Chapter 6
The next couple of weeks were great, if not mildly (maybe more than mildly) embarrassing.
Jeremy became a one-man flower shop.
Jean wandered into the kitchen in the morning, scratching at the skin of his pale stomach, and stargazer lilies sprouted from the pot in the kitchen. Jean smiled that curved, half-smile at Jeremy’s ramblings while walking on campus, and roses bloomed underneath Jeremy’s feet. Jean flicked through one of the GED pamphlets Jeremy had left him, and the pots in Jeremy’s room were suddenly overflowing with bright, blossoming flowers.
Humiliating, but at least the man in question was obviously oblivious to the meaning of flowers.
They were in Jeremy’s garden currently, Jeremy tending to his little plot of vegetables. The garden was one of the only spaces he truly felt calm. Normally, Jeremy was buzzing from energy or anxiety (or too much caffeine) but surrounded by nature he felt all of that still.
They had been outside for an hour or so, Jean a steady presence at his side.
There had been another phone call from his mom today that left him shaking, but Jean had been beside him and steadied him with a long flow of French again. That language from that mouth could stop armies, honestly.
It almost made Jeremy consider telling his mother things like fuck off or I’ve had enough.
Sentiments he’d never been brave enough to express, but looking at Jean– a man who had been collared and used for most of his life, yet still somehow managed to be so good, good right down to his core, Jeremy felt like he could do it.
“I want to own a flower shop one day,” Jeremy said.
Jean stopped from where he knelt in the dirt and looked at Jeremy. There was a smudge of dirt across his cheek and his pale skin was slightly pink, despite the sunscreen Jeremy had made him put on.
“Okay,” Jean said, clearly confused and unsure how to proceed. There were times like this– often. Where Jean so clearly didn’t understand the course of a normal conversation, and it made Jeremy’s heart ache.
“You’d have to come in and buy flowers every day.”
Jean huffed, turning back to the garden. “Why buy them when you supply so many for free, soleil?”
Because, yes. The minute Jean had come outside to garden with Jeremy because he could tell Jeremy was an anxious mess after that phone call, Jeremy’s entire garden sprouted with more carnations.
“To support my business, obviously.”
Jean said nothing to that except rolling his eyes.
Jeremy gave himself another fifteen minutes before standing up, stretching his arms up and over his head. He didn't want Jean to get too sunburnt. When he dropped his arms, Jean’s eyes were trained on him. Jeremy saw– something there, but he didn’t know what it was. Didn’t want to push.
Especially when Jean still had that collar of runes around his neck, and Jeremy was technically the one in possession of the vessel. He didn’t want to be another person in a long line of people who failed Jean Moreau.
“Let’s go inside before you burn to a crisp.”
Jean scowled. “I put on that foul-smelling substance.”
By which Jean meant sunscreen. Jeremy laughed.
“You clearly need a higher SPF.”
Jean grumbled something in French under his breath but followed Jeremy inside. Laila was in the kitchen, putting together a smoothie, and Jean headed into the living room. He had become more comfortable with them since Kevin’s visit, something in him easing that Jeremy hadn’t even realized was tense. Jean gravitated towards Cat in a way Jeremy found adorable, hovering over her shoulder anytime she was cooking something and giving suggestions. Which Cat did not find adorable.
To be fair, Jean’s suggestions were usually phrased like: you are dicing those all wrong, American or there is never a need for so much salt, you clearly hate your taste buds.
Watching their bickering in the kitchen quickly became Laila and Jeremy’s number one form of entertainment.
“Good time in the garden?” Laila asked, pouring the smoothie into two cups.
Jeremy leaned against the counter with a shrug. “It always is.”
“Right.”
Laila’s eyes traveled over Jeremy’s shoulder and he craned his head to see what she was looking at. When he spotted the new flower that had sprouted in the pot, he groaned and covered his face.
“It’s like I’m a newly presented witch or something. What is happening to me?”
“I think we both know exactly what’s happening, Jer.”
Jeremy peeked at her through his hands. “Rude. Let me hold onto my ignorance.”
“Yeah, no. If your flowers are going to be sprouting up all over, you bet your ass I’m going to comment on it.” Laila pinned him with a look. “Talk to me.”
“He’s… I mean come on. Look at him.”
Jean was beautiful. It wasn’t exactly a secret. Laila’s stare, though, was unimpressed.
“I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not going to do anything about it.”
Laila’s brows drew together. “Why not?”
Why not? Jeremy had plenty of reasons. Jean was healing, and Jeremy didn’t want to add an unnecessary complication to his life. Jean was a genie, and like it or not, Jeremy was the one who held the control over him.
