Chapter Text
Life in Los Angeles was a contradiction. Somehow both more and less difficult than Jean had believed when he signed his contract back in March. Ten days into Jean’s stay and there was still another month before Trojan practices started back up.
He found himself growing increasingly fond of lists. A cool evening breeze. Rainbows. Except, it was so much easier to make a list of everything he hated. LA was full of horrible experiences.
Jean hated shopping, hated shopping malls. A place full of useless stores and even more useless people. He hated bold and inquiring fans. He hated the constant noise. He hated the stupid cardboard dog Jeremy kept displaying in his room. He hated that Grayson Johnson was only a few hours away in San Diego — the day he had found that out had been particularly terrible.
He hated his own mind, constantly flooded with memories and feelings that he intentionally locked away months ago, years ago. He hated how easy it was to feel afraid and that he seemed to be the only one sane or insane enough to feel it.
But for everything he disliked, there was at least something he found tolerable. Cat and Laila had a routine and it was easy to follow. Clean on Mondays, meal prep on Thursdays. Write the date on containers and put the marker back on the basket on the fridge. The two brought Jean with them everywhere they went, even if it was clear he didn’t want to go. Jean always appreciated it anyway. The most pointless activity was still better than being alone.
Learning to cook with Cat was, strangely, Jean’s favorite new thing. His first night at the house, Cat had claimed, horrified, that he ‘had absolutely no survival skills’ and declared it her job to teach him some. Jean had wanted to argue against it. The things he had survived would surely leave Cat shaking on the floor. Then, Cat had asked what day Jean preferred to do his laundry. He felt his mental argument rapidly derail with each simple task he no clue how to perform.
In the kitchen, Jean was mostly just put in charge of prepping vegetables and ‘following Cat’s word like it was the law’. The repetitive motion gave Jean’s brain something to focus on other than rattling box of horrors in his head.
Cat helped with that too. She had the unique ability to turn every meal she prepared into an elaborate story. The arepas they made Jean’s second week was a dish her youngest brother had screwed up so spectacularly, it had started an oil fire. A stir fry they made on a random Monday was the same one that Cat had made Laila for their first date. The soup that had once turned Jeremy’s face bright red because Cat had put in too much cayenne pepper.
Occasionally, the stories would lead to an inquisition of Jean’s life — what was his favorite food? Did he have any siblings? — but if he failed to answer, Cat would move on seamlessly, as if she had asked nothing at all.
If it wasn’t for Laila, Jean would worry that all the Trojans talked this much. But it was nice not to have to think of a response to questions. A part of him enjoyed hearing the stories too, as silly as they were.
It felt inevitable that something would ruin it all eventually.
Jeremy had moved into the house, as promised, at the beginning of June. With him, moved a constantly ringing phone and an odd collection of ringtones, all different animal noises. A quack was the first domino to fall.
“It’s Cody,” Jeremy said without looking up from his phone. For some inexplicable reason, he had planted himself on the floor in front of the coffee table, even though there was a perfectly empty spot on the couch. When he finally looked up at Jean, it was with impossibly large eyes and Jean found he suddenly needed to check the color of Jeremy’s socks instead. They didn’t match. “Thoughts on meeting up with him and Lucas?”
“Lucas Johnson.” It wasn’t an answer or a clarification. Jean just needed to remind himself who he would be on the court with in a few short weeks. He had learned of Grayson’s younger brother the week before, when Wayne Berger had decided to end his last year at Edgar Allen before it ever started. It was probably better to get an assessment of Lucas now, away from the punishing eyes of coaches. Both options made Jean’s chest feel tight.
Only one of Jeremy’s socks was rolled down to the ankle, the other stretched halfway up an impossibly long calf. “We are teammates,” Jean answered. “I will have to meet them eventually.”
“Oooo can we go to the beach, please?” Cat pulled at the word ‘please’ like taffy. Like she were a child asking for ice cream and not a full-grown adult with her very own dangerous vehicle.
“It’s not a bad idea,” Laila conceded, an apologetic smile on her face. “Neutral space. Like when you introduce stray cats to each other!” Jean had resented that comparison but a decision to meet at the beach had already been made.
Which was how he ended up here. Frozen at the bottom of the stairs, staring at his barely dressed roommates. His eyes caught Laila first. Her suit was a deep blue, almost black, with only the sliver above her hips visible and already Jean felt his face grow hot.
Looking away from her only sent his eyes to Jeremy. The first thing he noticed was that Jeremy’s shirt was cropped. It stopped inches above his waist. His shorts lived up to their name and were hung low, v-cut of his hips noticeable and pointed. Somehow, the same flash of skin felt twice as scandalous. Jean knew he was blushing by now, but it was impossible to look away.
On Jean’s second day in LA, Jeremy had dyed his hair blond. Now, with a soft yellow shirt and bright orange swim trunks, he resembled the sun itself. No one had the right to look so good in such an atrocious color. One of the few joys Jean had last Fall was that Kevin had looked ridiculous while playing on the Foxes side of the court.
He had never considered himself a religious man, but shame still wove it’s way through Jean’s stomach. His heart stopped; both at the sight before him and at the potential consequences of indulging too long.
When he was finally able to tear his eyes away, they met Cat’s. Sitting on the papasan chair, she was blessedly fully clothed, her lips slowly stretching into an entirely too-pleased smile. Jean waited for her to say something. He knew the dangers of being caught staring. But the inevitable never came. Instead, Cat just waggled her eyebrows. He wasn’t sure what face he made in response, but it made her laugh.
Aside from traveling to away games, Jean couldn’t remember spending so much time in a car. Ravens rarely needed to leave the Nest, let alone campus. For these Trojans, there was always somewhere to go, miles away from the court and sometimes with thousands of other vehicles on the road. The trip to the beach was almost 30 minutes. Longer to find parking. Jean was still ruminating over how much of his time, his life, would be wasted in a car when he finally registered the sand beneath his feet.
