Chapter Text
Jean slouched on the worn couch in his small living room, pen in hand, the faint hum of LA traffic filtering through a cracked window. His phone vibrated on the coffee table, the screen lighting up with another notification. Grindr. Again. He cursed, running a hand through his hair, nose scrunching in irritation. Creating this profile had been a terrible idea, and he knew it from the start. But Elodie, with her relentless charm and bossy little smirk, had cornered him. A birthday present, she’d called it. “Get a boyfriend by fall break, Jean. I’m serious. If nothing else, someone I can roast with you over dinner.” Her voice had been sharp, no room for argument. 'Boyfriend' was on purpose and thrown out as efficiently as she sidestepped any mention of Renee. And because it was Elodie, he’d caved. Like he always did.
Now, here he was, navigating a digital cesspool he didn’t understand. Grindr wasn’t what he thought. The app’s interface mocked him with shirtless torsos and winking emojis, every ping a crude invitation for something quick and meaningless. Jean’s stomach churned at the thought. He didn't want anything, but certainly not a cheap thrill. Another message popped up, some guy named “TopDog_88” asking if he was “down to smash.” Jean’s gray eyes narrowed as he tapped out a response- a screenshot of his profile’s “looking for: long term relationship” line, followed by a single “?” He hit send. The guy’s typing bubble appeared, then vanished. Blocked. Good. It had become his go-to filter, weeding out the wolves with one flick of his thumb, and so far it worked like a charm.
He tossed the phone aside, leaning back with a sigh. Fall break was over a month away, plenty of time to figure this out. His mind drifted from the app’s chaos to the real weight on his shoulders. Work. Hours. Money. Teaching art at the private school wasn't enough, and the rec center classes made up for it- but it meant having to work a lot more. And then there was Kevin's 'friend' Grayson. Jean rubbed his temple, the ache of responsibility grinding deeper. He needed to clock more hours, balance the books, make sure he had enough to pay the bills. Elodie’s gift could wait a few more days.
Jean stood up, grabbing his phone and looking up a recipe for dinner. He slid into the kitchen and gathered ingredients, chopping vegetables, slicing chicken, and tossing both in an herb mix; cooking centered him better than almost anything else. He turned the stove on, taking out a pan and let it heat up before starting to toss ingredients in.
Jean stirred the sizzling stir fry in the pan, the scent of garlic and soy sauce wafting through the cramped kitchen of his LA apartment. The day had dragged on with grading projects and prepping for tomorrow’s class at the rec center, and he relished this brief moment of quiet. Grindr had become nothing but a background annoyance. Between work and making sure Elodie had everything she needed at USC, romance- or whatever passed for it on there- was a distant, irrelevant thought.
A sharp ping sliced through the hum of the stove. Jean’s jaw tightened, his hand pausing mid-stir. He didn’t need to look to know it was Grindr. Another desperate horndog, probably. Then a second ping. A third. He let out an aggrieved sigh and glared at the phone on the counter. A fourth and final chime rang out just as he snatched it up, thumb swiping to unlock the screen with a muttered curse in French.
Messages from a guy named Jeremy stared back at him. Jean scanned the words, expecting the usual crude invite. Instead, his brow furrowed.
“I’m not looking for a hook up right now, but my bathroom sink is currently flooding the bathroom,”
“I know it’s kind of random, but can I please borrow a flathead screwdriver by any chance?”
“I don’t really know my neighbors and you’re the closest person on Grindr.”
“🥺”
Jean exhaled through his nose, a long, suffering sigh. He set the phone down for a moment, turning off the burner and sliding the pan of stir fry to a cooler spot on the stove. Then, picking up the device again, he typed out a terse,
“…why not.”
Jeremy’s reply was instant. “😭🙏”
Jean felt an unbidden twitch at the corner of his mouth, a ghost of amusement threatening to break through. He scowled at the sensation, annoyed with himself, and after typing his address, shoved the phone into his pocket before stalking toward the closet in the hallway.
Jean reached up to the top shelf of the closet, his fingers brushing against the battered edge of his old toolbox. The metal was dented and scratched, a relic of odd jobs and hasty fixes over the years. He hauled it down with a grunt, setting it on the floor with a dull thud. Kneeling, he flipped the rusted latches open, the hinges squeaking in protest. Inside, a jumble of tools greeted him- wrenches, pliers, and a chaos of screwdrivers. He scanned the mess as he dug through, pulling out a small flathead, then a medium, and finally a larger one, just to be sure. Jeremy, whoever he was, would get what he needed- Jean wasn’t about to play guessing games over a damn sink.
He snapped the toolbox shut and straightened up. A sharp knock rattled the front door before he could even take a step. Jean’s brow furrowed, a flicker of irritation. He didn’t bother with the peephole- probably just Elodie forgetting her key again, it couldn’t possibly be Jeremy this quickly. His long strides carried him to the door in seconds, and he twisted the knob with a casual flick, pulling it open.
