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The routine had developed by accident. One spring morning, Jean and Jeremy had both awoken before dawn, itching for something to do.
Jeremy had officially moved out of his family home, all his things now scattered and settled in the loft, finally home. His surfboard was propped in the corner of the living room. He had glanced at it before looking back at Jean.
“It’s been a while, but I kind of want to go get back into it. Would you want to go to the beach with me? The waves are supposed to be good today.”
Jean didn’t understand how Jeremy knew what the waves would be like, and the thought of standing on a little piece of styrofoam in a body of water that could swallow one whole sounded appalling. But Jean nodded and went to the door, slipping on his shoes while Jeremy grabbed his board and a few other things, throwing them into a bag.
Jeremy drove, his surfboard strapped to the top of the car, the windows down, letting in the cool morning breeze. The horizon held the slightest tinge of pink when they arrived, the ocean a black mass that sent a shiver down Jean’s spine. Jeremy only beamed at it.
“I missed this,” he whispered, looking towards the water.
Jean studied him carefully, as if he could find the reasons painted on Jeremy’s skin, the reasons he stopped, the reasons he loved it, the reasons he felt the call of the water this morning. But he couldn’t, and he had a feeling now was not the time to ask. It was still too dark for words.
Jean helped Jeremy untie the board from the hood of the car, and they walked down towards the water. Jean stopped yards away from the shoreline, still wary of the water in front of him. He had still not set foot in the ocean, though he had been making progress in his water therapy.
Jeremy pulled two towels from the bag, and Jean laid one out on the sand to sit on. Jeremy set his board down, digging through the bag before pulling out what looked like a bar of soap and rubbing it along the side of the board without the fin.
“It’s wax,” Jeremy said, after looking up to find Jean watching him. “It helps my feet get a grip on the board.”
He rubbed his palm across it before dropping the block of wax back into the bag. He dropped down onto the towel beside Jean, looking out at the ocean. Jean followed his gaze, finding it flat.
As if reading his mind, Jeremy spoke softly, “The waves come in sets. It’ll be flat for a while, then five or so will come through, before it flattens out again, and then it repeats.”
“How do you know when they are coming?” Jean asked, just as quiet, his gaze still on the ocean.
“You almost, like, learn to feel it,” Jeremy let out a small huff of air. “I know it sounds silly, but it’s true. You just do it enough you can see the slightest change in the surface, learn what feels like it will be a good wave, which will break too soon or not soon enough. It’s a lot of trial and error, but one day it just clicks, and” Jeremy pauses, and Jean looks to find a brilliant smile on his face, practically lighting up the dark around them.
They sat there, in the quiet, the only sound being the soft lap of the water on the shore.
The pink horizon had grown ever so slightly, the ocean turning to a deeper blue.
Finally, Jeremy turned to Jean. “I’m going to head out. You good here?”
Jean nodded. Jeremy grabbed his board and jogged out towards the sea.
Jean’s chest tightened at the first splashes of Jeremy entering the water. His stomach roiled when he dropped the board down and laid out on it. His breath hitched as he started to paddle out into the depths, growing smaller and smaller with each passing second.
Compared to the water around him, Jeremy was a speck. Jean couldn’t understand how someone would willingly subject themselves to this. All that separated Jeremy from the depths below was a piece of styrofoam just bigger than him.
He fisted the towel below him, forcing a deep breath in and out.
Jeremy was fine. He was okay.
For what felt like forever, Jeremy just sat there on the board, looking out towards the horizon, his legs submerged in the water. Perhaps there were no waves coming.
But just as Jean had that thought, Jeremy dropped down onto his board and started paddling out deeper. Jean didn’t understand what he was doing until slowly a wave rolled in. And then another, and another. Jeremy bobbed over them, sitting up on his board as they rolled beneath him.
Jean didn’t understand why he was letting them pass by.
After the third rolled through, Jeremy dropped down on his board and began paddling back towards the shore quickly. Jean tensed, sitting up straighter, searching for the danger he could be escaping.
But then the water swelled up beneath him, and Jeremy paddled harder, only pulling his hands out of the water and popping up to his feet when the tips of the wave turned white, seeming to almost grip the board.
