the first laugh he'd heard from him in days, and he clung to it.

They'd bounce back. They had to. Jackie would go back to his usual cheerful babbling and night-owl habits. Jeremy would go back to cooking with the radio on and sunshine in the afternoons. Kevin would run and train. They just needed some warm food. Some easy quiet. Some deep sleep.

Tomorrow would be better.

Jeremy slipped an arm around Kevin's waist and Kevin adjusted Jackie to return the lazy hug.

"Dinner's on me tonight," Kevin promised. "I'll wake you up later."

"Usually I'd feel bad, but I'm so tired I can't feel anything but tired," Jeremy said, yawning mid-sentence again.

Kevin grinned. "Good. Go."

"Aye aye, captain."

"Wrong kind of captain."

Jeremy snorted, eyes already drooping. He kissed Jackie's cheek, then pressed a second one—vague and sleepy—against Kevin's collarbone before padding off. Kevin rolled his eyes fondly as he watched him go.

"Tell me when you get back," Jeremy mumbled, heading down the hall.

"The point was for you to sleep," Kevin called after him.

Jeremy just waved a lazy hand, still shuffling. "Won't stay up. Just wanna know you're home." He yawned loudly enough for Kevin not to need to see it, "G'night."

Kevin smirked. "Good night."

No response—just the distant sound of the bedroom door shutting. Kevin stood alone with Jackie, still squinting suspiciously at the ceiling in a way that made Kevin snort quietly. It was like Jackie believed the vague up-there was responsible for the recent days of misery—and he was thoroughly displeased with it.

"He's silly," Kevin informed the baby. Then, bouncing him lightly, he added with a bright sing-song and cartoonish smile, "Ce n'est pas l'heure de dire bonne nuit. C'est l'heure de la poussette, hein?"

If there was ever a moment Kevin was sure he'd lost his mind, it was that one. He'd never sounded so ridiculous in his life. Baby voice? Really? The storm had clearly gotten to him too.

Still, Jackie seemed somewhat interested—more by tone than content, surely—and once Kevin laced up his shoes and loaded him into the stroller, he squealed happily. The process of readying to go out was a Pavlovian response for them both.

The garage door opened and Kevin exhaled. Even the sticky weight of humid air couldn't hold him back. It felt good to move. To go. To feel the pavement rush by and see Jackie's grin at the cleared sky. They did five miles at an even pace before Kevin slowed to a walk, not quite ready to stop. Jackie had conked out around mile three, but Kevin kept wandering—street after street, dark creeping in slow. It was a relief to let his mind meander too—over Jackie's next bottle timing, over which dinner he wanted to cook that night.

Eventually, it was time to return.

The house was quiet when they walked in, still and dark in that strange post-storm hush. Kevin slipped off his shoes and placed the limp, sleeping baby in his rocker swing, setting it a gentle sway.

He padded softly to Jeremy's bedroom door—slightly ajar—and paused.

He told you to come back here, Kevin reminded himself, nudging it open just enough to step through.

Jeremy was dead asleep, sprawled face-down across the unmade bed, still in yesterday's clothes. His lips were parted, his face slack, limbs thrown out at odd angles like he'd simply fallen and stayed where he landed. Kevin smiled faintly. He moved quietly around the edge of the bed to straighten Jeremy's leg and arm, tucking them up onto the mattress before pulling a blanket gently to his shoulder blades.

Jeremy grumbled—low, petulant, familiar in how it sounded like Jackie's. Kevin's heart twisted affectionately.

He gave in to the mindless urge and brushed his fingers softly through Jeremy's sleep-mussed hair. He'd liked that, the day Jeremy had done it to him after the memorial. Kevin had liked that whole moment in the guest room—liked it too much, maybe—and had forced himself to file it away. To not think of it as anything other than an odd fluke brought on by a trying day. But doing this for Jeremy now didn't feel like a mistake. It felt... right.

"Hmmm, yer back?" Jeremy muttered, barely intelligible.

"Yeah," Kevin whispered.

"Jackie good?"

"He is."

Jeremy hummed and reached, patting blindly until he snagged Kevin's hand with surprising strength and pulled. The unexpected motion threw Kevin off-balance—tired legs giving way just enough to make him tip and stumble to land in a seat on the edge of the bed.

Jeremy tugged Kevin's hand closer, to his cheek, and nuzzled into it.

"Warm," he murmured. "'S nice."

Kevin swallowed, nodding though Jeremy couldn't see it. It was nice—the smooth warmth of Jeremy's skin, the quiet weight of his fingers around Kevin's, the hush of the room lit with soft, late light. Like the day of the memorial again, the one Kevin didn't let himself think about, feel anything about.

"Wanna lay down?" Jeremy asked, shifting Kevin's hand to the crook of his neck. He sighed with pure peace, like it was the best thing in the world.

Kevin knew his answer, even as he wished it were different. Wished the comfort between them had lasted longer. Lasted fully. Had ever been something that stretched so far.

"No. I'm gonna shower," he said quietly.

"'Kay." Jeremy brought Kevin's hand to his lips, kissed his palm, and let go. "Come back after. Nap with me."

Kevin didn't answer. Couldn't. His chest was tight, his skin burned where Jeremy's mouth had touched it—right over his scars. His knees felt weaker than after his run, his breath tighter in his chest now than then. He staggered upright, starting to move away—

"Baiser?" Jeremy muttered in a puff, lip jutting in a sleepy pout.

Kevin froze.

His eyes widened at the French, at the request, at the surreal tilt of the moment. Jeremy's eyes were still closed, his body boneless with sleep.

"Kev," he mumbled, petulant. That nickname, in that tone, sent a jolt up Kevin's spine.

It wasn't weird. Not really. They'd kissed before—cheeks, foreheads, hands. Casual things. Familiar. Harmless. Been closer in these past weeks than ever before even.

This was different. Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe Kevin was the one making it different.

He leaned in anyway.

One hand on the mattress for balance, he bent over Jeremy. A glimpse of Jeremy's unguarded, peaceful face. Then closer—Kevin kissed his cheek. He lingered a moment, too long of one, and even knowing it didn't stop him. Kevin's nose brushed his perfect skin. A soft inhale there. A second kiss.

Jeremy sighed contentedly.

It felt good. Tender. Wanted. Like something soft and waiting inside Jeremy had turned toward him.

And Kevin—

What the fuck was he doing?

He bolted upright, spine snapping straight. Nearly stumbled on the way out. He paused just long enough to drop the baby monitor beside Jackie—still asleep in his swing—before storming into the guest room and flinging himself into the shower like the curtain could hold the world at bay.

It was fine.
It was fine.

Just a kiss on the cheek. Like Jeremy had given him countless times. Like Kevin had given in return.

Only—he hadn't done so since the memorial.

Only—he'd lingered. He'd relished.

Only—it wasn't just touch. It was breath. Heat. Want.

Just a kiss. Just two.

Kevin let his forehead thud against the tile. Hard. The jolt buzzed through his skull. He was tired, yeah. The storm had taken a toll. But he didn't feel like he had the day of the memorial. He couldn't blame it on that again.

Maybe he could blame it on the rest of it.

The calendar had flipped to June the same day the storm rolled in, and something inside Kevin had snapped like a brittle wire. He hadn't stopped counting down since.

Eighteen days. Seventeen days. Sixteen...

Each morning it stared back at him. The number creeping closer to his leaving. To leaving them.

He hated it in a different way than he had just days before: The passage of time. Even when it brought good things—Jackie's laughter, his growth, his milestones, Jeremy's healing, returning light—it still felt like an enemy. Like something always marching forward to take everything away. It felt more like a foe than ever before with June as its name.

Jeremy hadn't asked for the exact departure date. Kevin hadn't offered it. He wasn't sure why. It wouldn't change anything—he'd already told the Sirens—but when the moments came to say it here, he just... didn't.

There were a lot of things he hadn't done.

Hadn't brought up Jeremy's reaction to the exy gear. Hadn't mentioned the Knights, the contract, the training camp starting soon. Hadn't told him that Coach Stevens, unable to reach Jeremy, had asked Ricky, who had asked him.

Kevin hadn't answered. Maybe because he didn't have one, or any.

There was still no plan for Jackie, no return visit scheduled, no long-term anything set and planned for. Only a myriad of loose threads, details without tethers. Some days, Kevin thought Jeremy was ready to talk about it. Other days, he saw something flicker in his eyes—something dark, something like shame. Something like betrayal. Quick and strange, like it didn't fit on Jeremy's face. Fast enough Kevin could almost pretend it never happened. But it came back again and again, hinting at something beneath the surface that Kevin was afraid to disturb.

Kevin saw it again the last day they'd made it outside before the storm. An easy jog, Jackie in the stroller. Jeremy had said he was feeling good enough for pushing beyond their usual walking pace.

He hadn't been.

He'd come back breathless—not just physically, but cracked open. Kevin still heard the words, soft and bitter under his breath when they returned to the house.

'Why fucking bother. Being healthy didn't save him.'

Kevin had been too stunned to respond. Too scared, maybe. He didn't bring it up, just like everything else.

He didn't know what to do about the shadow in Jeremy—the one that clung to him like a second skin, the one that didn't leave, even in Jackie's light.

The water turned cold.

Kevin winced and rushed through rinsing off. The house was still quiet when he stepped out again. Jackie was still sleeping. Jeremy was still in his room.

Just make dinner.
Just warm the bottle.
Just figure out what the hell's going on and fix it, because time is running out.

That's all there was to do.

Except—

When Jeremy padded in from the hall, hair tousled, eyes still foggy with sleep, and smiled at Kevin like it was the most natural thing in the world. When he hugged him. Thanked him for dinner. Said it smelled amazing.

When Jeremy did all that, the demands of Kevin's panic went silent.

He'd bring it up tomorrow. He swore he would. After a good night's sleep. After the storm residue cleared from their heads. After things felt steady again beneath full sunshine.

Tomorrow. When things were easier again.

__________

Kevin should've known it was coming.

Sleep had been impossible to find—just hours of turning over and over, trying and failing to get comfortable despite needing rest badly after the storm and days of disrupted routine. Then came the stiffness in his neck. The repeated trips to the bathroom though he didn't need to. The tingling at the tips of his fingers.

When the dim early light made him recoil, squinting against a throb of photophobia—Kevin knew. One of those days.

He took his prescription and hoped it would work. Or at least dull the edge.

In a way, he should've been grateful. He hadn't had a migraine since arriving in Los Angeles.

"You sure you don't even want your shake?" Jeremy asked, watching him closely as Kevin winced after only a couple sips and put it back in the fridge. "You should finish it before going out."

"It's fine," Kevin said. "I'll have it when I get back."

When he turned from the fridge, Jeremy was still there, studying him with a concerned expression. He raised a hand and laid the back of it against Kevin's forehead.

Kevin jerked back—not wanting to be touched, especially not there—and Jeremy frowned.

"Just feeling a little off," Kevin said, softer this time. He didn't want Jeremy to feel bad. "The run will help."

Maybe it would. Sometimes it did. Hard to tell, when it hadn't fully settled yet. He added, more because he felt like he should rather than wanted the company, "You sure you don't wanna come too?"

Jeremy shook his head, turning to clear the remnants of breakfast and Jackie's first bottle.

"I'm sure. I've got a call I've been putting off," he said casually.

Despite the tone, it caught Kevin's attention anyway. Jeremy didn't take or return many calls lately. Not unless they were from family and something about how Jeremy spoke told Kevin it wasn't the Knoxes.

"I'll be done by the time you get back," he added, glancing over his shoulder. "Don't push too hard, okay? You look a little peaked."

"I'm fine," Kevin repeated with a smile meant to reassure, but felt thinner than it looked.

He was grateful the routine of getting Jackie ready came on autopilot now. His brain felt too swollen for his skull. Even Jackie's happy squeals—normally the bright spot of any morning—rattled like loose nails in his skull.

Phonophobia. Fantastic.

Kevin took a slow, long breath and started out at a lazy pace. He was experienced at this. He'd lost track of how many migraines he'd run through, played through, powered through in his years as both a Raven and a Fox. Abby noticed them in just his first month at Palmetto, but she hadn't wanted to give him more than over-the-counter meds unless he cut back on drinking.

Kevin chose vodka. He always chose vodka back then.

But after the Moriyamas, after Aaron's trial, after his first pilgrimage to Los Angeles, after losing and remaking a thousand pieces of himself—he'd put the vodka down. Painstakingly, with more effort than anything before. Abby helped. Betsy, his dad, Neil and Andrew. Aaron. Jean and Jeremy from a distance. It took a village to wrest the bottle from his grip and keep it away. But eventually, he'd gotten sober enough that Abby and Betsy said it was time to deal with the migraines properly.

There was always another hurdle.

The pressure bloomed on the left side of his head—always the left—and Kevin pushed harder like he could outrun it.

He couldn't.

By the time he returned home, Jackie asleep in one arm, the aura had started. Light at the edges of things, zigzagging and wrong. The run hadn't helped. His legs felt like lead. The world tilted in strange angles. The kitchen lights were too much. Even off, they were too much. He wished it would be so simple as climbing back into bed and shutting the blinds but, even underground, his migraines only took and took without mercy.

He stared down at the protein shake on the counter. Swallowed thickly. Nausea had its own taste now. His stomach roiled at the idea of drinking it, even though he had to. He gritted his teeth, popped the lid, and chugged it in gulps until he sputtered and coughed hard enough to double over.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand hard, angry and dizzy.

He hated this part—not the pain, but the powerlessness of it.

"Just a sec, Coach," came Jeremy's voice from beyond the wall.

Kevin straightened, blinking. Jeremy stepped into the kitchen, the phone tucked between shoulder and cheek, and stumbled slightly when he saw him.

"Hey," he said, softening. "Didn't know you guys were back."

Kevin nodded, throat tight.

Coach.

It hit like a jolt of electricity. Relief surged through his body so fast it left his knees unsteady.

Jeremy grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. "I'll be done soon. You should go clean up, or just sit down for a bit. You look kinda pale."

"Yeah," Kevin rasped.

Jeremy gave him a small, distracted smile and left the room, his voice trailing back into the hallway. "Okay, Coach, go ahead. I'm back."

Kevin braced a hand on the counter and made it to one of the tall bar stools. He folded forward, resting his forehead on his arms. The tile was cool there.

Thank God.

Jeremy was talking to Coach Stevens. Jeremy had called the Knights. Something was happening. Possibilities. Answers. It was good. It was so good that for a moment, it muted the pain.

They'd talk about exy today. They'd set a plan. It meant Kevin wouldn't have to push the topic. It meant they'd figure out what came next.

Fifteen days.

Suddenly, it didn't feel so fatal.

If he knew what Jeremy and Jackie were stepping into—if he could help them settle into it—then the leaving might not hollow him out completely. Maybe.

He waited. And waited. The migraine sunk its claws deeper slowly. He continued to wait.

Kevin startled at the sound of a door opening. The migraine warped time; he wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there. He turned his head slightly—expecting Jeremy.

Instead, he heard the nursery door creak open.

Had Jackie cried? Kevin couldn't remember hearing it. Guilt flared. That was his moment, usually. His routine when Jackie awoke after a run, his time to take in those sleepy post-nap blue eyes. Knowing how to read Jackie's sounds, his timing, his needs, Kevin had gotten better with it to the point when it felt obvious what the baby wanted. But nothing about today felt clear.

He squinted at the light through the sliding glass doors. Spikes through his skull. Too much. He pushed up shakily, closed the blinds, and sank back down into the stool.

More waiting.

This time, it wasn't long. Jeremy returned with Jackie, murmuring to him as he laid him on the playmat in the living room. The sight of them usually brought Kevin some calm—but not now. Jeremy walked away from the baby, leaving him there to babble with his toys. Jackie could roll now, but only one way so it was safe to leave him somewhere open and flat for now. His inability to roll onto his back again always ended in frustration, loud squawking in demand for help.

Kevin didn't speak, waiting for Jeremy. Still. But there was no expression on Jeremy's face. He didn't speak either as he walked past Kevin to get a glass from the cabinet. He didn't look at him as he went to the sink, filled the glass with water, stood staring out the window as he drank.

Kevin's leg bounced under the counter.

Jeremy set the glass in the sink and came over. He planted both hands on the bar—flat, firm.

Not angry. Maybe hostile. Not cold. Maybe defensive. Definitely resolved.

"I quit the Knights," he said.

Kevin stared.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

No.

That wasn't possible.

"What do you mean?" Kevin asked carefully, like reaching barehanded for a snake in the grass.

"That was Coach Stevens on the phone," Jeremy said. "I've been putting off his calls until I was sure." His eyes flashed—something sharp, a dare. "I'm done."

"With the Knights," Kevin clarified slowly.

"Yeah."

And there was more. Kevin felt it, adding, "With exy."

"Yes, Kev," Jeremy said, exasperated, "That's what I'm telling you."

"And your contract?" Kevin's voice ticked up. "You have two more seasons."

"There's a family emergency clause in all Knights contracts," Jeremy said evenly. "It's for situations where a player can't continue due to changing life circumstances. That's what I'm using. Jean's death. Being a single parent. It qualifies. Coach agreed. I'll still be on the roster technically while it's listed like that, but my salary's voided. I won't be playing." He gave a short, bitter huff. "The official word for now is 'extended bereavement leave.' Coach wants me to hold off on a full announcement until mid-season, in case I change my mind."

"You'll be out of shape," Kevin said, grasping for anything solid as the room tilted in disbelief and pain on multiple fronts. "Even if you wanted to go back then, you wouldn't be able to play. You can barely jog with me. You won't go to the stadium. I asked—"

"I know you did," Jeremy cut in. "It doesn't matter. I'm not going back. Not to the Knights. Not to that court either."

"You were there for the memorial," Kevin ground out.

You told me you wanted it kept alive.

"That was different. That wasn't exy. Not like that."

The Trojan court. The place where he and Jean had played, where they'd learned and loved each other. Kevin didn't need Jeremy to say it—he knew. Apparently it only mattered that someone else kept it going. Not himself. Apparently he wanted the Knights court to die too.

"So what the fuck happens now?" Kevin asked, more demand than question.

"I stay home with Jackie," Jeremy said. "I announce my retirement before the mid-season break to make it official. That opens up my cap space and frees the roster spot for them to sign someone else. Or wait until spring. They were already rebuilding, with Roger retired too."

Roger Maddox. The Knights' other striker. Older than Jeremy. Taken out by a bad hit in February, officially retired in April. Kevin had read the press release—but it came out just days before his coming to LA. Before Jean. They hadn't talked about it.

"So the Knights are down to two rookie strikers and an incomplete roster," Kevin challenged. "Jean gone two seasons ago. Maddox gone. Now you. No mentorship. No captain. After you led them for seven years. The face of the whole organization for eight. The core of every play. Every strategy."

His voice sharpened, too harsh to stop.

"For what? So you can dick around and play house with Jackie?"

It wasn't a flash this time. The flame in Jeremy's eyes caught and held. Kevin suspected his own were the same, or it could just be the heat of the pounding in his head growing.

"Are you saying Jackie's less important than exy?" he asked, voice deadly soft. A pillow's whisper before it smothered.

"I'm saying you don't have to give it up to be a good dad." Kevin leaned forward, raw, pleading. "Jeremy, you can't give up exy."

"Yes, I can."

"You love it."

"I do," Jeremy said, steady now. "But nowhere near how much I love my son. He needs me here. He's already lost more than he knows." His voice firmed. "I won't miss more. I missed everything last season—with him and with Jean. I'm not doing it again. I won't risk it."

His glare hit Kevin like the migraine blooming behind his eyes. "It's over, Kev. Permanently."

"No," Kevin said, shaking his head, refusing to accept it. "No, it's not. You're not thinking straight. You'll go insane in this house by yourself, without exy. Without something to give back to you."

"I won't go any crazier than I already am," Jeremy said coolly.

"Yeah, that's the fucking problem!" Kevin roared, sudden and loud and overwhelming.

He shoved the barstool back and stood, fists braced against the counter as he leaned into the space between them.

"Goddamn it, don't do this! This isn't who you are! For fuck's sake, Rémie, why can't—"

"Don't call me that!"

It was a shriek. A hiss. A snarl of something deeper than anger that Jeremy's voice had never held before. Kevin flinched like he'd been slapped.

It wasn't fear. It wasn't doubt. It was fury—bare and unflinching in Jeremy's posture.

"It's just a fucking game!" he shouted, spitting the words. "Exy is not my life. My son is. That's it. Just him."

"He can't be," Kevin said, chest cracking with it. "Jeremy, that's not fair to him. It's not fair to you."

He should've stopped. But he couldn't. The truth wanted out. Even if it hurt.

Kevin stared him down, unwavering. "Jean wouldn't want this. You know this isn't what he wanted. It's not what you promised him."

Jeremy's expression twisted—something unrecognizable and gutting.

Hatred.

"Well," Jeremy said, and it came like a detonation—every shed tear, every sleepless night, every ounce of pain rolled into one world-shattering roar: "Jean's not here to want anything, is he? He doesn't want anything. He can't. He's dead!!"

It landed like a punch. The first strike of his life he couldn't take.

Kevin's knees gave out. He dropped back onto the barstool, heartbeat thundering, head spinning, throat closed.

Then, Jackie's cry split through the silence.

He turned, finding the baby had rolled onto his stomach and was fussing now. Kevin knew the sound—half frustration and half confusion, sensitive to the air of the room, to the shouting, to the invisible line drawn down its center.

Kevin stood automatically, drawn to Jackie's need for comfort, but Jeremy beat him to it. He swept past Kevin and picked Jackie up, rocking him gently, murmuring something soft even as Jackie kept wailing, overwhelmed and uncertain.

Kevin stepped closer too. Of course he did. He didn't think about it—he just reached out with his eyes on Jackie.

"Hey, little man," he said gently. "It's—"

Jeremy spun, shielding Jackie from him, one hand curved protectively around the back of the baby's head. His glare was murderous.

"Stop pretending like you give a shit," he hissed. "Just—go to the goddamn stadium or something. Go be with exy, since that's all you fucking care about."

Kevin didn't recognize that voice on him.
That sneer. That cold.
But he did remember it from his past, said by another.

It sounded like Jean.
Like the Jean abandoned in the Nest.
The one Kevin had betrayed.

It felt like that now too.

This wasn't Jeremy. Not Jean's Jeremy.

This wasn't his Jeremy.

It would've hurt less if he'd just hit him. Kevin knew how to take hits. He didn't know what to do with this.

But he did know one thing. Jeremy was right about that.

Exy.

Kevin said nothing as he turned and left the room, fury knotting in his chest. Fury at Jeremy, at Jean, at himself. At everything about this situation, decision, life. At knowing this was all wrong and being powerless to fix it. At knowing that Jean would know how to fix all of it.

In fifteen days, he'd be gone. And there'd be no time left.

He grabbed the car keys, jammed on his shoes. His gear was already in the trunk. He took the sedan—his practice car, that only he used now since Jeremy didn't go anywhere by himself. Not the SUV with the car seat. Not the one he used when he had Jackie.

He drove. Didn't remember the journey. Just the blur of motion. The ache in his head. The ache behind it, deeper than a migraine could ever go.

He pulled into the lot outside the USC's stadium, somewhat surprised by the sight of it because he hadn't actually thought to go there despite what Jeremy said. Not with the migraine fully bloomed now.

But where else was there to go?
Where else was Kevin Day anybody useful than on a court?
Where else was he even wanted?

Around the blacktop, students milled in warmup clothes, sweat-slicked and laughing. Cardinal red. Bright gold. The old Trojan helm logo.

He'd forgotten they were back in town this week. The college's team, old and new. It could've even been their first practice, storm delay and all.

Kevin didn't care. There wasn't space left inside him for it.

He stepped out of the driver's seat and went to the trunk, slinging the duffel over his shoulder and grabbing the helmet and shoulder gear that didn't fit inside the bag.

"Holy shit, is that Kevin Day?"

Of course. Of-fucking-course.

He didn't look. Didn't need to. The voice came from a group of Trojans—too young for him to recognize even if his vision wasn't blurring at the edges. Even with the cloud cover that had rolled in during the drive, the light stabbed into his eyes like needles.

"What's he doing here?" continued the voice. "He plays for the Sirens."

"Dunno," mumbled a second.

"Shut up! He's in LA with Jeremy Knox, remember?" hissed a third, trying to quiet the others as Kevin collected the last of his things.

"Oh, forgot they were friends. Didn't that other Knox die or something?"

Kevin slammed the trunk closed, gripping his keys in one hand, pads clenched white-knuckled in the other.

"Seriously?" the third voice squeaked. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

The second one drawled lazily, "Freshman. He doesn't know his ass from his head yet. Ignore him."

"Should we say hi?" the third asked, hesitant. "Be polite?"

Kevin grimaced. Not now. Not fucking now. Not today. For once in his goddamn life, could people just leave him the hell alone? Could he not be allowed a single moment to fall apart? To put his fist through the hardwood or vanish beneath it entirely?

Apparently not. Apparently people like him didn't get the luxury of being just human.

"Coach said he comes in to practice sometimes," said a fourth, firmer voice. "And I say leave 'im alone. Don't you guys have anythin' better to do than gawk at somebody mindin' his own damn business?"

Kevin glanced toward that one—the tallest of them, wearing a captain's emblem on her sleeve. White-blonde hair. Built like a mountain of ice. She met his eyes levelly. Strangers, linked only by the game. He gave her a brief nod. Thanks, maybe. Or something else. She returned it, just as plain, and he kept walking fast enough not to hear anything more said behind him.

The tunnel swallowed him in shadow.

He changed in the visitors' locker room, despite sharing a key with the Trojans, not wanting to risk seeing anyone else. There was no thought involved—just the automatic rhythm of donning gear, grabbing his racquet, and marching out onto the silent court. The overhead lights burned into his skull like fire through bone. He ignored it. There were still a few buckets of balls left behind from the Trojans' earlier practice. He took two and walked to center court, soles heavy like each step struck back at exy itself. Like he could punish the game for everything.

And then he began.

Sirens drills. Dragons drills. Foxes drills. Ravens drills he hadn't done in years. He ran, he dodged, he swung. The goal's net hissed. The racquet sliced air. His footsteps slammed the wood.

Faster. Harder. Go. Go. Go. Go. Go.

This is all you were made for.
This is all you can do.
This is all you are.

He kept going.

Footwork. Legwork. Shoulders straining. Abs trembling. Knees locking.

His body begged.
His mind told it to fuck off.

Don't stop.
You can never stop.
If you stop, you disappear.
You lose your purpose. Your only use.
You stop mattering at all.

He only paused long enough to stagger to the fountain and gulp water, then returned to the court.

Heartbeat too fast. Arms failing. Blown out. Wrists aching. Couldn't lift. Fingers numb. Left hand spasming.

Don't you dare quit, Day!

Kevin knew he was going too far. He was past the edge of what even his best in-season conditioning could handle. The movement was making the migraine worse. His stomach churned, swimming with his head. His vision blurred, fog stealing thought. He bent double at the sidelines, bracing himself with his racquet and heaving—but there was nothing left in his body to throw up.

How long had he been there?
Was there anything left beyond these walls?

The aura fractured the world into jagged glass. And then—outside. Outside?
When had he gotten there?
He didn't know how he ended up at the car again, gear at his feet, his back against the driver's side door.

The sky above was dark. The parking lot empty. The city sounded distant, though the campus was downtown. Kevin closed his eyes against the spinning vertigo, willing it to pass, locking his knees so he wouldn't collapse.

He stayed like that until he could move. Until he could put the gear in the car. Until he could climb behind the wheel even though he couldn't feel it under his hands.

Beneath it all, he was still angry.

Jean had always known how to handle Kevin's anger. He could redirect it. Contain it. Keep Kevin from turning it inward, or from letting it explode and blow them both apart. Jean kept it from being a danger, to either of them. He could do that with anything and Kevin had admired that, back when they were kids. When everything felt impossible and Jean had still found a way to exist in the cage they shared.

Some might've said Jean gave up. But Kevin had seen it for what it was: survival. He took the confines of his world and held himself together within it. Kevin didn't. He wasn't good at surviving—something in him was too...loud. He imploded. He lost himself in terror, in exy, in self-loathing, and then in vodka when it became an option. He'd loved it for how it helped him feel nothing. Helped him not care how hopeless it was. Helped him bleed in quiet.

At least overworking his body was useful, served a purpose. Vodka never had been.

Jean would've known what to do.
Kevin had promised to follow his lead.
To do as Jean would. To be what Jean was.
And he had failed.

Failed Jeremy. Failed Jackie.

Failed Jean.

He sat in the car outside the house, staring at its faintly lit windows. It was well past dinner. Past Jackie's bedtime. The guilt had caught up with him somewhere on the drive home. It eclipsed even the anger.

He still thought Jeremy's decision was wrong. Still believed he needed exy. Still believed Jean wouldn't have wanted this for Jeremy.

But Kevin had known them both too long not to understand what Jean would've done. Jean would've said his piece—and then let Jeremy decide. Because he trusted him. Trusted the man he loved.

That's what Kevin had to do now. Even if he didn't know how.
Even if he didn't deserve to walk into that house again—not after how he'd left it.

Kevin trudged up the porch steps, legs too heavy to clear each one, and reached for the door handle. It was unlocked. Kevin frowned—God, that was so unsafe—and made a mental note to tell Jeremy not to leave it like that in the future. He let himself in quietly. If Jackie was asleep in the living room, Kevin didn't want to risk waking him. He toed off his shoes and gingerly hung the keys on their peg by the door before stepping into the house on silent feet.

Jeremy sat on the couch with his head in his hands, elbows braced on his knees, hair falling down to obscure his face. A National Geographic magazine was tossed aside beside him on the cushions, like it had been flung there. Kevin recognized it—Jeremy's favorite, because of the photography. He still hadn't touched his camera.

Kevin paused just as his feet hit the rug—but even in silence, Jeremy knew.

He turned sharply, hair flying, face blotchy, eyes wide and red-rimmed—and relieved. Christ. The relief in him was so fierce that it echoed in Kevin's own chest. Jeremy shot to his feet with a choked whimper and rushed around the couch to throw himself into Kevin's arms. He buried his face in Kevin's neck, words gasped and broken against his skin.

"I'm sorry!" he sobbed. "I'm so sorry! Oh my God, Kev, I didn't mean it. I swear. I don't know what got into me. I didn't— I, oh God, please, Kev— I'm sorry."

Kevin pulled him in just as fiercely, desperate and without hesitation. Kevin's shirt was soaked in sweat, his hair damp with it, and he hadn't showered—not all day, not after the stadium—but Jeremy didn't seem to care. Neither did Kevin. He held him like the world might take him away, one hand finding the back of his head and cradling him.

"It's okay," Kevin rasped. "It's okay."

"It's not," Jeremy said, choking on the words. "It's not okay. I promise, Kev. I'll never do anything like that again. You gotta believe me."

"Jeremy," he soothed, trailing his thumb lightly against his hair, "It's alright. Everything's alright."

A lot wasn't alright—but this, standing together, was.

Jeremy leaned back—not breaking the embrace, not loosening his arms around Kevin, just far enough that their eyes could meet.

"I was so fucking unfair to you," he said. "You've been so good to me and I was a goddamn asshole. I was so mean."

"It's a lot right now," Kevin said, continuing to stroke his thumb through Jeremy's hair. "It's hard not to be mean sometimes. You're angry. You've been angry. You were ready for a fight when you came out here, and I gave it to you. Right?"

Even through the still-throbbing migraine, it came together—stark and clear. That was it. Jeremy had been angry. For days, weeks, longer. Kevin had seen it—and missed it entirely. The moment with the gear. The jog. All those flickers of something Kevin couldn't name until now. Jeremy's anger had always been protective—aimed outward in defense of others. Not like this. Not bitter, unfocused, sharp. Not something wild at the universe itself.

And Kevin hadn't asked. He'd ignored it. Let it fester. He'd treated it like a rarity instead of a warning sign. Unlike how he'd handled the earlier grief—Jeremy needing to sleep in his room, Jeremy needing to be touched and steadied. He'd addressed those, done that, but with this? He hadn't done anything beyond silently worrying.

Worse was this: Jeremy had expected a fight. He'd been braced for it before a word was spoken, expecting Kevin to be against him, not with him. The posture, the silence, the snap of his voice—all of it. Christ, it was obvious now—after all this time reading him and getting even better recently, it hurt more to see it now. At least now he could see it for what all of it was.

Jeremy nodded miserably, ducking his chin like he wanted to hide.

No. Not this time.

Kevin lifted his chin gently, unwilling to let either of them turn away now. Jeremy's lip trembled.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I— I tried, Kev. I really tried. It's just..." He groaned with a soft slump, "I didn't even know how to talk to you about it. Not because it's you—it's that the words just aren't there. And you've got it all figured out. You just... do everything right. And I can't do any of it."

"That's not true," Kevin said. "You've been fighting so hard. I've seen it." He gave a humorless snort. "And fuck the idea that I've got it figured out. I get pissed off too. At all of it."

Jeremy blinked at him. Wide-eyed. Startled. Young in a way that had nothing to do with years—just openness. Innocent, vulnerable. Unhardened, despite all he'd been through.

"Really?" he asked wondrously.

"Of course," Kevin said, surprised he had to say it. "We weren't meant to lose him like this. He shouldn't be gone."

He shouldn't have left us.

Kevin knew Jean hadn't had a choice. He knew that. But the emotion didn't care about logic. And sometimes, when he was sitting alone or Kevin felt the weight of his own failure, the sense of abandonment roared.

It reminded him, in ways he hated, of how it felt when Kayleigh died. Exactly how.

He heard his own voice as if from a distance. Like a confession.

"Sometimes I wanna scream. At Jean. At the world. I don't even know." His throat worked. "Sometimes I want to break something. Sometimes I— I want to drink. And I feel like shit for admitting that to you, but it's true."

He forced himself to meet Jeremy's eyes. "But I won't. Because of you. And Jackie. I can't take care of either of you if I let that win. So I don't. Even when it's hard."

Jeremy looked stunned—like he hadn't believed anyone else felt it too. His brown eyes were wide and awed, lips parted. He looked at Kevin like he was seeing him for the first time, or in a way he never had before despite still seeing so much of him too. A look that said something had shifted—like he finally saw all of Kevin, and still stayed. There was something in that expression—Kevin had seen something like it once before, in the car, after the memorial. It had cracked him open then. It cracked him open now.

He didn't deserve it, then or now.

But he wanted it.

He wanted to be worthy of that look. To believe he was worthy.

Jeremy's voice, when it came, was fragile and full of truth.

"Sometimes—" he began, not blinking, still holding Kevin as if anchoring them both. Arms looped over shoulders, one hand at his back, the other still cupping his face. Bodies held and meeting with safe space for broken souls between.

"Sometimes I'm so fucking mad I wanna burn the house down," Jeremy said. "Not that I actually would, but... it feels like I could. Like I'd go up in flames and take everything with me. And then other times I'm so sad I think I'll drown if I cry even one more time, but I keep crying anyway. Remembering hurts but I can't look ahead either because the future feels so empty and hopeless. I know I have to be more for you and Jackie, but I don't know how anymore."

His words came like wind—quiet and devastating.

"And... when I do smile?" Jeremy continued, "When I think I'm happy, even for a second... I feel so guilty. Jean told me I could be happy again. He wanted me to. But it hurts so much when I realize I am. I want things to get better. But I feel bad for that, too. Like it's some kind of betrayal. It's just... God, Kev, it's so much. I think I'm going crazy. I feel everything, all the time. And the only time it slows down is when I'm with you guys. And then I feel bad for needing you. For needing so much."

His eyes glassed over. "And I was so scared. I was so fucking scared that I ruined everything. That I scared you off. And I don't know what I'd do if I did. I can't— I need—"

The sound he made then hurt Kevin's chest, the raw wounded fear of it.

"Hey," Kevin murmured, soft and steady, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he wrapped his arms tightly around him again. He spoke into his hair, feeling Jeremy fist the back of his shirt, "It's alright. You're not gonna run me off. You're angry, you're grieving, you're trying. You could be one, or all at once, or not know what words to use. None of that scares me. I'm not going anywhere."

"Except Chicago," Jeremy whispered into his neck.

"Eventually," Kevin said, his voice rough.

"How long?"

"'Til the nineteenth," Kevin answered. "I'm sorry. It's the best I could do."

It felt heavier than his mental countdown, bigger than a date—more than a number, more than distance. Something immeasurable.

"I know it is. You promised," Jeremy said after a beat. Kevin nodded. "Thank you, Kev. Thank you for coming home."

Kevin's arms tightened instinctively.