In hindsight, there are several things Jean probably would have done had he known he would be seen by a single living soul. Cleaned the remnants of clay from under his nails, or the glaze staining his fingers. He would maybe have dressed in something other than stained, gray sweatpants and an oversized black-t-shirt. Maybe he would've cleaned his apartment a little more, if time allowed. And as Jean opened the door to reveal the single most attractive man he'd ever laid eyes on, Jean was suddenly, intensely, aware of how much he didn't do any of those things.
Jean stood frozen in the doorway, his grip on the knob tightening. Jeremy was shorter than Jean, but his presence filled the cramped hallway. His skin glowed a warm, sun-kissed tan, dusted with freckles that danced across his cheekbones and down the bridge of his nose. That nose- sharp and perfect- led to a wide, toothy smile, dimples carving deep into his cheeks daring anyone not to stare. His hair, a reckless mop of bleached blond, caught the dim light of the apartment complex, strands sticking out in a way that screamed effortless, even if it probably took hours. Brown eyes, rich and molten, sparkled with an easy kind of charm, framed by lashes so thick Elodie would burn from jealousy.
Jeremy was a drenched, panting vision of chaos. Water plastered his clothes to his skin, the thin white t-shirt clinging to every hard line and curve of his toned torso. Jean’s gaze snagged on the crimson glint of nipple piercings, stark against the wet fabric, and his throat went bone-dry. The man’s shorts, equally soaked, hugged his thighs and left little to the imagination, outlining every inch of him. Jeremy stood there, chest heaving…like he’d sprinted straight from the flood in his bathroom, and the rapid rise and fall of his breaths did nothing to calm the heat pooling low in Jean’s gut.
A faint scent wafted from Jeremy, an impossible mix of lilacs and sunshine. Jean’s mind blanked, both English and French evaporating in the span of a heartbeat. He forgot how to form words, how to breathe properly, until his eyes finally dragged up to meet Jeremy’s. The man’s face was flushed a vivid pink, brown eyes wide and unapologetically staring right back at him.
He swallowed hard, almost painful, and forced his tongue to work. “Jeremy?” His voice came out rough, scraped over gravel, quieter than he intended.
Jeremy’s flush deepened, a tide of red painting over freckles and creeping down his tanned neck. The sight twisted something in Jean’s chest, a shared embarrassment clawing at him. He’d been gawking at the man like some starved beast, no better than the stranger on his doorstep. But the difference stung- Jeremy looked like a goddamn Adonis, even dripping wet, while Jean was somewhere between goblin and troglodyte.
Jean stood rooted in the doorway, his mind still reeling from the whirlwind that was Jeremy. The man’s flushed face and wide, earnest eyes lingered in his vision. Then Jeremy let out a sputtered word, barely coherent, his voice cracking, “French?”
The single word- more a question than a statement- snapped Jean out of his haze. A laugh, raw and unguarded, bubbled up from his chest before he could stop it. His eyes crinkled at the edges as he shook his head, the absurdity of it all washing over him. Jeremy just stared, those molten brown eyes widening further, as if Jean’s laughter was some kind of alien language.
Jean extended the screwdrivers in his hand, the metal cool against his palm. Jeremy’s gaze dropped to them, blinking twice like he’d forgotten why he was even there. “Oh!” he exclaimed, a sheepish grin breaking through the confusion. He reached out, fingers brushing Jean’s as he took the tools, the brief contact sending a jolt up Jean’s arm. He fought the urge to yank his hand back immediately, instead tightening his grip on the doorframe to steady himself.
Jeremy’s composure seemed to return in a flash, and he shot Jean a grin so dazzling it could’ve melted the wax off Icarus’ wings, let alone any shred of Jean. “Thank you, Jean!” he chirped, voice bright and warm, summer spilling into the dim hallway. “I promise I’ll bring them back as soon as I’m done!”
Before Jean could muster a response, Jeremy was off, sprinting down the hall, his soaked clothing sticking to his back too, and Jean couldn’t tear his eyes away. He lingered there, watching until the blond mop of hair disappeared around the corner. A small smile, unbidden and unfamiliar, curled at the edge of his lips. The warmth Jeremy left behind seeped into his skin, a quiet glow against the usual chill.
~~~~~
Jean trudged home from the rec center, sweat still clinging to his skin, muscles taut from a grueling workout. His gym bag hung heavy on his shoulder, the faint ache in his arms a satisfying reminder of effort. The evening air bit at his neck, cooling the heat radiating from his body as he navigated the familiar sidewalk. His hair stuck damply to his forehead, and he swiped it back with an impatient hand. Part of him regretted not using the showers before he left the gym, but he wanted to get home quickly, having to work on lesson plans before the morning.
A sharp ping cut through the quiet, jarring him from his thoughts. He fished his phone from the pocket of his worn gym shorts, the screen lighting up with a notification from Grindr. Jeremy’s name stared back at him, and Jean couldn’t stop the huff that escaped his lips, a mix of exasperation and something dangerously close to amusement. He unlocked the phone, reading the message as he slowed his pace.
