#wesawbears

He could only remember celebrating Christmas once before getting send off to the Ravens. He lived in Paris back then. Everywhere you looked there were Christmas lights and trees, people carrying gifts and being drunk. Their tree touched the ceiling of their house and it was full of mirror-like Christmas ornaments. His mother used to make this delicious cake, but he has long forgotten the name and taste of it. 

He was wearing a jacket and a scarf. Winters weren’t as cold as they used to be. His hands were freezing though. He wished he had some gloves. 

Jean had only just started drinking. It was forbidden to do so in the Nest and besides he didn’t really want to drink around Riko. The thought of him send chills down his spine. 

Him and Jeremy entered the pub. The atmosphere was warm, people were drinking, dancing, laughing. They sat at the bar and ordered two beers. Jeremy started talking about the upcoming games and their tactics and about how they should train more, but he didn’t want to exhaust anyone and blah blah blah. Jean really couldn’t stand how kind and thoughtful he was sometimes. He wasn’t used to people like him and it made him feel uneasy sometimes. 

Jeremy ordered a second beer and then a third one. He was already getting a bit tipsy. Jean couldn’t help but notice him a bit more. It was as if his golden curls and bright smile were illuminating the whole room. His skin was tanned and smooth and he really wanted to touch it to see exactly how soft it was. He once knew a boy like him. He was a new Raven his third year in the Nest. Riko broke him too soon. He had no idea what happened to him. 

“So what do you want for Christmas?” Jeremy suddenly asked, bringing Jean’s thoughts to a halt.

The question took Jean by surprise. He wasn’t used to receiving gifts. 

“I noticed you don’t have enough warm clothes,” he said. “Maybe I should get you a jumper or a hoodie or a pair of gloves-”

Jeremy suddenly stopped. He made a weird sound and his hand came up to his mouth - and he started running towards the toilet. Jean was surprised. He had seen the other boy drink whole bottles of vodka or rum before, but never throwing up.

He went to the toilet and knocked at the only closed door. “Hey,” he said. “It’s Jean. Are you okay?”

No reply.

“Jeremy, can you hear me?” he tried again.

Then, the door opened. Jeremy was pale and sweat was running down his forehead. He walked passed Jean, not looking at him even once. 

“I’m alright,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

And then he left the place, leaving Jean alone and confused, wondering what the hell just happened.

Sometimes Jean could tell when he was dreaming. It was like trying to watch a movie through a dense fog and commenting on the weird and silly things that were happening, but not being able to change it, not even one bit. That’s what it felt like.

Sometimes Jean couldn’t tell when he was dreaming. He would only realize it after he had woken up screaming. He mostly forgot these dreams, but not the feelings they would make him experience. Jean always had a feeling that all of his nightmares were about Riko.

This was one of those nights. Jeremy woke him up, calling his name. He was standing next to his bed, but not touching him. He had only made that mistake once, the first night Jean was screaming in his sleep. He got punched for that. 

Jean opened his eyes and for a moment he didn’t recognise him. But, as soon as his head cleared up, he hugged Jeremy. He generally didn’t like getting physical like that - with anyone. But at nights like this he really needed this. It reminded him of the way his mother used to hold him when he was a kid or of the way Kevin sometimes comforted him in secret. No one was allowed to see them. Kindness was punished in the Nest.

Jeremy wrapped his hands around Jean and let him breath. He felt his eyes watering and aching, but he never let the tears fall. After Jean calmed down a bit he went to the kitchen and brought him a piece of chocolate. 

He knew this dance far too well. 

Everyone knew that both Laila and Alvarez picked the best christmas gifts for everyone. They always knew what was best for each of their teammates. Except Jean. He really was a difficult person to solve. Not that anyone could blame him. 

So, they decided to take him with them and choose his gift together. Obviously they couldn’t take no for an answer. 

Jean didn’t really want anything in particular. They first went to an electronics store. Laila asked him if he wanted headphones maybe. Jean said he doesn’t listen to music. She almost had a stroke and they left.

Then, they went to an exy store. Jean didn’t like the quality of any of the equipment there. Alvarez sighed and said something about him being snobby.

After half an hour of walking around they ended up in a clothes shop. He was mindlessly walking around, pretending to look at clothes, but he didn’t really like any of them. 

That’s when he saw it. It was an oversized hoodie, in a very nice and warm shade of yellow. In the center, three words were printed in a vintage white fond; rayons du soleil. 

It immediately reminded him of Jeremy. Kevin had once told him about an old writer named Heliodorus. It meant gift of the sun. Jean wasn’t exactly sure why he just remembered that. 