Seeing the coast was a strange sense of deja vu. He expected to see long, dark hair out of the corner of his eye and flinched when he did not.
Jean didn’t realize he had stopped walking until Jeremy turned around. “Hey.” Jeremy’s eyes were soft. It was something Jean had noticed the first week. Even when Jeremy was angry, frustrated, his eyes never held the malice that Jean expected to see. “Hey, are you okay?”
Against his will, Jean’s eyes moved to the star under his thumb. Any answer he gave would be a lie. To his left, a child screeched as her father splashed her with water. “Are California beaches always so loud?”
Jeremy had a facial expression only reserved for when Jean said something he didn’t like. Still-brown eyebrows creased and eyes focused to the ground. Jean chose to assume it was irritation and started moving to the spot Cat and Laila had began setting up.
He was still reeling from the strange familiarity of a place he had never been when he noticed Cat’s tattoos. Her back was dotted in elaborate, colorful flowers. It wasn’t rare for people to embellish their soul marks. Tattooed marks were uncommon in the Nest, unless it was to hide them, but Jean had seen it a few times before.
What had drawn his attention were the three, curling swipes of green, turned into flower stems, climbing up Cat’s spine.
Jean had seen his mark on someone else before. There was never a ‘feeling’ like in the silly stories he used to tell. No tingling, no knowing. Nothing other than the mark itself. It was enough. Every mark was unique, be it through placement, shade, or opacity. Jean knew the shape of the curves running up his own back intimately. There was a large part of him, a dread-filled, anxious part, that hoped they were just tattoos anyway. He spoke before he realized he’d opened his mouth. “What is that?”
“Oh, isn’t it a pretty?” Cat asked, following Jean’s line of sight and craning her own neck ridiculously, as if to look. “Obviously, if I was going to pick a favorite soulmark, it’d have to be Laila's…” Jean hadn’t known they were soul marked. “…But this one has kind of become my pride and joy! I knew I wanted flowers there ever since I turned six. Getting the tattoo done hurt like a bitch though.”
Jean was very familiar with the pain of something sharp next to his spine. “That is not your soul mark. You are lying.”
“Ummmmm, no?” Cat’s eyebrows were furrowed. “Why would I lie about that?”
It was luck that Cody and Lucas had shown up only moments after, as insufferable as that introduction had been. Jean didn’t have an answer he wished to share.
𖦹𖦹𖦹
Colleen Jenkins had killed herself, Zane barely prevented from following suit. Maybe it would’ve been kinder to let him. Jean still wasn’t sure what feeling had prompted him to call Josiah Smalls that day on the beach. If it was out of desperation, sympathy, or revenge. All he knew was that he didn’t want Zane Reacher gone.
With two Ravens dead and still no coach, Edgar Allen’s administrative board had announced that summer practices would be delayed. It was the only thing keeping Jean sane and calm as he too was still kept from the court. At least, even thousands miles away from his former team, he wasn’t slacking. He wouldn’t have been allowed to play as a Raven either.
After the news of Colleen broke, the USC coaches required Jean get a therapist. He only needed to meet with one of the on-campus psychiatrists before Jean understood that therapy would be an entirely intolerable experience. Betsy Dobson had been irritating at best when he was still in South Carolina, but at least she seemed an adequate shrink. She’d have to be to deal with the Foxes, to deal with Neil. Dobson was also already familiar with the details Jean couldn’t share, much to his irritation. With her, he wouldn’t be deemed as hostile for not complying.
It wasn’t until the week before the start of summer practices in California that Jean was cleared to play. Almost three full months away from Exy, it was hard not to feel comfort — relief— when he was finally given his new gear, even with the clownish colors.
“Cool, right?” Jeremy’s words were silly but his smile was contagious. Jean had to fight to keep one of his own off his face.
“It is a uniform,” Jean said. The new number was still another adjustment. His life was full of them these days. “It’ll do.”
He could feel Jeremy’s stare on him as he traced the gold ‘29’ on his jersey. “Careful! I almost saw a smile there.” His comment made Jean scowl on instinct. Before he could deny the claim, Jeremy spoke again. “If I could snag the keys to the equipment room, think I could get a smile for real?”
An opportunity to properly stretch his under-worked muscles was too good to pass up.“I’ll think about it,” Jean bluffed, but Jeremy was already out the door and halfway down the hall.
Jean spent a few minutes checking the padding on his armor. It was thicker than the Ravens had been, softer to the touch. He couldn’t decided if that was a weakness on the Trojans part, that they might need more cushion due to the fact that they refused to play dirty, or another cruelty on behalf of the Master. Whatever the case, it was irrelevant now. All that should matter was getting back in shape, preparing to fulfill the conditions of the contract that allowed him to live. Not wanting to contemplate any longer, Jean started to change into his under armour.
Because Jean had always had rotten luck, Jeremy managed to came back with the racquets right when he was halfway through pulling off his shirt.
“Good news!” Jeremy cheered, but when Jean turned he was frozen in place, eyes wide and body unmoving.
Jean was unaccustomed to people staring. Before coming to America, Jean’s father hadn’t allowed him to leave the house until all his marks were covered. By the time he’d started changing in the Raven’s locker room, he was already too scarred for anyone to feel comfortable looking too long.
He waited for Jeremy to say something. A comment about how many marks he had, a question about where his scars had come from. It took ages, what felt like minutes, and all Jeremy could stutter out was a whispered and nervous, “Jean?”
For once, Jean intentionally held Jeremy’s gaze. “They do not matter.” Whatever Jeremy was stuck on, the statement was true. His scars, his soul marks, what both said about his past. They could not matter. Jean had too much to focus on to have distractions. He would not let the marks on his body kill him, no matter how determined the universe was to make it so. If Riko hadn’t been the one to succeed, no one would.
He took his racquet from Jeremy’s frozen hand, the motion shaking some of the daze from his partner.