“Okay, I’m really sorry for not returning the screwdrivers,”
“But I promise I have a good excuse.”
Jean snorted, his fingers tapping out a response before he could overthink it.
“Oh?”
He hit send. Only a few moments passed before Jeremy responded.
A selfie popped up, blurry and chaotic, Jeremy’s face barely discernible amidst absolute pandemonium. The shower curtain rod lay collapsed in the background, towels like battlefield casualties strewn across the floor. Soap bottles and cosmetics littered every surface, and three separate jets of water sprayed wildly, catching the light. Jean’s mouth fell open, his feet rooting to the pavement as he stared at the disaster unfolding on his screen.
“WHAT DO I DO IT’S NOT MY APARTMENT”
Jean blinked, his brain catching up to the absurdity. He typed back, thumbs moving with sharp precision.
“Turn the water valve off?”
Barely a second passed before another image loaded- a close-up of four different valves under a sink, grimy and confusing. Jeremy’s next message screamed desperation.
“WHICH ONE?!”
Jean sighed, long and burdened, pinching the bridge of his bent nose. He wasn’t even a block from his apartment building. Which meant he was also close to Jeremy’s building… or wherever the man was staying, at least.
Jean’s thumb hovered over the screen, a flicker of hesitation tightening his jaw before he tapped out the message.
“What is your address?”
The reply came almost instantly, Jeremy’s text popping up with a string of numbers and a street name. Jean’s eyes narrowed as he read it, a low grunt escaping him. Right next door. Literally the building adjacent to his own. Of course it was.
He broke into a jog, the ache in his muscles forgotten as he wove through the evening crowd, dodging shoulders and sidestepping a slow-walker with an irritated huff. His gym bag bounced against his hip, sneakers slapping the pavement. The building loomed ahead, a nondescript brick structure with chipped paint on the entryway. He pushed through the glass door, catching sight of Jeremy immediately- soaked to the bone again, blond hair plastered to his forehead, tan skin glistening with water droplets. The man’s eyes lit up with relief as he spotted Jean, yanking the door wider.
“Thank you so much!” Jeremy’s voice cracked with urgency, dimples flashing despite the chaos. “I swear, I’m not normally such a mess.”
Jean huffed with a nod, a rogue wave of lilacs and damp fabric hitting him. Jeremy darted ahead through the small lobby and bounded up the creaking stairs two at a time. Jean followed, his long legs keeping pace, until they reached apartment 302. Jeremy fumbled with the door, holding it open for Jean to slip inside.
“I’m so sorry to ask this,” Jeremy blurted, rubbing a hand through his wet hair, sending droplets flying. “I promise I’ll make it up to you with- with dinner or- something.”
Jean barely acknowledged the offer, his focus zeroing in on the faint sound of splashing as they hurried toward the bathroom. He blinked in awe- water pooled on the tiled floor, seeping past the threshold where sopping towels lay in a failed barricade, dark stains creeping into the hallway carpet. Jean dropped his bag by the door and strode forward, kneeling in the cold puddle without a second thought. Water sprayed his face as he groped beneath the sink, fingers slick against the valves. He tested each one, feeling for the tell tale sign of water moving against metal, until- there. His grip tightened, twisting the valve hard to the right. The relentless spray choked to a stop, silence flooding the room in its wake.
Jean let out a soft huff, the tension in his shoulders loosening as the bathroom settled into an eerie quiet, broken only by the drip of residual water. Jeremy exhaled a long, relieved sigh, the sound dragging Jean’s eyes to the shorter man. Jeremy’s lips curled into a sheepish smile, and for reasons Jean couldn’t grasp- didn’t want to dissect- laughter bubbled up from deep in his chest. It spilled out, sharp and unexpected, a foreign sound even to his own ears. Jeremy’s eyes widened for a split second before he joined in, his laughter bright and infectious, ringing off the damp tiles.
They laughed harder, uncontrollable, the absurdity of the moment cracking something open between them. Jean’s knees buckled under the weight of it, and he dropped into the shallow puddle on the floor, cold water soaking through his gym shorts. Jeremy wasn’t far behind, slipping with a graceless splash, collapsing beside him into the mess. That only fueled their hysterics, Jean’s sides aching as he wheezed, watching Jeremy’s blond head tip back against the wet tile, tan skin flushed with mirth.
When the laughter finally tapered off, Jean’s chest heaved, his gaze lingering on Jeremy. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d laughed so hard- the kind of laugh that burned through years of guarded silence. Jeremy sighed, dramatic as he flopped his arms out to the sides, sprawled in the puddle.
“We should get this cleaned,” Jean muttered, his voice rough from laughter, breaking the quiet.
Jeremy’s head snapped to him, mouth falling open in protest. “We? Jean, you’ve done enough already- I’ll take care of this.”