Jean pushed up to his feet, watching Jeremy move along the wave as if it were a dance, weaving up and down the swell, gliding along the water.
For hours, he continued like that, pausing between every set of waves to wave at Jean with a brilliant smile that rivaled the sun slowly rising. Jean was mesmerized by his graceful yet strong movements along the water, watching his confidence grow with each run. He twisted and turned, moving up and down the board with an ease that only came from years spent in these waters.
Only when the sun was fully risen did Jeremy finish his final wave by launching himself from the board and diving into the water. Jean’s breath caught as he craned his neck to spot any sign of the blonde, before Jeremy broke through the surface, throwing an arm over his board with a brilliant laugh that Jean could only see but not hear.
Jeremy paddled back to the shore, jogging over to Jean with the board in hand and a smile still on his face. He shook his hair out far enough away that he would not spray Jean, before tossing his head back with his eyes closed, water droplets dripping down his toned, tanned chest and –
Jean busied himself with digging through the bag for the water bottle as he felt his face heat. Pulling it out, he handed it to Jeremy, along with a dry towel. Jeremy smiled his thanks before propping his board up in the sand and dropping beside Jean with a smile.
Jeremy’s throat bobbed as he drank, and Jean couldn’t keep his eyes away from the movement. He dried off his hair with the towel before turning to Jean with a light in his eyes so brilliant that Jean almost had to squint.
“I missed that,” Jeremy looked out at the ocean before turning to Jean again.
“You don’t have to,” Jean replied.
Jeremy tilted his head, considering that before nodding, and leaning back on his hands.
And so it began.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It wasn’t a conversation. It wasn’t a routine established by words.
The following week, they both awoke again early on Saturday, glanced at each other, and began packing up for the beach. And then again the week following that. And again after that, until it was simply what they did every Saturday morning.
Each week, Jeremy would slowly open up to Jean on the drive there. He had started surfing because that’s what you did when you lived in SoCal, but it developed into something bigger than that.
It was time that he could just exist, just be, without any pressure on him. It wasn’t like exy, where he had to be good, had to get better, had to improve. He could do it alone. There was no need to put on his bubbly, outgoing persona in the waves. He could do it sad, or angry, or frustrated, but he always came out feeling cleansed, as if the salt water washed away the worst of the wounds, just enough so they could begin to heal. When the ballooning in his chest that made all his problems feel so big became unbearable, he could look out at the horizon and see no end to it. He could remember how insignificant he was, how insignificant his actions were, what a speck of dust he truly was in the grand scheme of things, and for some reason, that brought him comfort.
Jean listened to his words in the dawn with a reverence, understanding the sanctity of these quiet thoughts Jeremy let out during their drive. Jean held each word with the gentleness they deserved, giving Jeremy soft nods of encouragement whenever he glanced over at Jean with a weary gaze.
Jean’s own relationship with water left him unable to fully grasp this peace that Jeremy could feel with it, but he did his best to understand. Perhaps it was like cooking, just enough focus to quiet the scary parts of the brain, but enough space left to think through things.
One morning, Jeremy wanted to try a new beach he had heard about the weekend before from another surfer. It was nearly half an hour further than the usual places, but Jean assured Jeremy he didn’t mind. Sitting in the front seat with the windows down, his car sickness was not an issue.
They arrived before the sun had even begun to crest the surface, and took up their duties of untying the board and finding a spot to lay out the towel. Jeremy took a bit longer, paddling around and looking down at the water. He had told Jean on the way there that new beaches were hard because you had to learn where the rocky or really shallow parts were to avoid hitting them.
Jeremy rode wave after wave, and Jean watched with a warm feeling in his chest. Some days he brought a book or homework, others he was content to just watch. Watch Jeremy, watch the world around him. The beach remained quiet even after the sun had risen, Jean and Jeremy the only souls within sight.
Jean dug around in their bag for the water bottle, pulling it out and taking a long drink from it, before sticking it back in the bag to keep it shaded from the sun.