“How can you say that?” Jeremy’s voice had more fire in it than Jean had ever heard from him. “How can you say that it doesn’t matter? Jean, your mark-”
So, Jeremy had noticed Catalina’s mark on his back. A topic Jean hoped he’d be able to avoid for longer. “Any mark I share with a Trojan is irrelevant,” he interrupted. “I am staying in her house, rent free. That is all it means.”
Jeremy was quiet for a few seconds. “… Cat,” he swallowed. “She might feel differently.”
“She won’t, if she wants what is best for her.” Jean turned around to grab his workout shirt from the bench. If he simply covered the marks, maybe the conversation would end with them. Instead, his traitorous mouth muttered a final, “Soul marks only bring trouble.”
“You would keep this from her?”
The question stoked something hot in Jean’s chest. He had shared more than he’d ever cared to in the last few weeks. What was the point of sharing this? “There is no ‘keeping’ anything from you people,” he sneered.
Shame was an expression Jean had never expected to see on Jeremy Knox, shining captain of the Sunshine Court.. He had settled into it so quickly it was as if his face were made for it. It was horrible and wrong. And natural.
Jean had never walked back on his words before. He had learned young that desperate and fabricated denial only made the punishment worse. Here, he couldn’t think of anything else that would rid Jeremy’s face of that expression. “I only meant we share a locker room. If Cat has eyes, she will see my mark eventually.” A weak statement and even weaker defense, but it was the closest thing to a sincere apology Jean could muster.
It didn’t completely wipe the guilt off of Jeremy’s face. Maybe Jeremy didn’t believe Jean but he still offered a “… You know, technically it’s Laila’s house. That you’re staying in. Rent-free.”
Jean took it for the olive branch that it was. An opportunity to change the topic, if only temporarily. He raised an eyebrow. “Get changed for practice or I will remind Laila that you do not pay rent either.”
Being back on a court, even just to test racquets, wasn’t the familiarity Jean thought it would be. Despite having played in dozens of them, there was a part of him that considered all Exy courts the same. HE had a role to fulfill and a court was just the place that for him to satisfy it. Certainly, Jean had played on the Trojan’s field before. Now it felt different, even though nothing but the floors had changed. The crimson stands seemed more red, the stadium lights brighter. It was not the Raven’s court.
Jeremy shook him out of his thoughts by dropping the bucket of exy balls at his feet. “Thoughts? She everything you dreamed about for the last month?”
“There is a word that comes to mind,” Jean said. Jeremy bit his lip, practically vibrating for praise of the court he so clearly loved. He made it so easy to tease. "What is the grease pit called? McDonald’s?”
“Oh c’mon!” Here, with just the two of them, Jeremy’s laugh echoed off the empty seats and polished floors. It was hauntingly delightful. “Honest review? Three words or less.”
Jean rolled his eyes and pretended to consider his surroundings. He settled on, “Smaller than expected” and started putting his gloves on.
“Well, you’ve seen a fair chunk of LA by now. Not a lot of available space.” Jeremy did a slow circle, like it was his first time seeing the court he played on for nearly five years. His smile grew. “Besides, we fit regulation. It’s not really about size, is it?”
“Defensive,” Jean mumbled, only mildly interested. The more time Jeremy focused on Jean’s opinion of silly things like court size was less time running drills. He occupied himself with pulling the last strap tight with his mouth.
Jeremy’s offended “I have nothing to be defensive about!” sent Jean’s teeth straight into his bottom lip. Jean had tasted blood so many times before. How could this possibly be the most humiliating? Jeremy didn’t want to dwell on the moment either. He cleared his throat, cheeks red. “Coach Lisinksi said to keep an eye on your ribs. Promise to tell me if anything pulls?”
Unwilling to open his mouth, Jean simply swallowed the blood and nodded.
Focusing on drills was easier. After a few slow laps, Jeremy insisted Jean make modifications in compliance with his no touch jersey. Even so, it was the familiarity Jean had been seeking. By no means was he at his fittest, but going through the ordinary motions kept his brain away from the constant revisions necessary to play and behave ‘The Trojan Way’. Away from Trojan protocols and Trojan colors and Trojan soul marks. Maybe even away from sparkly, kind, unusual Trojan captains.
Jean spotted Jackie Lisinski the second she stepped foot on the court, but Jeremy had them run drills for another 20 minutes before calling it. In the few moments it took to clean-up the equipment, Coach Lisinski had made her way down from the stands and was, suddenly, standing too close for Jean’s comfort.
Hands on her hips, she raised an assessing eyebrow. “How’s our former Raven feeling?”
Aside from the Master, who was never to be addressed with direct eye contact, Raven coaching staff had unpredictable expectations regarding players looking them in the eye while they were talking. It was safer to assume avoidance until told otherwise, and so Jean looked purposefully to the floor. “Unforgivably rusty, Coach.”
“That’s what summer practices are for kid,” Coach Lisinski said. He only had seconds to wonder what she meant before she gestured to his ribs. “I meant more in the physical health meaning of the word. Anything hurting?”
What a pointless question. “No, Coach.”
“Perfect.” Her tone was incredibly dry. If she wasn’t his coach, Jean thought he might’ve liked her. “Mind if we throw you in the pool today then? Get a good idea of your swimming skills before practices start next week?”
He knew this assessment was coming. Jeremy had let slip that the Trojans spent one morning a week training in the water soon after moving into the house. It had sent ice through Jean’s veins then as much as it did now. He still had no clue how he would make it through that kind of practice without passing out or throwing up. He nodded anyway .
“Jean…” Jeremy tried to catch his eye, but Jean ignored him. It was one thing to lose composure at just the mention of swimming in Cat and Laila’s home, in front of his captain. It was another to do so in front of a coach. Jean would find a way.
Except.