Jean huffed, the sound soft as he pushed himself up, water dripping from his shorts. He extended a hand, palm rough and stained with faint traces of glaze. Jeremy hesitated, brown eyes flicking between Jean’s face and his hand, before grasping it. Jean pulled him up with ease, the shorter man stumbling slightly from the force.
“I will start with the tub,” Jean said, already turning toward the mess.
Jeremy sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll go see if we have any dry towels. Or a mop.”
In the end, Jeremy returned with neither, head hung, and helping Jean with what little they already had.
Jean bent as he wrestled with another sopping towel. Water dripped in rivulets down his forearms, pooling at his elbows before splattering back into the shallow mess beneath him. The air hung heavy with the scent of wet fabric and lilacs- a scent he now tied irreversibly to Jeremy. They’d managed to wrestle the shower rod back into place, a clumsy dance of curses and near-slips, and picked up the scattered bottles and cosmetics, returning them to their rightful chaos on the counter. But the water remained, stubborn and unrelenting, and without a mop between them, it came down to wringing out towels into the tub by hand, over and over.
Jeremy crouched across from him, wringing out his own towel with a grimace. The man’s blond hair stuck to his forehead in damp clumps, tan skin glistening from stray droplets. Jean forced his gaze back to the towel in his hands, twisting it harder than necessary.
“I mean, I get it,” Jeremy said, breaking the rhythmic slosh of water with a laugh. “Swiffers are easier. But then you accidentally flood a bathroom, and where does that leave you?”
Jean snorted, a rare sound, shaking his head as he dropped the wrung-out towel into the growing pile. “In a puddle of regret, apparently.”
Jeremy’s dimples flashed, his brown eyes bright with amusement. “Exactly! So, tell me, Jean, what’s your excuse for not owning a mop?”
Jean’s mouth twitched at the corner, his gray eyes flicking to Jeremy briefly. “Swiffers are easier. What is yours?”
“Oh, easy. I don’t live here,” Jeremy replied with a grin, tossing his towel aside and grabbing another. “Just crashing with some friends."
Jeremy makes pleasant and easy banter the entire time, asking Jean a few easy questions and rolling from there into a scattershot of topics that Jean could follow with absolutely no understanding of how Jeremy jumped to them. Yet Jean found it equal parts endearing and fascinating, enjoying how Jeremy talked about how space smells like ozone and burnt bacon and how in the film Poltergeist, they used real skeletons in the pool scene because replicas were more expensive compared to actual human remains.
Jean knelt beside Jeremy, their shoulders brushing occasionally as they scrubbed the last stubborn puddles from the tile. The work flew by with two sets of hands, Jean's strong grip wringing towels until they surrendered every drop, while Jeremy darted around, sweeping up corners with frantic energy. Water poured into the tub, the rhythmic twist and squeeze of fabric filling the bathroom with pattering water. Jean's gym shorts clung uncomfortably to his thighs, soaked through, but he pushed the distraction aside, focusing on the task.
Soon the floor gleamed damp but no longer pooled, the towels exhausted and heavy in a sopping heap in the tub. Jeremy straightened then vanished into the bedroom without a word, returning with an armful of tangled bedsheets and a comforter, the fabric patterned in faded blues and grays. "Desperate times," he muttered, dropping to his knees and spreading the bedding across the tile as a makeshift mop.
Jean grabbed one end of the sheet, dragging it over the slick surface in broad strokes. The material drank up the moisture greedily, darkening as it absorbed the remnants. They worked in tandem, bunching and unfolding, until the tile finally dried to a dull sheen under the bathroom light. Jeremy's chuckles echoed off the walls when a corner of the sheet snagged on the cabinet, yanking him off balance for a moment.
The hallway carpet proved trickier, a dark stain blooming where water had seeped past the threshold. Jeremy ripped open a fresh roll of paper towels, tearing off sheet after sheet with determined yanks. He pressed them into the carpet, blotting methodically, his toned arms flexing under the wet shirt. Jean watched, handing over more when the roll dwindled, until Jeremy unspooled the last of it. The carpet looked mostly dry now, the stain faded to a faint shadow.
Jeremy stood back, hands on his hips, surveying their handiwork with a satisfied nod. "Thank you so much, Jean. I really don't know what I would've done if you hadn't been here."
Jean nodded, the praise settling awkwardly on him. He wasn't used to it, even less used to warmth from someone as strikingly handsome as Jeremy, whose brown eyes sparkled with genuine gratitude.
"Maybe called a plumber?"
Jeremy burst out laughing, the sound bright and unrestrained. Jean chuckled along.
"And get to miss your handsome mug? Never."
The casual flirtation had heat flooding his cheeks. He dropped his gaze to the floor, studying the faint patterns in the linoleum to hide the flush creeping down his neck.
Jeremy sighed, the sound content and loose as he leaned against the doorframe. Jean shifted on his feet, chilly now that he was very wet and no longer moving. He pulled out his phone, thumb swiping the screen aimlessly, more to occupy his hands than anything else.