As if he'd ever want to be anywhere else.

He pressed a kiss into Jeremy's hair, not finding words that would do better. They stood there together for minutes—maybe more—until Jeremy gently leaned back. He stepped away, loosening their hold. Kevin felt the distance in his chest like a physical ache, dreading the thought of more to come.

"I kept a plate of dinner for you," Jeremy said. "I can warm it up while you shower?"

Kevin nodded. He needed both. Shower. Food. Though both sounded harder than they should have. Now that the moment had passed, the exhaustion he felt went deeper than his bones and the pain of the migraine took immediacy again.

"That'd be great," he said, offering the faintest smile. "Thanks."

"De rien," Jeremy replied.

He stilled after saying it—Kevin saw the way it landed in his own body. Like it surprised him. Like he hadn't meant to say it. But instead of flinching, he only looked thoughtful.

That, Kevin decided, was a good sign. He reached out to squeeze Jeremy's shoulder for it and Jeremy returned the gesture with a small smile.

"Go on," Jeremy said, nodding toward the hall. Kevin started in that direction—but paused when Jeremy spoke again. "Don't leave your phone anymore."

"Huh?" Kevin turned.

"I called right after you left," Jeremy said, biting his lip. "It rang here. You left it in the kitchen. I thought— maybe you meant to but I hope you won't, in the future."

Kevin winced. He hadn't even realized. If they'd needed him, if something had happened—

"It was accidental," Kevin said, "but it won't happen again."

Jeremy's smile grew a little bigger. Warm enough to carry Kevin down the hall. Parting for now, but not apart.

Kevin grimaced beneath the shower's spray. The heat did nothing to ease the pain or nausea, and he clenched his teeth against both. He didn't want to skip dinner—not after Jeremy had gone to the trouble, not after everything they'd fought through together. And he didn't want to hide away in the guest room either. He wanted to be near Jeremy. That was the only place that felt right.

He braced a hand against the wall until he made it to the living room again, skin overheated from the shower, vision fuzzy and pulsing. He took a seat at the bar, where Jeremy had already set out a glass of iced water, silverware, and a salad dressed just how Kevin liked it with lite Italian. A steaming plate of casserole appeared in front of him next, and Kevin swallowed back the rising bile.

"Looks great," he said.

Jeremy smiled. "Tastes pretty good too, I think." He circled the bar and settled on the stool beside him, tugging a nearby mug toward himself. "I already ate, but I hope it's not weird if I sit with you while you eat."

"It's fine," Kevin said, picking up the fork and steadying his hand. He managed a small bite and swallowed it with effort.

"Can I say something?" Jeremy asked hesitantly.

Kevin nodded. "Sure."

"It's really nice when you call me Rémie."

Kevin glanced over. Jeremy was looking down, tracing some invisible pattern into the tile with his finger.

"It sounds different when you say it," Jeremy went on. "More French. Less Spanish. It's a small change, but it's... good. I like it. I don't want you to stop because I snapped earlier. I'd actually like it if you said it more. It feels... warm. It makes me feel warm. And that's nice."

"I'll use it more," Kevin said. "Honestly, I don't even know where it came from. It just slipped out at the service."

"It helped me hold it together when you did." Jeremy looked up. "Like you always do." He paused. "I know I've been weird about French, but I'll work back up to it. I don't want to lose it—but it's hard right now. Rémie isn't, though. Not at all."

The words filled Kevin with something lighter, hopeful. This language that still tethered them to Jean, that had shaped Jackie's name—it wasn't lost. Not if Jeremy wanted it to stay. Kevin reached out and squeezed his hand.

"When you're ready, we'll use it again. As much or as little as you want."

"Thanks, Kev."

Kevin nodded once, turning back to the plate, and tried another bite—but the smell, the texture, the very effort of chewing sent his stomach lurching. The flickering light at the edge of his vision pulsed harder. He didn't want to admit to it—but the idea of Jeremy thinking he didn't like his food was worse.

Kevin set the fork down. "I'm sorry. I can't eat right now." Jeremy's face fell, and he rushed to explain. "It's not the food, Rémie. I swear. It's just—" He sighed, defeated, "one of my migraines. That's all."

Jeremy's concern flared immediately, his eyes widening. "You didn't say anything. Was that what was going on this morning?" Kevin nodded and Jeremy's voice turned gently scolding. "Why didn't you tell me? You went for a run. Then to the stadium. Kev, you know that doesn't help."

"I thought it'd pass."

"When do they ever pass?" Jeremy shook his head. "It took years to even get you to admit you had them." He groaned. "I made it worse with everything today, didn't I?" Then, quickly, "Don't answer that. You're gonna say I didn't, and you'd be lying."

Kevin snorted despite himself, managing a small smile as Jeremy rose to his feet and held out both hands.

"C'mere."

Kevin gave him a questioning look, but moved to obey even as he did—turning on the stool to take his hands.

"Where?" he asked, as Jeremy tugged him delicately to his feet and began to guide him to the living room.

"The couch."

"Why?"

"Questions, questions," Jeremy teased, walking backward around the side of it. He tossed the magazine thoughtlessly onto the coffee table and sat down at the far end, opposite the attached chaise, then patted his lap. "Lay down on your back. Head here."

Kevin raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"I can help," Jeremy said.

"You've never helped before," Kevin muttered.

"You've never admitted to one while here," Jeremy countered. "Now lie down. No more arguing. We've had enough of that today, haven't we?"

It was said with an encouraging smile, not a challenge, so Kevin huffed and did as he was told. He stretched out, the depth and length of the oversized sectional couch making it easy to do so. Jeremy shifted beneath him carefully, catching Kevin's eyes and offering another quiet smile.

Kevin looked away and shut his eyes—not only against the pain but against how that look made him feel when directed at him from above. He didn't understand how he'd ended up here of all places, lying with his head in Jeremy's lap for the first time, the house quiet around them. It felt like something that should've taken more argument, more resistance. Something he shouldn't have allowed.

And then Jeremy's fingertips touched his temples. The gentlest graze.

Kevin stiffened—not from pain, but from the jolt of unfamiliarity. Every part of his body felt carved from stone, all tension and no give. Jeremy stilled, then resumed the touch.

"Détends-toi, mon très cher ami," he whispered. "I can't fix it completely, but I can make it easier—if you let me."

Kevin gave the faintest nod, kept his eyes closed, and breathed in shallowly through his nose. The exhale was ragged.

Jeremy began again—slow, delicate circles over his temples. The pressure built gradually, a steady rhythm of gentle attention. It wasn't just massage—it was care. Softly deliberate, tenderly focused. Learning by eye, study by hand. A quiet communion through the pads of Jeremy's fingers. As if, as Jeremy breathed peaceably, he coaxed Kevin along wordlessly to respond in kind.

His thumbs glided next along Kevin's brow, smoothing tension from the muscles there, easing over the bridge of his nose.

He exhaled again—longer this time—as something inside him loosened, like a knot slowly unspooling beneath Jeremy's tender hands. Kevin didn't even know how tight he'd been holding everything until now, how tightly he always held everything and always had.

Jeremy moved carefully beneath his eyes, touch feather-light and brushing the delicate skin that held exhaustion and pain. Then the corners of Kevin's mouth, softening the frown lines he wore so often. He lingered wherever Kevin sighed in relief, working slowly.

With each pass, Kevin felt his body ease further. His heartbeat slowed. The migraine throbbed a little less. It felt somehow like melting but in a good way.

Jeremy's hands cupped his jaw, thumbs pressing into the hinges where the worst of it lodged. Kevin groaned—an unguarded sound, part pain, part release.

Jeremy didn't pause. He just adjusted, slow and sure, returning to those points with extra devoted attention. There was comfort in the sincerity of the touch, as much as in the contact itself. In the sense that they were both there, only in that moment—that Jeremy gave such care so freely and naturally, that Kevin allowed himself to receive it for once without guilt.

Jeremy's fingers swept up the sides of Kevin's face, never breaking contact, and into his hairline. Light, constant circles. Forehead and crown. A rhythm Kevin could feel even in his chest. Hypnotic, quiet, his breathing matching the beat.

"Where'd this come from?" Kevin asked, barely above a whisper.

"Learned it for Alex," Jeremy murmured. "She had bad migraines in high school. Swore I was the best at it, even though Emme could too." He smiled faintly. "Said Emme's hands were too little."

Kevin hummed, too content to speak, soaking in the care.

"I taught Xave when they started dating," Jeremy continued. "Figured he should know, if he was sticking around."

Kevin shifted his head a fraction left—toward the side where the pain was worst. Jeremy followed the cue immediately, pressing there with more focus. Kevin sighed at the mix of precision and relief.

"Helped Alex," Kevin murmured, slurring slightly. "Taught Xavier. Helped us with panic attacks... What'd you help Patrick with?"

"How to say 'I love you' in French," Jeremy said softly. "For Emme. Worth it, even with that awful accent of his."

Kevin's smile flickered—there and softened away as his body slackened again at Jeremy's touch traveling downward. His hands moved to Kevin's ears, soft over the ridges, massaging behind them, tracing each curve with patient precision. One hand supported Kevin's head as the other worked. He never rushed.

It felt like more than kindness. Like it meant...something, though the truer word escaped him.

This wasn't a moment someone like Kevin ever got in his life. No one had touched him like this—these places that were skin, but also somewhere deeper too.

Jeremy kept going—patient, grounded—as if he'd stay there all night if it helped. Steady and constant as he ever was, soothing away pain in a way Kevin had never known.

Kevin didn't open his eyes. Didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't want to.

His chest felt too full.

Jeremy didn't stop. He repeated the entire process again—just as patiently, just as competently—and Kevin wondered if the pain had actually been worth it just to experience this. He no longer cared how visibly affected he was, no longer cared what sounds he made or how heavy his head felt in Jeremy's lap or what expression was on his face. Everything inside him felt looser. Lighter. Calmer. The migraine wasn't gone, but it had shifted—duller now, the edges softened in a way that rest or medication never quite managed. Jeremy's touch had turned it into something distant, a far-off rumble of thunder instead of a storm beating through his skull.

When Jeremy returned a second time to the slow arcs around Kevin's ears, warm and steady, his fingers paused briefly at the inner fold of cartilage.

"Next time Alex is around," Jeremy said, voice smooth as his hands, "ask her about her ring here."

"Why?" Kevin asked, the word slurred with relaxation, as if even his tongue had gone soft with relief.

"She got a daith piercing years ago. Said it helped her migraines. Something about nerve stimulation. I don't remember all the science, but she thought it worked."

"Can't get pierced," Kevin mumbled. "No time to heal with exy."

Jeremy hummed sympathetically. "Shame. You have pretty ears, Kev. I bet it'd look good on you."

Kevin snorted, nudging his head slightly into Jeremy's hand where it had paused, brushing against his stomach too.

"Don't stop?" he asked.

"I won't," Jeremy said. "Is it helping?"

"Fuck yes," Kevin breathed, soft and loose. Jeremy chuckled and resumed the gentle motion. Kevin sighed deeply.

"Good," Jeremy said. "Next time, just tell me when it starts. We could've done this hours ago—before you pushed yourself."

"You had a phone call."

The words came slowly, more reaction than thought. Kevin flinched, a twitch of tension beneath Jeremy's hands, as if expecting the moment to end with the reminder.

"Hey," Jeremy soothed, sweeping the pads of his thumbs along Kevin's eyebrows to the outer edges, cupping the sides of his cheeks as he repeated the motion. "None of that. Relax, remember?"

"Mmhmm," Kevin hummed, instantly slack again. It was easy to return to that state with Jeremy's hands on him, with Jeremy's voice soft enough to feel like another form of touch.

"We can't be afraid to talk about stuff," Jeremy said. "Like you told me before—if we can't be honest with each other, who can we be? No one else gets us like we do."

His hands returned to Kevin's temples, thumbs rubbing over that particular point of tension—and now, paradoxically, of ease. His knuckles circled there, followed by a long, lazy drag of them down the outer edge of Kevin's face down to his jaw to do the same motion there. The movement was such a soothingly divine rhythm that could have been written into scripture. It felt like something worth selling a soul for.

"I don't want you to be scared to talk to me, because of how I acted earlier."

"Not scared," Kevin mumbled. "Just... don't wanna lose this."

This.

Just one word, holding too much to name—things beyond recognition or comprehension.

"This?" Jeremy asked gently, as if reading Kevin's mind.

"You," Kevin said.

It was honest. Probably the most honest thing he could say. Even so, it felt like too much to leave hanging on its own. Too raw.

"Jackie," he added. "Being here. The good stuff. It's hard to admit there's good stuff, but there is, Rémie. We've gotta learn how to deal with that."

"We do," Jeremy agreed. "And with exy."

Kevin frowned faintly, eyes still closed. He was almost anxious at the idea of repeating the word, "Exy?"

"Yeah. It's not...taboo, I guess would be the word. I was an idiot earlier, and that fight was about a lot more than exy." He cupped Kevin's face gently, his breath a caress there, as if he'd leaned closer. "Exy's a part of you, Kev. It always will be. Not just because of the past—because it's yours. I don't want to shut that part of you out, just like we don't avoid saying Jean's name. You know?"

Kevin stayed quiet, thinking, until Jeremy added softly: "Will you tell me what you think, about what I decided to do with the Knights? I'll listen this time, actually listen, if you feel up to it. Your opinion's important to me."

"Yeah," Kevin said.

It felt safe—here, now, in this something that defied language. He wanted to get it right, for both of them. To make the second attempt at the conversation make up for before.

"I'm worried you'll lose yourself without exy," Kevin began. Jeremy's hands continued to trace the contours of his face and the curves of his head, the touch making it easier to speak plainly. Kevin continued, "I worry your world will shrink down to just this house. Just Jackie. That neither of you will be as happy as you could be."

"You think we'd be happier if I kept playing?" Jeremy asked, no judgment in the question.

"Not necessarily," Kevin said. "I've been trying to figure out what to do. How to help you both when I'm not here. Childcare and everything. I haven't found a perfect answer."

"Jean was happy here with just Jackie," Jeremy said.

"You're not Jean," Kevin replied gently. "What worked for him doesn't have to work for you."

"It should," Jeremy said softly.

"No," Kevin said again, still gently.

For the first time since lying down, Kevin opened his eyes. The aura had faded, but a kind of haze remained—not from pain, but something else. A softness. A shift, though the truth of it had always been there. A kinder worldview, one that always gentled when it turned toward Jeremy as the focus.

Jeremy's brown eyes felt bottomless. Deep, warm, tender, endlessly present.

There he was—his Jeremy.

Kevin smiled and said, "The differences between you two made you great together, just like the stuff you had in common. You were good at things Jean didn't like, and he didn't feel bad about that. He knew you loved him anyway, for who he was."

Kevin reached up and held Jeremy's wrist comfortingly. "Both sides mattered, Rémie. Jean didn't want you to be like him. He wanted you to be like you."

"I don't know who that is anymore," Jeremy admitted after a short pause, voice low but honest, hands still holding Kevin's face.

Kevin thought of what Jean would say. How he'd comfort. How he'd guide. How he'd be what Jeremy needed.

"That's okay," Kevin said instead. He followed instinct. "I know. I remember."

Jeremy's eyes widened slightly. Kevin slid his touch up from Jeremy's wrist to press his palm to the back of Jeremy's hand, linking their fingers together.

"You're Jeremy Richard Knox," he said. "You're brilliant and loving, funny, strong. You're gorgeous—and goddamn infuriating sometimes, on and off the court."

Jeremy let out a little laugh, breathy and surprised.

"You're stupidly good in a kitchen," Kevin continued, heart lifting with and emboldened by the sound of it. "Amazing with a camera. Can't sing to save your life."

"Mean," Jeremy said, but he was smiling now.

"You're a great dad," Kevin said. "And the most incredible friend I've ever had, even though you don't seem to believe it when I say it. You should. You've always stuck with me, never made me feel bad for being me." He smiled, "Rémie, you've never let me down. Not once, not even since we lost Jean. Everything and everybody else in the world has, at one point or another, but never you."

Kevin paused, the realization settling in then: these weren't Jean's words. He hadn't needed to ask what Jean would say—not when he already knew what he believed. He knew who Jeremy was and Kevin hadn't forgotten a single detail. He never could. Not even if he'd wanted to.

"I don't know how you can say all that," Jeremy whispered.

"It's the most honest thing I've ever said," Kevin replied. "And it means more because I've seen all that in you even when everything's hard." He stared up at Jeremy, struck again by the same awe. "I don't know how you do it."

Jeremy closed his eyes, drawing in a slow breath. There was no fear in it, no sadness—just a pause to feel. When he opened them again, his gaze was clear.

"I can do it because I know it's what Jean wanted. Even if it feels impossible. Because Jackie needs me. And... because of you."

His smile was soft, but bright. Alive.

"I don't have the words to say how much you help me, Kev. These weeks, watching you? It makes me brave. Seeing you be brave."

Kevin blinked, throat tight, the world tilting just slightly with the weight of it.

"I'm not brave."

The words came out too rough, too raw. A quiet plea for him not to be seen that way. He knew he wasn't. Brave men didn't abandon their brothers, didn't let them be hurt. Brave men didn't run and hide behind other people. Brave men didn't fail so spectacularly every chance they got.

"You are to me," Jeremy said, squeezing their joined hands. "You're the bravest man I know. And the best one."

His voice was warm. Steady. Kevin felt it silence something hard and bitter inside him. Something that had never been muted within him before.

"I know that," Jeremy added. "I remember it. So if you forget, I'll remind you. Just like you remind me of me. Deal?"

Kevin smiled. "Deal."

He hesitated, just a moment.

Brave, huh?

If Jeremy believed it, maybe Kevin could try to be that. To live up to that faith.

"I'm gonna be brave right now," Kevin said, "and bring something up you might not like."

Jeremy held his gaze. "Alright."

"There's a support group for widowers," Kevin said, steady on the word so Jeremy wouldn't have to flinch from it, "Rhemann told me about it a while back. They meet every other week. Will you go?"

As he spoke, Kevin watched hesitation flicker in Jeremy's eyes. The way he bit his lower lip gave it away.

"I... I'm not sure."

"S'il te plaît, Rémie, juste une fois. Essaie pour moi?"

It was a risk to use French. Even with Jeremy saying he was working back up to it—and his gentle use of it earlier—Kevin worried it might push too hard. But Jeremy didn't flinch from the language. He wasn't at ease, not entirely—but he didn't recoil either.

Small wins, Day.

Jeremy nodded once. "Okay. If you think so. When's the next one?"

"This Thursday."

"I'll go."

"Thank you."

Kevin couldn't help grinning. Even with the lingering migraine at the edges of his consciousness, it suddenly felt like every pain and difficulty of the day had been worth it.

Jeremy returned the grin more softly, his gaze drifting—not in avoidance, just ease. He loosened one hand from Kevin's but kept the other threaded with his, their linked hands warm and steady as Jeremy's other resumed its gentle wander. The motion didn't follow any obvious purpose now. No pressure points, no repeated rhythm. Just fingertips and knuckles tracing unknowable patterns along Kevin's face. Kevin didn't mind—especially now, with the worst of the migraine dulled. He could afford to give all his focus to the sight and feel of Jeremy's touch, watching Jeremy watch his own fingers move along Kevin's skin.

But one more thing still needed saying. One more piece to set right before Kevin could call the day a full victory.

"In the spirit of being brave again," Kevin said quietly, "I want to apologize for fighting with you earlier."

Jeremy's eyes widened slightly. "Oh, Kev. You don't need to do that. I bullied you into it, and you weren't even feeling well."

"It still matters. I can do better—and I will." Kevin held his gaze. "I'm still worried about what you've chosen to do with the Knights, but I've got your back. One hundred percent. No matter what you decide or where it takes you, I'll be with you. Supporting you however I can. That's what I should've done this morning. I'm sorry I didn't."

Jeremy's hand stilled at Kevin's cheekbone, and Kevin saw the difference instantly. The shimmer in his eyes wasn't sadness this time—it was gratitude.

"Thank you," Jeremy said, voice a little unsteady. His laugh was breathy, near silent. "That means the world to me. Really."

"So does you agreeing to go to that meeting," Kevin said. "I just want to make sure you've got what you need. There might be things I can't help with, or don't understand, or that you don't want to talk about with me—"

"I don't know what those things would be," Jeremy said, sliding his fingertips from Kevin's cheekbone to the soft spot just above his ear at his hairline. "Not like I could shock you now, not after today. You've seen how much of a mess I can be."

"Don't call yourself that," Kevin said gently. "It might help. Especially if you're going to stay home with Jackie. I'll be in Chicago, your parents work, and none of us have been in your shoes. A group like that gives you people who get it better than we do. People to talk to. So you don't feel... trapped."

"I won't feel trapped. I've got Jean."

Kevin gave him a flat look. "You know what I mean."

"I do," Jeremy said. "You're worried I'll feel lonely. But I won't. I'll have Jackie. I'll have Jean—even if only one of them talks back in words." He paused, frowning faintly. "That probably sounds kind of crazy? I just mean... sometimes it feels like Jean's still around, you know? I hear him in my head and—yeah, that sounds worse out loud. Forget I said anything."

"I hear him too," Kevin said.

Jeremy's eyes shot back to his.

Kevin shrugged. "It's not that weird. Even if I feel like shit about it sometimes."

"Why?"

"It feels like I'm putting words in his mouth. Like I'm hearing what I want to hear, because it's all in my head." Kevin paused. "But... it's worth it. Hearing him. It's comforting. I like knowing that I still remember his voice."

Unlike her.

Even with a few recordings that existed, Kevin couldn't recall his mother's voice—her real one, her every day one. Not how she said his name. He wouldn't allow the same to happen to Jean's voice in his mind.

"Me too," Jeremy said softly. His fingers slipped into Kevin's hair, not working now so much as brushing gently. Comfort, not cure. Jeremy added little trailing scratches, Kevin closing his eyes to enjoy it more fully, as he continued speaking, "I still have voicemails from him. He used to hate how full my inbox was, but I'm glad now. I've got so many. I listen to them when I can't sleep."

The image hurt, but there was comfort in it too. Knowing Jeremy still had Jean's real voice saved. That he could still hear him clearly.

"That's nice," Kevin said, then wrinkled his nose. "I know that sounds like bullshit—but I mean it."

"I know you do. And it is nice. Even when it hurts sometimes."

Kevin hummed in quiet agreement. He didn't move—didn't want to. Not with Jeremy's fingers brushing through his hair and their hands still loosely held. Not now that he knew Jeremy's lap could be warm. A safe place to rest. It might never happen again. He knew he could hide another migraine if he had to. But would he?

He should... but he wouldn't. Not now. Not after knowing what a moment like this could be.

Even here in gratitude, in calm, Kevin still wished he could fix everything. That he could bend the world into something better: a world where Jean had died after him because Kevin was the one in the hospital bed. A world where Kevin got to see Jackie roll over—and Jean did too. A world where Jeremy still smoothed away Kevin's pain with his hands, but also still had his husband. A world where Jackie had his Papa and Kevin had his brother—but also a world where he didn't lose this.

Impossible.

Those two worlds couldn't coexist.

And even though he wouldn't trade this moment for anything he'd ever lived before, Kevin would still take Jean's place. His brother deserved this more—this home, this peace. Jeremy and Jackie's lives would always be second-rate without Jean. With Kevin as the lesser option.

If Kevin had died instead... they would've mourned, sure. But it would've been manageable. A smaller grief. A shorter, easier devastation—compared to the cataclysm of losing Jean.

"What does he talk to you about?"

Kevin blinked, unsure he'd heard right. His forehead creased, but Jeremy smoothed it with his fingers as he clarified: "Jean. When you hear him. If you don't mind me asking."

"Oh." Kevin sounded nearly sleepy. "Nobody else I'd talk to about it."

"Same."

Kevin considered. He didn't filter the words that came to him in Jean's voice.

"He says he was right to ask what he did—me taking care of you guys, the three of us being together. That I'm doing a good job, even when I mess up or miss something. He says I'm doing okay." Kevin swallowed. "Sometimes it's small, everyday stuff—like something about his old chair, or what to cook next. But... Sometimes he says he doesn't hate me. For Evermore. For what I didn't do."

It was the most condensed form of the Jean in his mind. The one that came in dreams or in the quietest hours. When Jackie lay asleep on his chest. When Jeremy sat beside him in the sun.

The Jean who still held Kevin up, even now, just as he'd done since they were children.

"He didn't," Jeremy whispered. "I promise he didn't, Kev. He loved you..." Jeremy exhaled, a soft catch at the end. "God, so much. You were the first person he ever loved."

The ache that bloomed in Kevin's chest wasn't related to the migraine. It was so much older, deeper.

"You were his first friend, his brother. You gave him hope in the Nest, despite everything. Something to fight for." Jeremy's palm rested gently against Kevin's cheek. "And then you gave him a home—by sending him to me. He was so grateful, Kev. To you. For you. Just like I am. We might never have met like we did if you hadn't done that. Might never have had Jackie."

Kevin's closed eyes prickled. His lashes dampened. Jeremy didn't call attention to it. Just brushed gently, thumb beneath his eye.

"When Jean talks to me," Jeremy said after a while, "he tells me I'll make it through. That I'm doing good with you and Jackie. That it's okay to cry. That he still loves me." He paused, breath catching. "He says I'm supposed to live. To love again. But... I stop listening at that part. It's too hard. If I can just keep my head above water... that's a win."

"Yeah," Kevin said. "He's right, though. About all of it. You deserve more than just surviving."

It hit Kevin in a flash: an image of Jeremy not as he was now, but as he might be. In a year. In five. In ten. The man Jean had hoped he'd become after loss. Kevin remembered what Jean had wanted to the letter—what he'd asked for. That Jeremy thrive with Jackie. That he not isolate himself. That he find love again.

And Kevin knew—painfully, inevitably—that for Jean's last request to be fulfilled, this had to end. What they had now, whatever this connection had become. Kevin would have to let go of them both.

He could see it clearly too: some man in Jeremy's future. Maybe already known to him. Maybe not. A formless stranger to Kevin either way. Someone who wasn't a replacement—no one could be—but would give Jeremy what Jean had hoped for:

A second love.
Another chance at happiness.
A new kind of beautiful.

A faceless unknown, one who'd offer something different. Something warm and kind. Someone steady and comforting at his side, someone to smile and laugh with, to raise Jackie and build a life with. Someone to treasure them both, to adore them completely. Some other man who'd love Jeremy in all the ways he deserved.

And Kevin hated the picture of it.

It gutted him. Visceral, instinctive rejection twisted his stomach. Worse than nausea, worse than pain—it was like something vital inside him had been scooped out and left raw at his feet. He didn't understand why it hit him so hard. It was an undeniable piece of the future Jean had wanted—it wasn't a betrayal of him, it was his hope for Jeremy to do so. And Kevin, he wanted it for both of them too: For Jean's wish to be met, for Jeremy to be loved as the miraculous man he was.

But still.

There was... something.

And then Jean's voice returned to him, sharp and clear: 'You are to be there for him in every conceivable way, as I would be, and you are to never stop doing so. He will need you so much more than either of you understand in this moment, but I know you are the only man for him now. Tu comprends, Kévin? Tu réalises ce que je te demande?'

The words echoed, one language and the other. Each letter intact, still crystal, perfectly preserved. But there was a sound and weight that... Morphed. Shifted. Weaving a new image.

One where the formless stranger had a face.
A face Kevin knew better than any other.
Green eyes. Chess piece tattoo.

Every conceivable way.
As I would be.
Never stop.
He will need you.
You are the only man for him.

Do you understand?
Do you realize what I'm asking of you?

Kevin gasped aloud.

He sat up too fast. Dizziness surged. His heart pounded against his ribs, in his ears.

What in the hell was wrong with him?!

That wasn't what Jean meant. That was not what Jean had meant! And Kevin was disgusted with himself. He was horrified that even for a second—subconsciously or not—his mind had turned that sacred vow into something else. Something so unspeakably selfish.

"Kev?" Jeremy said from behind him, concern tightening his voice.

Hands found Kevin's shoulders, warm and gentle, as Jeremy shifted to close the space between them.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Kevin rasped. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the thought away, desperate to erase it. He wanted to hit himself, for imagining it, in an effort to shatter it. To shake it out of his skull. To un-think it.

Jeremy's thumbs swept gently along the nape of his neck. "Something did. You were totally relaxed, and then you shot up outta nowhere. Talk to me. It's okay."

No it's not. That wasn't. None of that was okay.

"It's..." Kevin struggled for words, not wanting to lie and unwilling to say the truth. "An intrusive thought. Startled me."

Jeremy exhaled, sympathetic. "That bad, huh?"

Kevin gave a single, tight nod. "Yeah."

"You gonna be okay? You can talk about it, if you want. I've had more than my share of those lately."

"I'm okay. I just... I want to pretend I didn't have it."

"Fair enough," Jeremy murmured. His hands moved up Kevin's neck, into his hair. "How's your head?"

"Better," Kevin said. "Was better before I moved like that, but still much better than before."

Jeremy hummed and adjusted his touch again, finding the exact spots behind Kevin's ears and at the base of his skull. His fingers pressed just right, and Kevin felt himself melt, his head falling forward slightly. A loud sigh escaped him as the ache brought on by his fast jolt dissipated back into calm.

Jeremy chuckled.

"Don't laugh at me," Kevin muttered.

"I'm not," Jeremy said. "It's just... it feels good to help you. You take care of me constantly, but you don't always let yourself be taken care of."

"That's not true."

"It is." Jeremy's hands moved forward again, widespread fingers across Kevin's face from temple to jaw. "It means a lot to me—that you give me this, too."

"What?" Kevin asked, breathing deep, dizzy in the warm way now.

"You needing me. Like I need you."

"Rémie..." Kevin began, but couldn't finish. The words didn't come. Or maybe they came too honestly to speak.

Neither of them spoke or moved—Jeremy's touch simply wandered, comforting and tender. Time passed quietly, long enough for Jeremy to stifle a yawn behind him.

"Go to bed," Kevin said gently.

"You should let me take night shift," Jeremy said, voice thick with sleep. "You had a long day."

"I want to be up with him tonight."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Kevin said. "Didn't get to see him much today."

"I'm sorry," Jeremy said quietly. "I still can't believe I acted like that."

Kevin turned just enough to look at him. Jeremy's hands dropped lightly to his shoulders, his expression regretful.

"That's the last time you apologize, got it?" Kevin said, teasing—but firm.

Jeremy's smile returned, relieved and genuine. "Got it, captain."

Kevin snorted, then offered a small smile of his own. "Bedtime."

"Yeah, yeah." Jeremy stood slowly, stretching a little. "You gonna try and eat something?"

Kevin grimaced. "Maybe just a shake. Don't want to push my luck. I'll make it up tomorrow."

"How about I make us a big breakfast?" Jeremy asked, perking up a little. "Something good—and requires chewing on your part. Please? I promise you'll like it."

"It?" Kevin asked.

"Yep."

"You already know what you're making?"

Jeremy shook his head, "Nope. But I know you'll like it."

Kevin chuckled, chest full of something fuzzy and warm. This. His Jeremy. Playful and kind. It felt like the version of him Kevin had missed for what seemed a lifetime.

"I'm sure I will," Kevin agreed, pleased by the spark in Jeremy's eyes. "Now go to bed already."

"Going," Jeremy said, backing away—then paused. "Oh, one more thing. Take Jackie with you to your room tonight? You'll sleep better if you're not going back and forth—"

"Okay," Kevin cut in, "Got it. Jesus, you're as hard to put to bed as he is."

Jeremy laughed quietly, his cheeks flushed, his smile bright.

"I really am going now." He leaned in, hands cupping Kevin's face. He kissed the top of Kevin's head—light, lingering—and gave a tender smile as he straightened. "G'night, Kev."

"Good night," Kevin said.

He managed to say it evenly, even though nothing inside him felt steady. The touch of Jeremy's lips to his hair rippled down his spine, a quiet wave that filled his chest and spun dizzy through his head.

Apparently it worked, because Jeremy said nothing more. With one last brush of his thumbs across Kevin's cheekbones, he turned and padded to his bedroom.

Kevin waited. Listened for the hinge squeak. The soft click of the door latch.

Then, at last, he slumped forward and buried his face in his hands.

'T'es vraiment un idiot, Kévin.'

"Not the first time you've said that," Kevin muttered to Jean's voice in his mind. "Probably not the last."

Silence.

Thank God. He couldn't take any more of his brother right now.

It took a few minutes to steady himself. Then Kevin rose and made his way to the kitchen. The clock on the oven surprised him—it had been far longer on the couch with Jeremy than he'd realized. Long enough that Jackie would wake any minute... or need to be woken himself. When it came to a bottle though, Kevin knew it'd be the former (and that was preferable to the latter by far).

Kevin flipped on the monitor, finding it where Jeremy must've left it on the bar. He managed to make and sip a shake—slowly—before he heard familiar rustling and a soft whimper over the speaker.

He smiled, popped a premade bottle in the warmer, and headed down the hall

"Salut, petit bonhomme. Comment ça va?" Kevin whispered as he lifted Jackie from the crib, smoothing a hand over his mussed hair, "T'as bien dormi?"

Lying on his side in the guest bed later, it struck Kevin that he felt, surprisingly... settled. Jackie lay curled on his chest again, belly full and diaper clean, the opposite side of the bed walled in with pillows.

Somehow, this had become routine. The three of them in the house. The bottles. The comfort. The caretaking. Even the city and the other Knoxes. It all just... happened now, somehow.

It wasn't perfect. Not easy. Not painless.
It wasn't always pretty. Or simple. Or happy.

But maybe that wasn't the point.
Maybe it didn't have to be for it to still matter.

Maybe it didn't have to be perfect to be good.

For it all to mean something.
For it all to mean so much that Kevin had no idea how, in just two more weeks, he'd be able to walk away.

Chapter Text

Strange as it was, Kevin often felt better the day after a migraine than any day before it. Maybe it was the contrast—one stretch of blinding pain traded for another of easy breathing and comfort with light again. Maybe it was the sleep, the stillness, the clean-swept mind that followed. Or maybe it was this place that made things better—the kind of mornings he got to live here, now and then, when everything peaceably fell into place.

"I hear you," Kevin called toward the living room at Jackie's loud squeal. The demand for attention was clear in it, but his eyes remained focused on the cup of coffee before him. Two heaping tablespoons of sugar, an approximately five-second pour of heavy cream until it reached the right shade of light caramel. He'd heard Jeremy stir in his bedroom minutes before—the telltale flow of water through pipes and general rustling—so he'd wanted to have it prepared for when Jeremy emerged.

Done soon, he set the coffee on the warming plate and returned to Jackie on his play mat. The baby had rolled over onto his stomach, a bit of drool running down his chin. Kevin grabbed a nearby cloth and wiped him clean.

"I'm here," Kevin announced as he did. "And yes, you did a great job rolling over, as usual. Wanna work on the reverse?"

Jackie grinned, and Kevin couldn't help but smile in-return. His phone lit up nearby on the carpet, distracting him since he was expecting replies to earlier messages he'd sent. There were two when he checked it, so he replied to Miranda's first, confirming dinner plans for later that day and smiling at her excited mention of what she planned to teach him next in terms of cooking. That done, he went to the newest thread and read Rhemann's reply.

'I'll be there. Good on you for getting him to attend. It'll help.'

Kevin hoped the coach was right. With Jeremy's agreement to attend the support group on Thursday, and given Kevin's hunch that it would be a difficult hour, it was a comfort to know a friendly face would be there to welcome him

'Glad to hear it,' Kevin replied, multi-tasking by typing with one hand and distracting Jackie's desire for attention with a toy in the other, 'Are you in contact with Dr. Fortin outside of the school year?'

'Of course. Olivier's a good friend. Why?'

Kevin typed, 'I think Jeremy would benefit from talking to a professional. Someone he knows might be easier. Could you bring it up to him after the meeting for me? Or suggest someone else local you know with experience on the topic?'

The idea for it had come to Kevin that morning as he stood in the silent kitchen with Jackie having his first bottle of the day. The way Jeremy spoke of his often being overwhelmed emotionally last night—of being torn in so many directions, of how heavy it was to carry so much, his difficulty in finding the words to explain it—worried Kevin. He wasn't enough to help Jeremy cope with all of it, not with his departure looming.

Then there was Jeremy's decision with the Knights. Even if Kevin supported it, Jeremy's not playing exy for the first time since his childhood would have mental and physical repercussions. Therapy might help, and Kevin suspected it would be more readily accepted if it was with the same man who had worked with Jeremy himself as a Trojan and had continued to be trusted by Jean for so many years after graduation.