The answer to ‘how would Jean endure this?’ was that he wouldn’t. It only took standing near the water for Jean to completely fall apart. He wasn’t sure how he got to the wall, minutes lost to the anxious buzzing in his head. By the time the rushing world around him had slowed down, Jean was crouched on the ground, head between his knees. Coach Lisinski stood in front of him, arms crossed. Jean‘s world centered on the feeling of warm fingers on the pulse point of his wrist, where Renee’s mark was. He tugged his hand away and found himself immediately regretting it.
There was no way Jean could explain this away. Not without a fraction of truth, as unbelievable as it was. Years of secret keeping and self control, but this wretched place had him tearing at the seams in weeks. Coach Lisinski didn’t punish him for his less than satisfactory answer. Only forced Jean to promise this was something he’d discuss with his therapist, excused him from swimming practices, and left with a “see you boys on Monday.” Somehow, that left him reeling almost as much as the water had.
The feeling of eyes on Jean’s face was growing familiar. He wasn’t sure how long the two of them sat there in silence. Jean waited until his hands stopped shaking before meeting Jeremy’s solid, unwavering gaze.
“What was your plan there? You were just going to hope you could pinch off the panic attack and swim a few laps every Friday?” When Jeremy spoke like this, Jean could see the captain in him.
“My problems are my own.”
“Yeah, sure. Except they’re not. Partners, remember?” Jeremy spoke as if Jean had not taught him the term. “Your problems are my problems. Let me share the burden instead of forcing us to hurt you!”
The notion made Jean physically recoil. “That is not—”
“Do you trust me?” Meeting Jeremy’s eyes was getting increasingly difficult but Jean couldn’t look away. Emotion made them big, a feeling similar to the guilt Jean had given him only an hour earlier. Broken and beautiful and wrong. “I need to know that if I ever make you feel uncomfortable or unsafe, you would tell me.”
Pretty eyes would not be Jean’s downfall, not again. He could not get distracted. “You misunderstand. I’m already horrifically behind. If we are partners, you will suffer for my mistakes. You waste time by coddling me.”
“Coddling you?” Jeremy grabbed his hand, pressing into the star on his palm. “Sprained LCL. Three broken ribs. You treat soul marks like they’re curses. I can’t even begin to understand how badly they hurt you but the worst part is I don’t think you do either.”
Something ugly and hateful lodged itself in Jean’s throat. He embraced it. “And what would you know about soul marks?”
The eyes that were making it so difficult for Jean to think shut down. Wherever Jeremy was, it wasn’t in the Trojan’s aquatic center. Jean watched Jeremy carefully swallow, waiting for the inevitable blow, the promise of violence. It never came.
“You can define success by how well we play this year all you want, I can’t stop you.” Jeremy’s voice was rough, like he was choking the words out. “I’m going to focus on you, though. Jean Moreau, you will be my success story.”
If it was a threat, it was the kindest one Jean had ever heard. It was also a fairytale. All that was left of Jean was his skill on the court. “A waste of time. This is all I am.”
Jean hadn’t noticed Jeremy’s hand was still in his until his thumb brushed Jean’s soul mark. Jeremy squeezed his hand so hard it ached. His tone matched his grip. “Is there a rule against it?”
Why wouldn’t Jeremy let it go? “Technically, no, but—”
“Good.” Jeremy let go of Jean’s hand to stand.
Jean missed the warmth.
𖦹𖦹𖦹
The final week before summer practices dragged tortuously on.
Jeremy behaved as if nothing happened. The initial drive back to house had been awkward and uncharacteristically quiet. Jean was certain Jeremy was mad, but once he had walked through the front door, a smile had washed over his face like water. It was almost eerie after witnessing the way his expression had changed when Jean had snapped at him. Jean wasn’t sure if Jeremy had really forgotten his words or if he was just pretending they no longer bothered him. After a few days with no mention of them, Jean pushed the argument from his mind.
On Tuesday, Laila forced him on another shopping trip. Jean had never needed so many clothes in his life, but Laila, Cat and Jeremy all insisted he didn’t have enough. The mall was, once again, unbearable. The last time he had been stopped it was happenstance. Found by fans once, months after Riko’s apparent suicide. Now with two more suicides, in recent news, Jean had been recognized and questioned in nearly every store.
By the time the two had returned to the house, Jean was already in a foul mood. Then his new clothes didn’t fit in his dresser. He pulled open the top drawer with excessive force. It was full of more pointless junk, housing his laptop and broken magnets and notebooks Jean couldn’t open but also couldn’t throw away.
Jeremy appeared at his shoulder with a smile, like a friendly ghost. Jean was beginning to regret wanting a roommate before Jeremy reminded him. “You know you have a desk, right?”
Well if Jean was required to have this many clothes, he’d need a place to put them. His mistake was setting Renee’s stolen photo on top of the desk instead of in a drawer.
“She’s cute,” Jeremy said, having followed Jean into the next room. Because the house was so small, those words got Cat’s attention.
“You wouldn’t know cute on a girl if she wrote it on her forehead, let me see!” Cat shouldered her way into the room, Jean too distracted by the implications of that statement to stop her. She kindly left the photo on Jean’s desk, usually greedy hands left respectfully at her side. Though she leaned over it, face hovering inches away. She looked ridiculous, and Jean refused to find it endearing. “Ooo la la, she is cute!”
On Saturday, Jean was forced to meet with the other ‘Floozies’. Though all surprisingly and inappropriately short for a starting line, he didn’t mind them as much as he thought he would. Impossibly cheery and definitely unhinged. It had shocked Jean to learn that all that positive sportsmanship was intended to piss off the Trojan’s opponents on the court. It also helped him respect them that much more.
Half of them were soul marked to one another. Anyana to Cody and Min, Min to Xavier. “Maybe that’s why we work so well together on the court,” Pat had joked, flippantly. Jean shoved down thoughts of Neil and Kevin and Riko. It could not be true if he refused to think about it.
When Jeremy had pulled him aside to ask Jean if it was all too much, having so many people in the house, it was easy to answer honestly.