When Laila and Alvarez saw him looking at it, they were very confused. It didn’t look like something he would like. Maybe it was the french that caught his eye. They decided to buy it for him. But Jean was never meant to wear it, it was made for someone else.

Jeremy was getting worse. He tried to hide it. He even tried to avoid Jean, but that didn’t work out. He was pale and exhausted all the time. His head was spinning and his stomach felt like he had swallowed a rock. The doctor told him it was a rare disease. They couldn’t do anything for him. The only cure was the person he loved, to love him back. Until then he would continue throwing up flowers until they choked him.

That day, when he went back home after practice, Jean was cooking. It was maybe the first time he had seen him do that. He was making chicken soup with lots of ginger. He thought Jeremy had caught a cold. 

Jean was one of those people who firmly believed in the power of chicken soup and ginger, even though he had never cooked it himself before. 

It really made Jeremy sad seeing him like this. He didn’t know the truth and he would never find out. He entered the kitchen and Jean smiled at him. This was killing him. 

He sat down on the table. 

“I think you should go see a doctor,” Jean said, as he was moving around the kitchen. His movements were fast and not very delicate. It was obvious he didn’t really know how to move around a kitchen. Jeremy loved that weird dance. He loved the sight of him. He loved him.

“You should cook more often,” Jeremy said, changing the subject.

“You should fuck off”, Jean replied, but he was smiling.

They kept talking about exy and their upcoming games. Jeremy was analysing the weaknesses of their next opponent, when Jean let out a sudden scream, scaring him to death. That dumbass had touched a hot spatula. He quickly got up and took Jean’s hand in his own to inspect it. It was slightly burnt. He quickly pulled him towards the kitchen sink, opened the tap and put his hand underneath the cold running water.

“Or maybe you shouldn’t try to cook ever again,” Jeremy said.

Jean gave him a pained look. As they were standing there, too close, so very close, their hands touching, Jeremy’s heart was pumping. He let go of Jean’s hand and distanced himself a little. He was feeling dizzy and tired. He wanted to throw up again.

His hand quickly came up to his mouth and he ran to the toilet. 

Jean didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t know what was wrong. Jeremy was acting very strange lately and, frankly, he was annoyed by it. He had started regretting caring, regretting trusting Jeremy, regretting thinking he was a good person. He was avoiding him and shutting him out, but Jean hadn’t done anything to deserve this. And on top of all that Jeremy was getting sicker and sicker, but he didn’t want to discuss it and Jean had no idea why he kept vomiting.

He was getting more and more aggressive on the court, more and more hostile towards his 

teammates. He kept starting fights with Alvarez in every practise. He pushed himself harder and harder everyday on the court. It was his way of forgetting. The only way he knew off.

He was sitting at the kitchen table. There was a cup of coffee in front of him. He kept touching it, lifting it, but never drinking from it, spinning it around. It was still very hot and his burnt hand was suffering. But, he kept forgetting about it and touching it again and again.

He heard the door open. He slowly got up and exited the kitchen. Jeremy was sprawled on the couch, eyes closed, one hand touching his forehead. Jean stayed still. He suddenly didn’t know what to do with himself. Sit down? Talk? Leave?

Jeremy opened his eyes. He looked very very tired. He didn’t say anything, just stared at Jean. 

“How are you feeling?” Jean asked.

“Absolutely fantastic,” Jeremy murmured.

“Did you go to the doctor?” he continued.

“No,” Jeremy said and Jean’s patience was running low.

“Don’t you think it’s time to?” 

“Not really.”

“Jeremy!” Jean shouted. It was like a glass falling and breaking, shattering the silence. “You are sick and you are not taking this seriously! What are you even doing? Maybe you need medicine or-”

“And why do you care?” Jeremy shouted back, standing up. 

Jean was taken aback. He hadn’t seen that coming. Jeremy never raised his voice. To anyone.

Jeremy let out a frustrated groan and stormed towards the bathroom. He slammed the door behind him. The other boy knocked and knocked, but Jeremy wouldn’t answer or open the damn door. Jean lowered himself and sat down. His back against the door, he was facing the kitchen. His coffee should have gone cold by now. He didn’t get up.

“Jeremy,” he said again, “Can you at least talk to me?”

The voice from the other side of the door sounded coarse and very close. Maybe Jeremy was also sitting down. Jean could imagine their backs touching, without the door in between. 

“I don’t know what to say to you” he said.

“Why don’t you start with the truth?” Jean whispered.