Kevin ignored the little voice whispering a single name—Betsy. No, he didn't need to call her. Abby had likely already told her friend what had happened, and there was no point in Kevin speaking with her further. That wasn't what he needed. What he needed was to settle things here in LA.

With just fourteen days left, Kevin's focus narrowed entirely to Jeremy—and to shoring up his support so he'd lack for nothing, if it came to that. Kevin needed to make sure there were enough people, routines, and activity around him to keep Jeremy from drifting, to keep him from losing his way if someone—if Kevin—wasn't there to anchor him or take care of him and the house. It was also part of honoring Jean's request: that Jeremy not retreat into isolation, and that Kevin take steps to prevent it in his own absence. It all felt easier when he was physically present, but there was no fixing that. Only doing everything he could before he left.

'Sure,' Rhemann replied, 'Good thinking. Olivier would be really happy to help if Jeremy's good with it.'

'Do me a favor and don't mention I asked?'

Kevin couldn't quite explain why it felt so important, only that he already felt like he'd asked enough by getting Jeremy to agree to the support group. Bringing up Jean's therapist felt like it might be too much. He believed Dr. Fortin was the right person for the job, but it also could be harder on Jeremy—spending time with the same man who'd been Jean's doctor for years, someone who knew him so well. Kevin hoped the psychiatrist could help Jeremy move forward, beyond being just a widower. He didn't know how Jean's wish for Jeremy to live, to thrive and not just survive, would be fulfilled any other way.

'Gotcha.' Then, another text: 'Practice time here. Thanks for the heads-up on Thursday.'

'I appreciate your help,' Kevin replied politely, 'Have a good day.'

Rhemann replied perfunctorily, wishing Kevin the same, and Kevin switched his attention back to the increasingly loud baby before him.

"Okay, okay!" he said, chuckling at the grumpy expression on Jackie's face. He swept the baby up and placed him on his chest, laying back onto the carpet and looking up at him. Jackie laughed, bright and loud, shaking his whole body with delight at the motion and the attention. Kevin felt the laughter where they met and grinned.

"Good now?" he asked teasingly, rocking side to side with Jackie held snug against his chest. Sunshine filtered through the blinds of the sliding glass door, flickering over them, and Jackie cackled—his head bobbing, eyes sparkling, gums flashing in a wide, beaming smile. Kevin chuckled too as he said, "You really are ridiculous when you're being ignored, you know that?"

"That makes two of us."

Kevin turned his head slightly—his hair rasping softly against the carpet—to see Jeremy standing at the mouth of the hallway, watching them with a tender smile. He started toward them, still speaking as he came.

"Such a nice thing to see first thing in the morning, my guys so happy," Jeremy said. He knelt down on the carpet beside them, his brown eyes as bright as Jackie's blue ones as he looked at him. "Daddy's little ham, huh? All the attention, all the time."

Kevin snorted, amused. It really did describe both of them.

Jeremy leaned over Kevin's chest to press a loud, smacking kiss to the top of Jackie's dark hair. The baby was still holding his little head aloft with a proud wobble, and he cooed happily as Jeremy reached out to smooth a hand over his hair.

"Geez, when he's in the light like this, it really shows how dark it is," he said appreciatively. "Full-on black, huh, honey-bear? If you're lucky, it'll be pretty and thick like Kev's when you grow up." He continued to touch Jackie's hair before turning his gaze to Kevin, his voice softening. "Get enough sleep?"

"Plenty," Kevin replied.

"Any headache today?"

"No."

"Muscle soreness? You played for a long time yesterday."

"Are you my doctor now?" Kevin replied with a short eyeroll. "I'm fine."

"Just checking," Jeremy said, bright and undeterred. "One more—you still up for breakfast? I have an idea."

"I don't know if that makes it more tempting or not, you having an idea."

Jeremy popped him on the shoulder with the back of his hand, but it wasn't hard enough to be anything more than playful.

"Rude!" he declared.

Kevin chuckled. "I'll eat whatever you make, Rémie. Obviously."

"That's the right answer," Jeremy said. He shifted closer to Kevin, leaning past the baby to cup Kevin's cheek and press a kiss to his forehead, right at the hairline. Then he sat back without lingering—but Kevin swallowed so hard he nearly choked on it, his wide eyes locked on Jeremy and his heart pounding in his ears.

"You guys keep having fun," Jeremy said, smiling breezily. "No peeking in the kitchen 'til I say it's ready. Don't wanna ruin the surprise."

Kevin nodded wordlessly, not wanting to hear how his voice would come out with the strangled feeling in his throat. He watched as Jeremy tickled playfully beneath Jackie's chin for a moment before rising to his feet and leaving them both there.

See, he thought to himself, Normal. He does it with Jackie. Stop being so goddamn weird about shit already. It's Jeremy for fuck's sake.

"Awwww!" Jeremy called from the kitchen. "This coffee is sooo good. Thanks, Kev!"

"Yeah," Kevin said, hoarsely and almost like a squeak. He cleared his throat. "That's, uh, good."

Jackie laughed as brightly as if Kevin had tried to make him, and Kevin looked up at the baby with a scowl, meeting those absurdly blue eyes.

"Don't you start," he muttered, holding Jackie securely as he sat up. He placed the baby back on his play mat on his stomach. "Let's do something useful. Tummy to back. It's not nearly as hard as you're acting like."

Jackie let his head droop to his hands before him, immediately taking part of his fist into his mouth.

Kevin sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Nope, I know what you're doing," he murmured. "No getting out of it. Think of how accomplished you'll feel instead of throwing a fit when you can't." He reached out, gently placed his hands on him, and his voice warmed. "I know you can, little man. C'mon, work with me."

Jackie smiled, picking his head up again, and Kevin met it as he began to turn him carefully, narrating the process as the sound of cooking started up in the kitchen.

__________

Jeremy took a long swig from his oversized coffee mug, his free hand moving instinctively as he gathered ingredients. The idea for Kevin's breakfast had come to him while he was still in bed, carried on the quiet, refreshing lift of a dreamless night. Just the thought of Kevin eating in the morning—actually eating—was enough to get Jeremy moving earlier and easier than usual. Most mornings, he dragged himself out of bed slow and heavy, especially when he knew Jackie wasn't waiting on him.

But not today. Today, Jackie was brighter than the sun, and not a cloud hung overhead. Today, Jeremy felt rested. Kevin was home—really home—because he'd come back the night before, even after the disaster of their fight. And now, his two favorite people in the world were playing together on the living room carpet, right where Jeremy could see them when he stepped out of his bedroom. For a few precious minutes, he just stood there, soaking it in.

It was, to Jeremy's memory, the best morning he'd had since the end. But there was a little flicker there at the realization of that, a little dark fluttering at the back of his mind that stilled his movements.

Do not let it be tainted, mon amour, Jean's voice soothed from within his mind, It is a good morning. Treasure it. Appreciate it and the two of them.

Jeremy stood silently for a moment, breathing in deeply through his nose and out through his lips.

This was part of it, he knew that. He'd meant what he said to Kevin the night before—that sometimes the guilt at being happy swamped the happiness itself too completely to hold onto it. But Jeremy didn't want that to be the case. He wanted to smile on mornings like these, genuinely smile and let himself enjoy the moment. He wanted Jackie and Kevin to see him being happy because he knew it was good for all three of them. Jeremy didn't want to waste their time together, just as he had fought not to waste his time with Jean—despite the days his husband's anxiety, PTSD, or nightmares reared their ugly heads. He fought for Jean on those days, to keep them both afloat, to find the goodness around them. He had to fight for Jackie and Kevin now, just as Jean would have wanted him to.

Exactement, chéri. C'est vrai.

Jeremy refound his smile alongside the steadied, calm beat of his heart and Jean's loving voice. He opened his eyes and went back to the fridge, setting the items on the island behind him: carton of egg whites plus one whole egg, unsweetened almond milk, bananas, strawberries, blackberries, Greek yogurt. Then, from the pantry: whole-grain bread, cinnamon, nutmeg, avocado oil, almond butter, chia seeds. After a moment's consideration, he grabbed the vanilla protein powder too.

It was a bastardization of Jeremy's perfected French toast—but it was French toast for Kevin, so adjustments were necessary. He knew Kevin would eat whatever he put in front of him, simply to be kind, but it was training season now and Kevin took his nutrition more seriously than anyone Jeremy had ever known, even in the professional sports world. He wanted Kevin to like it enough to want it again and to feel good after eating it, both mentally—because there was no guilt in overindulging—and physically too, for whenever he inevitably went out on one of his runs or to the stadium.

He wanted to do something good for the man who did so much for him and his son, starting with a decent breakfast. He wanted to do something caring, something to cast away the fear and turmoil of the day before. He wanted to give, wanted to use his own hands to create something just for Kevin that said: Thank you. I heard you. I'm trying, for all of us.

There was a fun challenge to it as Jeremy set about the process, finishing his coffee. He sliced the bread thinly with careful precision to get the edges just right instead of raggedy like he might do for himself. Then, the egg whites mixed with a single yolk and a splash of almond milk, a quick beat to bloom the cinnamon and nutmeg in it, then a slower stir to add in a half-scoop of the vanilla protein powder. It actually smelled pretty good, Jeremy thought, as he lit the burner. Warm from the spices, just a tiny bit sweet from the powder.

Jeremy drizzled avocado oil instead of his usual butter, dredging the bread gently in the batter. Jeremy kept a close eye on it in the skillet, looking for just the right shade of brown, not wanting it to burn with his using different ingredients than he usually did. By the time he finished the sixth slice, Jeremy felt confident enough with the cooking process that he thought he could replicate the recipe without much thought in the future.

He placed the best three slices on one plate, the lesser ones on another. A drizzle of almond butter overtop in graceful sweeps, a swirled dollop of Greek yogurt with a dusting of chia seeds to the left and an arranged line of sliced fruit on the right.

Jeremy grinned at the plate, feeling more pride in it than in anything he'd made in ages. It looked beautiful and—based on the one slice he'd reserved as a test—it tasted pretty good too. It was strange not to top it with powdered sugar or syrup, but he truly felt like this was a Kevin kind of French toast.

"Ready!" Jeremy called, moving to the fridge to pour two glasses of juice as he heard Kevin mutter something to Jackie in the living room and the whirl of the rocking swing begin to hum. He smiled when Kevin came into view, his chest swelling with warmth at the smile he received in return.

He came back. He stayed, just like he told you he would, Jeremy thought softly. He pushed aside the sadder part of that thought, of how Kevin would only get to stay for another couple of weeks now that Jeremy knew the final date.

Whatever, Jeremy decided. He'd make the most of the time he had left with Kevin before he was on his own.

"So, what is it?" Kevin asked, taking a stool at the bar counter.

Jeremy carried over the perfected plate and a glass of juice, answering, "French toast."

Kevin looked down at it, his head cocking to the side just slightly, "That's French toast?"

"It's Kevin-ified French toast," Jeremy said. "Your nutritionist couldn't possibly be mad at me for it, but the real question I care about is if you like it." He held out a fork. "Lemme know? Even if you hate it. I can change it to be better next time."

Kevin looked at him for a moment, then took the fork slowly, returning his attention to the plate. He delicately used the fork to cut a square of the bread and took a bite without meeting Jeremy's gaze. Jeremy figured he really should move to get his own plate, but he was too curious to hear Kevin's opinion. And nervous. God, he hadn't been this nervous to serve a new dish in years. He bit his own lip to keep from asking, linking his fingers together beneath the counter where they weren't seen.

Kevin's expression didn't give anything away as he chewed. Then, he cut a second square of bread, swiping it through the yogurt before eating it too. Then, a third square paired with some of the fruit. Jeremy kept his lower lip between his teeth, but he started to smile as Kevin cut a fourth, larger than any before and big enough to make his cheeks puff out a little as he chewed. Jeremy giggled at the picture of it.

Kevin looked up, his eyes a little wide, so green and bright and lovely.

"'Is gud," Kevin mumbled with his full mouth.

"Is it?" Jeremy asked, unable to keep the grin off his face.

Kevin swallowed, nodding, "It's fucking delicious actually."

He said it so seriously, and like he was surprised. Jeremy laughed.

"Good," Jeremy said, "Because I was getting nervous there."

"Don't," Kevin said, starting to fill his fork again, "Christ, Rémie. It better actually be decently healthy or it's going to ruin me."

Jeremy felt like he could pop, it made him so happy to hear it. Kevin wasn't a morning person by any stretch of the imagination. He didn't like breakfast. But here he was, playing on the carpet with Jackie before ten a.m., and now eating French toast like someone was going to steal it from him.

"I promise it is," Jeremy said, going back to retrieve his own plate and moving to sit beside him. "I can teach it to you if you want."

Kevin shook his head, his attention honed in again on his food, "It tastes even better because it was you who made it. Wouldn't be the same."

Jeremy chuckled, pleased Kevin thought so, and took a bite of his own. It was pretty good, even if it was different too.

"Miranda might be upset if you tried to steal her student too," Kevin joked, spearing a banana slice and running it through the almond butter. "She's already got my next lesson planned for tonight."

"I forgot they were coming over," Jeremy said.

Kevin looked aside, "Is that alright?"

Jeremy nodded, "Yeah. It'd be good to see them."

They ate quietly for a moment in easy peace, then Jeremy asked, "What're your plans for exy today?"

It felt good to just say it, to acknowledge it. Despite their fight over it, Jeremy felt the same conviction he'd held before calling Coach Stevens the day before, having muddled over it for days until he finally let the man know.

Would he miss it? Absolutely. But, the missing exy was so small in comparison to the thought of missing Jackie. Jeremy wanted time with his son more than anything else, by far. He wanted to be home with him, surrounded by the beautiful past that became this uncertain present too soon. He wanted to find a way to make the future good for them both and he wanted no distractions while he figured it out.

Jeremy loved exy. It'd be impossible not to, with how much it had given him and how tied it was to his happiest memories. But, even without Jackie as part of the equation, Jeremy couldn't stand the thought of the court. Of suiting up, of listening to his teammates joke in the locker room, of placing it as his focus, of how the man he'd played beside for so long could no longer do so, of how Jean wouldn't be there to congratulate him after a win or console him over a loss.

So yes, he loved exy and also he couldn't play. Not anymore. It wasn't his game anymore, not now. He thought a part of him might even hate it for how he'd wasted time on it instead of with Jean and Jackie, hate himself for doing so. He wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to pick up a racquet again but he wouldn't ignore it because he couldn't.

Because there was Kevin and, if he cared about Kevin (which he did) and was going to support him too (which he would), then exy was still a part of his life no matter how small from the sidelines. No, from the crowd seats. Not closer. Nothing more.

So, in the end, there was no contest between it and his baby. Not at all. He was confident in his choice, for all of those reasons, and he was thankful Kevin agreed to support him in it, even if Jeremy wished Kevin did so out of understanding more than duty. He wished Kevin had something like that for himself, that he knew how incredible life could be off the court as well as on it.

"I thought I'd take a rest day today," Kevin said casually.

Jeremy blinked, "Really?"

Kevin continued to eat, nodding, "I can feel that I pushed it too hard yesterday. It wasn't smart of me so rest is the price I have to pay. I'd just risk fucking something up if I went."

Jeremy could tell by the grumble in his voice that Kevin was very displeased with himself over it, but all Jeremy could feel in the moment was pride.

"Look at you," he teased, "Taking care of yourself."

Kevin huffed, "Doesn't count if I'm the one who put myself in this condition. I was an idiot for going on like that, especially in the off-season when I'm out of shape. I know better."

"You could see it that way," Jeremy countered, "Or you could see it as progress that you're willing to rest, even if it makes you grumpy."

"I'm not grumpy."

And yet, he was scowling at his plate as if it had denied him court time and muttering the words with a grumble.

Jeremy chuckled, "You are the definition of grumpy right now." He leaned over, nudging his shoulder into Kevin's. "I'm not grumpy at the idea of having you home instead of you going out. We've got all day until Mama and Dad come over. What should we do?"

"You wanna do something?" Kevin asked, looking over at him.

"Sure," Jeremy said. "I mean, I'd rather stay here and stuff, spend some time in the backyard, maybe take a walk." He wrinkled his nose, "Or jog, if we have to."

Kevin smirked, his eyes brightening.

Worth it, Jeremy thought, pleased with himself.

"Do you have any old game recordings still?" Kevin asked.

"Yeah," Jeremy said, turning a little on the swivel seat to point to the enclosed bottom shelves of one of the built-ins. "They're all in there. Nate gives me a new binder every year."

"Nate?"

"The Knights' equipment manager," Jeremy said. "He burns DVDs of all the games and gives 'em out like presents at the end of each season." He smiled, thinking of the man. "He even put one together of all the Olympic stuff, complete with stickers and article clippings. It's like a scrapbook, honestly."

Kevin raised a judgmental eyebrow, and Jeremy chuckled, "He's really sweet. You'd like him! There's no bigger fan of the game, trust me."

Kevin hummed noncommittally and turned back to his food. "What about Trojans tapes?" he asked. "I was thinking we could watch our championship game."

"Ours? You mean the one you lost?" Jeremy asked, amazed by it. As far as he knew, Kevin couldn't stand watching his dropped games, not unless he was in the mood to tear something (or himself) apart. But that didn't seem to be the case now as he easily took another large bite, chasing it with some juice before he replied.

"Yeah," Kevin said. "It was a good game." Then, quieter, "I thought it'd be nice to watch the three of us together. Jean and I were paired up for that one. The full match."

Jeremy felt his own face soften at the memory. They had been, the Foxes' 2 and the Trojans' 29, faced off and playing hard for every second of the game. It had been a battle between the two of them, still finding their way back to one another, as much as it had been between two wider teams for the ultimate prize.

It was one of the happiest days of Jeremy's life by far, for so many reasons.

"I'd really love that," Jeremy agreed, "Let's do it."

Kevin grinned, his joy something fierce and blinding. It made Jeremy's own smile widen too to match it.

"Awesome," Kevin said, sounding lighter than he had in ages, filling Jeremy up with a bubbling sensation. "But I wanna eat this first. How'd you make it?"

Jeremy smiled brightly as he shared every detail of his new favorite recipe, while Kevin continued eating—some of his attention on the plate, but Jeremy soaking in most of it gladly.

__________

Kevin opened the front door and blinked, surprised to find Ricky standing there holding a box nearly as wide as his chest.

"Is that for the dinner she wants to make?" Kevin asked cautiously.

"No," Ricky grumbled. "Trinie went shopping for Jackie, so I got pack-horse duty to bring it over since she's still overseas. Mir's grabbing more from the car."

Kevin raised an eyebrow, stepping aside to let him in just as Miranda pranced up the steps carrying three bags. She smiled and handed one to Kevin, starting to let go before he had a hold on it.

"Hola, Kevin," she chirped, "Take this to the kitchen for me? I want to show Remy what Trinie sent before we start." She didn't wait for his answer before flitting by toward the living room, calling out for Jeremy and Jackie in a string of Spanish.

Kevin looked over to Ricky beside him, and Ricky sighed, even as his lips quirked in a small smile as he watched his wife walk away.

"Might be a lot," he said, "But it's the best day she's had since Jean so I'll take it."

Kevin thought of breakfast, of hours spent watching and commenting on old exy games in a way that almost felt normal (felt like before), and of playing with Jackie on a massive quilt spread across the grass beneath the cloudless June sky.

"I get that," Kevin said in agreement, because he did. Then he nodded to the box in Ricky's hands, "Nursery?"

"Seems like a good spot since I got no idea what's in the damn thing," he muttered, walking that way with a nod as Kevin peeled off to go to the kitchen.

"Ah!" Miranda called at the sight of the pair of them emerging from the foyer, waving to Ricky, "Por aquí, amor!"

Ricky detoured instantly on-command, deftly avoiding the scattered toys with his large feet, and Jeremy looked up from where he stood in front of the couch beside his mother. The two massive bags Miranda had been carrying were already opened wide and over-spilling with cloth.

"Kev, look!" he cried happily, holding up a onesie against his chest. Kevin took it in: the odd ribbon-like brown tassels on the legs of it, the fuzzy bright green top-half with pointed collars around the neck and sleeveless arms. "Isn't it cute?"

"It's something," Kevin said.

Jeremy rolled his eyes, shaking the outfit slightly, "It's a palm tree. Because Auntie Trinie's from Barbados?"

"I didn't know that," Kevin said honestly, glancing at the onesie, "Why, exactly, do you want Jackie to look like a stunted plant?"

Ricky snorted, expertly maneuvering the box into a rare open section of the floor beside Miranda's end of the couch. She scolded him in Spanish for the sound, and he shrugged casually.

"What?" he said, "You couldn't give me an answer for why my grandson's gonna look like a deformed tree either."

"He won't look deformed," Jeremy counted, "He'll look adorable."

Kevin looked over to Jackie in his bouncy chair where he was kicking his legs repeatedly against the seat, his eyes trained on the mobile waving above his head.

"Sorry, little man," he said to him, "Once he's made up his mind, there's no changing it."

Jackie squawked, the sound turning to a delighted laugh at the end, and Kevin caught the way both grandparents brightened.

"¡Ay dios mío!" Miranda said, clapping her hands together, "He's laughing now?!"

Jeremy grinned, "Yeah. It's a new thing. He's rolling too."

Miranda gasped excitedly, and Ricky chuckled before Kevin added, "Only onto his stomach, not the other half. We're working on it."

"He gets so unhappy when he can't get onto his back again, it's kinda pitiful," Jeremy said fondly.

Even as he spoke, Miranda made her way over to the seat, cooing in enthusiastic Spanish in something that sounded like praise and congratulations for Jackie's accomplishment as Jeremy replied to her in the same while going back to the opened bags. Kevin smiled a little to himself and kept on into the kitchen, putting the cold stuff into the fridge and the dry items onto the island. He'd already gathered the cookware Miranda mentioned in her text earlier and had it set aside.

Kevin spied some of the items from that morning's breakfast, a few bowls now filled with sliced fruit and the carton of egg whites. Fuck, that French toast had been good. He'd had the regular version before a couple times and hadn't enjoyed the sickly sweet, goop mess of it in the slightest. But Jeremy's? Jeremy's, which he'd adapted with Kevin specifically in-mind? Well, Kevin had already wondered multiple times since cleaning his plate (entirely, wiping up the final bits of almond butter and yogurt with the last bite of bread) how long was appropriate before asking when they could have it again. He didn't want to even attempt it himself; Kevin knew it wasn't about skill, how amazing it tasted, and how good it felt to sit there beside Jeremy as he cleared his plate too.

It had been a good day, good enough that a small part of Kevin stayed vigilant. Where was the other shoe going to drop—and when? He was glad for the ease of the day; he didn't feel bad for it necessarily, he just... wanted to be prepared. He kept a part of himself ready for it to fall apart, just in case. Kevin was good at continuing to function, to take the good when he could get it, without letting its inevitable ending ruin it in the present. If he wasn't, he would've fallen apart as a child and never recovered.

"Gonna hide out in here with you," Ricky said, joining him in the kitchen. "They don't find my honest opinion on those clothes as entertaining as yours."

Kevin scoffed, allowing himself a small smile.

"Do you trust this Trinie person?" Kevin asked, "Jeremy's mentioned her before. She works with Miranda, right?"

Ricky nodded, "Yep. Pretty much joined at the hip for the past twenty-something years. You'd have seen her by now, but she spends a chunk of the summer and the big holidays back on the island with her siblings." He gave Kevin a knowing look. "She's trustworthy. Don't worry about her bein' too much with Remy. She couldn't love the kids more if they were her own."

Kevin swallowed and nodded as he turned toward the far cabinets to get some cutting boards down. He knew it wasn't his place to question it, especially since these people had been part of Jeremy's life longer than he had. But it was an odd equation, a balancing scale constantly teetering in his mind:

How much support was good for Jeremy to feel not alone versus how much attention would overwhelm or tire him? How much should Kevin push versus how much should he leave Jeremy to decide for himself? How would he figure out those questions when he wasn't there in LA to see it on Jeremy's face, to read it in his eyes, and correct accordingly? What if Kevin called too much, or not enough, and how soon could he fit a return trip in with the exy season ongoing?

Where was the line between smothering and caretaking and abandoning?

It felt like he was failing Jean somehow, not being able to answer that.

"What's on your mind, son?" Ricky asked from behind him.

"Too fucking much," Kevin muttered, retrieving the cutting boards and seeing Ricky's nod in response as he placed them on the counter.

Kevin considered. Ricky was probably the second-best option for a sounding board, he supposed. He had the most level head of the Knoxes and, in Kevin's opinion, was the easiest to talk to besides Jeremy himself. Miranda and Emme were so genuinely sweet and peaceful that Kevin was at a loss at times over them (Not to say Abby wasn't but she had a bit of Fox in her, and no Fox was only sweet.) and Alex's snippiness ranged from uninteresting to baffling in contrast to the others in her family. But Ricky made a sort of sense. Maybe it was because he played his emotions closer to the chest than the others. Maybe it was because he'd been an exy fan (and a knowledgeable one too) since Jeremy learned to walk.

Maybe it was because some aspect of Ricky reminded Kevin of his own dad. Tough men with a penchant for honesty even if it cut a little too close to what you didn't want to hear. Men who looked physically intimidating—the heavy size of them, the arms covered in tattoos—but were intensely caring and fiercely devoted to those they considered theirs. Kevin wondered, just for a moment, if the pair of them would get along, but there was no point in the thought. The Knoxes and the Wymack's had no reason to meet from their opposite sides of the country.

"For starters," Kevin began, crossing his arms and leaning back against the counter, "Jeremy finally returned Stevens' calls. He's quitting the Knights."

Ricky sighed, hanging his head with a short shake. He crossed the room, taking up a similar stance as Kevin's as he leaned against the sink not far from Kevin on the other side of the stove. It made it easier to talk between the two of them, away from the noise still carrying from the adjoining living room.

"Figured it'd come to that," Ricky said. "Probably not a great idea, but I get it. If it were me in his shoes, I wouldn't want the kids outta my sight with Mir gone. Especially with Jackie bein' so little."

"I did get him to agree to a support group thing Rhemann told me about," Kevin said, "but that's only every couple weeks. I just hate the idea of him in this house, alone all day other than the baby." Then, he added hurriedly, "I mean, I know you guys will be around, obviously. But..."

"I know whatcha mean," Ricky said. "You've got a point. I love my kids, Kevin, but they're Knoxes through and through. There's a reason we all fell into work that involves a lotta people a lot of the time. We live on it." He smiled softly. "Jean was our oddball out in that respect, happiest at the house. This one or ours, with just the family around."

The fondness in Ricky's voice made him ache, and he nodded but the mention of work had Kevin's mind turning a new thought over.

"Do you think...," Kevin began slowly, piecing it together as he talked, gazing sightlessly toward a distant spot on the floor, "Jeremy still really likes cars." (More than Kevin wished he knew, honestly.) "What if he came to the garage sometimes? Not full-time, but it'd give him something to focus on—something he could accomplish, since he won't have exy for that." He nodded along with his own thoughts, "He needs to feel helpful to somebody, you know? Like he's still on a team, people relying on him. He... he's better when he's needed."

"Like you?"

Kevin looked up. Well, that was the downside of men like Ricky and David, wasn't it? The people-reading side of them?

"It's obvious it keeps you going, Kevin," Ricky said. "Them needing you the way they do. You've already lived here, what's it now, two months?"

Kevin nodded. It was true, give or take a day.

"What's your plan for coping with that back in Chicago?" Ricky asked. "You've got a bunch of ideas for Remy, but I don't hear anything for you."

"Exy keeps me busy," Kevin said.

"And your people? Got plans for Palmetto any time soon?"

Kevin shook his head. He didn't need to meet Ricky's eyes to feel the weight of his disapproval.

"Your parents probably wanna see you, son," Ricky said, "I'd be outta my mind worryin' over Remy on the other side of the country this long."

"It's not the same for us," Kevin said, meeting Ricky's gaze. "I don't mean that in a bad way. It's just... It's different, them and me. I only lived in the same place as my dad for a few years, not like Jeremy and LA with you guys."

"Alright," Ricky said, "If you say so. I just know, as a dad, a phone call would probably mean a lot to your old man."

Kevin nodded again, agreeing silently with Ricky's point. He should. As much as he worried over Jeremy isolating himself, he'd only spoken to his parents twice (though a monthly phone call was their usual average anyway). Gavin was the only person he was in regular contact with honestly. It stood out more with Jeremy, since isolation wasn't like him—and it was all too familiar to Kevin.

"When do you head back?" Ricky asked.

"Nineteenth."

"Couple more weeks then," Ricky said, accepting it without flinch, "That's good. So's your thinking on the garage. I'll mention it to him, maybe wait 'til he settles into his groove a bit. Especially if he's gonna go to one of those support groups." He grimaced, "I went to one after Mom a few times. Hurt like hell but worth it."

Truly, Kevin would've rather scooped his own eyeballs out than go to such a thing; the idea of sharing like that was revolting, at least when he imagined himself there. Not for Jeremy. For Jeremy, he truly thought it'd be good.

"You're really good for him, ya know that?" Ricky said, casting a glance toward the living room, "Both of 'em."

Kevin swallowed, "Just trying to do my best for Jean... and for them, I guess."

Ricky hummed thoughtfully at that, pausing for a moment, "Don't think he'd already find his smile like that if we'd tried to handle it ourselves. Shit, I was scared I'd never see it again. Honest to God."

Kevin looked ahead, but the angle wasn't right. He couldn't see the other three, but he could hear them with their intertwining happy strings of Spanish and Jackie's joyful babble on the air.

It struck him in that moment. This... this was the sound that had been absent, the one he hadn't realized he'd been missing these past two months. The house alive, bright again and with laughter.

"He was always going to find it again," Kevin said softly, still appreciating the wonder of the realization, "Jean knew he would. I did."

"That's why you're the best man for the job."

Kevin turned sharply to Ricky, his gaze intense enough to make Ricky raise a confused eyebrow. The words were just oddly similar in tone to Jean's, to the ones Kevin had banished from his mind the previous night.

Ricky continued his thought, "Jeremy's a perfectionist but not in the usual way people mean the word. It isn't about the highest score or the best stats. He wants to be perfect because he doesn't want other people to worry about him. He doesn't really care about their opinions on other stuff, he's always been good at ignoring the press or whatever, but it crushes him when he thinks he's disappointed or upset us. God, it was a handful to deal with when he was little."

Ricky smiled faintly, his gaze returning to the living room. "But with you? He's his whole, messy, imperfect self, out loud. Might sound weird but I actually felt better that first time we came over, the day you guys got the urn, and saw he was sad. If he'd put on one of those fake smiles, it would've broke my heart more than it already was."

"It's really special, that kinda trust he has in you, Kevin," Ricky continued, his voice soft, "You don't see much of it in the world in general, something that big. Jean's the only other person Remy let himself be like that with."

Kevin took a long breath, swallowing past the lump in his throat, fighting the urge to step forward just to catch a glimpse of him.

"It's scary sometimes, having kids."

Kevin looked back to him, listening intently, his mind empty of everything but Ricky's words.

"Nothin' in the world can break you like they can," Ricky continued, "I never thought I'd bury one of 'em. Even if he wasn't born of us, Jean was ours. There's times we talk about him like he still might walk through the front door, like we could call him on the phone or drive over here to see him and the baby like when Remy was on the road."

Ricky's jaw flexed, his eyes falling to the side, "It's a fucking knife to the heart every goddamn time. Mir's never cried so much in her life. I've never had so much doubt that the world's a good place. Jean didn't get nearly as much as he should've. Time was too short for that. I can't really seem to let go of how unfair it is."

Kevin wondered just how much the Knoxes knew about Jean's past. Of what the Nest was really like, of what powers held their leashes. He wondered if Ricky knew how Jean got his scars, how Kevin was responsible for them.

He couldn't shake the thought that, if Ricky knew, they wouldn't be standing here, talking like this.

"Then there's how unfair it is for Remy. Of all of us to go through something like this, he was always gonna bear it the worst," Ricky said.

Kevin furrowed his brow. "I don't doubt the rest of you, but I still disagree. He couldn't bear it better, in my opinion. Jeremy's the strongest person I know."

The corner of Ricky's mouth twitched upward, just a hint.

"He is, that's for sure," Ricky said, "He's the most of a lot of things, including how much he feels. With Emme, we had to worry about her crying because someone told her a sad story at school. With Alex, it was expected to get called by the principal because she got in a fight defending a smaller kid."

Ricky looked back to Kevin, "With Remy? It was both. It was all of it. His heart's too damn big. We love him for it but, Christ, when he was little it was exhausting. And worried the hell outta Mir and me. Every emotion, good or bad, it didn't matter. It was big."

He nodded slowly, a soft smile tugging at his lips, "Made him perfect for Jean—having never been loved that big before. It was too short, for both of them, but I'm thankful as hell that Jean got that."

"I am too," Kevin said honestly.

Of all the decisions in his life, he thought sending Jean to Los Angeles, to Jeremy and therefore these people, had been the best one he ever made.

"Ta da!" Jeremy cried as they appeared around the corner, Miranda at his side declaring the same and Jackie in his arms. He held the child out just slightly but Kevin barely registered the rest of it at the sight of a frowning, bewildered looking Jackie...dressed as a palm tree.

"There's a hat to that thing?" Ricky asked, judgement loud in his tone.

Kevin groaned, stepping forward with exasperation. The hat was secured by a green ribbon beneath Jackie's chin, a swath of felt-shaped fronds blanketing the top of his head. He reached out and the baby did the same, almost desperately even as his face remained in the same confused expression. Kevin chuckled, Jeremy following suit, as he pulled Jackie close.

"You're a cruel man, Jeremy Knox," Kevin said, "You've scarred him for life. What's he even doing with his face?"

"He likes it!" Jeremy protested, "And he's precious in it." Miranda nodded in agreement as Jeremy added, "I think we should use it for his June picture."

"There's no way you'll get a smile outta him in this thing," Kevin countered.

Jeremy grinned, "Watch me." His confidence was contagious. If anyone could make it happen, he would, but Kevin felt sympathetic pity for his godson all the same.

Kevin rolled his eyes and turned his face toward Jackie, whispering in his ear in French and very nearly getting stabbed in the eye by the hat, "If you grow fast enough by then, he can't make you wear it."

Jackie huffed loudly, world-weary and agreeing, and Jeremy shook his head with a smirk but Kevin only laughed at the pair of them and their antics, the sound warm and genuine, until Miranda interrupted, her voice light but firm.

"Cute babies aside," she said, meeting Kevin's eyes, "Did you read the recipe for tonight?"

"Yes ma'am," Kevin said, then nodding to the island, "I got out everything listed."

"Good," she said. It was somewhat amusing to Kevin, how a kitchen was the one place Miranda Knox seemed to take on the air of a cheerful drill sargent rather than the softly doting mother and grandmother she usually was. Her green eyes (a paler, softer shade than Kevin's own and shared by her daughters) sparkled mischievously as she asked, "And what's the name of it?"

She was as cruel as her son. Kevin sighed, already knowing the foreign language wasn't going to roll the way it should.

"Tinga de pollo y tosada," Kevin said, garbled and strange and could honestly be a series of curse words for all he knew. Jeremy giggled at the pronunciation and Ricky smiled encouragingly, Jackie's happy babble in his ear almost making it hard to hear Miranda's gentle correction which Kevin repeated diligently a few times until she praised him as effusively as she had Jackie earlier, making his face heat. Jeremy took pity on him, taking Jackie back as Miranda demanded they don aprons and begin. She looked between the other three: husband, son, grandson.

"You're allowed to stay so long as you don't get in the way or distract Kevin, comprendido?"

They said yes (Kevin could at least pronounce that right.) and moved to the other, safer side of the bar counter while Miranda gathered the heaviest pan and Kevin went to the fridge, anticipating them needing the chicken first. (He'd read the recipe maybe more than once. It seemed easier to cook if the process was memorized first, as he'd learned.)

"Now this," she said excitedly, drizzling oil into the skillet and flipping on the heat without a glance, "was Abuela's too but, more than that, it was my father's favorite. A long day at work, he could heat it up no matter how late he got in, put as much toppings or not on it, eat a dozen tosadas if he chose." She glanced aside when Kevin carried the chicken over to her, smiling, "And I think you'll like it in particular because of that. I remember training seasons. All that attention on food. Chicken tinga's the sort of thing you can make as healthy or not as you want it."

Miranda looked back to the shimmering oil, beginning to add the chicken as she continued, "The sort of thing you can take back to Chicago with you too and have a little taste of LA when you miss it."