“Raven’s were always together. This feels familiar,” Jean said. He paused and thought of the differences. The Trojans were happy to be here. Happy to be together. “Better,” he amended.
Meeting the rest of the team on Monday was another story
The USC coaches insisted on a meet and greet before training. Each player came armed with summer plans, majors and fun facts. Laila had called Jean an old soul before, but this felt especially juvenile. Not participating was not an option; when Jean tried to skip his turn, Coach Rhemann only looked at him expectantly. Instead, he shared the bare minimum.
“Jean Moreau, defense.”
“Oh, the Jean Moreau…” Lucas Johnson muttered under his breath. He was quickly proving to be Jean’s least favorite person.
Coach Rhemann must have been expecting more, eyes still on Jean, but didn’t have anything more to share. “That’s it?”
Whenever Jean talked about his Business major, Jeremy made a face. Any teammate with a brain and access to a computer already knew that Jean was from France. He’d spent his spring and the start of summer mostly bed ridden or on medical watch. I belong to the Japanese Yakuza was not a very ‘fun’ fact. And there was the most compelling reason not to participate: Jean didn’t want to. He found the entire exercise tedious and boring. There was nothing he wished to share with these people. So as not to anger his new coach he said, “It is all I am, Coach.”
Evidently, this was enough. Rhemann nodded and moved on without complaint. When all Trojans had been introduced and all four coaches had said their piece, Jean was handed paperwork to sign. Almost an hour into practice and they hadn’t even changed into workout attire. It was a wonder USC consistently made it to championships with how much time they wasted.
The squeal Cat let out when she found out their lockers were next to one another was ungodly.
“We live together,” Jean reminded her, hands to his ears. “You already see me at the house.”
Cat clapped her hands together excitedly. “You've been holed away in your room lately. Now you have to hang out with me!” She said it like her words didn’t imply a hostage situation.
Jean had been avoiding Cat. It shouldn’t have been noticeable. He rarely spent time in the public spaces of the house anyway. And once Jeremy had moved in to share Jean’s bedroom he was much more comfortable spending time in there instead.
Suddenly reminded of why he’d been avoiding Cat— their shared mark — made Jean realize it would be too difficult to hide much longer.
This was not something he’d ever had to worry about after leaving Marseilles. The Raven’s locker room afforded no privacy. No matter how much the Master and Riko hated seeing his marks, there was no way they would ever afford a Moreau special treatment either.
He couldn’t go into a bathroom stall to change every time without questions and waiting for Cat to leave the room would further waste valuable practice time. The mark ran up his entire back, there was no hiding it if he needed to change his shirt. In a last ditch effort to delay the inevitable, he waited until her back was turned, talking to Haoyu Liu. It only bought him a few seconds.
“What,” Cat’s voice was so loud, it caught the attention of the entire locker room. “the FUCK?”
When Jean turned to stare at Cat he expected to see excitement, maybe anger for keeping such a secret from her. Not the horror that only seemed to grow as she caught sight of Jean’s chest. He raised an eyebrow, challenging her to say more. Cody Winter spoke first.
“Hey. Uhhhh are you good?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Jean wasted no time pulling on his workout shirt. Cat reached out to stop him, hands scrambling on his shoulders to turn him back around. Jean elbowed her away with ease. When he finally faced her, marks covered, hurt had spread across her face.
“You’ve known for weeks? And you never said anything? And the scars—”
Jean interrupted that statement before she could get any further. “Are none of your concern. They do not interfere with my ability on the court. You will get used to them.”
“Get used to them!” Cat echoed with the anger Jean had expected from her earlier. “Who carved up your soul marks? Who carved up my soul mark?”
Xavier got involved before Jeremy could. “This seems like something you guys should talk about in private, not here.” He kept his voice low, even though the room was dead silent. Surely, everyone could hear anyway. “Do you want me to see if you can borrow Coach Rhemann’s office?”
Jean would be damned if he stepped foot into that office when he’d done nothing wrong. “Absolutely not!”
Something about Jean’s response made Xavier’s face pinch in confusion. Cat opened her mouth to protest but Xavier held up a hand. “Okay. We can’t force you to talk about it.” He shot another pointed glance Cat’s way. “Not here, at least. You guys good to focus until practice is over?”
Cody stepped next to Xavier. “I can keep an eye on things.”
Cat’s lips were thin and bloodless when she turned away to change. The conversation was far from over.
𖦹𖦹𖦹
Practice had been horrible.
When at Edgar Allen, Jean had never really earned the Raven’s respect, but not for lack of trying. The only members of the team who were truly respected had been the coaches. Riko was feared but most Raven’s could see that Kevin was the better player, even if they would never be foolish enough to say it. Everyone else was simply in the way. Jean was used to proving himself. Jean should have been used to proving himself.
The entire day had been a humiliation ritual. An exercise designed to show him where he was behind, how far he’d fallen. He was Jean Moreau, number three of the perfect court. He had been raised to play exy. Last year, only two strikers in the entire NCAA had been able to slip past him to even consider scoring in the Raven’s goal. Now, he was in a no-touch jersey. Having to be corrected every time his stick hooked with a striker’s and lifting weights with the freshman class.
He knew the Trojans’ numbering system was not the same. Had known since he signed his contract back in March. Jean was defense and so he’d have to be in the twenties or thirties. It was still a difficult adjustment to make. Every time the coaches referred to him as ‘29’, it sent a cold wave of fear through him.
Cat hadn’t spoken to him all practice. When they’d returned to the lockers after weights to put on their armor for scrimmages, she had fixed her gaze on the floor and grumbled something about missing Trojan assistants.
Jean knew what was coming when they returned to the house after practice. He tried to walk up to his room but Cat was already blocking his path, legs slung across the length of one stair and arms crossed.
She wasted no time. “Can I at least get an explanation?”
“For what?” When Jean was younger, he had been excited to meet his soul marks. That time had long passed. The Trojan obsession with them was simply naivety and nothing more.