But the true reason, underneath all the other ones, was that Jeremy was… scared.
Jeremy was no virgin. Cat had lovingly called him a slut once, and Jeremy couldn’t argue with that. He loved hooking up. He reveled in dressing pretty for clubs, hooking a guy around his finger, and bringing him home and being shown a good time.
But Jeremy wasn’t sure now if that’s all he was good for. A good time. Jean was so strong and steady and Jeremy just… wasn’t. He was an erratic, rambling ball of energy that drank too much coffee, couldn’t finish a project, and refused to stand up to his parents. What did he have to offer Jean, really?
And did Jean even want it?
Laila looked at him, her gaze far too knowing, but before she could open her mouth and read Jeremy for filth there was a crash in the living room. They both rushed into there, and Jeremy pulled up short at the scene that greeted him.
Jean and Cat were standing in front of the TV, tangled together. Jean had one arm high above his head, the remote in it, and it looked like Cat was attempting to crawl up his body to retrieve it.
Jeremy immediately understood why.
“--reporting live from the trial. The sensationalist story of the Moriyama blood magic cult continues, with Lucas Grayson arriving for his first day in court. The Moriyama coven member was reportedly involved in–”
A picture of a square, mean face flashed on the screen. He was being escorted into the courthouse and Lucas looked at a camera. He smiled, wide and cold, and Jean made a sound in the back of his throat that didn’t sound human.
“Jean–” Jeremy started.
Jean didn’t wait to hear the rest of that sentence. The remote dropped from his hand onto the coffee table with a clatter, and he fled down the hallway.
------------------------------
Teeth biting into his shoulder.
“I’m lending you for the night,” Riko said. “Behave.”
Commands flared at his throat and wrists. Standing in front of a door, his own hand forced to raise up and knock. Knock, knock, knock. That couldn’t be his hand. His body. Don’t do this, he begged his mind.
He was fifteen. Still stupid enough to hope, if only a little.
Teeth biting. Hands all over his body. Tattoos at his throat forcing him to obey, to be still. A leering smile and a whispered princess.
Jean shoved into the bathroom and pressed himself between the wall of the shower and the toilet. Squeezing his body into the space until it hurt. He dug his nails into his neck. Wished he could rip the whole fucking tattoo off. Skin himself alive, if only so it’d be gone.
Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. Being lended out. Jean’s body wasn’t his. Jean’s actions weren’t his.
Jean, in the shower after, repeating I will endure I will endure I will endure like the prayer of the biggest fool alive.
Grayson had been on the TV. He had smiled at the camera. Riko was dead, shot– how easy these monsters die– but Grayson was still alive. Others, like Grayson, were probably still alive.
I will endure, Jean desperately told himself.
He felt hands on his skin. Teeth at his neck. Voices in his ear.
The feel of wood beneath his knuckles, his own hand knocking at the door, knowing what was beyond.
Hadn’t he endured enough?
When would it finally be enough?
The door slammed open and suddenly Jeremy was there. Kneeling in front of him, hands frantically reaching out before pulling away. Eyes like a blue sky that whispered freedom. He wasn’t smiling, now.
“Jean,” Jeremy said. “Jean. Talk to me.”
“Ca ne sera jamais fini,” Jean’s voice was hoarse. “C'est en moi et ça ne finira jamais.”
“No fair,” Jeremy said. His tone tried for light but failed. “Not all of us dumb Americans speak French.”
It will never be over. It’s inside me, and it will never be over.
Jean could not say it out loud again. He couldn’t.
He saw Grayson again behind his eyelids. Being led to the courthouse. Opening the door to his room, staring down at Jean, knowing what the runes around his neck meant.
“Jean, please.” Jeremy’s hands hovered uncertainly. “Tell me what you need.”
“Break Riko’s commands,” Jean said. “Just say that you break all of Riko’s commands.”
And then Jean could–--
Jean was suddenly confronted with an armful of Jeremy. The blonde had thrown himself into Jean’s lap, wrapping his arms around his body. The weight of him settled against Jean and Jean’s arms automatically wrapped around him, like an automatic life function-- as easy as breathing.
“Please don’t ask me to do that,” Jeremy said against his neck. “I’ll give you anything you ask, always. But please don’t ask that.”
Kevin had spoken to him, then. Jean should have been upset at the violation of it. He was too exhausted to be.
Jeremy pulled away and cupped Jean’s face in his gentle, flower-growing hands.
“I’ll release the command, if that’s what you want. I will. But I’m not going to leave you alone. We’ll figure this out together.” Jeremy’s thumbs swiped across Jean’s cheekbones. “Do you want me to release the command?”