He wasn't sure how to say that he knew he'd miss it probably too often to make chicken tinga to soothe the ache, because otherwise he'd have to eat it every day. He didn't know how to say that even if he made it perfectly, it wouldn't taste the same. Instead, he applied his focus to Miranda's words and actions and cut every other thought from his mind.

In two weeks, it'd all be gone.

At least, with this loss, he had warning. And, it wouldn't be permanent—even if it felt like, as soon as his feet left Californian soil, he'd lose something he'd never get back.

__________

Kevin checked the time that Thursday night as Jeremy returned from his first support group meeting. It was just before eleven with the sound of Jeremy unlocking the door stark in the silence. The group met late, after everyone was freed from work and other obligations. And it was in the city, so it took some driving, but Kevin found himself checking the clock every few minutes for the past half hour.

He wasn't sure which version of Jeremy would walk through the door, so Kevin turned his attention toward the entrance from the foyer. He watched, quiet and still, removing the earbud from his ear where he'd been listening to another parenting book (his fourth in total) and hearing only the soft whirl of Jackie's rocking swing from the corner of the room where the baby slept.

Kevin waited without speaking as Jeremy stepped inside, his heavy footfalls stilling at the edge of the room and his eyes distant. His gaze wandered, a lost look settling over his face as he took in the room, catching on an item here or there—a picture frame, a book, the old reading chair. Then, for the longest moment, his gaze lingered on Jackie before turning to Kevin.

It was the look of someone drowning, treading water and exhausted by the effort.

Without thought, only instinct, Kevin held out a hand from the couch, and Jeremy came to him wordlessly. Kevin remained silent as Jeremy came to him, surprising him by sitting sideways in his lap. Jeremy crawled in tightly, curling with his hands tucked under his chin, ducking his head and hiding from the world against Kevin's chest. He felt fragile, even smaller than his physical size, even though he wasn't crying or trembling, and Kevin wrapped his arms around him, hoping it would go further than just physical touch. There was a breakability in him, reminiscent of weeks before, and Kevin tucked in closer too. He wished he could cover Jeremy entirely, to shield him from the world and the thoughts in his mind, with his own body.

Jeremy didn't speak for countless minutes, but neither did Kevin. They sat without moving, breaths near-silent and holds still, until Jeremy broke it with a whisper.

"They were really nice," Jeremy said, his words slow, pausing before adding, "They—they get it. More than I thought they would. I hate that."

"Why?" Kevin asked, equally quiet.

"Because I never want another person in the world to feel like this."

Kevin nodded, the motion brushing along Jeremy's hair, thinking of Ricky's words from days before: of his son with a heart too big and feelings to match.

"But you were right to get me to go," Jeremy continued. "I got the meeting schedule for the year, so I can put it on the calendar."

Despite it all, that brought a small smile to Kevin's lips.

"That's great," he said gently, "I'm really proud of you for doing that, Rémie."

"Thanks." He paused before adding, "I think this is part of it. The hurting."

"Part of what?" Kevin asked.

"Of remembering Jean, but healing too. It's like a scar, you know?"

Kevin didn't understand, but when Jeremy took his left hand, his thoughts faltered. Jeremy looked down further to their joined touch, tracing the marbled pattern with his thumb, the twisted webbing that spanned knuckles and fingers, palm and top, and everywhere in-between.

"It hurt as it healed," Jeremy continued. "And it still aches when you play too much or when it's too cold, which is dumb considering where you've been living since college."

Kevin smirked just slightly at the soft tease.

Jeremy added, "But you can look at it and remember, when it happened and everything around it. That hurts too in its own way—the memory—but it isn't just pain because it reminds you what's good about it too."

"There's nothing good about those scars," Kevin said, the words slightly strangled.

Jeremy shook his head lightly, his hair brushing against Kevin's chin. "That's what Jean used to say too, but you're both wrong. Scars mean you survived. That you're stronger than the monsters who made them. They prove that it didn't break you, that you're brave because you didn't let it break you. It's even more true because you didn't just get through it, you're a good man in spite of it. The scars being made didn't ruin you, neither did living with them after."

Jeremy turned Kevin's hand over, tracing the lines Kevin remembered hurting the worst as they healed.

"So it hurts to remember it all, because it was scary, because you think they're shameful, but it's worth remembering despite that because these are proof of how incredible you are. That's what makes your scars beautiful. Or at least I think so."

He felt the raggedness of his own breath, heard it wheeze slightly in his chest, too overwhelmed to focus with how much space Jeremy's words took up within him and the implication they held.

Across time, across life and death, Kevin swore he felt an identical shock to what Jean must have when Jeremy voiced such ideas to him. He wondered if his own shock was greater, too, because his scars were nothing like Jean's. How—how—was it possible for Jeremy to believe such a thing? That Kevin had any right to see his scars as Jean had seen his own? Jeremy knew how those scars crisscrossing Kevin's left hand were made, why they were, but most importantly—Jeremy knew what Kevin did after they were made. He knew the action Kevin took was so much more disgusting and vile than any mark on Kevin's body.

And yet, Jeremy believed it, or he wouldn't have said so. Kevin knew that, too.

He used that same hand to tilt Jeremy's face up with a gentle touch to his chin, their fingers intertwining and linked there against his golden skin.

Kevin looked at him.

He looked, just looked, really looked, and somehow it felt like the first time. It wasn't that he hadn't seen Jeremy, hadn't seen so many iterations and versions and sides of him over the years—especially the past two months—but somehow it felt new just then. Jeremy's bravery, his heart, his beauty, his fight, and how he still had hope within him for better even if Jeremy himself didn't realize it yet.

What a fucking miracle he was.

Kevin had thought he knew it, how grand Jeremy Knox was, but he hadn't. Not like he did now, not like he did in this moment. Not with Jeremy looking back at him as he was. Kevin was so overwhelmed by all of it, by all of him in a single heartbeat.

"How is it," Kevin said softly, "that I've known you for over a decade and you're still surprising me?"

"I'm not surprising," Jeremy said, not seeming to blink as he spoke, "I'm pretty boring, really."

"Bullshit." The curse came out like a prayer. "You're astonishing. You're more fascinating by the day, Rémie. Seriously."

Jeremy's eyes widened a little, seeming to grow rounder, and he broke contact with Kevin's gaze to glance aside. Kevin knew it was a lot, but he just couldn't seem to bring himself to pull it back, to diminish the grandness of what he'd said. It felt like a denial to try to do so, even if some part of him winced at it internally, confused by himself.

It seemed alright, though, since Jeremy didn't pull away. In fact, Jeremy moved closer, curling in further and tucking his head slightly beneath Kevin's, his forehead pressed to the skin of Kevin's neck and the weight of him against Kevin's collarbone as he kept Kevin's hand in his own, held to his chest. He moved a little, settling further, and Kevin smiled softly at the gentle nuzzle. Kevin was not someone who cuddled, or snuggled, or whatever other words people used... except now. Now, in this moment, he was content to never move again, even if he still wasn't entirely sure if he'd said something wrong or right beforehand.

He swept his thumb along Jeremy's arm as he held him, their breaths in a matching slow pace. Peace, despite it all. Hurting and remembering, side by side.

"Do you wanna tell me anything about the meeting?" Kevin asked after a while, able to feel how relaxed Jeremy had grown in the quiet. "You know I'm here to listen."

"I know," Jeremy said, "It's actually sorta confidential, like AA, I guess? But there's some stuff. James was there. Coach Rhemann, you know." Kevin nodded against Jeremy's hair, listening as he continued, "Still so weird to call him by his first name. He said he told you about Annie, so I don't think he'd care if I mentioned him to you. He shared some good thoughts during sharing time, stuff I'll probably be thinking on for a bit."

Jeremy paused, and Kevin couldn't see, but he felt Jeremy's fingers shift within his own, as if he were thinking through something.

"He gave me Dr. Fortin's home number and said I should give him a call about meeting up," Jeremy added, "A few other numbers too, of other therapists. He included the lady he's been seeing for a long time, in case I thought seeing Olivier was too hard."

"Why's that?" Kevin asked, suspecting the answer.

"It's just..." Jeremy began, "I mean, I went to my sessions like all the Trojans, but I didn't need therapy." He winced, "God, that sounds awful, doesn't it? I don't mean like that, just... I don't know, maybe I'm not thinking about it right." He paused, seeming to search for a moment, "Like, when I went, it wasn't a big deal. We'd talk about class work or the captaincy, if I was feeling stressed or whatever. Mainly we talked about exy, just in-general. I mostly went just for the mandatory sessions, maybe a couple extras here and there, but nothing too serious, I guess. It wasn't hard or anything."

"Not like Jean's sessions with him. Those were a lot more intense than mine ever were, especially at first. But he stuck with it, even after graduating. Biweekly sessions for years, monthly at least if we were traveling. Jean, he respected Olivier a lot. As much as James and Coach Stevens, maybe more."

Jeremy paused, fiddling with Kevin's fingers for a moment again, "You probably saw him a bunch of times without even realizing it. He was at the wedding, the baby shower. I saw him at the memorial but he didn't come by when we were standing up there and honestly, I didn't think to go find him. I feel kinda bad about that, like I'd only be calling him up because I need his help."

"Is that the only reason?" Kevin asked, "It doesn't really sound like it."

Jeremy hummed in acknowledgement, not denying it. He seemed to gather his thoughts for a minute, "I know technically I was his patient too, but it feels like he's Jean's therapist. And like asking him to be mine too now is... wrong, I guess. I don't know... wouldn't that make it uncomfortable? Like, would it be selfish to ask him to help me with Jean stuff? I'm sure he misses Jean too and that seems unfair. I'd feel guilty, dragging him into it. Maybe it's just too weird?"

"I don't think it is. Honestly, I think it might make him the best fit for you. That history you both have, while at USC and with Jean."

Jeremy tilted his head back, resting more on Kevin's shoulder to look up at him.

"Really?" he asked.

Kevin nodded, "He knew Jean personally and really well, so he can appreciate the loss more than a stranger. And, he's known both of you for a long time together. Jean must've talked about you to him over the years. Maybe it gives him more insight or something." He smirked at a thought, "God knows I couldn't have talked to anyone but Dobson back in the day. Nobody was gonna understand the Foxes like her."

"I guess so," Jeremy said, nibbling hard at his lower lip.

"There's nothing wrong with it not working out too, if you decide to meet with him. That's fine. Doesn't mean he isn't a good guy or anything and, if Jean liked him, I doubt he'd take it personally if you decided to call one of those other numbers Rhemann gave you."

He didn't remove his held hand from Jeremy's but he did reach up and pull lightly on his chin with his thumb, coaxing him to stop biting at his lip which was already starting to bruise where he was gnawing it.

"Don't hurt yourself," he said softly, "Think of it this way: It's just one session. Start with that. No pressure, no expectations. You can walk away if it doesn't feel right. But I think you'll be glad you tried."

Jeremy nodded once, "You're right." He searched Kevin's face, eyes soft, a quiet plea hidden in his expression, "Can...can I schedule it while you're still here? The first one, I mean. It'd just feel better knowing you're here when I do, when I come home."

Kevin smiled, hoping it was encouraging, "That'd be great. I'd feel better too."

Jeremy didn't return the smile, and Kevin felt a pang of uncertainty as Jeremy looked away, starting to bite at his lip again instead. He released it quickly, as if remembering Kevin's chiding, but there was a return of tension to his expression that set Kevin somewhat on edge, the quiet heaviness in the air he couldn't name. He wondered what it was Jeremy was thinking but he waited patiently rather than ask.

"You're leaving," Jeremy said, a whisper as if speaking louder would make time move faster, "Ten days."

Not a question, a reminder.

"I shouldn't have asked for so much," he added, "You've got no time to be ready for camp, or to even really settle in at home."

Kevin brushed by the 'home'—since it didn't fit Chicago—and replied, "I'm not going to be ready for camp, regardless. Probably wouldn't be even if I'd gone back sooner."

Jeremy deflated a little and Kevin added quickly, "I chose to be here with you guys, remember? For all three of our sake's, not just because you asked. And it's been better for me to be here with you than if I'd been on my own in Chicago. So, don't go creating reasons to feel bad when I'm telling you it's not like that."

He smirked, continuing, "Besides, if it's anybody's fault I'm not ready for camp, it's Jackie's. He's a terrible training partner, even for a five-something month old."

It had the desired effect as Jeremy snorted, surprised and amused by the joke, and a small smile slipped free. He looked back to Kevin as he asked, "Are you gonna come back to see us? I don't— Taking Jackie to Chicago when he's so little feels like a lot but I could, if that's the only way we can get time with you."

His face took on a sudden flushed tint and he blinked rapidly, his words coming out flustered, "God, you've got so much on your plate already. Obviously. I shouldn't just assume anything with you having so much going on."

"I'd be more than happy to have both of you in Chicago," Kevin said honestly, "But I'd rather come back here to you."

"You would?"

It felt so obvious to Kevin, answering almost seemed redundant somehow but he did.

"Yeah." Kevin paused, letting his eyes wander the room as he continued, "I'm... happy here. Well, as happy as I can be, you know? Even on the hard days, this house feels better than anywhere else would. Because he was here and because you and Jackie are."

Chicago won't be like this. It never could be.

Kevin bit back the words. It was obvious enough that he had a hard time with the idea of leaving without rubbing it in Jeremy's face; he didn't want to make Jeremy feel worse by dredging it up.

"I get that," Jeremy agreed. He looked hopeful as he asked, "When do you think you could come back?"

"Not sure," Kevin answered, "Late August? There's a break around then before the season starts officially. Five days or so."

Jeremy's expression dropped, and Kevin couldn't help but feel his own heart sink with it. He'd already considered the options though and it was the most realistic period of time he could come up with for a return visit. The Sirens trained six days a week and they didn't take off for holidays like July Fourth as other teams might.

There was a reason they regularly vied for championships, after all.

But, the look on Jeremy at it made that seem small in comparison. By the time that point of August arrived, Kevin would've been back in Chicago longer than he'd been in Los Angeles in total. He scrambled, reviewing the calendar in his mind. Maybe he could get Gavin to move something around? Or work out some kind of deal with the coaching staff to do extra work one day to give himself one off? Even if he did, he'd get a day or maybe two in LA at the most.

"Maybe I can make something work sooner," Kevin said, his voice thick with the pressure of the moment. "I want to be here a lot more than there, Jeremy. Don't doubt that, okay?" He pressed, wanting to reassure so Jeremy wouldn't worry himself, "And, regardless of whatever, if you need me for anything, you or Jackie, I'll get here. Drop whatever I have to. That won't be an issue."

"You can't promise that, Kev," Jeremy said, sadly but not unkindly, "You have obligations bigger than us."

Kevin bit the words, not a snap but still broken, "No, I don't."

"Kev," Jeremy said, somehow having taken the role of comforter, moving their joined hands to brush Kevin's jaw soothingly, "It's gonna be alright. We knew it'd come down to this."

It was true but somehow it didn't feel true.

"When do you want me to come back?" Kevin asked, "Give me a date and I'll make it happen."

"June twentieth."

The day after he left. Kevin shook his head, "I'm being serious."

"So am I."

There was a beat there, with a strange weight to it as their gazes held, but it was gone in the next moment as Jeremy sighed and looked away.

"I know, that isn't helpful," he said, "I just mean that literally whenever works, whatever you wanna do. I'm gonna be home with Jackie so it's not like we're going anywhere." He paused, adding, "August would be good. Five days, or however many you can fit in."

If it was meant to sound encouraging, it didn't. It didn't sound good at all.

"But not enough," Kevin said, thoughtlessly.

"Not really," Jeremy agreed, "but it is what it is."

Kevin's chest ached at Jeremy's attempt to lighten his expression as he looked back at him. It wasn't a lie or faked, he was just genuinely trying to help Kevin feel better, which of course only made Kevin feel worse.

"But hey, great stuff will happen in the mean time, right?" Jeremy said, not truly bright but trying to be as he rambled in an attempt at cheerfulness, "You'll get to play for real, without being distracted by stuff around here. You'll get actual sleep instead of getting up and down all night. No diaper changes or banshee screaming or clothes smelling like spit-up. And that's not even bringing up me and all my crap so—"

"I'd rather have all that than not."

Kevin winced before he could hide it, the conviction and wistfulness equally damning in the words. Jeremy's eyes, still on him, widened slightly. He didn't seem to blink as he looked back at Kevin, as he examined him more closely than Kevin wanted him to. He didn't know what his own face looked like and yet he instinctively wanted to keep it to himself. But, despite that, it was as impossible to look away from Jeremy as ever so it was a relief when Jeremy did it for him.

He tucked himself back against Kevin once more, cuddling into him and Kevin took a deep breath to steady himself as he wrapped his arms around him again too.

"Well," Jeremy said as he finished settling, his voice soft, his hand warm in Kevin's, his weight in his lap and against his chest a comfort that defied words. "Whenever you wanna reminder of dad life, you know where to turn up."

Dad life.

It wasn't quite the right description of his time here, but it still made Kevin's throat tighten with the weight of it. An offer that wasn't quite an offer. A phrase too small to encompass everything of what the days in the sage-green house were. But, not a meaningless one either. Not by a long shot.

Kevin leaned his head slightly aside, resting gently against Jeremy's hair where he rested in the space between chin and shoulder, collarbone and neck. There wasn't a word to describe it, but Jeremy fit there regardless. In those long, quiet minutes, sitting in his own thoughts, Kevin traced patterns mindlessly against Jeremy's arm until he felt him shift their joined hands from beneath his chin. Kevin turned his attention to him as Jeremy held their hands just before his face, his breath caressing the scarred skin when he spoke with the softest whisper of the night.

"Don't go back to Aaron."

Kevin's lungs froze, his pattern-tracing fingers stilled, his heart and mind froze with them. Every piece of him, physical and not, stopped.

The tone of Jeremy's voice was so much, too much, to contemplate at once: a question and a plea, a demand and a wish, somehow all at the same time.

"Don't accept so little for yourself," Jeremy continued in the same voice. "Don't think so little of yourself, Kev. I need that. I need you to see yourself like I do, to treat yourself like you're the best man in the world because you are."

He felt the press of Jeremy tighter against him, as if willing the words, his belief, into Kevin himself.

"Plus jamais. S'il te plaît, mon très cher ami. Pour moi."

Kevin squeezed his eyes shut and gathered Jeremy closer in his arms, as close as he could. It was need, raw and pure. It had him tucking his own face down beside Jeremy's, his cheek to his forehead, their breath warm and intermingling like the interlocking of their joined fingers, the room quiet beyond that movement of air and the baby swing's slow rock. Jeremy's other hand rested against Kevin's chest, gently playing against the fabric of his t-shirt, and Jeremy was... He was...

He was all Kevin had.

All he had that mattered. All that was everything.

Kevin knew, distantly, that he had teammates who weren't friends, and Foxes he'd lost touch with for one reason or another. He knew there were his parents, in a somewhat distant way, and Aaron in a completely lesser way.

All of it was less than this. Than Jeremy.

It was a freight train of a realization, barreling into him, but it wasn't unkind—more like a statement of truth. Kevin wouldn't change it, that was for certain. Jean was right. He'd known it by calling them family.

Two orphans like them knew the full heartfelt depth of that word, knew the rare preciousness of it, knew family was something made as surely as it was something lost. Jean hadn't needed to call Ricky and Miranda by the titles he used. Kevin had been taken in by Coach Wymack before admitting to the man that he was his son, by Abby too long before she married David. Not a single one of those four people were listed on the birth certificates of Kevin Day or Jean Knox, but they were family in the ways that mattered.

Family.
It was a word even truer for how they'd called one another brother.
It was startlingly true now, when Kevin thought of Jackie.
It was a revelation to truly feel the depth of it when he thought of Jeremy.

That was why Jean used the word, Kevin knew then—because, after Jean, Jeremy was the steadiest, longest-lasting, greatest, safest person in Kevin's life... and that was true even before Jean's death. Now, after it?

No one would ever come close to mattering to Kevin as Jeremy did, not in the way he did, not as wholly and completely as he always would.

No one would ever understand this second life they now lived together, other than themselves for one another. God knew no one was ever going to work harder to take care of Jeremy and Jackie than he would. No one would do so with the full memory of and in tribute to the man who made that happen, the man who'd been gracious enough to forgive Kevin for the crimes he'd committed against him so much that he called him brother.

It was all there, clear and obvious, devastating and heavy. And true. More than anything, it was true.

Kevin turned his head slightly to press a kiss to Jeremy's forehead, his eyes closed. The room was quiet enough to hear Jeremy's breath hitch. A small sound, perhaps more like a sigh, or something between the two. Then he seemed to slacken, not so much to lean into it but as if to hold it precious, to appreciate it, and Kevin didn't pull away. He lingered there. Lips to warm skin. The moment holding and contained in this bubble he'd pop in so few days. Then he'd lose all of it. He'd miss all of it in a way Kevin knew he hadn't missed something (someone) since childhood.

It was a different kind of missing than for Jean, a missing that felt more optional somehow, even if Kevin didn't have a choice.

In his mind, as he considered his response to Jeremy, Kevin sent his initial wordless thoughts to Jean instead. To appreciate his insistence they keep each other close and care for one another. To thank him for knowing what was best for them, what was right, now that the four of them were only three. And, maybe to curse him a little too for setting his brother up with such an impossible task as leaving the two of them and coping with their absence from thousands of miles away.

Then, he said to Jeremy, against that so-soft skin, "Je ne pourrais pas, même si je le voulais. Je ferais tout pour toi, Rémie. Toujours."

It was too much. It wasn't enough.
It was confusing because the words made a sort of sense but they also didn't because they felt like more than the sum of their letters somehow.
It was terrifying how it felt like there was a curtain pulled across them, that there was some unseen something behind it.

It was also completely, irrevocably, and fully the truth.

There wasn't time for Jeremy to respond or for Kevin to contemplate further though as Jackie began to stir into wakefulness across the room with a pitiful, sleepy whimper.

Still, they lingered there for a moment, as if able to hold onto it by holding one another. Jeremy nuzzled closer into him, increasing the pressure of lips to forehead, and Kevin breathed him in deeply, his right arm around him tightening slightly.

Kevin wasn't sure who sighed first when Jackie stirred more loudly a moment later, sounds of resignation from them both for how things like babies, and grief, and breathing didn't give time to rest away from the world. Jeremy's reluctance was shown in how slow he stood, Kevin's in how he released Jeremy's hand with effort to walk over to Jackie.

He turned off the rocker's swinging motion without needing to look at the knob, his focus on Jackie's pouted lip and his tiny face screwed up unhappily as if he were having a bad dream. He wasn't scream-crying, which was nice, and Kevin brought him easily into his arms without any flailing. Kevin gathered him close, humming under his breath as he'd learned Jackie was soothed by the vibration of it where he was held to Kevin's chest, and checked him over. His diaper was dry, clothes clean, and a look at the clock showed it was too early for his next bottle.

"Tu veux juste être tenu, hein," Kevin whispered under his breath against Jackie tucked into the crook of his neck, determining the reason easily enough. He smiled softly at the sensation of Jackie's small hand against the hollow of his throat, gripping the neck of Kevin's shirt reflexively.

It was his night with the baby so he didn't think twice of standing there with him, humming softly, swaying just a little in place with his cheek against Jackie's dark hair, until something caught the corner of his eye across the room. Kevin looked up, finding Jeremy standing there, observing them without moving or sound as Kevin's attention inexplicably went to him without need for either.

He'd expected his friend to have gone to bed, he realized, until he saw Jeremy hadn't. No, Jeremy stood statue-like, sculpted and painted chiaroscuro by the low light of the room, but his eyes gave away the life of him. The way they burned with a flame Kevin couldn't name.

He couldn't have described Jeremy's expression then, even if forced to, and that struck him as strange. Jeremy wore his emotions so readily, and Kevin thought he was relatively good at figuring out even the ones Jeremy didn't want to acknowledge or voice, but Kevin had no idea what the look Jeremy wore meant. He'd never seen it before, and he felt oddly adrift at Jeremy being unreadable—but in a way that intrigued rather than worried.

Kevin continued to hum lightly, to sway to a silent beat, listening to the soft whimpers of Jackie burrowed into his neck and the weight of his rounded little cheek pressed there. It felt suspended somehow, like if Kevin changed even the pace of his breath, the moment would pass by, broken and interrupted. But they were still there, in the space between heartbeats, when Jeremy began to walk toward them.

It was slow, his watchful gaze holding Kevin's in a way that felt unbreakable, and careful, not wary so much as gentle. As if Jeremy moving too fast might spook him somehow. Or break the moment somehow. Either way, Kevin couldn't have moved (wouldn't have moved) for anything in the world.

Jeremy's eyes didn't leave Kevin's as he paused, just before the last space between them closed, then reached out. Kevin held Jackie as he often did in that position, Jackie's small body flush to his, a hand supporting his weight and the other on his back with Kevin's fingers to his neck in case Jackie bobbled. It wasn't even a thought to place his hands there, but he thought about it then, with a wondrous sense, as Jeremy laid his hand atop Kevin's against Jackie's back. Then, he stepped in closer, eyes holding until the last moment, until he was resting against Kevin's body just like Jackie, his face tucked into the opposite crook of Kevin's neck, his head brushing along Kevin's collarbone and shoulder. There was about half a foot's difference between the two of them but he...fit.

Jeremy fit just there, right there, against him.

And it felt different than any hug or holding they'd shared before with Jeremy's nose brushing against his neck, with their heartbeats matching through connected chests, with Jeremy slipping his arm around Kevin's waist to keep him close.

The three of them, each holding, each held.

Kevin leaned his head to the side to rest against Jeremy's, his swaying stilled but continuing to hum. Jeremy's thumb swept along his side where he held him, his sigh almost unheard beneath Jackie's contented coos of sleep and warmth. It was impossible to say how long they remained there but the count of minutes didn't matter—not when Kevin knew it wasn't enough.

It wasn't anywhere nearly enough time for how much he wanted what was there in that time that was ending. For how much he wanted everything.

__________

The shift was undeniable after that, even if Kevin couldn't find the words to describe it. The sense of it, of a slight alteration in worldview, was similar to how the air between them felt after the memorial service—after the car, after the nap. It was similar to the weight of a room carrying something more after their argument—after Kevin's return to the house, after Jeremy's gentle touch to quell his migraine, after Jean's voice...

It was a changing of angles, which Kevin was good at. He lived by changing angles, made his name with impossible shots and split-second calculations, but a lifetime of expertise didn't prepare him for it. Those single-digit days.

I'll miss that.

The words kept appearing in Kevin's mind at the oddest moments, over the smallest details. He thought so when he heard Jeremy turn on the Spanish radio station in the kitchen, when he saw Jackie's blue eyes open with a smile after a long nap, when he sat on the patio and watched Jeremy twirl Jackie in slow circles in the backyard, feet bare in the grass, brown-blond hair swirling with Jackie's cackling laughter on the wind, the sunlight painting them both into a masterpiece Kevin couldn't look away from.

I'll miss them.

And at night, with the world quiet and the baby sleeping, Jeremy was also closer after that Thursday evening. Arms brushing together as they cooked side-by-side, a hug each morning and another before bedtime, tousling Kevin's hair when damp from the shower. On the couch each night, Jeremy cuddled in tight. Warm, weighty, and real. Kevin didn't pretend he wasn't affected by it. He draped an arm over Jeremy's shoulders, pulled him close around the waist, breathed in the scent of his hair. And Jeremy allowed it, responding with soft grateful smiles and contented peaceful hums.

I'll miss this.

Kevin liked it. He drank it in, greedily, without hesitation, glutting himself on the warmth of every moment he was given in it. He wanted it, and he felt like he shouldn't because he knew what it was like to want something ephemeral, something that masqueraded as tangible. Kevin knew because, in the end, everything he wanted—everything he liked—was lost, one way or another, either by his own doing or by circumstance.

He knew it'd never be the same whenever he managed to come back. That the sorrowful, strange, beautiful magic of this place and the two of them would be different, that giving up the every day meant giving up so much more than he'd ever expected.

Those single-digit days were a blink in time too. Too fast, a clock that sped and raced and Kevin couldn't keep a hold of.

One blink and then Jeremy was coming home from his first session with Fortin early the next week, rubbed raw inside, eyes red-rimmed, and lips bitten to swollen. He curled into Kevin's lap just as before, and Kevin held him as before, over an hour passing before either moved. Despite how obviously hard it had been for him to endure, Jeremy set up his next appointment later that day, planning to go once per week for the foreseeable future, and Kevin hugged him for it with pride for his strength and bravery as he showered him with it until Jeremy smiled again.

One blink and there was French toast again, as soon as Kevin asked for it, even better tasting the second time. Another blink and there was Jackie babbling excitedly as Kevin raced his stroller down the road. Another blink and they were sitting in the sand at the beach on the sixteenth of June.

Jean's day, as they'd unconsciously started calling it. Kevin liked the phrasing of it, of a set solid term for spending time with Jean at the forefront of their minds, of a number on the calendar dedicated to appreciating the brother he still missed even as the missing took on new colors and weights over time.

They sat there with the waves lapping against them, the June sun high and hot above, the blue of the sky meeting the blue of the water on the distant horizon. Jackie giggled when the surf tickled his feet, his little head bobbing to look up at the pair of them as he sat between them as if to say, "Look, look." Kevin met Jackie's shimmering blue eyes, the color beyond any of the natural world around them, with a smile.

Gulls called above, people wandered distantly further away, more than before when they'd walked into the sea in that same spot to scatter Jean's ashes.

"I think it's fitting, you know?" Jeremy said, drawing Kevin's attention to him from the baby propped up between them. "That Jackie gets to feel the ocean for the first time in the place that Jean did back then. It's like it crosses time somehow."

Kevin nodded in agreement, turning back to the water ahead.

I don't know how you thought I'd be strong enough for this, Kevin thought out into the universe, to wherever Jean was now.

I would not have demanded a promise you were unable to keep, mon frère, Jean replied.

And Kevin closed his eyes, silently hoping that his brother was right.

__________

Another blink, and it was the next day. But Kevin couldn't shake the thought that he had less than seventy-two hours left in Los Angeles as he bustled around the house. He stopped to check-in on Jackie—happily rolling around on his play mat but still requiring such effort to move that Kevin didn't worry he'd get far—but otherwise Kevin couldn't remain still long enough for much.

The impending end had haunted him since waking, turning his training hours at the court into a frenzy, making him desperate to keep doing despite the exhaustion in his legs. He cleaned, he tidied, he straightened, keeping the dread just at-bay. The manic nature of it must've been obvious when Jeremy gently chided him to rest before leaving, but Kevin couldn't stop. He organized the pantry, he folded load after load of clothes, he dusted every shelf and piece of furniture. He felt himself running out of tasks to do when Jeremy returned hours later.

"What do you think?" Jeremy asked as he came around the corner to the kitchen, turning his head from side to side in display and his eyes bright.

"You look beautiful."

Honest, true. In every moment really but seeming even more so at the moment as Kevin stood there unmoving with soapy hands and a slightly slack jaw.

Jeremy ducked his head, cheeks turning pink, "I meant about the hair."

"I know," Kevin replied, a smile tugging at his lips.

He'd been absurdly pleased when Jeremy mentioned at breakfast that he was going to his mother's salon to have his hair done. Months of neglect had left Jeremy's hair in a state Kevin hadn't seen even during the off-season—the roots outgrown noticeably and the ends ragged. Even though Kevin still thought Jeremy was gorgeous regardless of it, he knew Jeremy would feel better with it cleaned up and he knew too Miranda would love the chance at more time with only the two of them. The bright look in Jeremy's eyes and the soft blush on his cheeks, his hair trimmed and golden, looking almost impossibly soft like a halo, all told Kevin he'd been right to think so.

"Thank you," Jeremy said quietly. He glanced around, taking in the house, "You've been busy."

Kevin shrugged a shoulder, turning back to the dishes in the sink before him, the soap suds creeping up his forearms as he scrubbed at the surfaces beneath the water.

"Just a few things," he replied, "I had a list."

"A list, huh?"

"Stuff I wanted to get done."

Before Sunday. Before I leave.

He didn't look over his shoulder to see Jeremy's expression, not wanting to know if it matched his own. He was surprised by the sound of Jeremy moving closer, almost startling at the loud plop of a kiss to the cup of his shoulder.

"Thanks," Jeremy said easily, tilting his head a little to the side to catch Kevin's gaze, "It's never looked better around here."

Kevin gave him a small smile, ducking his head to focus back on the dishes. It was safer, he felt, to focus on the task when his entire head felt hot.

Jeremy breezed by without speaking further and Kevin listened distantly, without anything in particular in mind, as Jeremy paused in the living room for a little while to talk to Jackie before continuing on to his bedroom.

Then, rushing footsteps, loud and thundering and enough to have Kevin freezing in place even before he saw him.

"Kev!" Jeremy shouted, a whirl of shimmering blond hair and wide, panicked eyes as he came to a sudden stop where he'd been peaceful only a minute ago when he returned home. "Did you do laundry? My laundry?"

"Yeah," Kevin replied, brow furrowed, trying to figure out what was happening even as he spoke, "The last load's in the dryer but the rest's folded in—"

"Why?!" Jeremy demanded, choking on the word, the volume of it ringing in Kevin's ears. It was so much to take in at once that Kevin felt himself reel, trying to find a foothold as he blinked, completely confused.

"Because you have no clean clothes," he explained, feeling as though the reason was obvious.

He'd noticed it while vacuuming Jeremy's room—the empty dresser, the bare hangers in the closet, the hamper piled high with clothes in the corner. It seemed as though Jeremy had worn everything he had rather than do any laundry and Kevin couldn't remember seeing him do so since it all started. It'd taken four loads to get through it all, even not counting the separate washing of Jackie's. The one in the dryer was the last.

"You—," Jeremy began, cutting himself off with a harsh breath, "You shouldn't have— For fuck's sake, Kevin!"

"What is this?" Kevin asked, Jeremy's panic and alarm bleeding into his own voice, "What's wrong?"

"Jean's clothes!" Jeremy cried, his face falling into a crumple, "That's, it— His clothes. All of them. They were in there. The, the last ones."

Oh.

Kevin's stomach twisted, a heavy weight settling in his gut as he understood the implication behind Jeremy's words. His panic fell away, replaced by regret.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

"They...," Jeremy said, trailing off, his eyes on the floor as he hung his head, "I don't know. I thought, I thought they still smelled like him but I might've been imagining it. Because I wanted them to."

Kevin moved toward him, drying his hands quickly before stepping away from the sink. He walked over and gathered Jeremy into his arms, Jeremy clinging desperately to the back of Kevin's shirt. He closed his eyes against the feel of Jeremy's tears soaking his neck as he cried softly. Kevin reached up, stroking through his hair with one hand, holding him tightly with the other.

"I'm so sorry, Rémie," he whispered, "I should've asked."

"It's okay," Jeremy murmured, sniffling as he regained himself. "Probably better that way. I don't think I could've done it myself but it— It had to be done."

Kevin nodded, silent in understanding.

"Can I ask you for a favor?" Jeremy asked.

"Of course."

"Will you... do you think you could wash the sheets too? I... They should be. Jean hated a dirty bed, stripped it every other week no matter what. I don't really want to but..."

"I'll do it today," Kevin assured him, "I already know where the spare sets are. Don't worry about it."

Jeremy's grip tightened against him—not anxiously, but as a quiet form of comfort.

"Thank you," he said fervently into Kevin's shoulder, "God, I don't know what I'm gonna do without you."

"Laundry, hopefully," Kevin said.

Jeremy snorted with the smallest chuckle following the sound and Kevin smiled against his hair. It was good, and it hurt. Like remembering itself.

I'll miss him. I'll miss him so much, it'll kill me.

They both remained still, but Kevin held him a little tighter, grasping at something that would slip through his fingers too soon.

__________

Kevin's feet felt like lead the next morning as they hit the carpeted floor of the guest room.

This time tomorrow, his first full thought.

This time tomorrow, he'd be readying to leave, calling a car to LAX and watching Jeremy and Jackie disappear into the rearview, the sage-green house fading behind thick trees.

He knew that on days like these, when getting through the hours felt pointless or too difficult to stomach, there was only one place that reminded him his blood was worth moving. He grabbed the first track shirt and exercise shorts he found before leaving the room.

There was always something special about seeing Jeremy in the kitchen, no matter how often it happened. Something that felt regained, rewon, and more precious for it.

Kevin paused in the hallway, watching Jeremy with his back turned, humming along to the soft music from the radio. He couldn't see what Jeremy was doing, his hands hidden, but it didn't matter. What mattered was being there to appreciate it, to soak in the image, the moment, with such depth of attention to commit it to memory.

I might never see it again, he thought, the weight of it settling over him, heavy and final.