He looked back out at the water and –
And where was Jeremy? It should’t have been hard to spot the blonde, he was the only one out on the water within this cove, and yet…
Jean pushed himself up, stumbling to his feet in a panic, before finally, further he looked further left and saw Jeremy’s blue and white striped board bobbing in the gentle lapping waves, the larger set gone. Jean waited, waited for Jeremy to come bursting through the surface, throwing his head back, shaking out his blonde hair with a laugh.
But seconds passed, and there was nothing, no movement, no ripple, no splash.
Then, there. Jean spotted tan skin and blonde hair, but there was a portion that looked darker and –
And Jeremy was face down and not moving, his body just floating a few feet away from his board.
Jean’s feet were moving before he could even fully understand what was happening. It felt like it took hours for him to push through the sand that seemed intent on grasping at his feet with every step he took, but finally, he reached Jeremy. Or he had reached the spot on the beach where Jeremy was still too far. He was tens of feet from the shore, but this close, Jean could see the dark patch of water swirling and blooming around him, the patch of his hair that was crimson.
Jean let out a pathetic sob at the sight.
He had to – He couldn’t – Jeremy was –
He let out a frustrated groan, squeezing his eyes shut.
He had to, he had to go into the –
Before he could think much more about it, Jean forced one foot in front of the other until he was at the shoreline. It took everything in him to take that first step into the water.
He let out a ragged breath at the first touch of the salt water on his skin.
He had to, he had to keep going.
With ragged breaths and a frantic mind, he picked up his other foot, submerging it. Oh god, he couldn’t, he couldn’t do this.
Tight lungs and cloth and water, so much water, that he couldn’t breathe, and this, there was so much –
But Jeremy. His gaze whipped up to where Jeremy floated, still too far to reach. How long had it been? His head in the water? And the blood, mon Dieu –
Another sob left his mouth as he forced himself forward, trying to ignore the feeling of the sand that was trying to suck him down into the depths, the water rising, lapping at his ankles, his knees, his hips, and –
Jeremy. Finally, he was able to latch onto his shoulders. He turned him over, his name leaving Jean’s mouth in a ragged breath.
Jeremy’s eyes were closed, mouth slightly agape, body limp, one side of his head covered in blood. There was a long gash on the right side of his forehead, now bleeding in earnest since he was above the water.
He needed to dress the wound, and – was there more – was he breathing? CPR there was – His heartbeat –
Jean needed to get them out of the water so he could think straight.
Lifting Jeremy with an arm beneath his neck and his knee, Jean tucked Jeremy close and latched onto the leash at his ankle, tugging his board along behind them.
A wave rolled through, the water rising to his stomach, up to Jeremy’s neck, and Jean let out another pathetic sob at the feeling, the sheer force of the water. With a shaky breath, Jean started back to shore, Jeremy's limp body clutched close to him.
“Jeremy,” Jean’s voice trembled. “Jeremy, open your eyes, please.”
But Jeremy didn’t open his eyes. And he didn’t respond, and his face was covered in blood now, and he looked so pale and –
Jean stumbled as he hit the dry sand, and made it a few more feet before he dropped onto his knees, laying Jeremy out onto the sand.
“Jeremy, wake up,” Jean sobbed, shaking him gently.
Jean tried to gently prod at the wound on Jeremy’s forehead, but there was so much blood now. He could barely see the gash. He moved his hands down to his chest and – was it moving?
Jean pressed the side of his head against Jeremy’s chest, listening for something, anything –
A heartbeat. There was a heartbeat. But Jeremy was drowning. He had to be after being face down in the water for that long. It must have been in his lungs. The feeling of water in his airways, blocking them –
Scrambling to recall what he had learned in the CPR course he had had to take at USC, Jean pressed his lips to Jeremy’s, giving him five rescue breaths. Just as he sat up, about to begin chest compressions, Jeremy’s body jolted as he began coughing and sputtering.
Jean quickly grabbed his shoulders, turning him onto his side as he coughed and retched, spitting up water.
Another choked cry escaped Jean’s mouth as he rubbed Jeremy’s back. The retching subsided, turning into gasping breaths. Jeremy flopped back down onto his back, panting, and Jean ran a hand over his face.
“What happened?” Jeremy choked out, “Are you okay? You’re all wet, are you –” Jeremy’s eyes widened.