Jeremy’s hands on him, pulling him back to the present. The sunshine driving back the darkness, making Jean be here. Not in front of that door. Not beside Riko.
Here. Underneath Jeremy’s palms.
“No,” Jean said. He did not trust himself enough without the command, what might happen if Jeremy turned his back. Jean did not want to do that to him.
“Okay.” Jeremy’s eyes looked sad, but he pressed their foreheads together, briefly. “Okay.”
Jean fisted his hands into the back of Jeremy’s shirt. The blonde felt so solid against him, like nothing Jean had ever felt before. Sunshine personified beneath his palms, bright and good.
And still, beneath his eyelids, Jean was seeing him. Knowing he was still alive, the others like him were still alive, and that their hands had touched Jean. Ruined him.
Used and used and used him.
“What do you need, Jean,” Jeremy whispered. “Tell me what you need.”
“My vessel. Please.” Jean had learned long ago please did nothing, yet there he was trying again anyway. “I need it.”
Jeremy pulled back, studying his face.
“Okay, Jean. If that’s what you want.”
He crawled off Jean’s lap, and Jean immediately felt the loss. Coldness rushed back in, and with it the phantom press of memories. Everything he had shoved to the back of his mind, clawing back with a vengeance. Jean pressed the heel of his palms against his eyes and pushed until stars burst.
He heard Jeremy return a couple minutes later and dropped his arms.
The obsidian box was in his hands. It looked wrong, there. It made Jean sick.
“Are you sure this is what you need?” Jeremy asked, brows together. “We can talk. Or just sit. I want… I’m here for you, Jean. In your corner.”
“Please,” Jean said again.
He was breaking apart. Shattering. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on, and he just needed– nothing. He needed to be nothing, for a bit. To have no body that had been touched, or mind that had been haunted.
Jean wished he could stay with Jeremy in the sunlight, but he couldn’t. Not without exploding, and he didn’t want Jeremy to be caught as collateral damage.
Jeremy hesitated briefly, before flipping the vessel lid shut.
Jean dissolved in pieces.
A loss of sensation in fingertips that had touched Jeremy. The soreness in his shoulders from gardening all day. The sting at his neck where someone had bitten him and where now his own nails dug in. A dimming of his vision that had seen blood and bruises and cruelty and Cat humming to herself in the kitchen while she cooked and Laila smiling with fangs and Jeremy Jeremy Jeremy.
And always, always, the last sensation to go– the flare of magic around his neck and wrists.
A reminder of what he had been.
Property.
Jean Moreau dissolved in pieces and felt oblivion welcome him.
-----------------------
Jeremy wasn’t sure exactly how long you were supposed to wait while a genie in a box had a mental breakdown, but he only lasted an hour.
Mist poured out of the box, and Jeremy marveled that it had only been a couple months ago that the sight of it had filled him with fear. Now, the only thing he felt was relief when Jean stepped out of the mist, his cool, gray gaze locking with Jeremy’s own.
“It was only an hour, I’m sorry,” Jeremy blurted. He gestured to the nightstand. “I made you tea and cookies. Well– Cat made you cookies. I watched.”
Jean stared at the offerings before slumping down heavily onto the bed. His shoulders seemed bowed underneath a burden, and Jeremy knew that Jean had been carrying all of it alone for years and years. Jeremy wanted to help him carry it, too.
He sat down on the other side of the bed and studied Jean’s strong profile. How much this man had been through, and the fact that he was still willing to keep trying. That he had told Jeremy no in the bathroom, when Jeremy had offered to dissolve the command.
He was a marvel.
Beautiful, enough to make Jeremy’s magic thrum and his insides ache.
“Talk to me, Jean,” Jeremy said softly. “Let me be here for you.”
Jean didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes, a muscle in his jaw ticking.
“It is… hard,” he finally said. His accent was thicker, making his vowels looser. “To talk about it.”
“Do you want to hold my hand?” Jeremy asked, stretching his out between them.
Jean’s steel eyes cut over to them, the fool in them clear to read.
“Sometimes it helps. I hold Laila’s hand when she’s getting her flu shots. Don’t tell her I told you that.”
Jeremy started to withdraw his hand at the lack of response, respecting Jean’s boundaries, when Jean stopped him by grabbing on and entwining their fingers together. Jean’s palms were rough and calloused, his skin pale against Jeremy’s tan.
“I have done bad things,” Jean started, staring down into his lap. “Killed people. Anyone who crossed Riko, I– obeyed orders.”
Jeremy stayed silent, sensing there was more. Knowing it.
“Riko would hurt me. Discipline his dog,” Jean said, mouth twisting a bit. Jeremy swallowed down the hatred in his throat. Now wasn’t the time. “The only peace I had was in my vessel. When I was nothing.”