Jeremy turned, a mixing bowl tucked under his arm and a bandana pushing his freshly shorn hair back from his forehead. His whisking stilled as he caught sight of Kevin standing there. He smiled.

"G'morning, Kev," he said brightly.

"Morning," Kevin replied, continuing to walk. He paused long enough to brush a hand over Jackie's hair, where he sat in his high chair at the edge of the room, his ring of keys buried deep in his mouth. He grinned around them, blue eyes sparkling, and let out a little sound of delight at the sight of Kevin. "Hey, little man."

Jackie took the keys from his mouth and banged them against the side of the chair with an excited war cry. Kevin looked up at the sound of Jeremy's chuckle.

"He's been in the best mood since getting up," Jeremy said, his hand moving quickly with the whisk.

"What're you making?" Kevin asked.

Jeremy grinned, "Thought I might tempt you into trying a new breakfast."

Kevin eyed the odd green color of whatever was in the bowl suspiciously.

"And that would be...?" Kevin said leadingly.

"I'm calling them savory spinach pancakes," Jeremy said excitedly, "Almond milk, egg whites, oat flour, some spices, that unflavored protein powder that I have no idea how you manage to drink plain." He wrinkled his nose at mentioning it, "And spinach, obviously. I was thinking I'd top it with avocado, tomato, and a poached egg. What do you think?"

Kevin blinked, truly without opinion. Miranda had insisted he'd get to the point where improvising in the kitchen was second nature, or that he'd be able to visualize a dish before he made it, but Kevin still relied on her well-tested recipes like sacred texts. But that hardly mattered with the cheerful sheen of excitement in Jeremy's brown eyes and the sunny brightness of his beautiful smile.

"I think that sounds great," Kevin said, returning Jeremy's smile with his own. "Want help?"

"Nope," Jeremy said, the 'p' popping loudly as he turned back to the stove. "You just sit down and relax. Coffee?"

"Sure," Kevin said, doing as Jeremy instructed by taking a seat on a bar stool.

He turned Jackie's high chair around so he could see him, and the baby laughed at the motion. He dropped the keys in favor of grabbing Kevin's nearby left hand, playfully spreading his fingers wide with a tug of his tiny fists. Kevin let him, hardly noticing. The concept of personal space and autonomy didn't apply to five-month-olds.

Jeremy smiled sweetly at the pair of them as he brought Kevin's steaming cup of coffee over, and Kevin smirked, amused by Jeremy's choosing the garishly pastel unicorn mug for it. He sipped contentedly, comfortable in the easy peace of the pair, as Jeremy began cooking the pancakes. The batter sizzled gently, and a whir of birdsong flitted in through the open window over the sink, followed by a soft breeze that fluttered the curtains around the frame.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.

"You planning to go to the court after this?" Jeremy asked sometime later, standing at the island as he applied the finishing touches to the plates.

Kevin blinked, unsure of how long he'd been watching him do so, and then realized his hand was somewhat slobbery. He scowled at Jackie as he gently removed his hand from him to wipe it on a nearby napkin and replace it with Jackie's attention back on his keys.

"Yeah," Kevin answered as he did so. "I still have to pack, though, so I won't be there long."

Jeremy nodded, his eyes on the plates as he asked, "You want company?"

Kevin stilled, caught off-guard by the question, and Jeremy picked up the plates, walking toward him. He set them down before Kevin, but Kevin didn't see the food at all. His eyes were trained only on Jeremy, whose gaze remained on the plates as he spoke again.

"I don't...," he began slowly. "I'm not gonna suit up, but I thought it sounded nice to bring Jackie and just... watch. Just, be there. While you're playing."

"Yeah," Kevin said quietly, feeling his heartbeat quicken. "Yeah, that'd be amazing. I'd love that."

Jeremy seemed to sag a little in relief at Kevin's words, the motion confusing to Kevin, but he still smiled when he looked up to meet Kevin's eyes.

"You gotta tell me what you think of the pancakes first," he said, gentle but warm. "No training on an empty stomach, captain."

Kevin smirked, amused by the tease, and picked up his fork. The texture of the pancakes surprised him first—soft, almost custardy in the middle, but with just enough bite on the edges to hold up under the toppings. The spinach wasn't overwhelming, more of a background note, and the whole thing tasted clean but still rich, especially with the yolk from the poached egg soaking in. The avocado gave it a smooth, buttery balance, while the tomatoes cut through with just the right amount of acid. He didn't taste the protein powder at all, which meant Jeremy had gotten the ratio exactly right. Kevin felt a little silly for analyzing it but Miranda insisted on paying attention to taste, especially when it was a taste that mattered.

It was oddly satisfying—not just good for him, but actually good. Like the French toast Jeremy had concocted with him in mind too. The thoughtfulness of it made the first few bites hard to swallow, but he still met Jeremy's curious eyes with a smile.

"It's fantastic," Kevin said.

"Two for two," Jeremy said with a wide grin, clearly proud of himself. Kevin considered, even if he had to lie, that reaction was worth it.

Jeremy began eating his own then, standing on the other side of the bar and looking between Kevin and Jackie every so often as they ate companionably with only Jackie's babbles to fill the space between them. Kevin forced himself to eat at a patient pace (It was surprisingly hard to remember to do that when Jeremy cooked, but especially with these breakfasts.) until finished, handling the loading of the dishwasher as Jeremy gathered Jackie's things for them to leave. They moved in sync without a word, naturally trading tasks with ease. There was a rhythm to it, a quiet dance, a seamless teamwork.

Getting the three of them on the road in the SUV took barely any thought at all, Kevin behind the wheel and no longer needing the GPS to navigate, Jeremy chattering happily with other ideas he had for future breakfasts, Jackie kicking his feet against the rear seat in an off-sync beat. When they parked behind the Trojans' stadium, there was no hesitation on Jeremy's part, no staring out the windshield or sitting frozen before he got out easily and walked to the back to pull out the stroller while Kevin retrieved Jackie and his bag.

"God," Jeremy said as they walked toward the entrance with a casual stroll, his eyes focused ahead on the stadium. "I was so scared when I came here for the first time."

"Why?" Kevin asked, scoffing. "They were lucky to get you. Who else had back-to-back state championships, and from that shitty of a school?"

"Don't talk about my alma mater that way," Jeremy teased. "Wombats are for life."

Kevin rolled his eyes fondly, whispering jokingly, "Wombats."

Jeremy bumped into his shoulder playfully, laughing. "But really! USC's such a good school, better than I could've gotten into with my grades. The campus is so pretty, and Coach was nice. It was like a dream to get into somewhere like here, somebody like me growing up in the old neighborhood. I couldn't believe it. I thought the Trojans had to be the kicker, you know? That had to be the hard part, I figured. It couldn't all be amazing."

Kevin smiled softly to himself, appreciating the light wistfulness, the easy happiness of the memories. It didn't matter that it didn't last, that the grief would kick them in the teeth again eventually. What mattered is that sometimes, now, Jeremy had moments like these.

"But they were even better," Jeremy continued. "I was absolutely petrified when I walked in and felt like I'd made twenty new friends by the time I left, after just one practice. A whole batch of big sisters and brothers, the other rookies just as great. It's the day I met Pat and Xavier for the first time too and that obviously went well."

"I'd say so," Kevin said easily, holding the door open for him.

"I won't ask about your first day with the Ravens because fuck those guys," Jeremy said breezily, making Kevin chuckle as he passed by with the stroller. "But what about the Foxes?"

Kevin grimaced. "I showed up with a busted hand, from a team they hated, and I couldn't play. There's a reason PSU has the reputation it has." He shrugged one shoulder. "Wasn't exactly a warm welcome but I didn't expect one."

"Oh, those tough little Foxes," Jeremy said fondly.

Kevin snorted. "You make it sound like they're puppies."

"Aren't they?" Jeremy said, eyes glittering in the dim light of the tunnel. "I mean, there's you. Dan and Matt were always really sweet any time I ran into them, and Renee's an actual angel on earth." He considered. "Never really talked to Allison, I guess, but her fashion brand now? Holy crap, her stuff's gorgeous."

"And the Josten-Minyards?" Kevin prompted, curious.

"Awww, they're so tiny and cute, aren't they?" Jeremy said. "I always liked them, even if Jean thought I was crazy for it, considering what they got into back then and stuff. But they're just so... pocket-sized. Squishable."

"Are we talking about the same people?" Kevin said. "Andrew and Neil are about as squishable as a chainsaw."

Jeremy laughed brightly, and the sound seemed to echo as the empty court opened before them, the lights still on from earlier practices by the college team.

"Maybe," Jeremy said. "But you sound squishable when you say the word like that."

He pulled the stroller up to the end of the stadium's seating, behind the box on the sidelines where the players waited when off the court. He walked around it, cooing to the baby. "Look at all this, huh? So big. You could make really loud sounds in here."

Kevin smiled fondly, both at the sweet cheerfulness of Jeremy's voice and that—for once—the three of them were there together in a place he hadn't dared hope for. It had been such an impossible hope, Kevin hadn't even considered it.

"I'm gonna go change."

"We'll be here," Jeremy said, still focused on Jackie. The sweet music of his voice followed Kevin as he returned to the tunnel to change out.

__________

Kevin knew it would likely be the most worthless training session of his life—and he was right. But it was impossible to truly focus when his attention kept wandering back to them. Even if Jeremy didn't want to play, or even step onto the hardwood itself, there was something special about watching him walk around the stadium within sight of the court. Kevin caught glimpses of them in various moments: Jeremy talking silently as he pointed things out to the baby, jogging him gently up and down the seating stairs, sitting in the stands, holding Jackie's hands to wave down to Kevin from above. Kevin made sure he always waved back.

During one of his breaks, he jogged over to the sidelines to find Jackie's carrier propped up on the player's bench, the baby completely asleep nestled into it, with Jeremy sitting beside him, rocking the seat carefully with one hand. He leaned over when Kevin approached and tossed him one of the water bottles from inside the diaper bag. Kevin couldn't remember when Jeremy started sending him to the stadium with fruit-flavored waters—the taste always faint and refreshing—but he appreciated it as he downed half without noticing.

"I can't believe he can sleep through you doing drills. It's crazy," Jeremy said. "He doesn't even flinch at a wall hit when he's awake."

"Natural predisposition," Kevin replied, taking another long swig of water. He caught Jeremy's raised eyebrow as he did and added, "His fathers are two of the best to ever play the game. Of course he'd like exy."

"And his godfather," Jeremy replied more softly, his smile gentle, "will be the best the game ever sees. Already is."

Kevin scoffed, hoping the sound masked how the words affected him, his feet feeling slightly above solid ground. He downed the rest of the water too quickly, but it was worth it for the chance to run back out onto the court and burn off the excess energy left in the wake of Jeremy's overly dramatic words.

By the time another hour passed, Kevin decided to call it quits, finding a final burst of energy at the thought of joining them. He grinned at the sight of Jeremy holding Jackie up to the plexiglass to watch, his eyes impossibly wide, mouth in a small 'o' and tiny palms flat against the clear plastic. Kevin laughed as he ran up on the opposite side, laying his hand against Jackie's, and the baby laughed too as he patted against it.

"He loves watching the slide drill," Jeremy said, smiling. "I have no idea why it's so fascinating, but he pretty much yelled at me when I tried to walk away."

"He knows good work when he sees it," Kevin said, tapping his finger once where Jackie's hand lay. "I'm done for the day."

"Great. Let's get you home then."

Kevin nodded in agreement, walking beside them but on the other side of the plexiglass until he came to the door to step through. He paused though when Jackie reached out, setting his racquet aside to take him in his gloved hands. Jackie's attention immediately went for Kevin's face mask, wrapping his small hands around it and pulling hard (which wasn't hard at all, considering his age).

"Honey-bear," Jeremy cooed. "Gentle."

Kevin snorted. "Gentle is the last thing they made this shit for."

"Still, it's good for him to learn the word in case we need him to know it sometime."

"Learning his name is probably a better first word."

Jeremy rolled his eyes playfully as he reached for Kevin's chin strap then, undoing it expertly and carefully removing it without brushing the baby with it. Jackie grumbled unhappily at Jeremy gently prying his little grip free of it, and Kevin bounced him to distract him until Jeremy could set it aside. Kevin continued to bounce Jackie but watched Jeremy for a moment, the tips of his fingers lingering on the helmet.

"Rémie?" he prompted softly. "Everything okay?"

Jeremy nodded slowly. "Yeah. It's just..." He took a small breath. "I never thanked you for the gear you got me. It was really sweet of you to do, to put that kind of thought into making stuff easier for me." He glanced over at him. "You're always doing that. So, thanks, weeks late."

Kevin smiled gently. "You're welcome."

"I will wear it one day, you know."

Kevin waited, sensing the way the thought led to another as Jeremy's gaze drifted out to the empty court.

"Don't know when, but someday, I guess. When... when it feels like me again."

It was enough.
It was more than enough.

"I'll be here when you do," Kevin said, and Jeremy turned to look at him.

"I know you will." His eyes fell to Jackie in Kevin's arms, then he nodded toward the court. "You should take him out there for the first time."

Kevin blinked. "He's been out there, during the service."

"It's not the same, you know that," Jeremy said softly. "Go on. I wanna watch."

Kevin swallowed thickly, his heartbeat sounding oddly loud and hard in his ears, but Jeremy only nodded once to him in encouragement before Kevin turned toward the still-open door.

That first step onto the court was unlike any he'd taken before. He felt it somehow—a tingling reverberation of different that rose up from the hardwood, through the soles of his shoes, along his bones to settle somewhere in his chest.

He looked aside, holding Jackie in both hands, to find the baby's attention awestruck by the space around him, his rosy lips slack and his head wobbling as he tried to turn it a little too quickly. Kevin wasn't entirely sure how much Jackie could see with those still-developing eyes, but it didn't really matter, not with the wonder Kevin saw there.

"This is a court," Kevin said softly to him, walking with slow, measured steps. "It's where we play exy. Me, your daddy, and your Papa. We all played right here on this court. Them a lot more than me." He smiled, glancing up at the rafters to the two larger-than-life jerseys beside a championship banner. "They're legends here, you know? Their numbers are right there: eleven and twenty-nine. USC always puts the starting line-up of their championship teams up, so nobody forgets."

Kevin reached the center of it and paused atop the Trojan helm, cardinal red and bright yellow gold. He tilted Jackie slightly to see it, careful of his head jostling too harshly. "The Trojans, like from ancient Troy. They have more Day Spirit Awards than any other school in the country, and Jeremy was captain here for four years. The best they ever had. That's why he's remembered here as so much, more than just for winning."

He looked to Jackie, taking in the baby's focus on the floor, and his voice softened further to confessional. "You remember that when you grow up, okay? If you ever want something like this, do it like your dads. Not like me. You won't be as happy that way, alright? I want you to be stupidly happy, all the time."

Jackie's head bobbled a little, turning just enough to lock eyes with Kevin, and Kevin smiled in response.

"I know you get it, little man," he said. "You're too fucking smart for a baby. Seriously."

He chuckled to himself, straightening them up so he could point out the goals for Jackie and the lines along the court to indicate foul shots and goalie boxes. At some point, as he shifted to indicate the opponents' sideline, Kevin caught a shimmer of light catching on gold and paused to see Jeremy smiling at the lit screen of his phone, the device held up in both hands just low enough to see his delighted expression in the blue light. His smile widened into a grin, and he didn't look away from the screen as he raised one hand in a wave at the pair of them.

"Say hi, guys!" he called.

Kevin huffed, fighting the smile that pulled at his mouth in response.

"C'mon," he muttered to Jackie. "Let's give him what he wants."

Kevin took Jackie's small hand in his, waving them both at Jeremy. He broke out in a bright laugh, looking up from the screen to them.

"Just a little smile?" Jeremy prompted. "It's like Texas with you all over again. Even Jackie's not smiling."

Kevin glanced aside, his smile breaking free at the sight of how Jackie was still too enraptured by his surroundings to pay any mind to a phone (which Jackie was usually more than pleased to grin at in a bid for attention), and he chuckled.

"He has better things to do than pose for you right now," Kevin replied.

Jeremy responded with a chuckle of his own, pocketing his phone and waving his hand at them in summons. "C'mon, you two. You need lunch after all that, and he's gonna want a bottle any minute."

Kevin nodded, jogging gently to the sidelines as Jackie laughed at being jostled, and he looked to Jeremy as he stepped through.

"Show me the pictures later?" he asked.

"Definitely," Jeremy said. "I took a video there at the end too. You guys are absolutely adorable out there, all big eyes and excited smiles." His expression softened. "It feels good."

And, despite the count in his mind now below twenty-four hours, Kevin nodded again.

"It does," he agreed.

__________

Kevin gritted his teeth as he surveyed the swamped guest bed and tried to reassess his process. He'd put off packing as long as possible, choosing instead to spend the afternoon in the backyard with them after Jeremy's too-large lunch, followed by cooking dinner by Jeremy's side. But Jeremy waved off his help with the dishes, playfully insisting he needed to get started if he wanted to help with Jackie's bedtime and still get some sleep. Kevin trudged to the guest bedroom with feet even heavier than that morning.

His first attempt to fit everything into his suitcase had failed entirely. It had already been relatively full when he arrived in April, but he'd gathered odds and ends since then, including his gear with its own two bags and his suit on its hanger. There was no way to make it work, and he was reluctant to ask Jeremy for a bag (or three), both because of the thought of doing so and the idea of stumbling through O'Hare with so much luggage.

"Just leave it."

Kevin turned, finding Jeremy with his arms crossed casually where he leaned against the doorframe of the room, smiling faintly as he eyed the bed, then the bag near Kevin's feet.

"It's obviously not gonna fit in that," Jeremy added, "You're gonna leave the gear, right?"

Kevin blinked. He'd mentioned doing so the day Jeremy first saw it, but neither had confirmed it. Still, he nodded.

Jeremy shrugged one shoulder. "So just leave the rest of it, or as much as you want. You're coming back, and it's your room. No sense in wasting your time stressing out."

"It's the guest room," Kevin said, the words sounding dumb to his own ears, as did the tone of his voice.

Jeremy's smile softened sweetly. "I don't think you count as a guest if you've lived here over two months."

Kevin looked at him for a long moment, then turned back to the stacks of clothes on the bed. He picked up one of them, comprised of training shirts, and walked slowly to the dresser before pulling out the top right drawer. He sat the stack inside, glancing at Jeremy as if checking to see if he changed his mind, but Jeremy only smiled as if in encouragement. Kevin closed the drawer.

"Kitchen's clean, so I was gonna start his bath water," Jeremy said. "Wanna join us when you're done?"

Kevin nodded. "I'll be there in a minute."

"Okay."

Jeremy's small, sweet smile stayed as he nodded, ducking his head slightly before leaving the doorway. Kevin stared at the spot he left occupied for a moment, then turned his attention back to the bed.

It was easier to put everything back in its place than to pack. In fact, by the time he was done only minutes later, all he had was a small carry-on for what couldn't be left behind and a light backpack for his laptop and papers. It was satisfying somehow, as he surveyed the room afterward, to see the pieces of himself there that would remain after tomorrow, waiting for some unknown far-future date for his return.

He found Jeremy undressing Jackie for his bath in the nursery and butted him aside playfully with his hip to take over. Kevin had felt silly admitting it at dinner, but he did want to. He wanted the whole bedtime routine with Jackie, just one more time, especially since he'd relinquished his usual night of staying up with the baby at Jeremy's gentle insistence that he needed rest before his flight.

Kevin relished every detail of it—the way Jackie giggled at getting his hair scrubbed and squirmed at the body wash, his eyes hidden by the ridiculous duck-themed hood of his bath towel and his gummy grin showing, the lotions and the footie pajamas, and the reading of cardboard books in the rocking chair with Jackie growing heavier by the moment against his chest. Goodnight Moon, over and over again until he fell asleep and Kevin maneuvered his limp body into the sleep sack for bed, since swaddling had been abandoned now that he could roll over.

Jeremy stayed nearby for the entire process, silently sitting on the vanity during the bath and then on the floor of the nursery for the rest, his brown eyes seeming both softer and brighter than ever as he took the sight of them in. There was a peace to him, even as he sat on the carpet only feet from where Jean had fallen. It was some kind of silent agreement between them both to not avoid the spot, to not let that one final, terrible moment taint the space Jean had made holy with love for his son.

Kevin stood beside the crib, leaning carefully against the varnished wood with one hand on the railing as he reached in. He ran a fingertip along Jackie's cheek, over the shell of his ear, through his dark hair that seemed thicker by the day.

He'd already grown so much since Kevin arrived in April—and would grow even more while Kevin was gone.

What would he miss? How much would Kevin miss, in every sense of the word, that he could never get back?

Jeremy came up beside him, after how long Kevin couldn't say, and laid his head against Kevin's shoulder as they both looked down on the sleeping child in silence. Then, eventually, he reached out to take Kevin's hand from Jackie and held it in his own to silently coax him out of the nursery, closing it gently behind them and leading Kevin on to the living room. He dropped Kevin's hand as they reached it, giving him a small smile over his shoulder.

For the first time that day, Kevin thought he saw the shadow of true sadness on him.

"Wanna sit outside tonight?"

Kevin nodded. June had started with the terror of a historic storm but had lulled out to its usual ever-warm brightness since, as if days of cloud-free skies and nights of lazy breezes were an apology for the destruction.

Jeremy nodded too, wandering off to the kitchen, and Kevin passed him by to open the sliding door while snagging the nearby portable baby monitor on instinct. He stepped out into the night, the dim light of the small lamp by Jean's reading chair (the one they never turned off) the only one and disappearing soon as Kevin crossed the wooden patio.

He flipped the monitor on low and sat it on the nearby side table as he took a seat in the daybed lounger. He'd thought the thing ridiculous when he first saw it, a slanted rattan monstrosity with its array of overstuffed pillows and a cloth hood that pulled up to block out the sun. Now though, after being outside with Jackie so often, it was Kevin's favorite seat, its padded surface more than large enough to curl up in with space for Jackie to spread out his toys too with the hood pulled up to keep the sun off him.

He lay back in it, stretching his long legs and resting his hands behind his head. The stars weren't visible through the ambient light of the nearby metropolis, but his imagination placed them there, the wind rustling the hills off to his side.

After months in Los Angeles, rather than a couple short weeks, he understood why Jean had fallen in love with it. LA was an entirely different place than any Kevin had known, even when the sun turned too blinding and the traffic made his pulse race uncomfortably. The nearness of the ocean felt different than when he was on the Atlantic coast. Kevin liked knowing it was the water Jean had loved most and had been put to rest in. Somehow, despite the greater distance, the Pacific in southern California felt more connected to the waves crashing against the cliffs of his own childhood home—the place that was more fantasy than reality now.

It was another life—the green hills of County Clare. And another life being owned by the Moriyamas. Another life shared with Jean too, spent in freedom as brothers. And now, there was this one. How many lives would he live in the end, Kevin mused, gazing up at unseen stars but knowing they were there.

The sliding door opened and Kevin rolled his head aside to watch Jeremy walk through it with two stemless tumblers of white wine. He raised an eyebrow at him.

"I have a flight tomorrow," he drawled.

"And I hate drinking alone," Jeremy replied, "One glass won't kill you and you did say you liked it last night."

Which was true. The dry Riesling had paired perfectly with the herb-crusted lemon cod Jeremy had baked for dinner after Kevin's cleaning spree, crisp without lingering and a short citrus-floral sweetness to finish. Kevin accepted the glass from Jeremy's outstretched hand, the wine's chill condensing through it, and took a sip as Jeremy settled onto the lounger beside him. It wasn't even a question as Kevin stretched his arm out, nor was it a surprise as Jeremy laid within it to tuck into his side. They laid there slightly reclined together, peaceful quiet with eyes on the heavens, sipping the wine until emptied glasses were set aside.

Kevin never wanted it to end, even if what he wanted had never mattered before.

Countless minutes of silence passed, the lack of artificial light and city sound giving the air a faraway quality, a haven-like pocket of space away from the world. A small but temporary sanctuary made of two.

"I can't thank you enough for all of this, Kev," Jeremy said quietly, a whisper but seeming loud after such a long period of silence. His head rested in that spot where he fit so naturally, the meeting place of neck and shoulder and chest, close enough for his hair to tickle Kevin's chin lightly when the wind shifted.

Kevin ran his thumb along Jeremy's arm, recognizing the moment for what it was.

The beginning of a goodbye.

"You don't have to," Kevin replied. "But if you insist on it, I'll thank you too. Just as much."

"He knew we couldn't do this alone," Jeremy said.

"Yeah," Kevin said, swallowing hard at it.

Do not let the struggle tear you apart. You are my family, and each other's.

"That we needed each other specifically. Nobody could do what you've done, Kev, for Jackie and for me."

"Same, Rémie," Kevin said, instinctively gathering him closer. He laid his head aside, resting his cheek against Jeremy's hair, and Jeremy scooted in too.

It felt like the world was beating against some door, wanting to encroach, wanting to split and sunder something precious. Kevin didn't know how to stop it. He knew he couldn't stop it.

Still, he wrapped his other arm around Jeremy too as if he could. Jeremy's small hum at it, the comforted contentedness in the sound, made Kevin ache as Jeremy laid his hand on Kevin's chest. He thrived so much on touch, soaked it in and fed off of it no different than sunshine or laughter, and Kevin wondered how Jeremy would cope without it. He'd receive hugs from his parents when he saw them but, without his sisters, his friends and teammates, would it be enough? Without Jean, could it ever be?

Kevin hated to think he would add to the list of things Jeremy missed when he left tomorrow, even if this—these simple moments of warmth Kevin gave—was so much lesser than Jean's that Jeremy already missed so painfully.

Later, it was Jeremy's voice that broke the quiet again and, this time, it was the words as much as the tone that startled Kevin into his breath catching.

"Promise me you aren't gonna ghost us," Jeremy whispered.

Kevin shifted back slightly, shocked by it enough for a small, choked gasp to break in his throat, and Jeremy looked up at him from against his shoulder. The resignation in his brown eyes spoke volumes.

"What?" Kevin said, horrified by every part of it, the question breaking free before he could think of any way to respond. He scrambled to add, "I'm not. Of course not. How— how can you even think that?"

"It's just— If I lose you too?" Jeremy said. "It'll kill me. I'm, I'm not strong enough to deal with it, being surprised like that again. By loss..." His lip wobbled, just once. "I just, I can't. It's already so impossible sometimes. I can't handle more."

"Oh, Rémie...," Kevin began, unsure of what else to say. What else could he? He'd already promised to return as soon as he could, but there was nothing else to do.

"I mean it, Kev," Jeremy said, a solid breath steadying him. "I'd get it, really. God knows I wouldn't judge you for it, and you'd still mean so much to us, but it's... I know it's been a lot. I'm a lot. Jackie's a baby. And, and losing Jean's done something really brutal and permanent to both of us."

The words were both gentle and firm, and it hurt to think Jeremy hadn't just considered it a possibility—he'd accepted that it very well might happen. That Kevin would return to Chicago and somehow just not...what? Not call, not visit, not care? Not keep his promises? Not want to see Jackie? Not think about him, not miss him, not go insane doing both?

Kevin couldn't (wouldn't) understand it.

"I know we made our promises to Jean," Jeremy continued, the words seeming to come faster little by little. "But you've more than held up your end of the deal already. You've got your whole life out there. A big life. I don't, I don't want you to make it harder on yourself. Stretching you too thin, I guess, trying to deal with us out here on top of everything else you've got going on. I don't— Exy's so much. It asks for so much, especially from you, and what if, what if you resent us for it? For getting in the way?"

It just seemed to get worse as Jeremy continued to talk, twisting something primal within Kevin, something that wasn't physical but still brought on pain sharper than any knife could cut.

"And maybe it'll be easier to just...not, I guess. Maybe, when you're gone, that'll make sense. Be better for you." Jeremy searched his face, his eyes as wide as the sky above and deeper than the darkness there too. "So, so I'd get it, if that happened, but I need you to tell me. If I know, I can be prepared. I can't— Getting my hopes up is... You've done more than enough. More than anybody would've asked of you, even Jean. You held up your end. I just, I don't want you to hold onto it so long that you— That you don't want—"

He was wrong. For once in his life, Jeremy Knox was so much more wrong than he could possibly know because Kevin knew his brother.

He remembered every word Jean had said in that hospital bed to both of them, all sixty-seven hours of it. He could repeat them verbatim still, in a trait that had annoyed Jean to no end when they were children. That's how Kevin knew that Jeremy couldn't possibly have heard the same thing Kevin did from Jean back then.

Jean's words, the ones specifically for him? There was no breathing room in them. They were steel, and they were lasting. Jean didn't waste words. He'd been a quiet man by nature, doubled so by the way he'd learned his second language. Jean made what he said count, and Kevin knew the weight of every single one.

The vow Jean had asked of Kevin was absolute. It had no expiration date, no mileage limit. And Kevin had known that too in the moment, even if the why still escaped him no matter how he twisted and turned the words over in his mind, even in those darkest moments when he questioned every syllable because Jean couldn't possibly have meant to ask Kevin for something so much bigger than he could handle or deliver on.

He couldn't possibly have believed Kevin was that man, the one trustworthy enough to carry that promise for life.

But, even if Jean had doubts, he'd asked Kevin to swear to it anyway. To all of it.

And Kevin hadn't hesitated.

Of every single thing that had happened in the months since Jean's death, those words? They were the most solid, stable, secure thing Kevin had within his mind. A life raft when everything else inside of him—his fear, his doubt, his self-loathing, his frustration, his horror, his despair—sought to strip him to the bone within the seas of his vicious thoughts.

Jean had believed in him. Him, who'd done so much wrong. Him, of all men.

Kevin would cling to that faith until his dying breath, but especially when he didn't believe in himself. That was how Kevin knew Jeremy was wrong. And, for every reason he'd promised Jean and for every reason for himself, Kevin didn't hesitate to tell Jeremy that now.

"No," Kevin said simply, cutting Jeremy's rambling off.

Jeremy paused, blinked owlishly in confusion as his brow wrinkled.

"No?" he asked.

"You're wrong, Rémie," Kevin said. "I haven't even scratched the surface of what I promised Jean. Just because I don't know the shape of it, what it's going to look like over the next few months or whatever, that doesn't mean shit. All it means is I've got to figure it out. It doesn't mean anything's over. We're not done. I'm not done." He shook his head, as if to emphasize it. "There was no deadline to it, not for Jean or me. There's no quitting, not when it comes to you."

It was a broken dam, an overwash, a wave too big for the shore it barreled toward.

"I've backed down my whole life. I've lied, hid, made excuses. I've weaseled my way out of shit. Let other people fight my battles. I've run away. I've broken more promises than I can count, more than I've kept, but this?"

Kevin reached up, his left hand cupping Jeremy's cheek, fingers brushing into his hair—tan and gold and scarred and smooth and fitting. Kevin basked in the look Jeremy's eyes held, in whatever it was in them that filled him to overflowing, to bursting, because he meant what he said to him, more than anything ever before, and he needed Jeremy to know it. To feel it as confidently and truly as he did himself.

"This?" Kevin repeated. "You? There's no 'enough' to it. There's no stopping this for me. Not that promise. Not when I want to keep it not just for Jean, but for you and for me too. I promised you too, Rémie, what I said in that room and more. I'll be damned if you don't see that."

His heart hammered past a gallop, wild and loud and— And more full of life than it ever had been before.
The winning of championships, awards, titles, and gold medals—none of them could touch this moment.

"You can get your hopes up. Get them as high as you want," he continued, heedless, reckless. "Because I'll meet them. I'll surpass every single one of them. I'll do all of it, no matter what it takes, so don't you be scared or worried for even a second, okay? Even when I'm in Chicago, me?" He paused, needing a breath. "Me? The real me, Kev? That's here. That's yours. I'm never gonna want anything like what's here. You and Jackie and this place? It's... That's—"

"Kevin."

It wasn't The Kevin Day, how Jeremy said it.
It wasn't regular Kevin, the Kevin who'd come there in April.
It wasn't Kev either.

It was a way that his name had never been said before.

One word. Just his name.
A world changed, stopped, halted.
A second life began in full.

And nothing, in that world or beyond it, could've stopped Kevin in the aftermath.

Nothing could've stopped Kevin then as he drank in Jeremy's universal eyes, vast enough to make a night sky or an ocean's depth seem trivial in comparison. Not as his gaze flickered to Jeremy's lips, softly parted with silent, hopeful wonder and something much more unnameable. Not with the warmth of Jeremy's skin against his, nor the burnished silk of his hair slipping between Kevin's fingers, tethering him to the moment. Not with the life that poured from him and glowed so brightly it banished all darkness, real or imagined, from every corner of Kevin's soul.

It was a small action, at first.

It was only Kevin leaning in to kiss Jeremy's forehead, and only Jeremy tilting his face down slightly to bring the touch closer. Then, it was Kevin's lips traveling softly along his temple before kissing his cheek, then whispering across his nose to kiss the opposite one as well. Kevin felt the flutter of Jeremy's eyelashes against his skin, the gentle exhalation of his shaking breath, and Kevin kissed the delicate skin of his closed eyelids too. Because he was there, and he could—because he couldn't stop and didn't want to.

Kevin breathed Jeremy in.
He left his mouth just there, just there where their breath met and mingled in their shared small space separated from the world.

Kevin wanted Jeremy close, wanted him happy.
He wanted him safe and adored and at peace.

He wanted him loved.
Kevin. wanted. him.

Nothing else mattered.

But this did.

It was the nudge of Jeremy's nose against his own, the softest touch of Kevin's life, a single brush, then another. A whisper, trembling and pleading, the air of it physical against Kevin's mouth.

"Kev."

He leaned in as Jeremy closed the distance too.

They kissed.

And, because it was Jeremy, of course it would be unlike any before him.

The gentle press of Jeremy's mouth against his own was warmth that redefined the word. The caress of it spread from there, seeping through Kevin's every nerve like sun-soaked honey even as it lovingly stole the breath from his lungs. Jeremy's lips were so soft, lush and plump and just slightly sweetened by the wine.

The kiss lingered, pure and chaste in a way Kevin was sure nothing in his life had ever been before. They parted but not far, with a pair of tender, tremulous sighs between them.

Kevin opened his eyes, his mind wholly blank, and watched as Jeremy did the same.

How was it that one man could possess the universe itself in his eyes?

It was a minute, that look.
A year.
A lifetime.
An eternity.

Then, it was a crash.

It was so sudden, so simultaneous, it was impossible to say what came first. Was it Kevin's shifting hand from Jeremy's cheek to cuff the back of his head, or was it Jeremy rushing toward him as he gripped Kevin's shirt in his fist?

It hardly mattered, not when it came to that next kiss.

The kiss that was a forest fire—untamed and unstoppable—raged ahead without regard for the obstacles in its way. Jeremy's lips parted for him at the same time Kevin's tongue traced them, drinking in the flame of him for the first time and feeling it scorch his blood to boiling. Kevin groaned at the taste, at the heat, at the motion of Jeremy moving closer until he straddled his lap.

Kevin wrapped an arm tight around Jeremy's waist, pulling him as close as possible, while Jeremy dug his hands into Kevin's shoulders, refusing to leave an inch between them. Jeremy's muscle-bound thighs, thick and strong against Kevin's hips. The weight of him divine and pressing Kevin deeper into the cushions.

It was a drumbeat louder than Kevin's heart, and lasting longer too:
Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy. Rémie.

Christ, he was everything.
But hadn't he always been?

They broke apart for a second, just long enough to gulp air, and the needy sound Jeremy made at the loss of Kevin's mouth sent Kevin's head spinning. Another dive, another breath stolen in an endless kiss, starved, rabid, ferocious. Not enough.

More, more, more, oh please God, more.

The rhythm picked up, jolting forward. Jeremy's hand against the side of Kevin's neck, against his racing pulse, tilting his head back slightly to deepen the angle of their hungry kiss. Kevin twisted his hand in Jeremy's hair, long strands going taut between his fingers, pulling a moan from Jeremy's mouth—delicious, like the taste of him. His other hand, snaking from around Jeremy's waist to slip beneath his shirt. To lay a flat palm just there—the small of his back, against Jeremy's burning skin in the place that seemed perfectly suited for Kevin's touch every time they were connected.

Jeremy leaned impossibly closer, bowing into the touch, shifting in Kevin's lap. A spiked electric zing shot up Kevin's spine at the motion, at how the hardness he hadn't registered brushed the same between Jeremy's legs. The realization, instinctively carnal as it was, shocked a gasped moan from Kevin's mouth. The kiss turned desperate—wet, parched, starved, overfilled—tongue, teeth, and panted breaths. Jeremy moved again, as if trying to burrow into Kevin's skin itself in his desire to be ever closer, moaning at another brush of their hips together.

