Chapter Text
When they laid Riko’s body to rest, the only thing Jean could think about was Kevin Day. Kevin Day, Castle Evermore, and the fragile blades of grass near his feet. He thought he must’ve been imagining their brightness, the absolute intensity of the iridescent neon bright fucking green of them.
Riko was dead.
The pallbearers were four enormous Japanese men. Jean was thankful; he couldn’t promise himself he wouldn’t have dropped the casket. It was black, of course, and emblazoned with a bright silvery ‘R’ where a cross would normally be featured. The insignia flashed white in the sun. Jean was thankful, also, that the Moriyamas were Shinto – Jean didn’t think he could handle an open casket. The other steps of the burial ceremony, specifically the wake, had been private.
The surrounding crowd wasn’t sparse. Social media blew up with tweets to Riko’s official account, ESPN lurked at the edges of the graveyard and fans sent mountains and mountains of flowers. Hydrangeas and hyacinths and poppies and lilies and baby’s breath all now piled onto the black casket until they spilled like wine over the edges, staining everything with an unreal beauty, an indecent contrast to the man himself.
There were three rows of fold out chairs filled with only Moriyamas, save for the most important one. Why would Ichirou have come? His brother was a stranger. Ichirou did nothing out of obligation – he owned Riko, but owed him nothing. To one brother, the other was an unpleasant gouge mark, marring the glass of the Moriyama’s glittering reputation.
Castle Evermore was never going to be the same again.
Jean stood shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the Ravens, at the forefront of the crowd. Their matching postures, their frowns, and their all black ensemble – none of it was unusual except for its absence of red. Perhaps Tetsuji was trying to avoid media backlash; one might think it crude. Jean didn’t think so. He wanted red sleeves. He wanted red from the cufflinks of his mourning suit to the creases in the shoulders, crinkled from one too many hands resting there and one too many, “The Ravens will come back from this.”
The Ravens will never come back from this, thought Jean, and he watched as Riko’s mother went to stand silently next to Tetsuji. They weren’t holding hands. They stood like Ravens, feet planted shoulder width apart, hands clasped together in front of their stomachs. There was no silent show of support between the two. In fact, if Jean didn’t know who they were, he would have thought them complete strangers. The two feet between them stretched years, oceans, lifespans.
Jean thought of Kevin Day.
The Ravens stepped forward as a unit to toss soil onto the coffin. They weren’t as disconnected as the Moriyamas; they wore their grief proudly. Luke – one of the two starting backliners – was crying. He was pissed at Luke almost before he realized it. His mouth twisted into a sneer before stilling at the taste of salt. Jean hadn’t recognized the fat tears dripping off his own face.
A hand touched his shoulder and he turned to stare at the devil’s familiar green eyes.
“I’m—” started Kevin, but he trailed off. Jean shifted his weight from one leg to the other and Kevin’s hand fell away.
“He was…” Kevin started and stopped again, in French, “Have you thought any more about the Tro –”
“Yeah, fuck off,” Jean interrupted, in English. “I changed my mind.”
Kevin’s eyes flickered from the lowered coffin to the Moriyamas, who had begun to get up and leave. A black line began to form and descend from the green to a vehicle waiting at the graveyard gates. Jean stared hard at the gaunt corners of his former teammate’s face.
It felt like falling asleep. This funeral. The vastness of it.
“You can’t stay here,” said Kevin.
Jean didn’t respond. Instead, he tracked the movement of the priest wandering next to Riko’s mother. The priest lifted a hand as if to console her, but the glare she sent him was enough that he awkwardly meandered away to another dark haired family member. Their glare sent him scuttling backwards, knocking into another Moriyama.
Kevin began to say something else, something about signing with the Exy team at USC.
“I haven’t signed anything yet,” said Jean, a lie too big to fool either of them.
As if sensing Jean’s stare, the priest looked right at him. Kevin started to say something else. The pair must have looked far from friendly, but the priest, with a bravery known to few men, made his way over.
He made as if to put his hand on Jean’s shoulder. The Raven quickly stepped out of his reach but the priest was already speaking. “You must be Jean. The three – you were part of Riko’s perfect –”
Jean’s stare was hard but he’d been raised a Catholic so he kept his mouth shut to keep the lord’s name from escaping. Though he had to bite his lips closed do it.