Jeremy's expression flickered, the warmth in his brown eyes dimming just a fraction as he straightened. He must have read impatience in the gesture, something Jean hadn't intended.
"Okay, I should let you go," Jeremy said, his voice light but edged with reluctance. "I meant it when I said I owe you though! Hit me up if you want to get dinner some time or need a favor in return- I don't mind at all."
Jean nodded, the motion sharp, and let Jeremy guide him toward the door with a gentle hand on his shoulder. The touch burned through his damp shirt, a fleeting spark that made Jean's pulse stutter. He paused at the threshold, the hallway's dim light spilling in.
"Maybe next time something a little less wet," Jean muttered, joking to mask the heat crawling up his neck.
Jeremy didn't miss a beat, his voice brimming with mirth, "Or maybe a little more?"
Jean's face flushed further, a wildfire spreading from his neck to his ears. Jeremy’s smile never dimmed. Both men lingered at the entrance, the air between them thick with unspoken energy, Jeremy's scent of lilacs and sunshine lingering around.
Jeremy broke the silence first, his voice dropping to something quiet and earnest, brown eyes searching Jean's face. "You really don't know who I am, do you?"
Jean blinked, caught off guard. He raked a hand through his hair, mind racing. It threw Jean for a loop, not realizing Jeremy was someone who he should recognize. And Jean was certain he would have remembered seeing a second sun.
Jean shook his head, the motion slow, gray eyes narrowing in genuine confusion. “…Sorry, I do not.”
Inexplicably, it made Jeremy grin wide. A chuckle bubbled out of him, bright and unrestrained, warm and baffling.
“Have a good night, Jean.” Jeremy said, still grinning, his brown eyes sparkling. “Sorry in advance if you catch a cold.”
Jean’s mouth curved into a small, reluctant smile. “Good night, Jeremy.”
He turned then, stepping out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft finality. Jean’s sneakers squelched with each step, water seeping from his soaked shoes, leaving damp footprints in his wake. He shoved his hands into his pockets, fingers brushing against his phone, the chill of wet fabric clinging to his skin.
The evening air hit him as he pushed through the building’s front door, cool and laced with distant traffic hum. Jean walked the short distance back to his own apartment. He climbed the stairs and let himself inside. The space greeted him with a stark quiet- empty counters, a single lamp casting a weak glow over the living room, the faint scent of laundry lingered.
Absolutely nothing and no one.
He stripped off his wet clothes in the bathroom, dropping them onto the floor with a heavy plop. Toweling dry, Jean caught his reflection in the mirror- pale skin flushed from the cold, black wiry hair tousled, gray eyes distant. Memories flooded in unbidden: Jeremy’s infectious laugh ringing off the tiles, the way his tan skin glistened under the bathroom light, freckles scattered constellations. Basking in his own personal sun, warm and blinding, heat spreading through Jean’s chest even now. He pulled on fresh sweatpants and a t-shirt, sinking onto the couch, and wondered how one man could be as wrong as Daedalus was.
~~~~~~
Sweat beaded on Jean's forehead as he powered through the final rep of his bench press set. The barbell clanged back into the rack with a satisfying thud, his chest heaving from the exertion. The rec center's gym hummed around him- clanks of weights, distant grunts, the faint scent of rubber mats and stale effort hanging in the air. He sat up, wiping his face with the hem of his tank top, hair sticking to his temples.
A familiar ping cut through the noise. Jean fished his phone from his gym bag, eyes narrowing at the Grindr notification. Jeremy's name popped up, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He unlocked the screen, thumb swiping open the message.
The photo loaded, and Jean couldn't stifle the snort of laughter that bubbled up from his chest. Jeremy stared back from the selfie, his bleached blond hair tousled, brown eyes wide with exaggerated exhaustion- lips pursed in a dramatic pout of feigned misery. Behind him, chaos unfolded in what looked like a sleek, modern dining room: two men leaned in close, faces red and animated, completely oblivious to the camera. One was tall and broad-shouldered, with sharp features and dark hair- Jeremy's brother, Bryson from the resemblance. The other, older with a stern jaw and silver-streaked hair, gestured emphatically- his stepfather. Their argument played out in frozen intensity, mouths open mid-shout.
“my fair knight, they've been arguing about foreign currency remeasurement frequency for 20 minutes please save meeeeeeee.”
Jean huffed another laugh, fingers flying across the keyboard.
“And how should I do that, my prince?”
He hit send, leaning back against the bench. The response came almost instantly:
“🍆👀”
Jean barked a sharp laugh, the sound echoing off the gym walls and drawing a curious glance from a guy on the Smith machine nearby. Heat crept up his neck, but he shook it off, standing with a fluid motion. His muscles ached pleasantly from the workout, and he grabbed his bag and headed toward the locker room. He shook his head, a smile lingering on his face.
