i'm here. how weird

He closes his eyes against the bumping of the bus. Even this many years later, sleep deprivation slams him back into Castle Evermore and doubled up days. He says, “He intercepted it. I didn’t pass it to him.”

Unfortunately, he’s lying. Jeremy was wearing the same number he wore in college, the same colors, that same determined gaze, the same quick smile. The way he carries his racquet, holds his shoulders, so familiar Jean fell back into old patterns. Jeremy texted him after, a cheeky thanks Moreau Jean isn’t equipped to laugh at yet, but it’s an awful mistake his first pro season. The only thing looking anywhere near a silver lining is that it’s a meaningless game, the last one of the regular season, already qualified for playoffs and about to go on break for the holidays.

His fuck up is playing on replay at the airport bar, where muted ESPN talking heads are no doubt shit talking him or making the same jokes about match fixing as his teammates. It’s on replay on Twitter, which he exits in irritation because someone resurfaced the old rumors about him and Jeremy fucking. It’s on replay in the Trojans Whatsapp group, where Laila and Alvarez are sending emoji recreations back and forth. When he gets home and climbs into bed it’s still on replay on the insides of his eyelids, an error he would’ve gotten crucified for just a few years ago, this time a meme that’ll fade into obscurity as soon as the next round of football games kicks off.

His phone vibrates on his nightstand. Jean watches it glow in the darkness for two, three, four rings before picking up.

“You’re still up?” Jeremy says. Jean missed the sound of his voice in private, no competitive edge, all warmth.

“Can’t sleep,” Jean says, sitting up. “You may not have heard. I made a game-losing mistake today.”

Jeremy’s laugh takes Jean back to his first weeks at USC, when Jeremy was all over him, smothering, constantly trying to make him feel at home. It worked, eventually.

“Thanks again, bestie,” Jeremy says, then, “I hope you’re not getting too much shit. People fumble passes all the time.”

“I did not fumble a pass.”

Another laugh. “I knew it. You forget what year it is?”

“Maybe I just miss playing with a competent striker.”

“So mean. Meyers isn’t so bad.”

“No, but he didn’t win Rookie of the Year last season.”

“So true. Sucks for you. Listen, I actually didn’t call to flirt, if you can believe that.”

“That does not sound like you.”

“Are you going to be in LA for Laila and Alvarez’s Christmas party? I wanted to coordinate. Seeing you today reminded me how much I miss you.”

So he did call to flirt. Jean sighs. “Yes, I will be in LA the entire break.”

“Can you text me your hotel deets?”

“You want to share a room?”

“Who’s flirting now? No, I just know you’ve probably done your research and I want to mooch off your hard work.”

“Like you did today?”

Jean can hear the smile in Jeremy’s voice when he says, “Exactly.”

“I’m getting there Wednesday night,” Jean says. Then, “I miss you, too.”