@praenunti | continuted from here.
Kevin is struggling to look at him. The plane ticket is clutched so tightly in his hand that it's shaking. Is that nerves or is it alcohol or is it because he was stupid enough to take it in his left hand? Does it matter? He doesn't think anything matters but that he has a few minutes alone with Jean before he has to go back out there and face Riko and pretend none of this matters. "I didn't know who he was. If I had I never would've--" But what difference does it make? Nathaniel--Neil--whatever had kept it from him, so there's nothing Kevin could've done. He can't protect him from going to the Nest. He can't protect himself, let alone anyone else. He hates that Jean is included on that list. He wishes more than anything that he wasn't. He opens his mouth, a question on his tongue, but he swallows it. It isn't fair to ask if Jean hates him. He knows the answer anyway--yes and no. There's no point arguing about it. He lets out a breath, his chest tight and his heart hammering, but finally makes himself look up at Jean. He doesn't have any idea what to say, because nothing can make this any better. "I tried to find you, the night I left. I couldn't. I didn't have time." Hard to believe that was a year ago. "I wanted to come back for you. You know I did." He needs to believe Jean knows that at least. "I don't... Yeah. Maybe I can't stand myself for that. For leaving you there. But you and I both know that won't make a difference. Nothing does. I don't want to fight with you. I never did." He's floundering for something else to say. What can he say? He doesn't think words exist for a moment like this.
It never gets any easier seeing Kevin, his once-closest and only friend, the only other person in the world that understood what his life is like at the Nest. On the court, it is easier because Jean can pretend that he is just another player, a stranger. Especially since now Kevin's play style is so different, so far removed from what it had once been. Unless they're face to face, no helmets and faceguards to hide behind, Kevin is anyone and noone. So Jean tells himself, anyway. Except they're not on the court now. They're face to face, and Kevin is talking about that night, a year ago. The night that Jean's life turned upside down, when the one person that he believed genuinely cared about him abandoned him. A muscle in his jaw twitches; his head aches with how hard he is grinding his teeth together. "Don't lie to me," he snaps. He feels cornered, facing down a terrible monster that chills him to the bone. Jean doesn't want to talk about the night Kevin left, how much it had hurt, how much Riko had hurt him in the following weeks. The wounds Riko left have healed, replaced by new, fresh ones; Kevin's is still open and bleeding, raw and ugly and all-consuming. But Jean isn't about to show weakness to this stranger who stands before him, giving him lies and excuses as if that's going to patch his wounds. "You left and you haven't looked back. I know you, Kevin, I know how fucking self-centered you are. Don't pretend that you ever think of me." Jean narrows his eyes, and his next words are a sharp, hissed whisper. "Do you remember what Riko was like? He was worse after you left. I thought he was going to kill me because he thought I was helping you, that I covered for you. He didn't believe that I didn't know your plan until it was already too late. I thought he was going to kill me, and it would have been your fault. So don't come here telling me that you care about me, about what happens to me. Run along home to your little happy family, where you can bury your head in the sand and go back to pretending that I don't exist. Vous êtes un lâche et vous l'avez toujours été."