Jean slung his gym bag over his shoulder, the faint smirk still playing on his lips as he pushed through the locker room door. The air inside was damp, heavy with the musk of sweat and cheap body spray. He dropped his bag on a bench and checked his phone again, his thumb hovering over Jeremy’s chat, scrolling back through the string of texts that had accumulated since the sink fiasco.
Every couple days, Jeremy popped up with something- sometimes a dumb meme that made Jean huff a laugh, sometimes a casual how are you that somehow felt more genuine than it should. A few times, he just asked for a ‘good night’. And then there were the updates, like the one after the plumber finally fixed Jeremy’s friend Cat’s bathroom sink. Jeremy had typed out a long, dramatic thank you on behalf of his friend, complete with a string of heart emojis that had Jean’s face burning despite himself. Today’s message, though, dripping with exasperation over his family’s nonsense, hit a different chord. Jean had pieced together bits and pieces from their chats- Jeremy’s family was a mess, a tangle of sharp words and colder silences beneath a polished veneer. Those crystal glasses and sparkling silver on the dining table in the photo screamed performative, wealthy unity. Jean had called it out in a message a few days back, half-joking about the ‘pretend we like each other rich family thing’. Jeremy’s response of ‘🤣🤣🤣 you got it first try!’- had only confirmed his suspicion.
And then there was the flirting.
He leaned against the locker, the cool metal biting into his shoulder as he reread today’s exchange. Jeremy’s shameless flirting never failed to catch him off guard. That stupid eggplant emoji followed by the wide-eyed stare- it was Jeremy's brand of ridiculousness, and yet Jean’s cheeks flared hot every damn time. He scrubbed a hand over his face, black wiry hair catching on his fingers, and muttered a curse in French under his breath. How did this man, with his dimpled grins and lilac-scented presence, manage to unravel him so easily?
Jean typed back quickly, thumbs tapping out the response before he could second-guess it.
“Can't. At the gym.”
He hit send and set the phone down on the bench beside his bag. Steam from the showers drifted through the air, carrying the sharp tang of soap. Jean hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his gym shorts and shoved them down, kicking them off along with his boxers. Cool air hit his skin, raising goosebumps along his pale thighs. He grabbed his towel, draping it over his shoulder, intent on a quick shower to rinse off the sweat still clinging to him.
His phone buzzed. Jeremy's reply flashed across the screen:
“Locker room 🍆👀 ?!?!?”
Jean snorted, the sound echoing off the tiled walls. His eyes flicked to the large mirror spanning one wall of the locker room, fogged slightly at the edges from the humidity. A thought swirled in his mind- bold, reckless, utterly unlike him. His face flushed deeper, heart thumping against his ribs, but he didn't let himself dwell on it.
Before the hesitation could root him in place, Jean strode over to the mirror, phone gripped tight in one hand. He stood there, naked and unapologetic, his reflection staring back. He curled one arm across his torso, bicep bulging as he flexed, the muscle popping under his pale skin. His free hand angled the phone just right, capturing the pose- the definition in his chest, the trail of dark hair leading down his abdomen, cutting off just at the edge of his V line. He snapped the picture, pulse racing, and sent it without a caption.
The locker room's fluorescent lights hummed overhead as he returned to his bench, breath coming a little shorter. He checked the phone one last time- no reply yet from Jeremy. Jean huffed softly, putting his phone away, and headed toward the showers, the tile cool under his bare feet. Hot water hissed from the nearest nozzle as he twisted the knob, steam billowing up around him. He stepped under the spray, letting it pound against his shoulders, washing away the day's grime.
Jean shut off the water with a twist. He grabbed his towel from the hook, rubbing it vigorously over his hair, then down his arms and torso. His mind wandered back to the impulsive selfie- bold, stupid, exhilarating. Jeremy's flirtatious eggplants had pushed him into it, and now anticipation knotted in his gut. What if the man laughed? Or worse, ghosted?
He padded back to his bench, feet leaving wet prints on the tile. The phone sat where he'd left it. Jean snatched it up, thumb unlocking the screen. Messages from Jeremy stacked in the chat.
“💪💪💪💪💪😍😍😍😍🍆🍆🍆🍆🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🥵🥵🥵”
“asdkfjghasdfghjk!!!!!!”
Jean huffed a chuckle, scrolling to the third. It was his own selfie, edited with a doodle: Jeremy had sketched a tiny cartoon face wedged right in the crook of Jean's flexed bicep and forearm, its eyes bulging with hearts, neck being choked.
Jean burst into quiet laughter, the sound rumbling low in his chest, shoulders shaking as he leaned against the locker. He pressed a hand to his mouth, gray eyes crinkling at the edges. Ridiculous. Wonderfully, brilliantly ridiculous.
Fingers steady now, he typed back:
“You are utterly ridiculous.”
