Oscar was quiet for a moment, his fingers tapping out an absent rhythm on the cool, laminate surface of the table between them. The distant murmur of other students and the hum of vending machines filled the background. Oscar, however, seemed lost in his own thoughts. His usual cool composure had completely vanished, replaced by something more conflicted, his brows faintly drawn as if he were wrestling with a thought he didn’t particularly want to own up to.

Jean, ever impatient with suspense, raised an eyebrow, a hint of playful challenge in her gaze. 

“Well?” she prodded. “Don’t leave me hanging now.”

He glanced at her, hesitated. His eyes flicked away again almost immediately, searching the tabletop as though it might offer an escape route. Whatever he was about to say, it wasn’t coming easily. 

“Well…” he started slowly, dragging the word out, his voice quieter than usual. “I dunno if I should spill the beans, honestly. Not exactly chuffed about it, if I’m being straight with you. Bit shameful, really.”

Jean leaned in, elbows on the table, interest fully piqued now.

“Now you’ve got to tell me. I won’t judge, honest.”

He scratched the back of his neck, a clear gesture of discomfort and severe reluctance. He sighed, a long, drawn-out sound as though trying to exhale the confession from his lungs. His fingers resumed tracing some invisible shape across the tabletop. 

"Right. So… it's like this, yeah? I'm sort of seeing a few birds at the moment. And, uh... none of them know the score. Like, they don't know about each other."

Jean blinked. The amused smirk she’d been wearing wavered, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"A few? As in... more than two, Oscar?" Her voice held a note of disbelief, though not yet outright condemnation.

"Close to five," he admitted, the words barely a whisper, as if saying them aloud made them more real, more regrettable. He winced slightly, the admission clearly painful. 

"There's Nicole, Elena, Penelope… and I've sort of forgotten the names of the other two, to be honest."

Her jaw dropped.

"Five? And you don't even remember all their names, you absolute numpty?!"

He groaned, shrinking into himself slightly.

“I said I wasn’t proud, didn’t I?” His voice was small, a flush creeping up from beneath the collar of his school blazer. His shoulders rounded, trying to fold in on himself.

Jean gave him a long look. Not angry, but definitely unimpressed.

“Any of them on my football team, Oscar? Because if they are, I swear to God…”

He shook his head quickly, almost panicked.

“Nah! I don’t think so. Most of ’em probably do music or indoor sports? I reckon?”

He winced again.

“Maybe. I mean, I don’t really talk about their hobbies that much, do I?”

A soft laugh escaped from her lips despite her disapproval.

"That's hardly reassuring, mate. You’re a bloody mess, Oscar. And the least you could do is learn their names. That’s just basic decency, innit?”

“So… has your image of me gone completely down the drain now?” he asked, his voice quieter, more subdued.

He tried to smile, but it didn’t quite land, more of a grimace than anything else. Still, there was no deflection in his tone now. No bravado. Just someone facing the consequences of their own messy truth.

Jean tilted her head, laughing with zero sympathy.

“Oh, completely. Absolutely. You’re officially a coureur de jupons. No doubt about it.”

Oscar blinked.

“A what now?”

She grinned.

“A skirt-chaser. It’s French. Sounds much more sophisticated than ‘player’, don’t you think?”

He let out a rueful laugh, the self-awareness starting to return.

"Well, that’s me, then, I suppose. 'Oscar, the Sophisticated Skirt-Chaser.' Sounds almost respectable." 

He paused, then his eyes narrowed slightly, a spark of mischief and curiosity re-emerging.

“But don’t act all high and mighty, Jean. You said you’re no saint either, remember? We’ve all got our secrets.”

Jean shrugged, her earlier amusement fading, replaced by a sudden caginess that Oscar noticed immediately. Her eyes became a little distant, her shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly. 

"I was a bit occupied last night too," she admitted, her voice softer, less direct than before.

“Oh?” he said, tone sharpening slightly with interest. He leaned forward, reading her with more attention now. “So you’ve got a boyfriend, then?”

Jean waved him off, an airy gesture that didn’t quite match the faint pink climbing her cheeks.

“Nah. Nothing like that. Just a bit of a fling. Keeping things casual.”

Oscar studied her for a moment. The joking mood had faded, replaced with something more still. Whatever he was thinking, he didn’t voice it right away. When he did speak, his voice had softened.

“Look, I’m not proud of what I’m doing, y’know. It’s… complicated. So, uh… can we keep this between us? Just us two?"

Jean nodded, understanding the vulnerability beneath his bravado.

"Look, Oscar, I'm no better, honestly. We all make mistakes. But if it’s weighing on you that much, maybe it’s time to be honest. Let them know you’re seeing other people. At least then they've got a choice, yeah? They can decide if they're okay with it or not." 

Her advice was practical, a reflection of her own straightforward nature.

He gave a small, serious nod.

“Yeah… you’re right about that. Absolutely right.”

Oscar exhaled slowly, her words settling like a weight in his chest, a truth he couldn't easily dismiss.