The glare was enough. The priest faltered and faced Kevin instead, bumbling through his first name. “Kevin Day? Two and three together, here. You know, it’s truly something. Riko was your best friend, you know that, didn’t you? His Court. His family. You were like a –”
“Excuse me,” said Kevin and it was a strangled sound.
The priest looked startled but he quieted before taking a step away. Though he moved on, Jean’s former teammate did not.
“The Trojans want you for a backliner.”
Unbelievable.
“Now isn’t the time,” Jean hissed.
“You’re doing it,” Kevin’s voice pitched low, momentary tension from before vanished. “You gave me your word months ago.
“I gave my game to someone else first.”
“Jeremy Knox already announced it on live television.”
“I haven’t yet discussed this with the Master.”
“Because he won’t speak with you,” Kevin said. “You’re not a Raven anymore, Jean.”
“It’s too late for you, but not me,” Jean said to make Kevin flinch. “Not if I go back now.”
Kevin didn’t look away. “He never forgives.”
“He isn’t even cold in the ground.”
There was quiet between the two now. Jean watched Kevin from the corner of his eye and Kevin watched the people who were placing offerings on the coffin.
The shrill words were like a bucket of ice water upended on both their heads, chilling them with the shock of it. Jean said it to wound but wasn’t expecting the potency of the hit with the way Kevin shuddered.
Jean could feel it leeching the heat from his own limbs.
When the Ravens moved forward, Kevin and Jean moved with them, following their former coach. Tetsuji began to lower something ornately and extravagantly decorated. It was an Exy stick.
A laugh rang out before it was stifled at the edges of the green. Jean wasn’t the only one who whipped around, furious.
They weren’t wearing their jersey numbers, but he would have recognized the blond midget and his scarred boyfriend anywhere. Neil Josten had his face turned away, one hand reaching up to tug a baseball cap down over his eyes. His shoulders were shaking. Jean doubted it was from grief. Judging by the blood draining from Kevin’s face, he probably didn’t think so either.
“Scurry back to your guard dogs,” sneered Jean. “The Master isn’t fond of interruptions. Take them away before he sees fit to kill them for it.”
That night, as Jean lay hidden away at the Fox’s team nurse’s house, he thought about Exy.
At the moment, he was so sore; he almost wondered if he could play before summer. His whole body was a Munch painting, a brilliant plethora of reds and yellows, browns and blues. He thought he could, though. His nose and ribs were broken but nothing else was. He’d also have to be careful about getting checked; if his helmet shoved against him the wrong way, it’d pull at the 16 stitches that kept his right cheek attached to his chin.
His biggest issue right now was that he was stuck in South Carolina. Not only were his escape attempts futile, but they also cost him his privacy: he could hear Abby move from bedroom, to kitchen to living room and back again until well past one in the morning. He knew she was keeping awake to keep an eye on his closed door.
Kevin’s influence, he was sure. By signing with the Foxes, Kevin had gained a second chance but in Jean’s opinion, he’d also signed his own death certificate. And right after dotting the i in his name, Kevin crossed Jean’s off the list of important people in his life.
And then Kengo died and everything went to hell.
Jean thought about what Kevin said at the funeral, about the announcement on live television. That Trojans’ captain put it out there like that said a lot about their team. He was ensuring Jean didn’t go back on his word, without the harsh bite of a physical threat. Paper was just paper, after all, Jean pretended to convince himself; it was easy to misplace, or rip up.
The Trojans’ post-game interview after losing to the Ravens was shockingly optimistic. They’d been eliminated from championships but Jeremy Knox said, “We almost had it, right? I don’t think anyone was expecting us to get that close.”
No kidding, thought Jean, the first time he watched that interview; Kevin had warned him ahead of time that his transfer would be announced after the Trojans/Edgar Allan game.
“Worst time of year for someone to be injured,” the reporter agreed. “Rumor has it Jean won’t make it back in time for finals.”
Onscreen Jeremy didn’t hesitate, displaying an eagerness that translated well across the TV screen. “Yeah, I spoke to Jean earlier this week. He’s definitely done for the year but he’ll be back in the fall.”
Then, impeccably, a twitch at the corner his mouth. “He just won’t be back in black.”
Jean’s eyes narrowed.
“Yesterday he faxed us over the last of the paperwork we needed to make this thing official, so I’m allowed to tell you: he’s transferring to USC for his senior year.”
He heard the words and felt the weight of Riko’s coffin on his chest. In a way, Jean put him there himself. He closed his eyes.