Jeremy's reply pinged almost instantly:
“❤️”
Jean shook his head, a fond smile lingering as he set the phone down. He pulled on fresh boxers and jeans, then tugged a clean black t-shirt over his head. His gym clothes went into the bag with a careless shove and he zipped it shut, slung it over one shoulder, and pushed out of the locker room.
Cool evening air greeted him outside the rec center, the sun dipping low over the California skyline. Jean started on his way home, footsteps steady on the sidewalk, the faint buzz of his phone in his pocket a lingering echo of Jeremy's joy.
~~~~~
Jean was having a relatively good day, sunlight streaming through the tall windows of the art classroom, casting golden patches on the easels and paint-splattered tables. The private school students were unusually focused, their chatter a low hum as they worked on charcoal sketches. He’d even caught a fleeting smile from one of the quieter kids when he’d complimented her shading technique. A good day. Rare, precious.
Then his phone buzzed in his pocket, a sharp vibration against his thigh.
He fished it out, expecting a quick check-in from Elodie- maybe a meme or a demand for snacks when she got back from USC for fall break. The first message popped up, bright and familiar.
“Best big brother that I love so much! Can you actually pick me up at 7 tomorrow instead of 4?”
Jean’s lips twitched, a flicker of warmth spreading in his chest. He typed a quick
“Sure”
and was about to pocket the phone when a second message flashed across the screen.
“I can’t wait to meet your new boyfriend!”
Jean froze mid-step, his tall frame halting between two easels, mouth falling open. The classroom noise faded to a dull roar in his ears. Boyfriend. That word- an anchor dropping straight through his gut. He’d forgotten. Fucking forgotten. Elodie’s birthday request, the one thing she’d asked for above all the gifts he’d already stashed away months ago. A boyfriend. By fall break. For her. And he’d let it slip through the cracks of his overworked, overstressed mind.
Guilt seared through him, hot and bitter, clawing at the edges of his mind until it was doused by raw, electric panic. His heart slammed against his ribs, gray eyes wide as he stared at the screen, fingers gripping the phone too tight. How could he forget Elodie? The only person who mattered, the one he’d fought tooth and nail to protect since they were kids in France, running from a nightmare. This was her wish, her silly, earnest demand, and he’d failed before he’d even tried.
“Mr. Moreau?” A student’s voice cut through, tentative, pulling his gaze up. A girl with charcoal smudged on her cheek blinked at him, waiting. Jean forced his jaw to unclench, swallowing the storm brewing in his throat.
“Yeah, I’m here. What do you need?” His voice came out rougher than he meant, but he stepped toward her easel, shoving the panic down deep for now.
The moment classes were done, Jean grabbed his phone. His fingers hovered over the screen, the fluorescent lights of the now-empty art classroom reflecting in the glass. The last of the students had trickled out, their laughter echoing down the hall, leaving him in a silence that pressed against his ears. His heart still thudded from Elodie’s text, that word- boyfriend- a relentless drumbeat in his skull. He had to fix this. Now.
He opened Grindr with a sharp tap, the app loading up a grid of faces and torsos, each profile a blur as he swiped with frantic precision. Anyone. He needed anyone. A quick dinner tomorrow night, that’s all. They didn’t even have to know Elodie would be there, crashing their fake date with her boundless energy and sharp tongue. He’d cook something half-decent, make excuses about work or whatever, and they’d block him after. Free food for them, a fulfilled promise for Elodie. No harm, right? His jaw tightened as he scrolled, gray eyes narrowing at each passing “just looking for fun” tagline. Why was this so fucking hard?
A notification buzzed, cutting through his spiraling thoughts. Jean’s thumb flicked to the message, and his chest loosened a fraction at Jeremy’s name.
“Excuse me, sir, aren’t you supposed to be teaching a class right now? 😉”
That winking emoji stared up at him, teasing, warm even through the cold panic gripping him. Jean’s lips twitched, a sassy retort forming in his mind- but before he could type, a sudden thought struck like a match in the dark.
Jeremy. Jeremy owed him a favor. Two bathroom disasters and countless flirty texts later, they were... something. Friends, at least. Weren’t they? Jean’s fingers moved before doubt could creep in.
“We are friends, right?”
A beat passed. Then, Jeremy’s reply popped up:
“🤔”
“I’d like to think so 😁”
His answer pierced Jean, solid joy starting to warm away the chill that had strangled him. His grip on the phone eased, just a little, as he stared at the words, the idea solidifying in his mind. Jeremy. Maybe... just maybe.
Jean sighed, his breath a shuddering release as he leaned against the edge of the art room desk. His fingers trembled, a fine quake he couldn’t quite steady, as he typed out the message.
“I need a big favor. The only reason I am on Grindr is because a month ago, Elodie said the only thing she wanted for her birthday the day after tomorrow was for me to get a boyfriend.”
He hit send, his heart a heavy thud in his chest, and immediately started typing more, a huff escaping despite himself when Jeremy’s reply popped up almost instantly:
“On Grindr?!?!?!”