Oh, how he ached. Thinking of Jean, only eleven years old when this had all begun. He had probably been all knobby knees and big gray eyes. Jeremy wondered if he used to have dreams– like being an astronaut or a world famous chef. He wondered when Jean had given up on those– if it had been gradual, or all at once.
“When I was fifteen.”
Jean stopped. Swallowed. His face was still impassive, but his hand was gripping Jeremy’s hard enough it nearly hurt.
“I’m here,” Jeremy whispered. “Right here.”
“When I was fifteen, Riko began lending me.” Jean swallowed again. “Stress relief for his men. He would command me to knock on their doors. To follow orders. To behave.”
Jeremy knew where this was leading to, and he wished it was going anywhere but that. He squeezed Jean’s hands, letting him know that he no longer had to carry this weight alone. Jeremy was there too, even if it broke him into pieces to hear.
“He– bit me.” Jean choked, his head dropping. “Quand est-ce que ça s'arrêtera? I can still feel them. I can’t– I–”
Jeremy reached out and Jean broke apart in his arms. There were no tears and the implications of that broke Jeremy even further. At what age did Jean stop crying, realize that his tears were useless?
He hugged the man tighter to himself and Jean trembled, arms reaching up to grasp at Jeremy’s back. Jeremy tilted his head forward, resting his forehead against the top of Jean’s head. There were no words that could be said, nothing that could erase what had happened. Just Jeremy’s arms around Jean, and the hope that it conveyed everything that rested in Jeremy’s heart.
That Jeremy would die before he ever let anyone hurt Jean again.
That he could handle anything Jean told him, that they would handle it together.
That Jean had changed his life, irrevocably, and Jeremy wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Flowers sprouted wherever Jean was. One smile, one glance from those gray eyes, and Jeremy was falling apart.
He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but eventually Jean pulled away. He looked exhausted, but there was a lightness to him that hadn’t been there before. Jean moved to get up, but Jeremy lightly pressed at his shoulders.
“Stay,” he said. “I know for a fact that couch cannot be comfortable for someone of your height. I’ll take it, tonight.”
“We can share,” Jean said.
They both stared at each other after that sentence, blinking. Jeremy noticed a slight flush on Jean’s cheeks.
“Are you– I mean.” Jeremy coughed into his hand. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Jean confirmed, accent thicker than ever. “Just– yes.”
They both slid under the covers, what felt like miles of bed between them. This wasn’t anything, and Jeremy wouldn’t be turning it into anything. Jean had a horrific day, and he deserved whatever comfort he could get. He deserved to have a friend close by, keeping watch over him during the night.
Still, the next morning when Jeremy woke up, every pot in the room was blooming with flowers.
----------------------------
Jean was learning how to be human.
He was pretty sure he hated it. Apparently, being human meant interacting with people. People that weren’t just Cat, Laila, and Jeremy. Cat had looked at him with wide eyes after Jean told a random college student to go be obnoxious somewhere else and said Frenchie, I hope to god no one ever flirts with you again because that was brutal.
Being human also meant talking. About feelings.
Jean could no longer just shove everything into a dark corner of his mind and wait for the sweet oblivion of his vessel. Not with Jeremy’s keen eyes on him, or his gentle questions. It was a little disgusting, how much Jean found himself wanting to tell Jeremy.
Ever since last week, holding Jeremy’s hand in bed, it was like a dam was broken.
Jean had endured, endured, endured and now he was…
On the other side of it.
Jean had never even realized such a thing existed. He woke up with nightmares of it all being torn away. He felt for the runes around his wrist and throat, a reminder that this would never be completely over.
Apparently, being human also meant sleeping in Jeremy’s bed.
Ever since that night, they hadn’t talked about it. They just– did. Never touching, inches apart, but sharing the same bed all the same. Jean woke up before Jeremy sometimes and couldn’t stop himself from staring at those blonde, tousled waves or peaceful expression.
Jean was trying to remind himself that he already had more than he ever thought he would. He should not ask for more.
“Ugh, these fuckers keep getting tangled.” Jeremy was standing on his tip toes (hot pink today) trying to wrap fairy lights around the frame of his window.
“I told you I could do it.”
Jeremy glanced over his shoulder with a mock-glare. “You’re not that tall, you know. I bet you’d still struggle too.”
“Taller than you.”
“We can’t all be giants,” Jeremy said, turning back to his task. Jean liked that Jeremy was a little shorter than him. It felt…
Jean waved the thought away.
Inconsequential.
“Whoever made these deserves a long stay in hell,” Jeremy grunted. “Can you– I think I have some thumb tacks somewhere on my desk. Can you grab them?”