Ichirou’s agreement was fragile as a spiderweb. In a thunderstorm it would fall apart and the signed contract in the bottom drawer of his borrowed dresser was a very dark storm cloud. Jean pushed himself off of the bed, wincing when the too big breath in his lungs pressed against his cracked ribcage. He stuck the end of one crutch in the handle of the drawer to pull it open. He pulled out the papers just to look at them.
The room was just starting to light up with the pale blue of dawn. Jean had spent the night staring at the ceiling, remembering the half of his life spent in the windowless Nest. The sunlight streaming in now was unnerving.
In June, Kevin and Wymack flew Jean out to USC. It had been four months since Renee had taken it upon herself to find Jean a new home and one since the worst of his injuries had completely healed.
Jean texted her, “This is a mistake.”
Her reply was instantaneous. “The Trojans aren’t Ravens but they’re one of the top teams in the country.”
It wasn’t the right thing to say exactly, but it did make Jean feel marginally less regretful about getting on the plane. When he took too long to reply, Renee sent him another text.
“You will find your place.”
It was followed by a smiley face that made Jean scoff. She couldn’t possibly think the Trojans could offer him a safe space. There was no such thing. The words themselves were an illusion. The closest thing Jean had to that was the warm feeling in his muscles after a tough practice.
Kevin and Wymack were sitting in the front of the rented car, not speaking. Andrew Minyard sat this trip out, for reasons unknown to Jean. Likely, the man no longer wanted any part in Raven affairs. More likely, he felt his deal with Kevin didn’t include ex-teammates. All the better. Ever since New Year’s, the line of Minyard’s mouth was hard, his eyes cold and blank. The man was more Raven than Jean was comfortable with.
As they pulled into the court parking lot, Jean spotted a man in red and gold track pants at the stadium entrance. He left the court doors open before jogging over to where Wymack pulled over on the curb.
“Coach Wymack,” the man beamed.
“Morning,” said Wymack, “Jean, Kevin, this is Coach Rhemann.”
“Kevin and I are already on good terms,” said Rhemann, “But Jean, we haven’t met in person yet. We’re very excited to take you on.”
His handshake was firm and too long.
“Can’t wait to see what you can do here, Jean.”
Jean opened his mouth, but thought better of it. The drive had been lengthy, and it was hot out, his clothes too heavy for this California sun. His mood was so sour right now, the only thing that could come out was something hateful and he didn’t want to make a bad impression on his coach before he even got the chance to meet the team.
Wymack jumped in, “Thanks, again, Jimmy.”
Rhemann let out a belly laugh. “Well Wymack, you know, it’s taking a chance of course, but I’ve seen the boy play. He’s a real talent. I’m not the only one who thinks so, but – ”
As they talked Jean’s eyes drifted from the conversation to the court’s open door. It was bright enough outside that he had to squint but he could just make out the inside, a long hallway lit up by fluorescents. His chest tightened. There weren’t any stairs. No twenty-six steps leading down, that he could see.
“—good investment –”
The words caught Jean’s attention again, and he tuned back into the conversation. Wymack was nodding to whatever Rhemann was saying, cutting in with, “Yeah, Jean’s a good kid.”
Kevin’s eyes were on him. Neither of them missed the terminology. They were trying not to make Jean sound like a pity project, but the word investment stayed with him. I’m still property, he realized. I’ve just been traded from one team to another.
The grim reminder must have shown on his face because Kevin took one look at him, and started walking towards the court doors. Jean followed, grateful for the chance to leave this awful conversation and the scorching sun on his back. The coaches trailed behind them, not pausing in conversation.
“When I got your e-mail, David, I couldn’t believe it,” Rhemann was saying. His voice lowered. “Of course, it’ll be hard, and he’ll have to take it easy with the injuries and all—”
“He’s almost completely healed but yeah, Jimmy, he won’t be up to jumping immediately into practice– ”
Kevin pushed open the court doors and, as if sensing Jean’s hesitation about stepping into new territory, he sped up. Wymack and Rhemann paused when Jean did, though he quickly got over his hesitation and followed Kevin, sneakers squeaking against the linoleum.
“No, no, of course not, this is just a meet and greet. Though, I have to admit, the best way to integrate him is during a team practice.”
Rhemann raised his voice a little, “You’re welcome to watch, until you’re feeling up to joining in.”
Jean knew he was being addressed but didn’t turn around. He wondered, absently, if Rhemann said it like that to rankle him. Ravens didn’t sit out.