Jean’s lips twitched, another flicker of amusement cutting through the anxiety.
“So she made a profile for me (yes on Grindr, it was a foolish mistake I am continuing to regret), and I have been putting it off, for obvious reasons. Except she is coming home tomorrow and her birthday is the day after that. Could you please pretend to be my boyfriend for a day?”
His thumb hovered over the send button for half a second before he pressed it, the words hanging in the digital void, heavy with desperation.
Jeremy didn’t miss a beat.
“Only pretend? 🥺 (I hope there’s at least one mistake you don’t regret)”
“I would be honored to serve, my fair knight!”
A tidal wave of relief crashed through Jean, washing away the sharp edges of adrenaline still pumping through his veins. His shoulders slumped, a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding spilling out. He typed back, fingers steadier now.
“Thank you, my prince.”
Then, before he could stop himself, words slipped out.
“(I would not call those mistakes)”
Jeremy replied with a simple
“♥️”
And a flutter brushed through Jean’s chest- light as moth’s wings, delicate and fleeting. He stamped it out ruthlessly, refusing to let it grow into something unwieldy, something that he couldn’t control- that couldn’t be reciprocated. His eyes flicked away from the screen, staring at the empty easels, the lingering smell of charcoal and paint a familiar anchor as he forced his focus back to the moment at hand.
~~~~
Jean sat on the edge of his worn-out couch, the dim light of a single lamp casting long shadows across the small living room of his apartment. Crumpled wrapping paper and a stack of neatly tied gifts for Elodie rested on the coffee table, each one a silent promise of the birthday he couldn’t mess up. His phone buzzed, and he glanced down, a faint twitch of a smile pulling at him as Jeremy’s name flashed across the screen. They’d been hashing out the details of this charade all day- Jeremy couldn’t make it for Elodie’s actual birthday, but he’d agreed to come over for dinner the night she returned for fall break. A fake boyfriend for a single evening.
“Does your sis like the Chronicles of Exy series?”
Jeremy’s message popped up, catching Jean off guard. He frowned, his gray eyes narrowing as he racked his brain. Elodie had mentioned the books before, hadn’t she? He vaguely remembered her chattering about them over breakfast a couple of months back, but the details were a blur, lost in the haze of day-to-day survival. Was she still into them? He couldn’t say. With a huff, he typed out a quick message to her.
“Do you like the Chronicles of Exy books?”
Her reply came suspiciously fast, a burst of punctuation that screamed trouble.
“????!!!!”
“Are you serious, Jean?”
His brow furrowed deeper, a flicker of irritation cutting through him.
“Yes?”
He typed back, unsure why this was such a production.
A pause stretched out, the little typing bubble taunting him on the screen before her next message landed.
“Go down to Walker’s and buy the newest issue of Entertainment Magazine please.”
Jean stared at the words, confusion etching lines into his already sharp features. He sent back a single question mark, hoping for clarity, but Elodie doubled down, her insistence practically vibrating through the text. With a long, aggrieved sigh, he pushed himself to his feet, the creak of the couch protesting under his tall frame. Fine. Whatever game she was playing, he’d bite. Pocketing his phone and grabbing his keys, Jean stepped out of the apartment, locking the door behind him as he headed down the block to Walker’s corner store.
Jean trudged through the narrow aisles of Walker’s corner store, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead and casting a sterile glow on the scuffed linoleum floor. The place smelled of stale coffee and cheap air freshener, and clung to the back of his throat as he navigated to the magazine rack near the back. His gray eyes scanned the glossy covers until he spotted Entertainment Magazine, the latest issue sitting askew among tabloids and gossip rags. He snatched it up, flipping it over in his hands before heading to the counter.
The cashier, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and a crooked name tag reading “Marla,” barely looked at him as she scanned the barcode. “Have a good day,” she muttered, her voice as flat as the counter between them, not a flicker of sincerity in it.
Jean didn’t bother responding, just nodded and took the magazine, stepping back out into the cool evening air. The street was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a dog. He pulled out his phone, snapped a quick picture of the cover, and sent it to Elodie with no caption. Her reply buzzed through almost instantly.
“Cool. Now go ahead and turn to page 36, third paragraph, first five words.”
His brow furrowed, suspicion prickling at the back of his neck, but he complied. Leaning against the brick wall of the store, he flipped open the magazine, pages rustling under his long fingers until he landed on page 36. An advice column stared back at him, full of mundane questions about love woes. He skimmed to the third paragraph, pinpointed the first four words, and let out a low, unimpressed curse in French.
The sheer audacity of making him buy his own insult was, frankly, staggering.
He typed back, lips twitching despite himself.
“1. Language. 2. You could have just said yes.”
Her response was a single heart emoji, and he snorted, shaking his head as he opened Grindr. To Jeremy, he sent,
“Yes, evidently, she does.”
“😃👍”
With a sigh, Jean pocketed his phone and started the short walk back to his apartment, his heart swelling with exasperated affection.