Jeremy’s desk was a disaster zone. Every time Jean stared at it, it made his eye twitch. He turned towards the desk and began sorting through the mess that was on it, pulling up short at a stack of books with tabs through them and papers sticking out of the edges.
“What is this?”
“Huh?” He heard Jeremy’s footsteps come closer before stopping. “Oh– uh. That’s. That is me being an idiot and forgetting those were there.”
Jean stared at the titles. French for Dummies and Learning French in 100 days. And then the other ones– Curses, Bonds, and Binding and The Magic Behind Genies and A History of Blood Magic.
He held up the French books, first.
Jeremy bit his lip. “You sound so much more relaxed when you’re speaking French. And I figured it wouldn’t hurt to know another language, you know? Not that I’m making much progress beyond oui and où se trouvent les toilettes.”
Jean said nothing, holding up the other books.
“Those are…” Jeremy shifted on his feet. “I’ve been trying to do research. How to break the genie bonds. I probably should have told you, but I wanted to look into it before getting your hopes up.” Jeremy rambled on. “I’m not exactly an expert on magical medicine, but I think there’s hope. I mean I’ve talked to a couple people– don’t worry, I’ve been passing it off as homework for a class project– and there’s a chance. That it could be broken.”
Jeremy finished and let out a long breath. He stared at Jean with eyes like the sky.
Jean Moreau had endured, but he could not anymore.
He took two steps forward, caught Jeremy’s face between his hands, and kissed him.
It was a soft press of their lips, Jeremy’s chapped beneath his own. The blonde made a soft sound in his throat and Jean immediately let go, horror burning through him. He stumbled back, Riko’s voice in his ear saying you’re exactly what I make you to be, dog–
“Jean.” Jeremy raised fingertips to his lips. “That was–”
“Je suis désolé. I shouldn’t have–”
“Jean.”
He stopped.
Jeremy took a step forward. “Is this– do you want this?”
Want. As if what Jean felt for Jeremy could be summed up by a paltry, five-letter word. He should say no. Wanting got him nowhere, except well– he was here.
“Yes,” Jean said. “But I should have asked. I should have–”
“Jean.” Jeremy said again, shaking his head in exasperation. “I’ve been sprouting flowers anytime you’re around like a baby witch. What do you think that meant?”
“You’re a green witch.”
Jeremy laughed, moving closer. “It means I want you. Have been wanting you.”
Jean could not speak. Could not understand a world in which this existed. Where he, Jean Moreau, was standing in front of a sunshine man that said he wanted him. Even after knowing everything Jean had done, and everything he had let happen to him.
Jean Moreau was meant to be property.
He felt unbearably human, right then.
“Kiss me,” Jeremy said. “Kiss me again.”
Jean was helpless to deny him. He pulled Jeremy back into his arms and lowered his lips to his. Jeremy pressed against Jean’s body and Jean felt heat right down to his core. The blonde’s tongue pressed at the seam of his lips, fingers scratching at the back of Jean’s head.
Jean pulled away, feeling his stomach twist.
“This is all I can do. Right now.”
Jeremy kissed Jean’s wrist, softly, before pressing their foreheads together.
“You’re all I want. Whatever this is, it’s enough.
Jean wasn’t sure how long they stayed tangled together, after that. They migrated to the bed at some point, Jeremy allowing Jean to press him to the pillows and tangle his fingers into that blonde hair. Once they finally broke apart, Jeremy’s lips were red and swollen, and Jean was positive he looked just as ridiculous.
Jeremy grinned up at him, sunshine and light and good.
So good it could not be real.
Jean traced his lower lip, softly, with a trembling finger.
“J'ai rêvé de toi,” he said, “and here you are.”
“No fair with the French,” Jeremy sniped. His expression shifted, turning into something almost unsure. “If all you want is a bit of fun, Jean, I get that. This doesn’t have to be… it can be whatever you want.”
Whatever he wanted. Jeremy gave control over to Jean so easily, and it ruined him every time.
“I tried not to want you,” Jean said. Blue eyes stared up at him. “I tried to remind myself of what the world was like. I failed.”
He leaned down, pressing their lips together briefly.
“I want you, soleil.”
Even if this ended. Imploded. Destroyed Jean worse than anything he had experienced before– Jean wanted it. Riko was surely laughing from beyond the grave, that Jean was doing something as stupid as trust.
Jeremy’s fingers threaded through his and he beamed, and Jean forgot all about anything else.
He could only focus on the sunshine underneath his palms and the hope sprouting beneath his rib cage.
I am Jean Moreau, he thought, and I am here.