“Is that blood?” He panted, looking at Jean in horror. “Are you hurt?”
Before Jean could answer, Jeremy’s eyes fluttered closed.
“Non, non, non, stay awake. Stay awake, Jeremy.” Jean shook his shoulders gently.
Jeremy groaned, but forced his eyes back open.
“My head hurts, Jean.” Jeremy squeezed his eyes shut, the blood on his forehead flowing in earnest now, dripping down his cheek and matting his hair, mixing with the sand that was now stuck to his face.
“I know, I know. We’re going to get you help, okay? I’m going to lift you up, but I need you to tell me what hurts.” Jean tried to speak calmly, but he was trembling now, the adrenaline subsiding, the fear setting in.
Jeremy had clearly hit his head, but had he hurt his neck as well? Would Jean do more damage by lifting him? Had he already done damage by lifting him? But he couldn’t just –
“My head,” Jeremy groaned.
Okay, okay, Jean could work with that.
“I’m going to pick you up now,” Jean said, positioning his hands beneath Jeremy’s knees and neck. Jeremy nodded and winced at the movement, whimpering softly.
Jean whispered gentle comforts in French as he picked Jeremy up, moving as quickly as he could without jostling the man in his arms too much.
“Keep your eyes open, Jeremy. Look at me,” Jean said, when his eyes began to flutter closed again.
“I’m so tired,” Jeremy mumbled, his head lolling.
“I know, you can sleep soon, but you need to stay awake for now, okay? Just a little bit longer.”
They reached the towel Jean had been sitting on, and he scrambled for the clean, dry towel, pressing it against the wound on Jeremy’s head. With his free hand, he dug through the bag until he found the first phone he could grab and flipped it open.
911, that is who he was –
Dead, the phone was dead. That was fine, he –
He had left his phone at home. This was the only one they had and –
“I’m gonna pick you up again, okay?” Jean moved to lift Jeremy again, trying to keep pressure against the wound.
“It hurts,” Jeremy slurred as Jean lifted him up off the towel, grabbing the bag and leaving the other towel behind as he walked as quickly as he could towards the car.
“I know, hold on for a little longer, okay?”
After what felt like far too long, they reached the car. Jean somehow managed to get the passenger side open. Gently, he set Jeremy into the seat, trying to coax him into holding the towel against his head, though Jeremy's hold on the fabric was far too light, even if he did.
It took everything in Jean to shut the door and hurry around to the driver's side, but he had to.
He drove as quickly as he could, glancing at Jeremy what felt like every few seconds. The right side of his neck and chest was dripping with blood now, his grip on the towel having fallen away. He leaned heavily on the door, his breath shallow.
“Stay awake, Jeremy. Stay awake.”
Jeremy mumbled something incomprehensible, though when Jean glanced at him again, his eyes were closed.
“Tell me about that trick you want to teach Jabberwocky. I do not think he is smart enough to do it.”
“He is,” Jeremy mumbled. “He is so smart. I didn’t know dogs could be…”
His words trailed off.
Talking, Jean needed to keep him talking. He came to a stop at a stop sign. Was it a left or a right?
“Do you think we will beat UCLA this week? Their strikers are very good,” Jean tried again, turning left.
Jeremy mumbled some sort of response, though Jean couldn’t hear it.
They were thirty minutes out from the hospital, and when they finally reached it, Jeremy had stopped responding completely. Jean threw the car into park in front of the emergency room doors and bolted around to the passenger side.
He let out a hoarse cry as he opened the door, seeing how much blood was on the door, on the seat, on the towel. On Jeremy.
Head wounds bleed a lot, he tried to remind himself. It could look worse than it is.
But he didn’t believe it.
Unbuckling him, he tugged Jeremy from the seat and into his arms, sprinting through the sliding doors into the bustling emergency room.
“I need a doctor,” he shouted over the noise and chaos.
It must have looked as bad as he thought, because in seconds, he was being swarmed by people in scrubs, a gurney being wheeled over. He was being urged to lay Jeremy down on it. As soon as he did, he was being wheeled off, a million questions being thrown at him, that he was trying to answer, while also trying not to lose sight of him.