The group fell silent as Kevin led them though the Trojan’s locker rooms, lobby, and the coach’s office. Rhemann started to explain each station but gave up when neither Kevin nor Jean paused in their pursuit of the court.
Finally, Jean pushed open huge double doors, and the unmistakable sound of a ball smashing against Plexiglas echoed around his head. He didn’t falter, didn’t smile but increased his brisk pace until he was staring out into the stadium.
It was smaller than what he was used to, though significantly bigger than the Foxes’ little hole in the wall. The letters USC were in gold on either end of the court behind the goals, and the stadium seats were stripes of red and white. He’d played here before, and he felt a surprising ache at being on familiar territory.
A few Trojans were doing laps around the court, but the count was too small to be the whole team. A tan, freckly man broke away from the group when he saw Jean and Kevin. As he got closer, his grin took over his whole face.
“Kevin Day! In the flesh!” He reached out and the two clasped hands.
Kevin beamed back at him fiercely. “Jeremy. It’s good to see you.”
“‘Bout time you came around! Here to take notes?”
The corners of Kevin’s mouth threatened to touch his ears. “Not this time, unfortunately. I know you guys have met before, but here’s an official introduction: Jeremy, meet Jean Moreau.”
Jeremy Knox still hadn’t stopped smiling.
“Jean! Great to meet you! Saw that last game against Penn State – that was an absolutely incredible play in that second half!”
Jean instantly despised him. Instantly.
If the Trojans’ captain noticed, he didn’t let on, but his smile remained cheery. “You’re just in time, bro. Practice hasn’t started yet but a few of us were just doing some laps.”
It wasn’t a question so Jean didn’t say anything. Kevin answered for him.
“We’ll join you in a sec. What time does practice start?”
Jeremy rolled back on his heels. “Uh, when everyone gets here, I guess. Officially it starts at nine, but we thought we’d do introductions first.”
Kevin nodded empathetically, as if he would ever wait for anyone else before starting practice. A girl with dreadlocks tied back into a bun came up behind Jeremy, her face significantly less smiley.
“Jean Moreau? I’m Laila Dermott. Vice-captain of the Trojans.” She gave him an assessing look. Unconsciously, Jean stood a little straighter, though he already had about half a foot on her. Her presence was large enough Jean considered offering a handshake, though the thought was quickly dismissed. Her hands stayed planted on her hips. Jean’s stayed clenched at his side.
One by one, Trojans flocked over, introducing themselves excitedly. As more players trickled in through the court entrance, their noise got louder until they were shouting over each other to be heard by Jean and Kevin.
A red-haired boy with an upturned nose stuck his hand in Jean’s face. Jean, who was eyeing the court more than the people on it, flinched back.
“You must be Gene – I’m Dyl— ”
“Jean.”
“What?”
“It’s pronounced Jean.”
“Shawn?”
“…Ok.”
“Anyway, I’m a backliner too. We watched that game against the Jackals earlier in the semester and that defense was incredible, you have to meet–”
As he prattled on, more and more of them pressed in, and not just to speak to Jean. One or two of them greeted Kevin like old friends, and Kevin, clearly uncomfortable with the familiarity, shook some hands before retreating into conversation with Jeremy. When Jeremy glanced away, Kevin made a quick escape with a flimsy, “I have to talk to Wymack.”
Jean rolled his eyes. It was half amusing to watch Kevin struggle but hard to keep from doing the same thing.
After all the introductions were made, Jeremy clapped his hands together and pushed his team towards the court.
“Okay everybody, that’s enough of that. How about we run some drills? And then I want to split up for scrimmage.” He caught Jean’s eye and grinned again. “It’s only been a month but I don’t want to see any sign that someone hasn’t practiced. Freshmen, that goes for you too. Play hard, because afterwards, I have an announcement and not all of you are going to like it.”
There were some murmurs. A moment later, Laila nodded and strode briskly towards the court. Jean watched a girl with skin like melting gold run to catch up, hip-checking her when she was close enough. Laila didn’t stumble, but cast an offbeat glance her way. The rest of the team followed, chattering like monkeys.
“Jean,” Jeremy caught up to him when he began to follow the rest. “You can… you can sit this one out for today. We know you were pretty badly injured.”
Jean’s eyes narrowed. “I thought this was a meet and greet.”
Jeremy faltered. “Well… yeah.”
“How am I supposed to get to know the team if I’m not playing with them?”
Jeremy opened his mouth like he wanted to argue more.