It was all body. All release, all temptation, all surrender. A glutting, wild and reckless— speeding ever faster.

Kevin's hand slid from the small of Jeremy's back, cupping his ass with a hungry squeeze, purposeful and wanton. Jeremy gasped sharply, the sound dropping into a long moan as he broke their kiss and his head fell back. Kevin didn't wait—couldn't wait—for Jeremy's mouth to return to him. He sat up further, chasing in a forward lean to bring his lips to Jeremy's neck. That elegant expanse of gloriously golden skin, its scattered sun-kisses met with ones of Kevin's own. He cupped the back of Jeremy's head by the hair, as Jeremy gulped for air with his face toward the sky.

He filled the night with low whimpers, with soft pants and wordless pleas, continuing to hold Kevin tightly as he rolled his hips for the first time with true intent. Kevin groaned approvingly, licking up the full length of his throat before there, there there there. That one so soft, so precious spot, just beneath Jeremy's ear where his hair curled when damp. Kevin nipped at the delicate skin, delighted by Jeremy's sweet moan as he kissed there too, before working his way down the column of him with wet, open-mouthed kisses.

Jeremy was fire incarnate. Flame. Solar flare. He burned Kevin alive with every taste of him, seared Kevin from the inside out with every touch of him. The desire blazing between them was unquenchable, only seeming to demand more of them by the moment.

Kevin reached the crook of Jeremy's neck with his mouth, faltering with a groan as Jeremy's weight settled heavier with a hard roll in his lap, and Jeremy's hand flew to Kevin's hair when he reached that particular spot. The force of his grip pinned Kevin there, and Kevin dropped his own in favor of sinking his fingers into Jeremy's hips, touch splayed beneath his shirt.

"Voilà," Jeremy said, sounding as drunk as Kevin felt on him, "Oh mon Dieu, bébé. Voilà. Oui."

Kevin obeyed with relish, lavishing it wetly with his mouth and nipping hungrily with his teeth before sucking it fiercely. Jeremy cried out wordlessly, the sound hitching with pleasure, and Kevin laved it flatly with his tongue, a loving caress of a kiss afterward to soothe the sting. He pressed against Jeremy's strong hold on the back of his head, tilting his face up, eyes closed and seeking Jeremy again for another kiss. Kevin moaned as Jeremy found him there, the taste long and luxurious, the taste holy in and of itself.

Another slight part for air, another lean in together, Jeremy's lips brushing against his own before—

"Oh, Jean..."

Kevin froze.
Jeremy froze.

The world didn't.

The world restarted with the crash of discordant cymbals, the clang of teeth within a punched jaw, the splintering of bones beneath a heavy racquet's swing.

Kevin's hold fell away from him in the same second Jeremy scrambled back from him, nearly falling onto the patio as he tumbled from the lounger, barely finding his feet. Kevin sat there, hands planted flat and feeling too weak to hold him up, unable to blink as his eyes remained locked on Jeremy.

And Jeremy stared back at him in wide-eyed horror. His chest heaved, his face was flushed, lips swollen and hair in disarray. The corner of his shirt was ridden up to show a stripe of his stomach.

There was a bruise, there where his neck met his shoulder. Blood red. Damning.

Jeremy's hand flew up to cover his mouth.
His wedding band caught the light of the moon above them.

"Rémie."

It was all Kevin could scrape out, the single word rasped and hoarse and breathless in the worst way.

Jeremy's single-note gasped sob from behind his hand was so much worse.

"I'm sorry," Kevin continued, the syllables tripping over themselves, every letter a begging plea, "I'm, Jeremy, I'm so sorry. I didn't—"

Jeremy didn't say a word before stumbling toward the sliding door, his sobs growing louder by the time he slammed it shut behind him. He disappeared inside the house. Away. Away, away, away.

As he should.

But Kevin couldn't move, couldn't do anything.
He couldn't bring himself to follow Jeremy.
Not after that. Not after Kevin had crossed that line—a line he could never come back from.

Jeremy.
His dearest one, his everything.
The most important person in his life.
All that he had.

Jeremy.
Entrusted to him by Jean.
By his brother.

He'd kissed his best friend's husband, left marks on his brother's husband.
He had defiled his dead brother's widower.

Then, Kevin could move, but it wasn't by choice. It was all necessity as his lungs seized, sharply enough for his head to spin at the sudden denial of oxygen, and he flung his legs over the side of the lounger to drop his head in his hands. The count was too far away. He couldn't find it. The painful twist of his hair didn't help like it sometimes did. But the vicious roil of his stomach forced him to his feet anyway.

Kevin stumbled blindly into the yard, trying to make it to the side on unsteady legs. He collapsed to his knees, emptying his stomach onto the too-sharp grass. The wine left him sour, the remnants of dinner burning, making him choke and heave long after there was nothing left.

With every passing second, the horror of what had happened became more unbearable.

They'd trusted him. After every mistake he'd made, every shitty thing he'd done in his life, Jean and Jeremy had trusted him. Jean had trusted him with Jeremy himself. Jeremy had trusted him with his son and his heart, his sorrow and his loss. With everything, laying it all out so vulnerably and honestly and Kevin... And Kevin had...

He'd never hated himself more.

In that moment, Kevin knew it as the truest thing in his life: He had never hated himself more than he did in that very second. Truly, he wouldn't have believed it possible, not with the sins in his life, that he could possibly do so more.

But oh, how he could hate.

Of all the betrayals he'd inflicted on Jean in their twenty years together.
Of all the deceits and the selfishness.
Of all the ways he'd been unfaithful to his brother in life.

Apparently, he could do even worse to Jean in death because right now, tonight, this was the greatest desecration Kevin could've possibly inflicted on his brother's memory.

There was no time there, in that grass that felt like paper cuts, beneath a moon now hidden by heavy clouds whipped quickly through the sky on an oddly-chilled breeze. Eventually, Kevin pried himself back up to standing, joints protesting, muscles aching, lungs still trembling and his heart in shreds. His mind, a nightmare.

In any other situation, Kevin supposed it would've hurt to be called another man's name but he couldn't even feel that as he stumbled toward the house.

Why wouldn't Jeremy do so? Jean was the love of his life. Jean was who he missed with his every breath. Jean was who Jeremy's heart belonged to, completely and faithfully, who his soul itself yearned for and probably always would.

Jeremy hadn't realized it was Kevin kissing him.
Kevin knew that.
Jeremy hadn't wanted it to be Kevin touching him.
Kevin knew that too.

That was precisely why this disgrace was his alone because Kevin had known exactly who Jeremy was for every single second of it.

It should've been impossible to be more disloyal to Jean than Kevin had been by abandoning him in the Nest. Apparently, Kevin fucking Day could sink to depths he never knew existed.

And, more than anything, he wished Jeremy hadn't been a part of it. He'd never trust Kevin again—not after this. He wouldn't want to talk to him, wouldn't want him back in LA.

He wouldn't let him see Jackie.
Oh God. Oh God.

Each thought struck him harder, his legs barely able to carry him to the sliding door. He hung onto the handle and the frame as he opened it.

In one single moment, with one single decision, Kevin had ruined everything. He'd broken the best and only thing he had in his life. Even then, the concept of 'had' was wrong, wasn't it? It was relative. Jeremy was never his. Not like that. Never like that. Letting such words slip had only contributed to this horror show.

Even from the living room, Kevin could hear Jeremy's sobs, muffled by the closed door at the end of the hallway. Despite everything he'd done to him, Kevin still had to force his feet to remained planted, to not go to him, to not follow that instinct that told Kevin to be near and comfort and hold.

For the first time, Kevin realized then, he was the reason Jeremy was crying.

A vicious part of him would've gladly welcomed Riko's rise from the dead to shatter his other hand, to shatter them both, if it meant he could escape the knowledge of such a sound.

It took him a long moment to move again, to be able to breathe past the pain of Jeremy's unseen tears, and he didn't realize where his feet had taken him until he was cracking the door of the nursery open. It felt undeserved, to step into that hallowed space where the world had been right not long before, but it was a raw and pure need to see him. To see the godson he didn't deserve the responsibility for. That he might not be allowed to bear the responsibility for, if Jeremy so chose and could at any moment.

Kevin stared at the baby as if he might vanish from sight with only a blink. One unending look, a memorization. Just in case.

It was only the thought of Jeremy's finding him there and doing so that kept Kevin from lingering over Jackie's peacefully asleep form. Somehow, the imagining of being thrown out of the house from that room specifically was worse than any other.

Kevin closed the door to the nursery expertly without a sound, dragging his feet back to the living room. His gaze caught on the lounger through the glass. The monitor was still outside. He couldn't leave it there. Jeremy would need it, at some point, when he got up with Jackie that night. He'd need it to get real rest, instead of half-sleeping in the rocking chair or sharing his bed with the baby. Kevin retrieved it and sat it in front of the bottle warmer in the kitchen, knowing it would easily be found there.

He stared from the doorway into the guest room (not his, never his, nothing here is his) at the variety of items Jeremy had offered to let remain. The thought of packing it was impossible. When Jeremy inevitably kicked him out later that night or in the morning, Kevin would just say to throw away the remnants of him too. He didn't have the energy or strength for more.

All he had left in him was enough to close the door behind him and fall against it, to slide down it against his back and pull his knees to his chest.

His eyes stared ahead sightlessly.
He didn't cry, or sleep, or think beyond the ceaseless loops in his mind.

When Jean's voice tried to peek through, Kevin shut it down with the same viciousness he used on himself.

It wasn't until the alarm clock chimed that Kevin finally recognized the new day had begun.
It was time to go.

Kevin listened to the relentless blare, not caring about anything enough to move.

__________

Jeremy ran to his bedroom from the patio, his sobs coming too fast and too hard to be anything but what he knew was descending before he collapsed against the closed door.

Apparently, the worst panic attacks hit when he was alone.

By the time he survived it, Jeremy was sweating, bent over at the waist, his side leaning against the wall nearest the door to the bedroom.

Impossibly, the tears came again in a flood. He never thought they'd end. He didn't deserve for them to end.

He didn't know why he'd said Jean's name.

Jeremy had known, distantly but truly, that it was Kevin. He'd known it was him in that moment just before the first kiss, in the moment between the first and the unending second. He'd known he wasn't stopping it, hadn't had the thought to when the tangible force between them was more than he could resist. Was more than he wanted to resist. At least, in that moment.

He'd known it was Kevin kissing him, holding him, groaning into his mouth. He'd known it was Kevin's hand against the small of his back, Kevin's lips leaving marks on his skin. There wasn't a way to confuse them, Kevin and Jean. It was all too different. They felt different and touched different, they tasted different and kissed him different.

And Jeremy shouldn't have known any of this.

Cheater.

He'd cheated on his husband. On Jean.

He was no better than Aaron.
No, he was worse—because he'd cheated with his husband's oldest friend from childhood, with the man Jean called his brother, the most precious person in his life besides himself and Jackie, the one Jean had loved longest.

That was who Jeremy had cheated on Jean with.
Kevin.
The worst one to sully with it, the one who'd be hurt most by it.

It had only been two months. Just two months since Jean died.

What kind of man was he?! Just a couple months!
Was that really all it took to throw everything away? To stoop so low, to forget himself so entirely, to break more vows than he could barely grasp?

And he did all of that with Kevin.

Kevin, who'd been perfect in every way. Who honored Jean's memory in everything he did, who took care of Jeremy and Jackie as if they were his own, despite never wanting a life anything like what Jean had asked him to promise. Who did everything, who gave everything, who was kind and gentle. Who was in no way responsible for any of this.

For Jeremy's infidelity.
A betrayal he'd thought himself so incapable of.
Had thought his heart would stop before such a thing happened.

Unfaithful. The word itself was shocking—completely counter to Jeremy's very nature, a word he never would have imagined applying to himself. Not in anything but especially not when it came to love. Never once, not for a second, had he ever wanted another man when he wasn't single. And definitely not with Jean. From the day he picked Jean up from the airport, Jeremy was done. Signed, sealed, delivered, obsessed, and devoted, entirely dedicated to Jean Moreau (and then Jean Knox) with his every breath.

How could he not be, when it was Jean? Jean, who was everything and more. Jean, who'd loved him without reservation or fear. Jean, who'd treasured him, who'd worshipped the ground he walked on, who'd thought Jeremy could do no wrong even though Jean knew he definitely could. But that was how Jean loved him—as if Jeremy was perfect because Jean believed Jeremy was, simply by being himself.

Oh God, how incredibly wrong Jean had been about that.

I am not wrong in that, chéri. I never was, I am not now.

Jeremy let out a low, wounded moan, clutching his chest, still leaning against the wall. He couldn't seem to get his legs to work, to get any further into the room than just a foot away from the closed door. He was trembling too fiercely, his knees too weak. A single step would shatter him.

"Nooo," Jeremy said, drawing out the word sorrowfully, "Not now. Please, don't."

He couldn't listen to Jean's voice—not after what had happened, not after what he'd done. Jeremy couldn't bear to hear the beautiful sound of his husband's voice while he still felt Kevin's lips against his own, felt Kevin's hands in his hair, felt Kevin's mouth against his throat like a brand.

You need to hear me now, Jean's voice soothed, You are tearing yourself apart.

"I deserve it," Jeremy said, pressing a hand to his head as if he could hold the sound of Jean back by force, "What the fuck is wrong with me?!"

Nothing is wrong with you, Jer.

Jeremy's eyes flew open blindly, spitting the words in a hiss at a man unseen, "Get out of my head! This isn't real. You aren't here!"

That is true. And so is this— You cannot cheat on a dead man.

Jeremy gasped sharply, the words a slap to his face, echoing in every bone, and he doubled over at the force of it, holding his middle as he tried in vain to refind his breath. He felt the shift of his necklace, the ring hanging against the inside of his shirt. He never took it off—the chain from his best friend, the ring of his husband's. It laid there against his skin, just below where he felt a bruise blooming from Kevin's kiss.

He didn't deserve to wear it. He should tear it off and bury it, far away from his touch that had tainted it, transgressing against both of them.

Our love lasts but it is not as it was. It is not infidelity if you are not married anymore.

Jeremy reached up, still bent over, still struggling to breathe, as he clenched Jean's ring through his shirt with his left hand, the weight of his own wedding band still there.

"I am married," he insisted.

Mon amour, you must listen to me.

Jeremy shook his head viciously, enough to make the world spin. "No, no. I'm making this up. It's not really you. I'm— It's just excuses."

The two of you are family, together and with Jacques.

"That's not part of that. It's nothing."

You are still what he needs, just as he is to you.

"Not like that. I don't need that. I don't want it."

You heard me ask him to promise to take my place beside you. To stay, to not stop, to be the only one for you.

"That's wrong! You didn't mean it like that."

I did not clarify what I meant, Jérémie. I love you both. I asked him for that, I asked you to be happy. For you to live and find love again.

"And I didn't promise it back," Jeremy spat, even as the room ahead grew blurry and his eyes welled.

You did not have to do so aloud. You would never deny my final request of you. You always gave me everything I dreamed of, each day.

Jeremy's breath hitched, tears falling freely as a sob wrenched his throat, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, his skin burning.

He couldn't do this. He was so fucking tired, ashamed, heartbroken, disgusted. Each one was so goddamn big, he felt himself torn at the seams, wrenched apart, shredded and shattered and splitting.

"I won't!" he roared to the empty room, his head falling back as if saying the words to the ceiling made any difference, "I won't. None of it. Especially not Kevin. Even if, even if I—which I won't—not Kev. He deserves so much more. He doesn't think so but he does. Just like you did. But Jean, I... I'm so broken."

His voice broke too but he couldn't have quelled the firestorm inside him for anything in the world now that it started.

"I'm used up!" he cried, "I'm not good for anybody. I'm a shell. I've got nothing to give. What we, what we had? That's it. Done deal. One-time shot. Love like that comes once. It's too good, too impossible. Like lightning or something. Why— Why even consider trying again when it'll be so worthless in comparison? When I don't even want it?!"

He hung his head, hands going to his hair. To hold himself up, to punish himself with pain. Both.

"I can't do that. I'm too ruined for it. Whatever was good in me at that, at loving you, it died too. I don't have it anymore. I wouldn't hurt somebody by pretending I did when I know I can't do it right. I can't love like I should, like someone good deserves to be. I'll never be enough, not for anyone—not again. And I don't want to. If it's not you... Jean, if it's not you I don't want it. Don't you get that? Why'd you ask me for the one thing I won't give you?!"

The silence stretched long, a quiet that was empty but not calm. It was lengthy enough that Jeremy believed it was over. It gave him time to catch his breath again but little else. Everything within him, the guilt and shame and pain and sorrow, it was still too big. Thunderheads directly above him, the beat of hail against bare skin, pummeling and too heavy, dark and unending.

Of course, Jean wouldn't let that be the end of it. He'd always had the last word, hadn't he? And he'd always known the fewest amount to say the most.

You are as terrible of a liar as you have always been, mon coeur, and twice as stubborn. So much like him, my ridiculous loves. Then, in the next heartbeat, It is time to check on Jacques now.

Jackie cried out from the nursery.

Jeremy froze, confused, his mind colliding with reality too sharply to do anything but pause and process what was happening. But as he straightened, Jackie was actually crying. Jeremy heard him through his own closed door and, considering the nursery's closed one too, his son was crying even more loudly and furiously than usual.

Without thinking, he left the room, scrambling at the doorknob in his haste to get to Jackie. His head still swam with the feelings and the residual tears, his lungs still tight from the aftermath of panic. The timing of Jean's words didn't matter; his tumultuous mind, still in turmoil, was making connections that didn't exist. All that mattered now was that his son needed him.

"Hey, lovebug," Jeremy cooed, reaching into the crib for him.

Jackie's face contorted miserably as he wailed, louder than Jeremy had ever heard him. The ear-splitting shriek made Jeremy's chest ache. He unzipped the sleep sack (expertly done by Kevin, as always) to find Jackie's diaper soaked. He left the sack there and changed both the diaper and Jackie's onesie for a cleaner one. Or maybe just a different one. One Kevin hadn't put on him because Jeremy had to take care of Jackie all night, and it was too hard to remember how good things had been only hours before in even the smallest ways.

Jeremy noted the time; it wasn't long before Jackie was due for his next feeding. He hesitated though at the nursery's door.

I can't see him. Please don't be out there.

He had no idea what he'd do if Kevin was in the kitchen, or the living room, or really just anywhere in sight. Jeremy didn't know what he'd say or what his face would do, and he didn't want to find out. Not yet. He just wanted to focus on Jackie.

Jeremy sighed in relief to find the rooms empty, the sliding door locked for the night, the wine glasses outside catching the faint light. He didn't care enough to retrieve them now, so he went into the kitchen, running his hand up and down Jackie's back where he lay against his chest. After his caterwauling and with clean clothes, Jackie was finally quiet. Not babbling in his usual happy way but, Jeremy considered, perhaps he could feel how off Jeremy was. He felt bad for that, but Jeremy focused on baby tasks, not his own, and sometimes it was difficult to have such an insanely perceptive child.

He grabbed a prepped bottle from the fridge, went to the warmer thoughtlessly, then paused. The portable baby monitor sat in front of the buttons, right where he couldn't miss it.

Kevin must've brought it in. He knew it was Jeremy's night to be up with Jackie, that Jeremy would see it there, that having the monitor meant Jeremy could sleep in his bed rather than in the rocker or with Jackie rolling around in his. That Jeremy could get rest in the bed with the sheets Kevin had changed yesterday because Jeremy had asked. Because Jeremy had freaked out and cried again and Kevin had held him together in more ways than only physical. Because Kevin did everything right, everything good, everything to keep all his promises.

Everything up to and including, apparently, Kevin letting Jeremy use him like that.

How could Kevin let Jeremy do this? Why did his duty and devotion go so far as to let Jeremy take so much, to always take from him? It had to be pity, it had to be the promise Kevin had made Jean. The two brothers had no sense of self-preservation when it came to the other, they never had. Apparently, that extended to Jeremy now—and he hated himself for it.

A wave of fear hit him, realizing for the first time that he'd ruined everything between them with what he'd done. It had been bad enough when they fought over his decision with the Knights, torturous to wait those long hours wondering if Kevin would bother coming back at all, if Kevin could ever forgive him for his cruelty. Amazingly, Kevin had but this? Was there any way to come back from it?

It didn't feel possible.
It felt like, for the first time in his life, Jeremy had done something truly irrevocable. Completely unforgivable. A sin too great to ever wash away afterward, no matter how hard he tried.

The realization that he might've lost Kevin—his dearest, most trusted, most needed—was too much to bear. How could Jeremy even ask for forgiveness over such a thing? How could Kevin ever give it? How would he ever look at Jeremy the same after what Jeremy had done, after he'd said Jean's name when they were... When they had...

Jeremy swallowed thickly, feeling it like glass in his throat, as he placed the bottle in the warmer and scooted the monitor to the side to turn it on, choosing to stay there staring sightlessly at it rather than walk circles around the island as he usually did.

There had been no thought behind kissing Kevin, but Jeremy could see it now in a way he hadn't recognized before. How Kevin's presence soothed him as nothing and no one else did. How the way Kevin held him made Jeremy feel safe when the world itself wasn't. How watching Kevin and Jackie together warmed him from the inside out, at the thought that Jackie would still feel loved with someone like Kevin in his life and the thought that Kevin would have something gentle and precious in his life as his godson.

How Kevin coaxed out smiles and laughter, how Kevin encouraged him when Jeremy needed it but supported him even when they disagreed. How Kevin came home and stayed there, despite the mess and hard times. How Kevin cared for every part of him, even when Jeremy pushed him away or was ungrateful.

How Kevin, day in and day out, proved himself to be even more than Jeremy could've imagined.

He had known Kevin was singular, obviously. He'd known him for over a decade now, was witness to so much of the behind-the-scenes effort that the world was clueless of. He'd played in the Olympics with him, had gone to his championship games, but the smaller things too: how Kevin never missed a birthday or forgot a favorite jello flavor, the details that seemed unimportant but weren't. They felt bigger, when it was Kevin who it came from.

But over a decade of friendship hadn't prepared him for the Kevin he'd seen in the last two months. It was unmatched, his devotion to the pair of them, his steadfastness to be the center they clung to, his determination to see them through it, his kindness and his care and his patience. So much Jeremy hadn't seen before. So much he appreciated in a way that word wasn't nearly big enough to describe.

Jean had been right to leave him in Kevin's care.
And Jean was an absolute fool for it.

No, I was not, Jer. Many things but never a fool.

The warmer clicked at the end of its cycle and Jeremy flipped the power button sharply. Jackie squirmed a little against him, anticipating his meal, but Jeremy barely heard his small whimpers with Jean's voice reverberating through him.

"Fuck off," he muttered under his breath.

Such language when holding our son.

"I can't do this with you right now."

Then do not. As you said, I am not here. Ignore me.

Jeremy sighed, readying the bottle, shifting Jackie in his arms until he was able to give it to him. Then, he replied, "I never wanna ignore you, even if it's not you."

It was only a hum in response but somehow, despite all the words, the hum was what brought tears to Jeremy's eyes again. Somehow, hearing the hum was more intimate and dear than any words. His husband's hum of understanding, of support that didn't need words to be felt.

"You sound so clear," Jeremy whispered, closing his eyes, feeling the bottle move minutely as he held it for Jackie to eat. "I feel like I could turn around right now and see you standing there."

Jean's voice turned sorrowful, You will not though.

Jeremy swallowed, "I know."

Perhaps we will see one another in your dreams tonight.

"I hope so, even if I don't deserve it. Not after what I did."

You deserve the whole world and more, mon amour. Just as you always have and will, regardless of happens. You deserve it now, more than ever before. Do not deny yourself life and happiness. Do not deny him that too.

It was when Jean said things like that that Jeremy knew, without a doubt, how unreal it was. The words were too similar to what he'd said to Kevin after the memorial service, both the wording and the feeling which he'd meant with his whole heart.

But for himself, in this moment?

There wasn't a greater lie in the world.

Because he'd broken his most sacred vow, ruining both perfect past and comforting present with it.
Because he'd tainted them, the three of them, even when their third wasn't there.
Because he'd committed and taken on a sin he never imagined would be his to bear.
His own scarlet letter.

Jeremy ducked his head down, as close to his child as he could, curling in and away from the world, away from this place and from the memories. From all of it and hoping, hoping impossibly, that when the sun rose he'd know how to exist in this terrible reality he'd wrought.

Chapter Text

It should've been impossible, considering what he'd lived through in his life, but it was the scariest moment of his whole thirty years when Kevin stepped out of the guest room that next morning.

Zero.

The unavoidable moment he'd dreaded for weeks, and now more than ever.

He didn't want to cross the threshold—the desire to remain hidden, buried in his shame, was overpowering—but Kevin couldn't stay there. He had a plane to catch. And, he had a man (a wonderful, blameless man) to face too. The likelihood of forgiveness seemed so minuscule, so infinitesimal, but even if by some miracle Jeremy gave his to him, Kevin wouldn't forgive himself for the night before.

Kevin had no idea what to expect. His heart thundered, a cocktail of fear and hope swirling within him as he reached the end of the hallway. In the few hasty minutes he'd had since silencing the alarm, with only enough time to throw his last remaining essentials into his carry-on and change his clothes, he'd considered every terrible possibility of what awaited him. It could be another argument or—much worse—Jeremy could've taken Jackie and left the house in a choice to ignore it. Or, he could hide them both away in the nursery, not wanting to say a word to him at all, not wanting to see Kevin's face. And Kevin knew he wouldn't search for them, not if that's what Jeremy chose. He wouldn't call or bother them again if Jeremy didn't speak to him, making that desire clear.

Instead, to Kevin's surprise, Jeremy sat on the floor in the living room, Jackie babbling happily on his play mat before him. The baby's carrier and diaper bag sat to the side of them and Kevin wondered briefly where they were going, though he had no right to ask. No right to even wonder at all. Jeremy seemed to be mid-sentence in that singsonged voice he used with the baby, his hands holding Jackie's tiny socked feet as if playing with them, but his eyes shot to Kevin as soon as he appeared.

Jeremy froze at the sight of him, and Kevin's whole body locked in place. Everything in him did. He was unsure of what to say despite a thousand apologies rehearsed in his mind, unsure of what to do as his hand tightened reflexively around his carry-on handle, unsure of what to think or feel or anything really other than to hold Jeremy's eyes with his own.

There wasn't a particular expression on Jeremy's face, not challenge or sadness or anything really. Just a blank and general sort of wariness in the air, an uncertainty with its own taste.

Kevin awaited his judgment, not breathing, until Jeremy broke the silence.

"I'm sorry about last night," he said.

Kevin's brow furrowed instantly as he shook his head. That wasn't the response he'd prepared for. At least, not from Jeremy. No, Jeremy had every right to throw him out of the goddamn house and never talk to him, even if the fleeting thought alone felt strong enough to take Kevin out at the kneecaps. Jeremy had nothing to be sorry for, other than having the worst taste in friends as he'd clearly shown with Kevin.

"You don't—" Kevin began.

But Jeremy cut him off, shaking his head too, "I do have to apologize. I want to, and you're going to let me. Please?"

Kevin closed his mouth, hating it, but he didn't want to argue when he already felt like he was on thin-enough ice as it was.

Jeremy continued, the tone gratingly formal, not because he didn't mean it—he clearly did—but more the awkwardly painful recollection that seemed to sit like an impenetrable wall between them. A wall that had never been there before, keeping them apart, not since the moment they met. "I'm sorry for all of it. It was a mistake. A huge one. It was inappropriate and very unfair to you. It shouldn't have happened. It won't happen again. I promise."

A mistake. A huge one.

He was right. Of course, he was. It was inappropriate, though the fairness of it was the opposite in Kevin's opinion. And it shouldn't have happened. It definitely, certainly, absolutely wouldn't happen again. That was the truth, so there was no reason in hell for Kevin to feel pain at hearing it all said aloud so resolutely.

But the truth was, he did.

And he buried it as swiftly and strongly as he could within himself, so it wouldn't show and so he didn't have to examine it. There was no time to though. He watched as Jeremy's chin wobbled slightly, his eyes beginning to fill. His expression dropped into one of fearful regret so quickly, so completely, that Kevin ached at it. Ached with the instinctive knowledge that Jeremy had tried to hold it back long enough to say what he had.

Jeremy's voice trembled as he continued, "But I'm also really, really selfish because I'm begging you to forgive me too, even though I don't deserve it. I don't wanna lose you, Kev. I can't lose you." He took a sharp breath in a quick pause, "And I'm so sorry. I really am. Last night was so wrong, but everything else? The rest of us? I— I need that. I need you more than anything and I—"

Kevin dropped his bags and moved across the room, tearing down the invisible wall between them because oh God, it was still him. It was still his Jeremy there, hurting and frightened, and Kevin desperately didn't want him to cry again. Not over him. He didn't want Jeremy to be scared of losing him. Christ, Jeremy couldn't if he tried to. Honestly, Kevin didn't know how Jeremy hadn't caught onto that yet but he'd remind him, for years if necessary, until he believed it as truth.

He knelt beside him and felt his arms begin to move—to gather Jeremy up, to comfort him, to hold him—but he clenched his hands into fists in his lap instead, unsure. Where was the line now? Kevin didn't know. He felt lost by not knowing because he'd never once wondered with Jeremy before, never questioned if Jeremy would welcome a hug or a gentle nudge or any touch at all because it was Jeremy.

Except, it wasn't that simple now. Not after what Kevin had done the night before. He'd tainted what was acceptable, what was wanted, by doing so. Even the simplest, most innocent touch felt too dangerous now. So, without being able to do more, Kevin ducked his head to catch Jeremy's glassy eyes. At least he could hold those.

"You're no closer to losing me than ever, Rémie," Kevin said softly, with all the tenderness he could muster, "I told you that you weren't gonna run me off, remember? That's still true. You have me. You're always going to have me. And I need you too, more than anything too."

I'll keep my promises, just like I told you, just like I swore to him. Everything just like Jean would've—but not like that. Never like that. I promise you that now too.

A new vow, more fraught and precarious than any before but as vital as any other. He swore it to both Jeremy and Jean in his mind because it was two-fold, how he'd hurt them both. He never wanted to be the reason Jeremy cried again, and the thought of Jean's fury was still something Kevin couldn't bear imagining. If his brother was still alive? Jean would've murdered him for that kiss, for those kisses and for...

Jean would've killed him, literally and painfully, for ever laying a hand on Jeremy and Kevin would've let his brother do so without protest.

"Yeah?" Jeremy asked, tentative and hopeful. His tears hadn't fallen yet, still lingering in his eyes, and he sniffled.

"Absolutely," Kevin said, "There's nothing to forgive you for, Jeremy. Last night was totally my fault."

"Kev—"

Kevin shook his head, cutting him off gently, "I won't hear otherwise. Even if you think differently, I won't because I'm owning it. Not you. And I really don't want to fight over it either if I'm honest because I'm not changing my mind about it." He swallowed, looking down to his clenched hands, "It's... been intense, these past couple months. Things got out of control last night in a way they shouldn't have. That's not who we are together, but we are something really important though. I, I still want that. You and me and Jackie. But I—"

Kevin needed a breath, and then to look back to Jeremy's eyes to hold himself steady as he said in an honest rush, "I've been fucking terrified out of my mind all night that you'd never want anything to do with me again."

Jeremy gaped with wide eyes, surprised and concerned, "Kev, I'd never want that."

"I'm trying to tell you that exact same thing," Kevin insisted, "We gotta do better with this, okay? I don't know yet how shit's gonna be going forward but I know that different time zones and schedules is going to make stuff harder. It does with everything so we have to be vigilant when we're apart so stuff like this doesn't happen."

He locked his eyes onto Jeremy's, refusing to give an inch, "I'm not going to change my mind about a single thing I've promised you and I'm not going to while I'm away, even if it sucks sometimes. You aren't changing yours either? Because I'm going to believe you, without a doubt, if you say so right now. I'll believe you. Do you believe me, Jeremy?"

"Yes," Jeremy said with conviction, "I'm never gonna change my mind, Kev. Not about anything with us." He nodded once, hard, "No more second-guessing or freaking out or whatever. You and me, and Jackie. No matter what happens."

Kevin smirked, amused by that little determined fire in his brown eyes as he said it, and nodded in agreement, "Sounds good to me."

Jeremy sighed loudly, clearly relieved and not caring to hide it as his shoulders slumped. He leaned over to his side, from Kevin's front, and plopped his head on Kevin's shoulder.

"How many times do you think I can thank you in two months?" Jeremy said, soft but with a light tease to it, "Because now I need to again. You just keep saving the day, over and over." He snorted, "Mr. Day, saving the day."

"Ha ha," Kevin deadpanned.

"But really," Jeremy said, gentle and genuine, "Thank you for putting up with me and my bullshit, Kev."

"Thank you for doing the same for me, Rémie."

"Always, Queenie."

Kevin jerked back with an affronted scoff, "What the hell?"

Jeremy laughed, straightening himself, his eyes crinkled at the corners and his smile wide as Jackie joined in too, excited to do so at the sound of his father even if he didn't understand.

The relief of seeing Jeremy like that, knowing he'd contributed to it, and hearing his laughter again—that was a miracle too. The whiplash of it was jarring, being so convinced of how dire everything was only for Jeremy to pull them right back into the center again. The center where they were together, even in the different but still-precious meaning of the word.

Jeremy continued to laugh as he winked at Kevin, who couldn't help but grin in response. Despite knowing he had to go, it felt drug-like to be so weightless and easy after being so heartbroken only moments ago. That was Jeremy though. Always the light.

"Ohhh," Jeremy said, dragging out the word, "I so didn't forget that little gem of Jean's. Trust me."

"I wish you had," Kevin grumbled.

"I bet you do," Jeremy said. He rocked back onto his feet and stood, putting his hands on his hips, "Well, since you took your sweet time getting out here, we better hit the road. I packed you a breakfast and some stuff for the plane. It's in the fridge, so you grab that and I'll get Jackie in the car. We gotta be quick."

Kevin blinked up at him, "We?"

"Yeah. We're taking you to the airport."

"You never drive me to the airport," Kevin said slowly. Both he and Jean hated going to LAX (rightfully so in Kevin's mind) so Kevin always hired a car to and from his visits with them. He added, quicker, "You really don't need to do that."

"I want to," Jeremy said easily, looking to the baby, "And so does Jackie. Right, honey-bear?"

He leaned down and swept his son up into his arms with dramatic flair and a happy cry, nuzzling beneath Jackie's chin and sending the child into a fit of laughter at it with his little head flung back delightedly. Then, they looked down to Kevin where he still knelt on the carpet.

Brown eyes, blue eyes, both on him, and Kevin had the oddest urge to wrap his arms around Jeremy's legs, as if physically clinging to him would be enough to keep the moment, to not let it disappear like a mirage already fading into mist.

"I didn't think I'd miss you guys before I even left," Kevin said.

He grimaced as soon as the words left his mouth. The wistfulness of them, the longing, was too telling. Too vulnerable and true. But Jeremy's expression only softened with something like understanding, something that was all kindness. He reached down, brushing his fingers through Kevin's hair, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"I know what you mean," he said tenderly, "We're gonna miss you too. A ton." He glanced aside and kissed Jackie's cheek, looking at him as he added, "What're we gonna do without our Kev, huh?"

Our.

Kevin swallowed past it, past whatever those three letters did when they ricocheted in his chest, and stood to join them. He leaned over to kiss the top of Jackie's hair, close enough to feel the warmth of Jeremy's nearby presence there. It was the first time he could recall doing so with the child, at least something so intentional, but it felt fitting for the moment so he didn't regret it as he met Jeremy's shining, soft eyes when he pulled back.

"Okay," Jeremy said, more encouragement than anything else, "Let's get this show on the road."

Kevin nodded, going to the now-familiar kitchen and the fridge. He smiled to himself at the paper bag with his name written on it on the top shelf, peeking inside to reveal a variety of zip-lock-bagged snacks along with a breakfast of egg muffins, fruit, and granola-mixed yogurt in a little tub with a spoon. He snagged the prepped protein shake too beside it, instinctively knowing it was his.

Incredible, how something as simple as a paper bag could mean so much, after last night and everything else too.