“Okay, seriously?” Cat stood then, fists clenched. Jean had the urge to step further away from the stairs. He stood his ground anyway. “You know what! Maybe you don’t care, but this stuff is really important to me.”
Jean was already tired of this conversation. “You have seen a lot today, no? My marks, my scars? It is only a fraction of them.” His gaze felt heavy, even to him. “Trust me when I say this. Soul marks are the opposite of a blessing. Every single one on my skin has been a curse. Either you are destined to make my life worse, or I’ve been sent to destroy yours.”
Cat deflated, eyes wide. “You can’t really mean that…” Jean sighed and tried to push past her on the stairs. Strong, determined fingers caught him by the arm. “No! You don’t mean that! I saw that photo on your desk. The Foxes’ goalie! You have her mark on your wrist! You wouldn’t keep her picture if you really believed that.”
A part of Jean had realized that Renee’s mark was visible in the photo when he’d seen it hanging on the wall in the Foxes’ locker room. A smaller, more delusional part had snatched it for exactly that reason. No part of him had considered that Cat might’ve noticed that detail. He mentally cursed his own sentimentality and cursed the horribly distracting Jeremy Knox.
In the end it didn’t matter. Jean shook his head. “Even her. She was the one who took me from Edgar Allen. I did not go by choice.”
“You’re telling me that she did this to you? Renee Walker broke your ribs and put you in a no-touch jersey for summer practices?” Cat’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. Even she didn’t believe the scenario she was spinning. “You know, I’ve met Renee before. A menace in goal, sure, whatever. She’s a total sweetheart.”
Jean grit his teeth. She sentenced me to death, he thought, but the truth was Jean had already been dying when Renee had found him. How did he explain that at least when he was with the Ravens, Jean knew what to expect? “Ravens do not leave Evermore.” Jean didn’t realize what he’d admitted with that statement until it had already left his mouth.
“So, what? Your pissed at her because she saved your life? She got you away from the people who hurt you!”
“No!” Jean wasn’t angry with Renee, could never be. The months spent texting her almost had Jean fooled. Believing in the stories that he’d read to his sister as children. Thinking that maybe being marked wasn’t so bad. And then she’d dragged him bleeding from the Nest, pushing the first domino that forced Jean to California. Suddenly spent, he roughly shouldered his way out of Cat’s hold and sat on the floor. Hard.“You don’t understand.”
Cat looked to the ceiling for patience. She groaned, exasperated, and moved to sit beside him. Her hand reached out for his but Jean ignored it. “Fine. Than help me understand. Help us understand,” She begged. “This can be a good thing! We can make this a good thing.”
This was where they fundamentally differed. It was easy to assume that Jean was only the second mark Cat had found, if Laila was the first. The third, if she shared one with a parent, a sibling. Maybe, in a perfect world, the worst thing Cat’s other marks would do was die. But he knew from experience that more horrifying fates were possible too.
Jean forced himself to hold Cat’s eyes when he said, “you’ve already proven that you cannot.” He stood and finished the trek to his room.
𖦹𖦹𖦹
Continuing to avoid Cat after that was surprisingly easy. She had wanted not-so-shockingly little to do with him. Jean hadn’t noticed how comfortably Cat filled the quiet until his ears were ringing with it. The most they interacted was passing to each other during scrimmages.
The mood in the house was only icy the first day after Jean had left Cat on the stairs. Laila hadn’t taken him rejecting her girlfriend — soul mark — very kindly. It was easy to see how her talents rivaled Minyard’s in the goal when their glares were the same. Jeremy spent his evenings with eyes wearily flicking between his partner and his best friend. Briefly, Jean wondered if he would need to find a new place to live, but the atmosphere thawed before Thursday.
Meal prep day. The itching, instinctual desire to distance himself from a soul mark rivaled with his need to contribute, to prove his value. It had been easy enough when Cat hadn’t known. Now, Jean wasn’t sure if he would be welcome. When he walked into the kitchen Thursday afternoon, Cat didn’t shout or threaten him out of her space. She just handed him a knife and cutting board and the two of them chopped vegetables in silence. Despite knowing this was for the best, it so desperately felt like he was in the wrong.
Jean wouldn’t regret this. He would not regret this.
If he just kept repeating the mantra, one day it would be true.
Typically, when Jean was frustrated, he worked it out on the court. As a Trojan, this wasn’t ideal. Coach White had a dart board with Jean’s face on it by second day of practices from how often Jean bodied and tripped his strikers to the court floor, surely.
Today, the coaching staff had a new approach. For every unsportsmanlike behavior Jean exhibited during scrimmages, Coach Rhemann would blow sharp trill on a whistle.
So far, they hadn’t gone five minutes without a shrill pitch. Jean thought he might go insane.
“Did no-contact mean something different in West Virginia?” Coach Lisinski asked him, when he was pulled from the scrimmage for revisions and check-ins.
It barely existed in West Virginia. The only player who was permitted no-contact in recovery was Riko.“No, Coach.” When she continued to stare him down, he added. “I’ve never worn a no-touch jersey, Coach. It’s… an adjustment. I will do better.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Championship qualifier against Penn State in ‘05. A Raven backliner took a pretty bad hit, had to be pulled out of the game. Could’ve sworn I saw a three on his jersey.” There was no lying to a coach and it seemed Lisinski already knew she was right. Jean said nothing. She sighed and waved him back to the court. “Words don’t mean anything. Prove it.”
Jean did his best. There were just too many corrections to keep track of, each paired with a noise that grated at his nerves. To make matters worse, the Trojans did one thing very well: joyful taunting. Knowing now that it was designed to piss him off only made him irrationally angrier. By the time he was paired with Jeremy, Jean didn’t know how he hadn’t cracked his racquet in half, fists clenched so tightly.
“Hey!” Jeremy waved, far too joyful. “Everything okay? I’m pretty sure your eye is twitching.”
“Fine,” Jean growled through gritted teeth.