“I need to see him, I need to go with him,” Jean snapped, not even caring if he looked like a frantic mess.
“Not right now,” one of the nurses shook her head, as the other bolted off with the notes she had scribbled down from what Jean had told them.
What had he said? Had he explained it right? Oh god, what if he hadn’t and –
“I need to be with him,” Jean tried again. He would beg if he had to, if that’s what he came to.
“We need to make sure he is stable first. I’m sorry.” She really did look sorry, but that didn’t help the ache in his chest, the pounding of his heart, the way his throat felt so tight he couldn’t –
“I need a phone.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jean called Rhemann first, and then the girls. They all arrived within twenty minutes, bursting through the doors and stuttering to a stop, mouths hanging open at Jean’s appearance. He hadn’t realized what a mess he was, covered in drying blood and salt water.
Cat had led him to a family bathroom to clean off some of the blood, while Laila and Rhemann went to check on Jeremy’s progress and see when was the soonest they could see him.
Cat dabbed at his face, his arms, his hands with a paper towel.
He hadn’t realized he was crying until Cat wrapped her arms around him and held him close, rocking them back and forth as Jean let himself collapse into her.
“You did everything right.” Cat rubbed a hand up and down his back. “You did everything right, Jean. He’s going to be okay.”
Jean took a stuttering breath, “You do not know that.”
She was silent at that, but she held him until he pulled away, swiping harshly at his cheeks.
When Cat had cleaned him up as best she could, they stepped back out into the waiting room to find Rhemann and Laila sitting. They sat down beside them as they explained that they should have an update on Jeremy soon, but it sounded like he would be okay.
Just then, someone stepped through the swinging doors and called out, “Jeremy Knox.”
The four of them rose quickly, hurrying over.
“Are any of you related to the patient?” Her gaze was on Rhemann as she asked.
“I’m his authorized representative. I have the paperwork on file.”
The woman nodded and beckoned for him to follow.
“I’ll be out with news as soon as I get it, okay?” He said to the three of them, and they nodded.
Rhemann disappeared through the doors, and the three of them walked back over to their chairs, dropping down into them.
Jean dropped his head into his hands and prayed to whatever god had ignored him for so long to listen to him this time, because Jeremy was good enough for their mercy. He had to be.
Rhemann returned a few minutes later with the same woman and beckoned them to follow. Just outside of one of the rooms, she explained that Jeremy had received stitches and had a severe concussion, but there was no apparent swelling of the brain. There was also some fluid in his lungs, which they were working on removing, and he would need to stay on oxygen for a while until they were sure his breathing was stable. He would need to stay at least two nights for observation, but he was most likely going to be fine.
Rhemann thanked the nurse as she stepped away, and the three of them followed their coach into the room.
Jeremy lay in the bed, his eyes closed and face ghostly pale. His head was heavily bandaged, and there were what looked like hundreds of tubes and needles attached to him. An oxygen mask covered his mouth.
Laila brought a shaking hand to her mouth as Cat threw an arm around her, burying her face in her neck. There was a soft pressure on Jean’s shoulder and what was most likely meant to be a comforting squeeze that had him blinking away the heat in his eyes.
Rhemann pulled four chairs up closer to the bed so they could sit closer.
Jean took his seat closest to Jeremy's head. The room was silent outside of the beeping of the machines attached to Jeremy.
The sun was beginning to set, the only marker that hours had passed. Cat and Laila had dozed off leaning on each other, and Rhemann had whispered to Jean that he was going to get some water and food for them.
Jean had only nodded, unable to pull his eyes away from the bed in front of him.
One of the machines began beeping rapidly, and Jean startled, looking for what could be wrong.
But Jeremy’s eyelids only fluttered. There was a hoarse and muffled, “Jean?”
“Sh, I am here,” Jean gently grasped Jeremy’s hand, “I am here.”
Jeremy blinked a few times before his eyes focused on Jean. Even behind the oxygen mask, Jean saw the soft smile that graced his face before he drifted off again.
Ever so slowly, Jean leaned over, raising Jeremy’s hand ever so slightly so he could ghost his lips over his knuckles.
He was going to be okay. Jeremy was going to be okay.