Minutes later, they were in the car, speeding along the highway with the windows down. Jeremy sang off-key to the radio, Jackie bopped along without rhythm, and Kevin ate his breakfast, a smile tugging at his lips as he glanced between them. He protested when Jeremy pulled into the parking garage, but Jeremy insisted they'd see him off to the security gate. With it being a short trip inside, he left the stroller behind to carry Jackie in his arms as Kevin walked sedately beside them. He checked himself in for his flight at one of the self-serve kiosks, Jeremy by his side, pointing things out to Jackie to entertain him, and then led them to security a short distance away.

And, before the winding lines there, Kevin paused. He felt, suddenly and completely, physically unable of taking one more step in that direction. He hovered there at a loss with Jeremy standing before him, his expression soft as he held Kevin's eyes without a word. Then, when Kevin set his carry-on down and reached out, Jeremy handed Jackie over without hesitation, offering an understanding smile.

Kevin held his godson tightly, supporting Jackie's weight, running his thumb gently over the soft, black hair, feeling its warmth under his touch. He turned his own head aside, resting his nose against him, and Jackie picked his head up with a bright grin. Kevin smiled back, albeit weakly. He kissed the tip of Jackie's nose on impulse.

"Be good for Daddy, okay, little man?" he said quietly, barely audible over the airport's foot traffic. He swallowed thickly before adding, "Let him sleep for more than a couple hours straight and make sure he takes you out for your walks. Tell him you like to go super fast, and to send me lots of pictures."

Kevin glanced to Jeremy at the last part, who nodded.

"So many, you'll get sick of them," Jeremy promised.

"Unlikely," Kevin said.

"I wish you were gonna be here for his monthly ones later this week. I have no clue what to do for six months."

"We can figure it out together on the phone," Kevin offered, receiving a smile in return for it. He turned back to Jackie, adding softly with one last kiss of his delicate baby cheek, "Slán leat, a dhuine bhig. Coinnigh slán é agus faoi ghrá domsa, le do thoil."

"That's not French?" Jeremy said, meeting Kevin's eyes with a curious tilt of his head when their gazes met.

Shit.

"It's Irish," Kevin muttered.

"Since when?" Jeremy asked, sounding delighted.

Kevin's face heated. He hadn't thought about using it aloud since he hardly ever did anymore. There was no one to speak it with after all, and relearning it after college had been more of an intellectual exercise than anything, a way to pass the time. It hadn't occurred to him, until that very moment, that Jean was actually the only one who knew he'd ever spoken it in the first place. But, once he started learning French in the Nest, Irish just...slipped away like everything else from back then, until he was bored enough to pick it back up, alone in Boston and surrounded by Irish-American history. It wasn't an intentional secret, more that he hadn't thought to bring it up— It wasn't important.

"I learned it with English when I was young," Kevin admitted. "But I lost it for a while. Relearned it on my own in Boston." He glanced aside, feeling oddly hot around his collar as he picked at it without releasing Jackie. "Comes back faster than you'd think."

"That's amazing," Jeremy said, eyes glittering.

"No, it's not. You're trilingual," he pointed out.

"That's not the same at all. I've been using two of them every day since birth and the other one almost constantly for years. Never had to keep one up by myself, or pick it back up after that long."

He looked excited for some reason, gazing up at Kevin. When had he stepped close enough to need to tilt his head back?

"Tell me something in it? Please?" Jeremy asked, sounding like he was asking for a gift.

"Is mian liom nach mbeadh orm aiféala a bheith orm aréir."

A confession, unvoiced even in Kevin's own mind until then. A truth too. A secret and a wish. All of them wrapped into one and each part impossible.

I wish I didn't have to regret last night.

Jeremy's eyes widened, as if to drink in the sound of the language on sight alone.

"Beautiful," he said, almost whispering it before his smile brightened. "I can't wait to hear more."

Kevin nodded once, at a loss for how to respond, but Jeremy's eyes glanced above his head to where Kevin knew the boarding screens hung. His smile dimmed to something softer as he looked back to him.

"You really should get to your gate," he said gently. "It's a long walk from here."

"Right," Kevin said, handing Jackie back to him and feeling like the effort of releasing him was too great for the motion.

Still, Kevin hovered.

Everything's fine. You've both let it go.

It felt like dangling on the edge of some precipice though as Kevin asked hesitantly, "Can I hug you goodbye?"

Jeremy nodded, his smile warm. "Please do."

Kevin enveloped him, his throat tightening at the weight of Jeremy against his chest and the familiar tucking of his head into the crook of his shoulder. Jackie gurgled happily, seeming content to be slightly smooshed between them in the embrace.

"I always kiss you goodbye too," Jeremy whispered into the embrace. "Doesn't feel right not to, before you leave."

It surprised Kevin, though he knew it was true. He hadn't thought of how Jeremy always sent him off with a kiss to his cheek and a hug in years, the action of it so mundane it was expected and hardly noticed. Jean's farewell hugs, a little longer and tighter than his greeting ones, had been the same way. Kevin wished, so achingly then, that he'd appreciated all of those goodbyes more.

"Is that okay?" Jeremy asked.

And Kevin heard the final missing word of that question: Is that okay now? Is that okay after last night, after the mistake, after what happened that shouldn't have?

Kevin nodded against Jeremy's hair before Jeremy leaned back. He knew it wouldn't be the same—shouldn't be, couldn't be, never would—but his heart still raced away at Jeremy's palm gently cupping his cheek to coax his head down. Jeremy pressed a soft kiss to the other cheek, perfectly innocent, perfectly acceptable between friends or family.

And if Kevin's breath hitched, it wasn't noticeable beyond his own feeling of his chest twisting. And if Jeremy seemed to linger there for a heartbeat or two, it didn't mean a thing.

Even as Jeremy leaned back and left his hand in place, Kevin fought with everything in him not to lean into it, to not close his eyes and let his breath shake loudly as it rattled in his lungs. It took all the willpower he had not to glance at Jeremy's mouth, not to wander in his imagination to last night, to not beg him for just one. Just one unimportant doesn't-mean-anything kiss. Just one small you-can-pretend-I'm-him kiss. Even if Kevin knew, within those irrational desires, that he shouldn't want it. Even if he knew it'd never happen again and couldn't happen again and was so selfish to think about in that way.

It was so wrong to want it. To want him.

But Kevin was so weak too, the effort of hiding it all was too much to leave any energy behind for lying to himself too. It was a mistake, a one-time sin, but damn him for wanting regardless of that. Maybe it'd be easier later, after being apart and last night faded into distance too. Maybe it'd be easier now if Jeremy hadn't forgiven him, hadn't swept it away with his gentle grace, but Jeremy had and he was still right there. Still there, if only for a moment before he evaporated like some kind of fantastical dream never to touch again.

Kevin smiled down at him, holding everything, and Jeremy smiled back—beauty and radiance personified with his full, genuine, real smile. It had always been breathtaking, but the loss of it for so long recently made the sight of it more of a kick to the heart than ever before, every time Kevin saw it.

And he missed him, even while Jeremy was still there, his hand warm and comforting and already a loss even before it gently dropped away then.

"Can I call you later?" Kevin asked hopefully, "Shouldn't be too late here when I land. I want to hear about whatever you two get up to today."

"I'd love that," Jeremy said brightly, jiggling Jackie playfully, "We'd love that, wouldn't we, nounours?"

Kevin's heart lightened at it, the French so sweet in Jeremy's tone and adding something more to his usual use of 'honey-bear'. Kevin couldn't help how his smile widened at the sound.

"I will then," Kevin promised, "Drive back safe?"

"Yep," Jeremy chirped, "Got to. Precious cargo right here."

"Two sets of it," Kevin said, looking between them as Jeremy's cheeks flushed.

A moment of silence passed between them, feeling like the only unmoving pieces in the busy terminal as other passengers entered the security line behind him. Still, Kevin lingered, and lingered, and he saw Jeremy softening further.

"You really do gotta go, Kev," he whispered.

"I know."

He was just too weak to resist it, the weakest he'd ever been in his life. It was just so hard to step away that he didn't have enough left within him to say no, don't, danger as he reached out to cup Jeremy's cheek and bent down.

Kevin meant to kiss his forehead quickly but he needed an extra second, then two, to breathe him in. To breathe the pair of them in and bury their memory deeper than his bones. These Knoxes who weren't his in every way but were in so many other still-important ways because Jean had made it so.

"Je reviendrai dès que je pourrai, Rémie. Je le jure," Kevin whispered against him.

"Je sais que tu le feras. Je te crois," Jeremy replied as softly, "S'il te plaît, prends soin de toi pour moi, mon très cher."

Kevin nodded once, taking a steadying breath as he leaned back to meet Jeremy's gentle brown eyes for a moment. He brushed his cheek with his thumb, one final time, and then dropped his hand to Jackie to cup his head for a final time as well. He swallowed thickly, dropping his touch from them both to pick up his carry-on.

He couldn't bring himself to say 'goodbye' aloud, and Jeremy didn't either, their eyes connecting for a final heartbeat before Kevin walked into the security line behind him.

As soon as he took the first step away, he felt like he was forgetting something.
Like he'd left something behind.
Like he was leaving everything.

Mon très cher.

Kevin didn't allow himself to look back, though Jeremy's words echoed in his mind and the missing 'ami' at the end clanged around in his chest.

Slip of the tongue, Kevin told himself, Don't be stupid.

As the line crept forward, Kevin felt them—an anchored weight in the distance, eyes on his back—but he kept his own gaze forward. In some instinctive way, he knew that if he turned now, everything inside him—everything he was just barely holding intact—would shatter. That the dam would open wide and he'd just say 'Fuck it'—not go back to Chicago, even though that wasn't an option.

What would it even mean: to not leave? To stay in LA? To hold onto this life?

You will stay, mon frère.

Jean's voice weighed heavily in his mind, an echo of expectation deepening it, but there was no point in asking questions when there were no answers. No point in entertaining impossibilities. Besides, Jean meant to stay in a sense of caretaking and effort, not physically. Even if he had meant it that way, Kevin couldn't.

Kevin handed over his license when prompted and was waved through with ease. He appreciated that; sometimes, security would make him peel back his bandage to check his tattoo against his ID. Kevin moved through the motions of putting his bags into bins by rote, having done so countless times over the years, and went to stand next before the body scanner as the TSA worker watched the current traveler ahead of him.

"Au revoir, Kév! Fais au revoir, nounours!"

Kevin glanced over his shoulder, turning slightly at the familiar musicality of Jeremy's cheerful French singsonged with the baby in mind. He saw him standing with Jackie a little further down from where they'd been together on the other side of the rope, more off to the side and easily in sight. Jackie sat against Jeremy's chest, held securely and lightly bouncing as Jeremy waved Jackie's little fist in his at him.

Even from the distance, Kevin thought he could make out the faint glassiness of Jeremy's eyes. He hoped they weren't tears. He hoped his own were stinging because they were too dry. He waved back, a small curling motion of his fingers, and mouthed 'Au revoir' silently in return to them.

Jeremy's smile, even rounded with potential tears, brightened impossibly.

"On lui envoie des bisous! Un, deux, trois!"

Kevin chuckled, watching as Jeremy used their joined hands, father and son, to mimic blowing a kiss Kevin's way as Jackie cackled loudly at the motion. The child didn't understand the concept yet, but Kevin wondered how long it'd be before Jackie did—before he was waving and blowing kisses goodbye on his own. He made a mental note to check one of the parenting books for the information later, and hoped that Jackie would wait long enough for him to return to see it for the first time himself.

And, inexplicably, Kevin pressed his own fingers gently to his lips. As if catching or accepting or sending one back, he wasn't really sure but—

"You have a beautiful family."

Kevin startled with a noticeable jump, finding the older lady working the TSA body scanner smiling fondly at him before her eyes moved to Jeremy and Jackie and then back.

"Thank you," Kevin said.

There was no sense in considering the intricacies of it, or the wording, when said by a stranger. Whatever it was they all were together, Kevin was grateful for them and they were beautiful, the two of them. He was more than glad and proud to claim them—whatever part of them that he could.

"They must love you a lot. And not afraid to show it, are they?" she said, her eyes taking on a teasing gleam.

Kevin stifled a groan. God, he was not in the mood for one of these conversations. The times when strangers just didn't stop talking to him. It didn't matter that he knew it was well-meaning, not with how intrusive and annoying it was. Abby thought it was funny, teasing him for having 'one of those faces' as she called it, some kind of unseen vibe Kevin apparently gave off that told people to talk to him when he very much didn't want them to.

He nodded once, hoping that was the end of it. But, because the universe hated him, his security line had stalled while another worker looked over the body scanner and the woman had more time to talk.

"What language was he using there?" she asked.

"French," Kevin said, resigning himself to it.

"Is he French? Your husband?"

Jesus Christ why?

"No," he said without clarifying further.

There was no point in correcting her—just a woman in an airport he'd never see again. It was easier to just go along in situations like these, he'd learned. Answer the bare minimum and get out. Kevin stared at the uniformed man in the body scanner, silently willing him to hurry.

"How old's your baby?" she continued.

"Six months on Friday," he answered.

The older woman hummed, "Such a good age. Everything's still so new and exciting. Are you gonna have another one?"

"Not sure."

Kevin tuned her out, relieved now that the man was finally moving. Thank fuck.

"Et voilà! Faites attention! À bientôt, j'espère! Tu nous manques déjà!"

He sighed, shaking his head in quiet fondness as he turned their way again, unable to resist. The image of them watching him wait burned a hole in his chest. Of course, Jeremy would be one of the sort to wait until his person was out of sight. Somehow it didn't surprise Kevin at all as he smiled at them, memorizing their faces, as they mirrored the same.

"In you go," the TSA woman said, waving him forward, and Kevin turned from them to do so. Then as he passed her, she added, "For future trips, you don't have to remove your wedding ring for body scanners. It doesn't get tripped by them."

Kevin furrowed his brow, confused, as she nodded to his left hand.

"Wouldn't wanna lose it and upset that husband of yours, right?" she teased.

Oh, right. That she-has-no-idea-what-she's-talking-about thing.

"Absolutely," Kevin agreed with a nod, stepping in and desperately wanting to get it over with. He raised his hands for the scan, eager to be done, and hurried out of the scanner as soon as possible.

It pained him to realize, beyond the solid walls of the security gate, he could no longer see them. More than likely, they'd left when he was out of sight too but he found himself wishing for one final, very last look.

There was no sense in regretting it, especially when he saw, by the screens above the escalators ahead, that he had little time before boarding began for his flight. It took longer to walk to the gate than it did to get through security (such was LAX) and, by the time he reached it, the attendant was only minutes away from calling Kevin's section to board.

He settled into his first-class seat (What was the point of having money if not to save his long legs from cramping?) and double-checked the bandage on his cheek thoughtlessly before pulling out his laptop as he waited for the rest of the flight to fill.

A few days before, he'd had Gavin prepare him an extensive list of necessary tasks, ranked by immediate importance, in preparation for the hours he'd have on the plane. There was a lot to catch up on, both because he hadn't had time and he hadn't made time either when he might've been able to. Who would ever want to read training docs when the other option was taking Jackie on a run or sitting on the couch with Jeremy? He didn't regret how he'd spent his time but his head still ached slightly as he scanned the lengthy list. Kevin didn't complain, since his displeasure changed nothing, but he did allow himself one unhappy sigh before starting to work.

He didn't stop working for the entire five-hour flight. Emails of every sort, calendar organization, further scheduling with the marketing team, training camp procedures, team and player docs. Unending really and he hadn't even reached the horrifyingly long section titled 'Interview Requests' toward the bottom. A nightmare for another day.

Thanks to working through weeks' worth of hassle in only hours and doing so on no sleep the night before, Kevin was exhausted when he stepped out of O'Hare International Airport. Chicago's wind off the Great Lakes was sharp and hard, a cruel wake-up call. It wasn't cold, not in June, but it didn't have to be when Kevin himself was on his own.

After all, Kev didn't live in Chicago.

Kevin hailed a car and tonelessly gave his Streeterville address to the driver, riding in silence for the entirety of it as the man (thankfully) wasn't curious about him or interested in conversation. Kevin tipped him extra for the peace as he stepped out onto the pavement in front of One Bennett Park, nodding at the familiar (by face, not name) doorman as he let Kevin in wordlessly.

Minutes later, Kevin stepped into his penthouse apartment to find it just as he'd left it: looking not quite lived in, as if his two-month absence hadn't mattered at all.

The sleek, modern units of Bennett Park often came pre-furnished for those without personal preferences or those unwilling to commit to something more permanent. Kevin was a bit of both, in-truth. It served his purposes well: close to the waterfront stadium and facilities, discrete with impeccable security, absolutely silent even in the city and with neighbors. It was easily accessible by the various services he employed to deliver his meals and to clean.

There wasn't anything wrong with it, not on paper. Perhaps others might call it colorless with its completely neutral scheme, or lifeless with its emptiness. Or impersonal in every way, because it was.

Kevin couldn't pinpoint why—though it had never bothered him in all his years there—it felt wrong now, uncomfortable in a way he couldn't shake.

Ignoring the strange sense of unease, Kevin went to his bedroom, tossing his bags on the floor in favor of showering off the travel before doing anything else. He moved mechanically, finding no comfort in the familiar placement of his things—as though nothing had changed, as though he hadn't. There was no comfort in any of it, not in the way people described returning to a residence after being gone for a long time.

Coming out of the shower, Kevin scrubbed at his hair with a towel, not wanting to move slowly. He had a phone call to make.

But, his attention caught on the nightstand, on the one photograph he had displayed in the apartment. Kevin stilled, towel in hand, and walked over to pick up the simple frame, his fingers brushing the edges as he examined the image more closely. The set had been a gift from Jeremy, arriving unexpectedly just weeks after the Olympics wrapped up.

In it, the three of them stood together: Jeremy in the center, his arms around both of their waists, pulling Jean and Kevin tighter into the frame. Jean's head rested lightly on top of Jeremy's, his arm in a similar position just a little higher. Above that, Kevin's arm was around Jeremy's shoulders, his hand resting on Jean's too. The stadium lights of the world's biggest stage burned above them. Gold medals gleamed around their necks, their national colors darkened with the sweat of victory.

They glowed in that picture, radiating such life it seemed to leap from the frame. There was so much of it there, and happiness too—pure and overwhelming. It was one of the best days of Kevin's life. Honestly, it probably was the best, because, though the championship win over the Ravens and the Moriyamas fall ranked high, the joy of that one moment pictured was untouched by fear or pain.

Ten months ago.

How... how had it only been ten months?

The shock of the realization struck him harshly, almost enough to make him drop the frame. It had been in August—the first Olympics when exy became an event. The first time the three of them shared a court as teammates. And, the last time Jean played professionally before he joyfully entered retirement, knowing his son would be born in December.

August, when they'd asked Kevin to be the godfather of their then-unnamed and unborn child.

It felt like not one, but multiple lifetimes ago.

How little Kevin had known. How much he'd lose before another year passed.

Kevin set the frame down with a shaking hand, his focus shifting back to everything else—everything that didn't carry loss, pain, or emptiness—so he could hurry up and do what he had to before getting to what he wanted (what he needed).

He dried off and dressed quickly. Then he texted Gavin about his arrival, and Gavin offered to handle informing the Sirens that Kevin was back as planned. Kevin gratefully accepted, then messaged his vice-captain too, confirming their early-morning meeting at the stadium as they did each season before training camp. Walters agreed, offering a couple short, canned condolences for his loss. Kevin thanked him, because it was expected, but his thoughts were more along the lines of how those few short words would probably be all he'd hear on the topic of Jean in Chicago.

The Sirens didn't care about anything without impact on the court. The only way they'd notice Jean's death was if he still played—and therefore, was still a threat. It made Kevin's blood heat to think of the future reaction in the locker room (the one he led) when Jeremy's bereavement break was announced. The defense would have a field day celebrating the absence of one of their hardest seasonal match-ups.

Moving on again, relief creeping in at almost being done enough to reach his goal, Kevin considered calling Aaron for the first time. Honestly, he wasn't sure why, considering they hadn't spoken in six weeks. At some point, he'd have to deal with it, with him—

'Don't go back to Aaron.'

But it wasn't worth it right now, especially since he was done with the absolute necessities enough to finally pull up the number he did want to call. Taking a seat on the couch (square, functional, cold leather, no pillows), he punched in the speed dial he'd programmed just days after the hospital as an emergency measure, and put the phone to his ear.

The pickup was nearly immediate, the ring tone barely sounding at all.

"Hey, Kev!" Jeremy cried happily.

Kevin's smile was instant, but aching.

"Hey," he replied.

"How was the flight?"

"Long, but productive. I got through most of what I needed to."

Jeremy chuckled, and Kevin could practically see the fondness of the expression in his mind's eye.

"You know, most people would use that as a chance to sleep," he teased.

"Most people don't have training camp in...," Kevin glanced at the clock, "Eleven-something hours."

"Yeah, yeah, captain." A giggle erupted on the other end of the line, and Jeremy continued, "Do you hear me talking to Kev? You silly baby." Then, to Kevin, "Here, let me switch us to video so he can see you."

Kevin did so without a word, accepting the video call when it came through. His heart did something strange—a turning-over, squeezing sensation—at the sight of the two of them on their stomachs in the living room. They laid side by side, sunlight pouring through the sliding doors in the exact pattern Kevin knew for this late-afternoon time of day in LA. Jackie's head wobbled, but he kept it up like a champ as Jeremy tapped the phone screen.

"See? There he is. There's Kev," Jeremy singsonged.

"Hey, little man," Kevin said, feeling his throat tighten.

Jackie's head bobbled as he turned, focusing on Kevin's voice until he saw him. Then, his face lit up with a wide grin and he gave an excited hoot.

"Aww, look! He's so happy to see you," Jeremy said sweetly.

"He's just entertained by the phone," Kevin said, not even able to believe himself.

"No, he's not," Jeremy replied. "He knows exactly who you are." He tapped the phone again. "There's our Kev, right there. Wanna say hi?"

Jackie gurgled, his head plopping down as he took his fist into his mouth with a murmur of sound against it.

"And just like that, we're done," Jeremy teased, looking back at Kevin, "How's it feel to be second place to his own hand?"

Kevin laughed, the sound jagged and strange in the too-open air of the living room. It didn't fit the space in so many ways.

"It is what it is," Kevin said. "What else have you been up to today?"

"Oh, this and that," Jeremy said casually. "Nothing much. Definitely nothing interesting."

"Tell me anyway?"

The question came out too softly, too full of longing, too vulnerable to escape notice, but Jeremy was too kind to draw attention to it aloud. His expression softened as he smiled at Kevin through the screen.

"Okay," Jeremy began, "Let's see. Well, first we had to drive home from the airport..."

Kevin absorbed every word of Jeremy's thorough recounting of their day, down to the tiniest detail. As he listened and the hours passed, Kevin watched their faces hungrily, anticipating the call ending and the silence of this place overtaking him.

Now that he was gone, he knew exactly what he'd forgotten.
He knew what he'd left behind.
And there was one word that encompassed it all:
Home.

__________

'Today, somebody helped with the spaghetti sauce. Helped might be a stretch, as you can tell!'

Kevin snorted at the photo, using his first few minutes of the team's lunch break on Tuesday to check for any messages from Jeremy. He'd barely been back in Chicago forty-eight hours, and already he was more attached to his phone than ever. Fortunately, once invited to be in contact as much as he liked (Kevin insisted on it, in fact), Jeremy had been diligently sending pictures of Jackie—along with silly texts and voicemails detailing their daily antics together—since their first phone call.

In the picture, Jackie had managed to splatter sauce all over himself, tiny red specks dotting his clothes and face. Kevin assumed it came from the wooden spoon clutched triumphantly in Jackie's hand, raised like a spear (or, perhaps, an exy racquet).

Kevin was about to reply (making a mental note to check if spaghetti sauce was okay for Jackie to eat, since some of it had likely made its way into his mouth) when a calendar notification popped up.

Call Dad.

Kevin frowned at it, considering the date. It wasn't David's birthday, nor Abby's, nor their wedding anniversary. He couldn't think of—

Then, Kevin scrambled, nearly dropping his phone as he remembered. It was the first in a series of daily reminders that would pop up each afternoon until Sunday, until the holiday Kevin made sure he never missed calling his father on since the year he admitted to being David's son.

Father's Day. This coming Sunday.

It would be Jeremy's first and, although Ricky would be by his side, he'd spend it without Jean, who should've been celebrating with him. And, because of Chicago, he'd spend it without Kevin too, who should've been there to make it special as Jean would have.

Shit. What the hell do I do now? From here?

Kevin quickly tapped a heart in response, at least letting Jeremy know he'd seen the picture, before hurriedly stowing the phone away to grab a bland chicken wrap from the stadium's catering service and get back to the court. It was hard to stay focused enough to finish the day's training, his thoughts constantly pulled to the sudden issue at-hand, and he rushed through the showers afterward, jogging for the exit doors even as he pulled up his contacts.

"We'll see you in a couple hours, Day!" Peters chirped from somewhere (Kevin didn't look—Peters and her team were always around, gathering shots for training footage.), reminding him of the shoot Gavin had scheduled with her for Kevin later in the evening.

He pushed the door open without replying and put the phone to his ear as he stepped outside.

"Hi, Kevin," Abby said warmly as she answered the call.

"Hey, Abby," he replied. Trying to be polite, Kevin held off launching straight into his problem. He didn't usually make an effort with most people, but Abby deserved it. She'd put up with a lot, from both him and David, since Kevin came along and then there were her always-patient efforts with the wider collection of Foxes over the years and now, too. Saints didn't exist but Kevin thought his stepmother was as close as a person could get to being one.

"I'm so glad you called," she said, "It's been a while since you did, but I won't harp on it. I know things have been really difficult, with you juggling so much. Just good to hear your voice, that's all I'm saying. How's camp so far?"

Kevin grimaced, "Fine. I actually need your help, well, your advice on something?"

"Everything okay?" she asked, her voice shifting with concern. Kevin quickly reassured her.

"Everything's fine. Or, well, not exactly," he began, voice tightening, "Father's Day is this weekend. It's Jeremy's first one."

Kevin knew Abby could hear all of it, understood everything that statement implied and hinted at, by the sound of her one-noted reply.

"Oh," she said softly.

"I need to do something for it," Kevin said, "To make it, I don't know, less miserable than it might be. So I need your help."

"My help?" she asked, confused.

"You know people with kids, right?" Kevin said, "Or that used to have kids Jackie's age. I...don't. Other than Jeremy. I don't know what people do for it."

Abby sounded amused as she said, "Well, I guess there are some benefits to knowing people with kids who weren't already twenty and on the run with a broken hand when they met."

"Ha ha," Kevin deadpanned, but Abby laughed in full.

Only a Fox could make such a joke about trauma. Showing up at that hotel room had been more terrifying than Kevin ever allowed himself to think of, even now.

"All I know to do for Father's Day is the stuff I got Dad," he said, "Exy memorabilia and liquor doesn't seem right."

His gifts to David the first few years had been the latter, but, thanks to Abby's intervention with his alcoholism and her (not-so-gentle) coaxing David to slow down his own drinking, now the former took precedence. Kevin actually enjoyed the searching process for rare, obscure exy items no one else would really appreciate without a vast knowledge of the sport. He'd found an original first binding of the ERC rulebook over half a year ago for the holiday...and hadn't wrapped it yet to send it. He made a mental note to tell Gavin to handle it for him.

"That doesn't seem best for Jeremy, no," she said, "What does he like to do with Jackie?"

Kevin considered, "Be outside. Cook sometimes." He groaned, "I don't know, just be around him, I guess." Then, after a beat, "He takes a ton of pictures of him."

Abby hummed thoughtfully, then asked, "Do you have any of him with Jackie?"

"Yeah, a couple."

He had a wide selection of ones Jeremy had sent him over the past couple of months, but those were of Jackie and Jean. Jeremy only appeared in a few. Kevin, however, had a dozen or so he'd taken of Jackie and Jeremy together over the past couple of weeks on his phone. They weren't posed, just mundane little moments when Jeremy hadn't known Kevin was doing so. After the first time Kevin took one and saw Jeremy's soft, delighted smile at the image he'd captured, he didn't feel strange about continuing to do so every so often. It was rare that Kevin thought to take out his phone though; he favored watching them with his own eyes rather than trying to line up a shot through a screen.

The first, the one Jeremy had smiled at, was Kevin's favorite of that small collection: father and son, dancing in grass with the hills behind them, the waning sunlight of late afternoon painting them hazy gold, smiling at each other with breeze-lifted hair and equally bright eyes.

"What about framing one?" she suggested, "Something recent with the two of them happy together. I think he'd really appreciate that."

Kevin nodded. That made sense. Jeremy would like that. And it was accomplishable, too.

"You could always send him the picture with a DIY frame too, if you think he'd like a project with Jackie. Those are sweet," Abby continued, "Don't know how busy he is right now, with the season starting up, but he seems the crafty type."

Kevin winced. He hadn't told them, because he hadn't called.

"Jeremy's decided to retire from the Knights," Kevin said, his voice quieter. "He won't play this season."

There was a beat of silence.

Then Abby said, "Oh, Kevin. That's— I'm so sorry to hear that."

"It is what it is," Kevin said, "He's going to officially announce it at the winter break so the Knights are calling it bereavement leave until then. I—" He paused, then, "I wasn't great about it when he told me."

"No, I don't think you would be, for a lot of reasons. You do the complete opposite when you're upset or worked up."

"The opposite?" he asked, confused.

"You play exy," Abby said, gentle and fond, "That's what you turn to. We all have our things to cope, and that's yours."

Kevin didn't respond, processing the weight of her words.

"But Jeremy's picked Jackie, which I also understand. It's a tricky time for him being on his own. Home might be the best thing," Abby added, "In that case, definitely look at some of those craft kits. I think he'd really like having an activity with the baby since he's going to have so much free time."

Kevin nodded again, though he wasn't entirely sure what these kits were that Abby was talking about. But, he was well-versed now in turning to Google and YouTube when parenting and infant care required more research.

"Thanks, Abby," he said, almost sighing in relief at the idea of having something in mind, vague as it was, "I appreciate it."

"Always here to help, you know that," she said, "Now, I should get out to the court. We've got a lot of new blood around here and practices aren't pretty. Not yet."

"When are they ever?" Kevin asked.

It really did amaze him, year after year when David called with details of his new and potential recruits, how his father continued to find the sorts of people to fit the title of Fox.

"They'll get there. They always do," Abby said with faith, "Until then, I stand ready with first-aid supplies."

"Yeah," Kevin said with a small smile, "Good luck. I'll call Dad on Sunday."

"He'll be glad to hear it. Take care, sweetie."

Kevin smiled softly, "You too."

They weren't a normal family, it was difficult to explain it to someone who hadn't been part of their process of coming together, but little in Kevin's life had been 'normal.'

It was probably overrated anyway.

__________

"Do try to be on time for the charity dinner tonight, Day," Peters said, cheerful but with the hidden bite of chiding as they wrapped up their final meeting of the week. "Don't want a repeat of Tuesday, do we?"

"I'll be there," Kevin said over his shoulder, a slight edge to his voice keeping any further comment from coming as he exited quickly to go change.

He never lingered at the post-training meetings with coaches and staff, but especially not now when he wanted to check his phone. He didn't have the patience or stomach to listen to Booker's bellyaching about the sorry state of his team for another second, nor Peters's passive-aggressive reminders for some necessary after-practice event.

Between the two of them—and the rest of the Sirens—the week had felt interminable.

Thankfully, the pathway to the locker room was quiet, with various members of the Sirens organization milling about but focused on their tasks. With training lasting six long days a week, Kevin felt the eagerness of everyone to leave now that Saturday marked the end of the first. In the past, he would've stayed to get in individual time on the court, both for the work itself and to burn off excess tension in his body, but the idea of reverting to old habits felt like a step backward. As with so much, his past routines had no bearing on what he wanted in the present.

He gritted his teeth at the idea of attending the black-tie event later that evening, but it couldn't be helped. Nor had his being an hour late to Tuesday's photo shoot been avoidable. It was more important to finalize the details and order the items for Jeremy's Father's Day gift, all of which were scheduled to arrive the following morning.

After Abby's suggestion, Kevin had lost himself in hours of consideration over the possibilities for crafts and activities he thought Jeremy would enjoy with Jackie. He'd settled on a clay hand-print kit, one with materials for both Christmas ornaments and a garden plaque for the backyard, along with a finger-painting supply kit, a sensory play bundle, and a variety of cardboard books they could create stories with. Alongside the picture of the two of them dancing, blown up and placed in a copper-metal frame, Kevin thought Jeremy would be pleased with it. Or at least, he hoped so, and he felt somewhat anxious about finding out the truth the next day. They were only simple purchases but Kevin felt something more about them too.

Kevin slipped into the boisterous locker room wordlessly, scowling at the noise even as he expected it. The sounds of slamming lockers and squeaking shoes, of voices raised in harsh tones, all set him on edge even more so than usual today. At times, he missed the thoughtful, methodical air of the Boston Dragons as compared to the rough manhandling Sirens, but that energy transferred well enough to the court to make them a force to be reckoned with year after year. Plus, they kept their personal lives to themselves. There was no fraternization outside working hours, at least not as far as Kevin knew. When they were at the stadium, Sirens were Sirens; when they were outside, they went their separate ways.

There was none of the clinging, interdependent closeness of the Foxes, none of the Dragons' sedate holiday parties that Kevin hadn't enjoyed. Certainly, none of the Knights' easy friendship that Jeremy and Jean had described. Sometimes, Kevin wondered what playing on that sort of team would be like, but he never wondered for long. The Knights weren't often competitive and that meant they weren't worth notice beyond his two friends.

No, this was a team that suited him best. A group of workers with big egos and the talent to back it up. A no-nonsense team that took direction, but not without pushback that bordered on insubordination at times. They were assholes, but so was Kevin. They'd earned the right to be with their championships, two of which under Kevin's captaincy, and their distinction as the highest-paid team in professional exy.

Kevin planned to make them earn it by forcing them into their third championship that coming season, regardless of how much effort or argument was required to do so. In the end, the Sirens fell into line based on pecking order. Not unlike a pack of wolves, really.

Or an unkindness of Ravens.

Kevin headed straight for his locker and opened it, fingers already itching to check his phone. He was happy to find the screen listing the messages Jeremy had sent since the lunch break. Kevin had been dedicated in replying to all of them that week, and applied the same fervor to viciously attacking his nutrition. (Jeremy's food had ruined his usual off-season shape, even if it'd been worth it. Still, Kevin couldn't bring himself to cook Miranda's recipes, knowing that the taste would only make his loneliness worse.) They had spoken each night too, along with Jackie. It was the best part of every day, by far, and Kevin looked forward to more later that day—though he figured he should warn Jeremy he'd be calling later than usual considering the charity event. The idea put an even bigger damper on his mood.

Still, Kevin smiled at the picture he'd set as his background the night before: Jackie, blue-eyed and beaming back at him, his little tummy bearing a bright-yellow '6' to mark the month of his age. It was a perfect picture, capturing all of the baby's joy and fullness of life, and Kevin couldn't get enough of it right from the moment Jeremy had sent it over. An arrangement of books and toys were artfully set around him as usual and the chalkboard sat to his side, showcasing the typically short list of 'dislikes' (as was often the case due to the baby's general affability) and his recent milestones of rolling over and laughing.

But it was the final section, titled 'likes,' that had made Kevin's breath catch at the single word printed in all caps in Jeremy's handwriting:

KEVIN!

He had a hard time imagining the day he'd replace it with another photo, considering how it filled him up warmly each time he saw it.

Kevin went to his voicemail, eager at the display of a long message before putting it to his ear. He always listened to those first, hungry for the sound of Jeremy's voice and any indication of Jackie in the background, and he saved every one of them.

"Hé, Kév!" Jeremy announced happily in French. "Hope practice is going good so far today. The funniest thing happened just now at the grocery with Jackie. I just had to tell you immediately, it'll make you laugh. You know those displays of oranges..."

Kevin listened without moving a muscle, staring sightlessly into his locker as Jeremy told his story of the child's antics with an easy cheerfulness that still felt novel. Then he tapped the screen to save it with the others when it ended and began navigating over to the text messages next.

"Look at that. The captain knows how to smile."

Kevin's fingers stilled against the screen at the familiar sneer of his striking partner. He'd played with a lot of difficult people, but they (Foxes), had the skill and dedication to be worth the effort of (mostly) getting along with. Miller, though, had neither.

They had barely tolerated each other since Kevin's arrival in Chicago—Miller's a childish reaction at being passed over for the captaincy and Kevin's in frustration at how the man was barely skilled enough to be a pro player, and certainly not enough to be a starter. No, that was the influence of his well-connected family on the board. Every game, at some point, it fell on Kevin's shoulders to make up for Miller's inadequacies, but there was no getting around it (as Booker's ire to the suggestion had shown over and over again).