Jeremy eyed him more carefully. “You know, Coach Rhemann has been on you pretty hard. If you needed a break—”
“I do not need a break.” Jean would practice for as long as they allowed him. Jeremy’s suggestion otherwise only aggravated him more. The ball returned to their side of the court before Jeremy could argue.
Rage used to make Jean a stronger player on the court. Here, it only made him careless.
Seconds before Jeremy launched the ball across the court, Jean blocked the shot with his own racquet. If he were a little more clear headed, he might’ve recognized that Jeremy’s gentle “away,” was only intended to help. An attempt to remind Jean before Rhemann and his whistle got involved. Instead, the word lit something in Jean’s chest. He hooked his shoulder and used it to throw Jeremy to the ground.
The thud of Jeremy hitting the court was loud and suddenly Jean felt nothing at all. Anger gone and world gone gray with it. He knelt to the floor next to his shocked partner as Coach Rhemann jogged their way.
"Good?” Rhemann asked Jeremy, who gave a strong, if slightly dazed, thumbs up. The older man repeated the gesture in the direction of someone further down the court. Jean could hear Coach Jimenez start a drill to replace the scrimmage that had stopped with the ball still in Jeremy’s net. Rhemann turned his way, arms crossed. “Kind of the opposite of what we are trying to do here, yeah?”
Jean’s response was quick and instinctive. “Sorry, Coach.”
“Are you?” Rhemann’s eyebrows were stern in a way that Jean was used to. “Actually sorry? Or do you think that’s just what I want to hear right now.” The last part was not a question.
“I do not like failing, Coach.” It was the only defense he had.
Something shifted in Rhemann’s expression but Jean wasn’t present enough to parse it. “Alright, new approach.” He held up the whistle. “Good news is that I’ve got a better idea of where we are butting heads. Bad news is that I think there might be too many changes to make at once. So, let’s handle them one at a time. Give you the best chance at success.” Jean nodded. What else was he to do other than agree? “Not a lot of practice left, but you feeling up to trying again?”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Great! Take a breather, we’ll start the scrimmage back up.”
Rhemann was already turned around and walking in the direction of the rest of the team by the time Jean realized he was waiting for something that couldn’t possibly happen with the head coach already so far away. Should he expect a harsher punishment later?Jeremy was already back on his feet, hand outstretched.
“I don’t understand,” Jean wondered out loud. The mistakes he was making today were the same mistakes he made the first day of practice, but he’d yet to face any consequences for it.
Jeremy made a confused “Hm?” as he helped Jean to his feet.
The rest of practice was a haze. It was hard to shake the feeling of impending doom too many mistakes brought. Jean still wasn’t sure if he was expected in the coaches office when practice ended. Maybe Rhemann preferred to deliver punishments behind closed doors.
With no more whistle emphasizing Jean’s every mistake, the teasing blessedly stopped. Or maybe seeing Jean body their happiest player to floor left the Trojans uneasy. He couldn’t be sure, but there was a suspicious lack of usual chatter.
Once all equipment was put away and teammates were walking towards locker rooms to shower and change, Jean had the misfortune of running into Lucas Johnson. He instantly missed the silence.
A brutal shoulder shoved him from behind, followed by a viciously whispered “whore.”
Well, if Jean was already in trouble…
When Lucas went to pass him into the locker room, Jean grabbed him by the neck guard and threw him to the floor, this time with no regret. He went for a punch, but someone was quick enough to grab his arm and yank it away. Lucas tried to scramble up but Jean was still close enough to kick. He used his foot to push Lucas back to the floor.
Before it could escalate any further, Coach Jimenez got an arm between the two, shoving Jean further back. “What is going on here?”
“Your fourth line likes to run his mouth, Coach.” Jean snarled. “I figured it might be better used to polish the floors.”
“Fuck you,” Lucas said, but he was still on the floor. Jean bared his teeth in warning before Jimenez was elbowing him further away. The other coaches must have been alerted to the commotion still happening on the court. A hand on Jean’s shoulder dragged him to the inner court and pushed him to a bench, Lucas not far behind.
Jean could see Jeremy’s wide eyes over Coach White’s shoulder before he was shooed away.
Lisinski pointed an accusing finger at Jean. “Is this ‘doing better’?”
“I will not be insulted but a talentless, ignorant child, Coach.” Arguing with a coach was dangerous business, but it was better than lying. The lecture that response earned him wasn’t anything he hadn’t already considered. Of course, as a Trojan, Jean couldn’t fight every player that insulted him on the court. But there was a difference between brushing off an insult from someone he helped score against and brushing of an insult from a member of his own team. This member of his own team in particular. Jean would not be made an easy target.
Lucas's concerns — that stealing Jean from the Ravens has been the wrong move, that it was a tactical ploy to ruin the Trojans reputation, that Jean would only bring them trouble — were words that Jean had heard before. Whether or not he believed them himself was irrelevant. Jean knew how convincing Grayson’s violence could be.
Both boys were left with the threat to behave or be benched until they could.
By the time Jean had finally made it back to the locker room, most of the team had showered, changed and left. Jeremy sat on the bench, waiting. “Do you wanna talk about it?” Jeremy asked.
Jean had been talked at and lectured for nearly the entire practice. “No,” he said. Not an answer, a refusal. The last thing he wanted to do was have another conversation. Whether Jeremy got the hint or simply didn’t want to press, there was no follow-up question. Jean tried hard not to slam his locker door against the wall.
He knew that his mood had been a unpleasant, stable presence the entire walk home. Cat and Laila hadn’t been waiting around for Jean and Jeremy since Cat had found out about the mark on Jean’s back and so Jeremy suffered the awkward silence alone.
When the two of them walked through the door, Cat was waiting again. Jean tried to stomp his way to his bedroom but a leather-clad arm blocked his path.