Jean couldn’t hold back the thought: if he’d spoken like that to Riko, he would have been beaten hard enough he actually needed to sit out. Captain Sunshine, on the other hand, only pursed his lips before nodding.
“Alright. Run a few laps before jumping in. Have you played at all since March?”
This was the question Jean was dreading. In truth, he hadn’t, save for a halfhearted drill against Kevin, midway through which he stood up and left the stadium. He held an Exy stick and felt the weight of it smashing against his face. He saw doors lock for practice, and remembered the sound of them clicking shut when all the lights went off and he lay on the Raven court, bleeding.
“Jean?”
Jean jerked himself out of his memories. “Yes. I’ve played.”
Jeremy didn’t look one hundred percent convinced. He stayed silent then said, “Look, I know it’s early. I’ve got some five-hour energy bottles in my duffle you’re welcome to. It’s on the bench, the yellow one.”
Some? Jean thought at the same time as someone from the court bellowed, “Jeremy!”
“I’m not tired,” said Jean.
“Alvarez, hold on!” Jeremy hollered. As his back was turned, Jean began to make his way towards Kevin, who was standing with Wymack and Rhemann near the benches.
They were speaking enthusiastically, not paying attention to his approach. Kevin was wearing a superior expression on his face.
“Ravens don’t like being alone,” he said, looking Jean right in the eye. Jean didn’t know whether he was responding to Wymack or Rhemann. Both coaches were giving him a cryptic look.
Jean’s expression stayed flat, and he didn’t slow down. Kevin was right, after all. Ravens didn’t like to be alone. The sting was in the fact that Kevin knew this, and he still left.
“It’s what we’re most comfortable doing,” Kevin was explaining. “We play Exy.”
Wymack was watching Jean too, and shaking his head. “You damn kids. Jean, you went through a traumatic experience. No one would think less of you for sitting this one out.”
Jean wished they weren’t having this conversation in front of Rhemann. “I’m good to play,” he bit out and the words were addressed to the Trojans’ coach.
He shrugged and told Jean and Kevin where to find gear to change into.
He already had a locker here, with a note and his new number – 9 – letting him know that his jersey and all his new gear were inside. Changing into backliner gear again felt right.
Perhaps right wasn’t the word. Jean hadn’t felt right since running away to South Carolina. Reconnected, maybe. Safer.
Kevin didn’t change, though he sent the spare gear a longing look. When Jean was changed, they jogged in slow laps around the court, silent as they watched the Trojans drills. Completely alone like this, Kevin reminded him of all the ways it was harder for Ravens to integrate themselves when separated. Only Ravens knew Raven drills and absolutely no one played Exy quite like them.
Jean thought of all he was leaving behind and tried not to shiver.
Riko is dead.
If he said it enough, possibly, maybe, it would seem true.
Jeremy held up a hand to stop for practice after their fifth lap around the court. Jean and Kevin slowed. They exchanged a long look.
“Wymack said we’re dropping your stuff off at your dorm,” Kevin said, finally. Jean nodded. He didn’t have much stuff. “Our plane is tonight. If you need anything…”
He left the thought unfinished. Part of Jean wanted to appreciate the sentimentality of it, but mostly he felt sick. He held out his hand. Kevin clasped it and pulled him in for a short hug and hard pat on the back.
Jeremy waited until they separated before speaking. Jean hadn’t even noticed the captain approach.
“You gunna get going?” he said to Kevin.
“Our flight is at 7.”
“Can’t leave the Foxes alone for too long, huh?”
Kevin grimaced. “Even a day is too long. By time I get back, Neil probably will have already released scandalous photos of the team, tweeted something cryptic and rude the press is going to lose their shit over, and set the place on fire.”
“Minyard wouldn’t have stopped him?” Jeremy joked.
“Andrew will have helped.”
Jean rolled his eyes as Jeremy laughed, and then looked over at the court again. He saw the rest of the team still practicing drills. Suddenly familiar hard plastic was being pressed into his hands.
“We’re going to split up for scrimmage in a second,” Jeremy said, letting go of the Exy stick and taking a step back. Jean saw his eyes flicker behind him, to a place in the stands. He threw a glance back to see Rhemann shrug, faking nonchalance, but his hands were laced together and he was leaning forward intently.
Kevin was already walking off the court, but the look he threw back to Jean spoke volumes. Prove yourself on the court. Let the game consume you.
Then Jean was alone.