Miller wasn't worthy of the jersey he wore, even if Kevin felt no particular pride in being on the Sirens team. He definitely wasn't worthy of being in the ranks of a pro striker, not on the same list as Kevin's name, or Jeremy's, or even Neil's.

"Gotta nice piece of ass to take with you to that party, huh?" Miller continued, the edge in his voice betraying a flicker of something deeper. A challenge perhaps, or a desperate attempt to drag others down to his level. Definitely a pathetic fishing for validation he couldn't seem to find on the court. "Only one reason for a man to smile like that, right?"

Kevin didn't turn around as he placed his phone in the locker, cursing the setup that had placed all the offense on one side of the room, defense on the other. Proximity to Miller only made him more obnoxious.

"You gotta doctor, don'tcha?" Miller drawled, a harder push for a reaction. Or attention in-general. It was hard to say with him. "That little blond guy?"

Usually, it was easy to brush off Miller's trademark crudeness, no matter how loud it was or what topic he chose. Kevin had been around more than enough people who tried to get under his skin, who sought him out specifically to do so. It happened regularly enough with Miller that Kevin felt he'd built up some immunity to the man's desperate insecurity to be seen as worth notice. Today, though, it required more effort than Kevin had in him and his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. He tried to bite back the urge to snap, but the words were already there and raw on his tongue. His fingers itched to grab something—anything—just for the pleasure of throwing it in the other man's face. Kevin was too fucking tired to deal with this, too irritated to ignore him.

"Fuck off, Miller," he snapped, tugging his jersey off to get at the laces of his shoulder pads, the tension of them feeling too tight against his collarbones, as if moving to choke.

"Woah, Day," Miller barked with a taunting laugh, the grating sound causing Kevin's jaw to clench. "Don't get touchy. I'm just trying to make conversation. You've been outta town all summer."

As if they would've spoken other than when passing by each other in the training facility.

"Seems LA's hard to beat," Laughlin added from the opposite side of the room. Kevin had noticed the burly backliner sitting in his usual spot on the bench when he came in, but only from a distance. His size just made him impossible to ignore totally, as did his buddy-buddy routine with Miller. "He's probably just looking at his kid's picture on his phone again. Sappy shit."

Kevin stilled again at Laughlin's words, his anger momentarily overshadowed by a flicker of confusion. How the hell did Laughlin know about—?

But Miller's voice was louder now, snapping Kevin out of his thoughts. "No way! There's a baby Day running around out there?" Kevin caught Miller's predatory grin aimed at him in his peripheral vision. "Hidin' a love child from us, huh?"

Kevin's teeth ground harder together, the bitter taste of anger flooding his throat as frustration rose in a thick wave. The insinuation cut deep, cut at something within him that shouldn't be touched upon, and his stomach twisted in response. But before he could retort aloud, another voice sliced through the hostility in the air.

"Back off, guys," Walters said coolly from the end of the room. The vice-captain didn't often speak, even on the court, so it surprised Kevin that he'd intervene at all. "It's Knox's kid. Drop it."

The tension in the room thickened, the noise of the locker room fading slightly at the rare voice of the vice-captain. Kevin felt the Sirens tuning in, waiting to see if the conflict would escalate. Of course, Miller caught on to none of that. The idiot never knew when to stop, or to shut up when it was good for him.

"Oh ho!" Miller clucked, "Knox? That bright-eyed prick from LA? I heard he kicked it. Exy Today did a big spread on that."

"Nah, it was the backliner Knox that croaked. Retired already though, doesn't matter for us," Laughlin added, clearly directing to Kevin then, "Pretty one's still around, right? Something had to make it worth your time to stay out there. Or someone that's single now, yeah?"

Miller snickered, and Kevin started to turn slowly. It felt like moving through water, the words coming to him garbled and slow. His eyes locked on Laughlin just as the man added, "I mean, I'm not a fag but, objectively, the blond Knox's the hotter one. Least if he's good in bed, putting up with how fucking annoying he is on the court might be worth it."

Don't.

It was one word in Kevin's mind—flat, emotionless—but it carried weight. His blood rose steadily, bubbling hotter with each breath.

Don't hit him.
Don't snap his neck.
Don't get yourself kicked out of the league for beating the shit out of a mouthy asshole who deserves it.

Don't lose control, Day.
Don't be a Fox.

"Ohhh, shit," Miller catcalled, dragging the words out. "You movin' on the widow, Day? Goddamn, that's cold. I didn't know ya had it in you. Blond must really do it for ya, yeah? Happy to take seconds?" He laughed loudly, looking to Laughlin, who laughed along with him. "How much bank do you think we'd make with one of those kid's pics, huh? Imagine the story they'd write with one of those as—"

Whatever else Miller meant to say was lost as a hand shot out and grabbed the scruff of his t-shirt. A tanned left hand, webbed with white scars.

It hadn't been so much of a decision as just...well, something like breathing, really. All instinct, all motion, no thought. Like the way a fox snapped its teeth when an enemy came too close to the burrow.

Kevin slammed Miller into the lockers with a violent crash, his forearm pressing hard against his throat. The vicious clang reverberated through the room, taking up space with all else silent. The whoosh of Miller's surprised, now-strangled breath was satisfying against Kevin's face, the air of it feeling warm as his eyes bored into Miller's, unblinking. He leaned his body weight into the arm he had barred against Miller's windpipe.

He was almost sure that, if someone cut his skin, the blood that poured out would be hot enough to melt metal. It'd be acidic enough to peel back the concrete flooring below.

"This is a warning," Kevin said, the lick of flame in his words even if he didn't raise the volume. "My family? They're off-limits. If you say their names, if you even hint at their existence in here, you'll pay for it. Here, on the court, out there when you don't expect it. Somehow, somewhere. Understood?"

"Get off—" Miller sputtered, unable to finish as Kevin pushed with a single harsh punch of his forearm into Miller's throat.

"Do. You. Understand? Kevin repeated, overly enunciating the words.

"S-sure," Miller choked, his Adam's apple working furiously against Kevin's arm. "Man. Fuck. Lemme breathe!"

Kevin stepped back slowly, dropping his arm and standing relaxed for a moment before turning to Laughlin. He wished the backliner was close enough to grab similarly, but Kevin settled for words alone with him.

"If I ever hear shit like that come out of your mouth again," Kevin said to him, "I'll use every connection and favor I have in this league to make sure you never work another day in exy. Not even to stamp tickets. Nod if you get that."

Laughlin did, hard and rapid, his eyes nearly popping from his face.

Kevin turned back to his locker, returning to change as he addressed the room. He knew they'd all seen it, and they were still listening. If anyone so much as breathed wrong in his direction, Kevin felt the hair-trigger of himself set to cocked for a greater explosion.

"That goes for the rest of you," he said. "I don't ask about your lives, and you sure as fuck don't concern yourselves with mine or the people in it. If I hear one word, well, you can put together what happens. You aren't idiots."

And you know what I am: a Fox, and a Raven. Don't take that chance. Don't think that's the worst I'll do if you bring them up in here.

He glanced aside at Miller, who was still rubbing his reddened neck. "Not all of you anyway."

Miller dropped his gaze as a murmur of agreement and understanding rang out from the other men on the team. The locker room fell into another silence, with only the rustle of clothing and gear as players hurried to leave even quicker than before. It felt good to startle them, to surprise them by acting as he hadn't before because there hadn't been a reason until now. By the time he emerged from his shower, Kevin found himself oddly pleased that it was entirely empty.

He spun the lock on his door. No one bothered to use them generally, but after Laughlin's comment, Kevin vowed to do so in his own mind whenever his phone was unattended. Perhaps the backliner had only caught a glimpse of Jackie's picture at some point on accident, but perhaps he hadn't. When it came to the possibility of something being nefarious, Kevin didn't believe in coincidences. Not after the life he'd had. He wasn't entirely sure how the Sirens knew certain details that came up, but it could've been somewhere in the media—Jackie's adoption, his friendship with Jeremy and Jean, even his being in LA in the off-season. They weren't impossible details to find, but Kevin hadn't expected any of his life (the real, important parts) to ever be discussed in here.

Kevin dressed and pocketed his phone before leaving the locker room behind, striding quickly for the exit doors of the stadium. He'd never wanted to leave one behind him as badly as he did then, and he took in a lungful of outside air as he stepped through into the rising dusk.

Kevin turned his head, surprised to see Walters waiting a few paces away, and he paused as the man approached.

"I wanted to apologize for that in there," Walters said when he stood before Kevin. "It won't happen again."

"You didn't do anything," Kevin said.

Walters shook his head. "I'm the vice-captain. Keeping the guys in line is my job, so you can focus on what really matters."

"Well," Kevin said slowly, unsure in the moment but feeling like he should thank him for it, "I appreciate that you did try to step in."

"Sure," Walters said. "They were being dicks. Worse than that. They shouldn't have brought the boy into it. I get it though—being away from a kid is hard. I would've lost my cool too in your shoes."

Kevin scowled, confused by the comment, and Walters seemed to feel the need to clarify at the harsh look.

"My wife got a job here in the city while I was still in Atlanta and the kids were too young to stay with me, considering away games," Walters said. "So we spent the whole season apart."

Kevin didn't ask why Walters hadn't come with them immediately; a contract could've easily made that impossible. But he did ask inexplicably, "How'd you get to Chicago, to be with them again?"

"Worked my ass off to have the best stats I could when my contract was up," Walters answered. "And my agent made the Sirens a pitch. I got lucky they had an open spot. Don't know what I would've done if they hadn't signed me. Not being with my family wasn't an option."

Kevin nodded slowly. It was the sort of personal detail he never cared to know about his pro teammates, and yet he didn't mind it now.

"I didn't know you had kids," Kevin said.

"Sirens don't do personal," Walters said. "And, honestly, with guys like that around, I don't mind it."

"Yeah," Kevin agreed.

There was an awkward moment of silence, and he was relieved when Walters said, "Well, that's all I wanted to say. See you on Monday, Captain."

"Right. Have a good day off."

Walters nodded, saying goodbye even as he walked away to the sparsely-filled parking lot, and Kevin turned west to follow the wide pedestrian walkways of the waterfront back to Bennett Park. His pace wasn't easy so much as contemplative, in a vague meandering way that was less logical and more feeling.

'Not being with my family wasn't an option.'

Kevin walked slowly, letting his feet guide him along the riverside. The words Walters had shared stuck with him, but he couldn't settle on whether he admired the openness or resented it. Family. The word buzzed in his mind, a distant thought, one that had nothing to do with his past but everything to do with the present—and the two people he wasn't with now. The word itself didn't quite fit, as so many didn't when it came to them. It was both bigger and smaller somehow, but it was what Jean had chosen to label them.

Maybe his brother's doing so was enough to consider truly claiming it for himself. Maybe the fact that he'd called Jeremy and Jackie his family aloud, there in the locker room, or how the word had crept into his mind with the picture of the two of them, proved that he already had.

He'd only just stepped into his apartment when his phone rang, the chime of it different than any other caller to indicate it was one for Kevin to pick up immediately. He smiled as he did so, anticipating the welcome soothe of Jeremy's voice, and locked the door behind him as he spoke.

"Hey, Rémie," Kevin said warmly, then remembering his thought from before Miller's stunt, "Before I forget— I'll be later than usual tonight. There's a charity thing I have to go to, but I'll call as soon as I get back in."

"Alright," Jeremy replied.

Kevin paused, narrowing his eyes at the single-word response. No question about the event itself nor of when Kevin would call again, not a word about himself or Jackie. Just alright—simple, flat, and definitely not alright.

"What's wrong?" Kevin asked slowly.

"Don't be upset," Jeremy said.

Kevin frowned. "Not a great start."

"Have you talked to Aaron?" Jeremy asked. "I mean recently, not like, not about what we talked about a bit ago."

"No," Kevin said slowly, "I haven't. Why?"

Aaron had tried to call a couple of times since Kevin returned to Chicago, but training camp and the extra busy work with Peters had kept him occupied. Plus, when he was finally done for the day, he didn't want to deal with it when the other option was calling Jeremy and Jackie.

"He texted me a few minutes ago," Jeremy said, "Said 'Tell him to stop ignoring me'. Obviously, you're the 'him' in that."

Kevin clenched his free hand into a fist, closing his eyes. He did not have the patience for Aaron's bullshit right now—not after Miller and Laughlin today, not after six days with the Sirens, and certainly not in the middle of his still feeling the simmer in his blood over both.

"You'll be happy to know I didn't text back," Jeremy grumbled heatedly. "Even though I wanted to say, 'Fuck you. He doesn't have to talk to you if he doesn't want to.'" He clicked his tongue judgmentally. "The nerve of him, honestly. Like I'm your keeper or something. It's—"

"I'll handle it," Kevin said evenly. "He shouldn't have brought you into it."

"Brought me into it?" Jeremy replied, his voice confused. "What do you mean?"

"Doesn't matter. I gotta go but I'll call you back later, okay?"

"Yeah," Jeremy said slowly, "Take a deep breath for me? I can hear your blood pressure skyrocketing over the phone."

"I'm fine," Kevin ground out.

"No you're not, Kev," Jeremy soothed, "Whatever's going on in your head, it's all gonna be alright."

It damn well will be.

"It will," Kevin agreed, forcing his voice to sound lighter than he felt. He was lucky, he supposed, that Jeremy couldn't see his face. "I really do need to go."

"Okay. You'll call when you can?"

Kevin hastily promised to do so, as soon as he could, and hung up before any of his true feelings leaked through, quickly pulling up Aaron's number. He let the ring tone play until voicemail clicked in, didn't leave one, then tried again. Another ring, another voicemail.

Fine.
If that was how Aaron wanted to play it.
If he didn't want to be ignored, then Kevin would make sure Aaron felt heard.

Kevin stomped to his bedroom to grab an empty gym bag, then left the apartment seconds later, heading to the garage where his rarely-driven car sat.

He barely saw the road as he made his way to Hyde Park on the opposite end of Chicago. The leafy streets of the South Side greeted him and he found a spot a block away on the curb. The lights were on in the brick townhouse as he bounded up the stone steps, unlocking the heavy door with the key Aaron had given him years ago.

It occurred to Kevin, as he did, that it could've very well been the first time he'd ever used it. He usually knocked.

Kevin stepped into the quiet interior. There was a rhythmic sound from deeper in the house, from the kitchen in the back, but Kevin hung there for a moment in the small foyer as the door closed unnoticed behind him.

A pair of ballet flats sat on the shoe rack.
A woman's fashionable trench coat hung from the hook above.

Well, if his use of Jeremy hadn't gotten Kevin's attention, this did. Aaron was incredibly fucking transparent when he was looking for a fight.

Kevin tossed the empty bag on the nearby stairs, removed the key from his ring without taking another step, and discarded it with a clang, landing it on Katelyn's shoes before walking toward the kitchen.

It was a pristine space—marble countertops, impeccable cabinetry—barely used, but Kevin knew Aaron was obsessively tidy. In truth, Kevin was the same, but life with Jackie had taught him that a certain amount of messy chaos was perfectly acceptable.

Aaron scoffed coldly with a small chuckle as Kevin came into view, not even looking over as he continued to chop a mass of kale on the cutting board before him.

"Incredible," he said, "I thought texting him would work, of course, but I underestimated how fast it would."

"Why did you?" Kevin asked, suspecting the answer.

"Because I'm tired of you pretending I don't exist," Aaron said breezily, as if they were discussing a grocery list, "I remember the start date of training camp. You've been back in Chicago almost a week. You could've answered one of my calls, instead of forcing me to try other ways to get ahold of you."

Kevin's jaw tightened, hands flexing at his sides He didn't want to give Aaron the satisfaction of seeing a reaction, so he forced his voice even.

"If I'd felt like doing this with you, I would've picked up," Kevin said.

Aaron set the knife down gently, turning toward him but staying put, as if unwilling to give Kevin the satisfaction of seeing him move. Two lines in the sand. Tit-for-tat. His expression was casual, like this was just another conversation, when he asked, "And this is what exactly?"

"Us breaking up."

The words felt strange in his mouth, as if he was stating a fact that already existed. Clear and simple, long overdue. But the tension from Aaron's gaze turned it into something heavier than just the end of their relationship, and Kevin steeled himself further at the sight. It always tipped at some point, these confrontations. Even ground crumbling away into a free fall.

"Ah," Aaron said, "So that's what I get for giving you space these past months?"

"Apparently, what you get is a new girlfriend," Kevin countered, the sarcasm barely masked, "I saw her stuff out front."

Aaron shrugged one shoulder dismissively, as if he didn't care, but the slight tilt of his lips betrayed that he did, "Katelyn's transfer came through. She's moving from Milwaukee to be here. With me, at the house."

Kevin blinked, momentarily shocked into silence. After so long with her hovering like a specter at the edges of their conflicts, the brashness of the admittance was striking.

"You've been gone a long time, Kevin," Aaron added slowly, a testing for weak points, "Things change."

"Things change," Kevin repeated, enunciating the words deliberately. "So what? If I'd been here, it would've turned out differently?"

"I honestly don't know, but I doubt it," Aaron replied. "I was on the verge of ending it in April, before you left. But, after what happened, even I thought it was too cruel to say anything before you came back to Chicago." He narrowed his eyes, his voice sharpening. "Then there was the memorial service. You just kept staying out there and... I was here. It made things easier to see clearly."

Kevin's chest tightened. He hadn't expected Aaron's words to sting like they did, but it was less because he was hurt by them than the fact that Aaron had just waited. That he'd wanted something like this to go down face-to-face when there was no reason for it. Sitting like some spring-loaded trap in Chicago for a time when Kevin was alone.

"Did you even stop seeing her after November?" Kevin asked, his voice barely holding steady.

"Does it matter?" Aaron shot back coolly, a single eyebrow raised in judgement at Kevin's question.

Kevin stared at him for a moment, taken aback by the careless dismissal. He wasn't even sure why he'd asked it, since it changed nothing, but Aaron had no right to hedge now, not after everything. His stomach twisted with frustration at the farce of it—at how Aaron no longer pretended to give a shit, or maybe never had in truth. The fact that Kevin considered it a possibility that Aaron hadn't cared about him much all along spoke so much more than any words could.

"No," Kevin said honestly, "But I still want to know."

I want to know if you even can be honest.

"I did, for a while," Aaron said, almost too casually as if to wave away the weight of his actions, "I meant what I said then, even if you don't believe it." He shook his head, "But even when I tried to make shit better, you didn't care. Didn't notice. Always had exy to occupy you."

Aaron sneered the word, as if he hadn't known that. As if he hadn't always known that, both times they'd dated. But, he also knew how to twist a knife in just the right spot too, how to turn it around to place blame where he wanted it to land.

"But LA has always been the worst of the two. I got tired of being second," Aaron continued, his voice growing harsher, "I am sick of being second, or fourth or fifth or however far down on the list I am after all the rest of them."

Kevin furrowed his brow, confused. "All the—?"

"Oh come off it, Kevin," Aaron said, rolling his eyes in exasperation, "First, I'm trying to patch stuff up over your winter break because I finally get you off a court to pay attention to us and what do you do? You fly off to LA at the drop of a goddamn hat. You left me alone, in Germany, on Christmas Day."

"You weren't alone," Kevin argued, a spark of irritation flickering in him because that wasn't true. At least not all of it. "Your entire family was there, Aaron. And Jackie had just been born! I had to go. You knew how important that was for—"

"Oh I know," Aaron spat venomously, cutting through Kevin's words, "For Jeremy and Jean. Always. As usual. It wasn't enough that you'd been out there for weeks over the summer. That you spent a whole month with them for the Olympics. Of course that wasn't enough so they got your winter break too, both holidays. They call, from the other side of the goddamn planet, and off you fucking go. To them!"

Aaron's words, now laced with bile, hit harder than Kevin had expected. He didn't feel bad for any of it. He wouldn't. Those days were important to him—the peace he felt at being in LA, the opportunity to play with the two of them for a gold medal, the honor of being called to be one of the first people to meet Jackie after his birth. Those days were infinitely more precious now because they were some of the last he had with Jean and the fact that Aaron didn't see that? That he didn't get that somehow, despite having a brother of his own? It sickened something in Kevin in a way none of their arguments had before.

He took a deep breath, pushing down the instinct to shout, to say something he'd regret. Instead, Aaron kept going, his eyes wild with frustration. Tipping point teetering, cliff edge crumbling.

Aaron shook his head in disbelief, "And still I tried. Do you even remember me asking you to go out of town with me? In January?" Kevin didn't answer, because he didn't remember. Aaron barely paused though, not waiting for a response that wasn't coming. "I had that conference in Indianapolis, you had a break from games, I suggested we make a weekend out of it. Reconnect. Take the time. Focus on us." He smiled, but it was all teeth, no joy. "And what did you say? I bet if I say one of those days was January thirteenth you'd remember."

Ah.

"Jeremy's birthday."

They had a ritual, the three of them. No matter where road games took them or what hotel they were in that night, they ate dinner together over speakerphone when it was one of their birthdays, pretending to share the meal despite whatever distance between them. Scheduling might mean it was pushed back or forward a day, and Jeremy's birthday in particular had always been celebrated on such calls, but sometimes Kevin was lucky enough to have a day to fly out to LA for Jean's. It was special, those birthdays after not celebrating so many in the Nest.

And so were Kevin's because he hadn't celebrated his in March while trapped underground either. Jean and Jeremy never missed calling him on a single one.

"Exactly," Aaron said, as if it emphasized his point, "You don't even like celebrating birthdays but the idea of missing one of theirs? Impossible. Not even to salvage what we had."

"Salvage?" Kevin said, dumbfounded.

When, exactly, had Aaron become the victim in this?

The last bit of control Kevin had held thus far snapped.

"You cheated on me. In November and in college," Kevin said, the words spilling out, "You threw it all away, Aaron. Twice. Why was it on me to salvage something you didn't care about? I gave you chances, but you shouldn't have needed so many. It shouldn't have been so goddamn hard for you to be with me. Why fight for it when you never gave me a real reason to keep trying?"

You do not lack the will, mon frére. You lack the reason to try.

Jean's voice from weeks before echoed in his head, and for the first time, Kevin felt like he truly understood what his brother meant—and that Jean wasn't wrong. Why try when it had never been right? Even before Katelyn reentered the picture, when had it been good and warm and natural like loving someone was supposed to be? When hadn't it had an air of selfishness in it from Aaron, or an air of halfheartedness from himself (if he were honest)?

When had it even had a fraction of the comforting, selfless support he felt by Jeremy's side?

"I didn't cheat on you in college," Aaron said coldly.

He had expected this, for Aaron to play it off as if he was innocent and blameless because that was the story he'd written for himself years ago. Still, Kevin couldn't believe him. How desperate was Aaron to control and manipulate the narrative that he'd gaslight Kevin into thinking their past had been anything else? What was the point?

Kevin scoffed, "Really? You wanna parse words on it now?"

Aaron's eyes flashed with a sharp edge, but Kevin didn't care anymore.

"I never did clarify, I guess, where the line for cheating is for you," Kevin sneered, his volume ticking up a notch. "But kissing her at PSU? Saying you were still in love with her and not me? That crossed my line. Your sleeping with her in November, and whenever since then, definitely fucking does."

"Why the hell shouldn't I?!" Aaron fumed, his fury finally breaking free.

Good, Kevin thought. He was sick of holding his back too. He didn't know why he bothered.

"Why should I keep coming last, Kevin? After everything else," he demanded. "Why?"

"Why do you think you deserve that but I don't?" Kevin countered, rising to match in volume. "I knew I wouldn't be more important than the hospital for you. I accepted that." He narrowed his eyes. "Which was obviously a mistake. That's not how this shit is supposed to work. It's not supposed to work better when we don't see each other, when other stuff is easy to choose first."

"God, that is so goddamn rich from you," Aaron said, derision heavy in every word. "Kevin Day, lecturing me on how relationships are supposed to work."

"Well, I'm not taking advice on them from you," Kevin bit. "Jesus fuck, why the hell did we even do this a second time?"

"Because I thought I wanted another shot!" Aaron shouted. "I wanted our second chance, Kevin! I thought—maybe it's a sign, you moving here for the Sirens and her being gone after med school."

Kevin couldn't help the cold chuckle that spilled out at that. Of course. Of course.

"Second chance, my ass, Aaron," Kevin said, flabbergasted. "I was here. She wasn't. Just like PSU, all over again, all the way up to you crawling right back to her when distance isn't a problem anymore. I was the second choice. It didn't matter who was here, not if it wasn't her."

"You're wrong. It was good here at first with us." His voice softened on the word, a fractional quieting, a so-brief slip of a mask Kevin knew better than the man underneath. "Don't fucking lie about it. I thought we'd do better this time. I thought we could get it right."

Aaron's eyes darted to the floor for a second, a flash of something unreadable passing over his face. It wasn't just anger that colored the words, but something raw, a different sort of bitterness buried deep beneath the surface. Whatever it was, he shook it off quickly, the pause forgotten as he barrelled on, "But it still didn't work because you're the same as you were in college: obsessive, perfectionistic, zero empathy. Self-centered on your precious fucking exy because that's all you are."

"You're the same too. Your shit with her only proves it," Kevin said, weathering each blow of Aaron's expertly. His mind wandered, just for a second—all the ways he'd tried to make it work with Aaron the first time they dated... and the empty places where he couldn't think of when Aaron had fought for him in return. The way Aaron had pushed him to the edge and kept him there, never truly making him feel wanted, making him question if he was worth anything beyond his jersey...

Kevin continued, "I may be a lot of shit, but I'm not a liar and I'm not disloyal." He shook his head, already beginning to speak again, but Aaron's sharp bark of a laugh cut him off before he did.

"Disloyal?" Aaron said, sounding amazed. "You? Seriously, Kevin?" He shook his head, a predatory light flashing in his hazel eyes. "Wow. I can't believe you can stand here and say that with a straight face. It's incredible that you think you can judge me for any of it, honestly. Now that we're just letting it all out."

Kevin blinked, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"About the fact that I've known you for years, Kevin," Aaron said haughtily. "Better than most, and I don't know who you were the last time I saw you. Being at the memorial service was like some kind of warped fun house. Kevin Day here, all the things I described. But Kevin Day there? A whole different man."

His expression took on a stormier weight, a dark flush of fury rising in his face as he continued. "Attentive, kind, supportive. It was sickening, how everybody there could see it too. Strangers who don't know anything about you, seeing someone caring and empathetic like that's real. You might've heard it yourself if you hadn't been so goddamn fixated on him." He spat the words like a curse. "At least I'm owning my shit now: I'm in love with Katelyn. I'll admit it, admit that I have been the whole time. I want to be with her, not you." A volatile heat sparked in his hazel eyes. "And you are the exact same way with Jeremy and it's fucking disgusting."

The air between them felt too thin, as if the walls of Aaron's kitchen were closing in. Kevin stood tall, trying to keep his own breath steady, but inside, his pulse was a chaotic mess of anger and disbelief. Aaron continued with a simpered tone, as if mocking other voices, as Kevin watched him like some kind of horror show brought to life.

"Oh, look at Kevin Day, he's so good with that baby. So sweet to take care of him like that. Oh, Kevin Day, so strong, supporting Jeremy while he's grieving. They're so lucky to have each other through this. He must've really loved Jean, being so kind to his family, being so loving. Couldn't ask for better for a widower and a baby. It's just like they're his." Aaron's face contorted with menace, and Kevin didn't have time to prepare before the condemnation sliced through the air like a blade. "Tell me, Kevin: Did you even wait for Jean's body to get cold before you fuc—?"

"Don't."

It was the same word from the locker room, though said aloud this time. A growl, a warning, and infinitely more vicious.

Tipping point reached. Cliff edge falling into the sea. Burner ignited.

Aaron could say whatever he wanted about Kevin. He could tear him to shreds, question and demean every part of him, judge him and condemn him. But Aaron would not go there.

At least, not without facing another side of Kevin that he hadn't seen before either.

But Aaron's smile only took on that toothy sharpness again, tasting blood in the water.

"Or what?" he taunted. "It's amazing how bringing Jeremy up always strikes a nerve with you. It always has too, ever since you showed up at Palmetto. I'm a fucking idiot for not seeing it for what it really was this whole time." He took a step forward, the challenge in his eyes glinting as his voice lowered. "Do you remember when you came back after the Olympics and we had sex? Might've even been the last time, I'm not sure. But I considered it then, you know. Even then, I wondered."

Another step, a flash of teeth. "I thought to myself: Is it really me he's thinking about on his cock, or is it him? We're both shorter. Blond."

One more step, close enough to see the flecks of brown in his eyes. "Maybe it's just. that. easy. for you to pretend because pretending was all you could do back then, with Jean still around. Not now though, huh?" He raised an eyebrow. "Two months in the same house and you can honestly tell me nothing happened?"

Kevin took a step back. He took a step back because he didn't want to know what happened if he took a step forward. He took a step back because he wanted to take a step forward and shove every single word back down Aaron's throat. The fury he'd felt in the locker room earlier paled so much in comparison, it hardly was one at all.

But Kevin didn't want to be that guy, even if Aaron deserved it for what he was saying, for what he was implying, for what he was alluding to as if anything having to do with Jeremy could ever be as deceitful as what Aaron himself had done to Kevin. Twice.

He'd never raised a hand to Aaron though, no matter how dirty their fights became or how much it felt like Aaron was baiting him into it. He wouldn't start now, even if he'd never been so fucking tempted as he was in that moment.

He is not worth it, mon frère. You are the better man.

For once, Kevin felt no sorrow or shame or judgment at hearing the Jean in his mind. It was exactly what he needed to take a breath before responding, even as he watched Aaron brace himself for an equal strike.

"You know," Kevin said, flat and even, "I really did care when we dated at Palmetto. I was going to give it my best at being long-distance too—even from Boston, even while playing pro. You are the one who broke us up, Aaron. Not me. I'm not blameless, I know that, but you're the one who never gave us a real shot first. You broke my fucking heart back then."

Kevin hated admitting it, but it was true. For all the mess they were, for all the ways it'd never worked and was never going to in the end, for all the wrong reasons, for all the ways he had no fucking clue how to make a relationship work—Kevin had wanted Aaron. He'd loved him, in some sort of way at least. He'd let him close enough for it to fucking hurt.

But now? Kevin could barely remember that part of himself—the one who still longed for Aaron, the one who had cared deeply enough to feel heartbreak at the loss of him. Something had changed, or maybe something that had always been there finally clicked into place. The idea of him and Aaron together, of their past, didn't feel like a lost chance. It felt like a closed chapter. The mistake was in its happening at all, not in its ending.

"And, I'll admit it wasn't the same here. I didn't trust you," Kevin said, and for the first time, he realized how much those words meant. It wasn't just a statement—it was the consequence of years of lessons learned, of scars that were never given the chance to heal. "It's obvious I didn't, looking back. Exy's safer than you are."

Of course it was. Exy was easier to give everything to because the effort gave something back. Exy couldn't walk away when things were tough or Kevin was an asshole. Exy couldn't die on him. It stayed. It had rules. The game was predictable, controllable. It had never broken him like people had. It hadn't disappointed him, or betrayed his trust. Exy could be depended on in a way that nothing and no one could be—other than one man, and it wasn't the person before him.

Truly, when he thought about it, Aaron was the worst of those that Kevin had let so close. For all his struggles with Neil and Andrew, for how hard their sharp edges sliced against his own, they'd never broken a promise to him. Even in the midst of a rough time with them, he knew they'd never stab him in the back. But Kevin hadn't had that faith in Aaron in so long, he wondered if he ever had.

He scoffed, somewhat amazed by the clarity of it, "Everything else in my life is safer than you. It was always going to go this way because it's who both of us are. We don't fit. We weren't really in this, not like we should've been if we wanted it to mean something. We should've never done it, either time."

Aaron stared at him for a moment, clearly thrown by the words but trying not to show it. This wasn’t how their fights went. There was never a de-escalation—nothing like what Kevin had just done. No, their fights always ended with one of them walking out…and not coming back. Not the way Kevin had, that night weeks ago, when he returned to the sage-green house. When he went home.

After a brief pause, Aaron said evenly, "We shouldn't have. I was on the rebound, you felt pushed aside by Neil and Andrew hooking up. We were lonely."

Kevin barely kept himself from wincing, but Aaron's perceptiveness had always been too close for comfort.

He continued, "We were always around each other. We all went through crazy shit together the year before. Circumstances lined up, but if they hadn't?"

It was a question that didn't need an answer, even as Kevin's mind supplied it: If they hadn't, we could've both saved ourselves from this shit.

"I'm not excusing what you did," Kevin insisted. "Even if that's all true, it shouldn't have been so hard for you to pick me over her or at least been goddamn honest with me before picking her again, either time."

"It shouldn't have been so hard for you to pick me over exy," Aaron countered. "Or over them. Over him."

"This is not about Jeremy!" Kevin said, angered, yes, but more frustrated than anything because the equation wasn't the same. It wasn't the same now, and it hadn't been when Jean was alive either.

"Then tell me you aren't in love with him."

Aaron said the words as calmly as any he'd said so far. It was a prompting without question to it. A request almost, just barely short of a statement of fact.

"Why does it matter when you've already said you are with her?" Kevin asked.

"Because I'm curious if you even can."

"I'm not in love with Jeremy," Kevin said smoothly. "But I don't have to be for him to be important to me. The way I love him doesn't have to be like that for it to matter."

Aaron held Kevin's confident gaze, one corner of his mouth curling just slightly. As if he'd won something.

"Funny how it took you over a year to say that word about me, and here it is, so easy with him. Kind of like how you said you wanted nothing to do with kids, complained the whole time about my nieces in Germany, but Jackie is something totally different."

"He is."

It was true. Aaron may've been implying something with that too, but Kevin was beyond caring to fight further and bother correcting him. Jackie and Jeremy were both something different, so much more than Aaron could possibly understand or imagine. He couldn't understand what Kevin had with Jean either; if he'd grasped even a fraction of what they'd meant to one another, he would've found it to be the beautiful thing it was, not whatever he'd twisted it to be in his own mind.

"I shouldn't have let it get this far," Kevin continued. "It was a waste of a lot of things for both of us. I should've left you in November, or we should've never started it."

"I agree. We should've never done this at all."

It didn't hurt to hear it, even if Kevin had been honest: He had truly, deeply cared for Aaron the first time they dated. Maybe it wasn't the sort of thing Jean and Jeremy had, or whatever it was Aaron apparently had with Katelyn, but it had mattered to Kevin. But he'd already mourned it years ago so the slice Aaron's words might've made back then didn't land.

"I left your key on the shoe rack," Kevin said, moving to go. There was nothing more to say between them, on this topic or any other. "I'm going to get my stuff from upstairs."

"Don't bother," Aaron said from behind him. "It's in a bag already. In the hutch, behind the front door."

Kevin scoffed quietly. If Katelyn's stuff was out on display, it made sense his would be hidden. He began to walk toward it at the end of the hallway, but Aaron's voice had him pausing after another step, even though he didn't turn to face him.

"Let me give you some advice, Kevin," Aaron said. "You can be a good guy, but you're cruel without knowing it. Nothing can compete with the rules you have set up in your head. The perfection you think you have to achieve, the standards you demand of other people. That's the exy player in you; it bleeds into everything because exy always comes first. It's where you hide. It's a drug worse than alcohol ever was for you because everybody just accepts the way you are about it, like it isn't going to leave you with nothing someday."

His chuckle was more a scoff, only one dry note. "You probably still think it's worth it, even when I say that. All for the game, right?" His tone flattened, almost emotionless in comparison to the rest. "The next time you tell somebody they're important to you, consider if you should say 'after exy'. It fucking sucks to be second place to your game, Kevin. Don't do that to them."

Kevin nodded once, unwilling to reply. The thing was... he knew that. His mind briefly drifted to Abby's knowing words, to Walters' unwitting advice, to all the people over the years who'd tried to make him realize what mattered by action or words. He didn't need Aaron to remind him of that. He had his clarity, and he'd never deny it going forward.

He'd gone weeks without a court because Jeremy needed him close and present. No matter how itchy he'd become, he would've always pushed it aside for Jeremy's sake if need be. Kevin would've ignored his own desire for exy for his two months in LA if that's what was best for Jeremy and Jackie, and he wouldn't have regretted doing so. He knew that he'd put spending time with Jackie above it over and over again, and not once during six brutal days of training had he considered the time with his godson not worth being out of shape for. In a way, it was surprising to realize how true it was, standing there with Aaron's words in his mind. He would've sworn months ago that he'd never think so, about anyone or anything.

But, Kevin did because he had a family now.