“Not so fast,” Cat said. He was milliseconds away from snapping about how he didn’t need another lecture when she turned her attention toward Jeremy. “You and Laila are on your own tonight. Laila already ordered some pizzas.” She grabbed Jean’s arm. “You’re coming with me.”
Heaven and earth couldn’t tell Jean why he followed her out the door, but when he got in front of the bike, he ground the rubber of his shoe into the asphalt. “Absolutely not.”
Cat’s smile was just as teasing as all the encouragements thrown at him on the court earlier. Except the word that came out of her mouth was an intentionally insulting “chickenshit,” which was much easier for Jean to swallow.
“I tell you soulmates only ruin your life, and now you are determined to end mine?” Jean crossed his arms, still not convinced.
"If you want to go inside and brood in your room Frenchman-style, AGAIN, be my guest.” Cat held out a helmet for him anyway. “C’mon! I haven’t crashed a bike in years,” she added, shaking the hunk of plastic a little. This was supposed to protect his head?
Jean snatched the offered gear from her grip, careful to keep the suspicious glare on his face. “That is not at all reassuring.” Reluctantly, he pulled the helmet on and moved to sit behind Cat on the motorcycle.
The bike roared to life. It was loud, once the key was turned. Still, Cat’s voice crackled through a speaker next to his ear. “Just a heads up, you can’t freak out.”
Now this was something Jean was certain he would regret.
The way the bike weaved through tightly packed cars and trucks was terrifying. If Jean happened to grip Cat tighter every time the engine revved, that was no one’s business but his own. He kept his eyes stubbornly shut, hoping death would be less painful if he didn’t know it was coming first.
It took him a good few seconds to realize the bike had stopped and that the rattling he felt was just his shaken nerves. Cat had pulled into a lot filled with dozens of other motorcycles and a weathered, windowless garage.
“Why?” he asked, but Cat just walked through the shiny black door they were parked in front of. When Jean stayed where he was, seated, she stomped back through the door with a heavy sigh and even heavier eye roll. She lightly tugged the shoulder of his shirt until he got the message that he was supposed to follow.
Jean had apprehensions about willingly walking into a windowless building again. The Master wasn’t here though. No one could make him stay.
The inside of the garage was nothing like the Nest.
All of Evermore had been eerily pristine for how dark it was. Jean had never witnessed anyone actually polish the black floors but they always had a shine to them, even in the dim, red lighting. The sharp, ever-present smell of disinfectant had given him a constant headache his first week there. Despite serving as a dorm, there was no clutter. Ravens had come to focus, to commit, to sell their souls to exy.
Cat was already talking to the man stationed at the small counter in the far corner once Jean finally made it through the door. Every inch of floor space in the garage was covered in racks and shelves, to the point where it was difficult to maneuver around. Jean found himself pulling his elbows in to avoid knocking anything down. The walls were covered in wood paneling, to jam extra shelves and hooks in between. Apparently, the amount of gear required to ride a motorcycle rivaled exy. The lighting overhead was bright but warm, the smell of leather overpowering.
Jean had started thoughtlessly picking at the laces of a pair of bright red motorcycle boots when a leather jacket smacked him in the chest. He caught it with ease. “Why?” he repeated.
Cat made a hurried motion with her hands. “You need one to ride the bike. Does it fit? Try it on.” Jean pulled the jacket on. Cat stretched her arms in front of her, but said nothing. It took him a minute to realize he was supposed to copy her. The jacket was snug but not restraining.
She poked at his shoulders before making a face. “You’re gonna bulk up, aren’t you?” Jean didn’t know how to answer that question but she didn’t wait for a response. “Whatever, it can’t be loose. I’ll get you a new one for your birthday. When’s your birthday?”
The Trojan tendency for rapid topic change still made Jean’s head spin. He blinked, stunned, as Cat plucked the tag from the back of the jacket and pocketed it. When he finally caught up, he shrugged. “November,” he said.
“I need you to know this, because someone else will ask: November is not an answer.”
The eye-roll was instinct. Avoidance was even easier. He gestured to Cat’s pocket. “Are we stealing?” he asked, knowing the man in the back corner was watching them.
“My uncle’s place! Everything the light touches or whatever…” She spread her arms and spun in a circle. Jean debated the consequences of asking her what the fuck that meant while she gave the pocketed tag to the salesman at the register. “Bye Tomás! We’ll see you next time.”
Jean resented her use of ‘we’. “There will not be a next time,” he called, but Cat was already out the door.
The more time he spent on the motorcycle, the easier it was to tolerate. Cat was a still a lunatic, and a reckless driver to boot, but eventually the traffic began to clear and Jean found it easier to keep his eyes open. It wasn’t until they reached the roads hugging the cliff-side that he saw the appeal.
Fear was a state that Jean was intimately familiar with. Since leaving the Nest and signing with the Trojans, it felt almost constant. His neck would hurt from the muscle tensing even if his nails didn’t find comfort in the soft skin there. Everything about this should have only incited more of fear.
The steep drop next the road brought the ocean closer. They weren’t terribly high, but the view seemed so different from when the four of them had gone to the beach. It looked endless. The world had opened up and all he could think was blue.
How lucky Jean felt not to be afraid of heights.
The ride ended long before he was ready to look away. Cat had pulled in front small, beach-side cafe with tables in the sand. She swore the place had sandwiches ‘to die for’ and proceeded to order something fried in more grease than Jean had seen in his entire adult life instead.
He’d picked through most of his own salad before he thought to ask, “Why are we here?”
“You kind of looked like you were going to implode,” she said, popping another fry into her mouth. “I don’t blame you! Like, obviously who am I to question the coaches. But I don’t know, practice today seemed like a lot.” A part of Jean froze, fearing this might be a test. Cat continued, unaware. “Sometimes it’s just good to get away, you know? Step out of it for a bit.”
Despite every Raven being given a car, ‘getting away’, of his own volition, had never felt obtainable before. He hadn’t even considered it an option here in LA. The sentiment in his chest was to large for words. The fact that she was still willing to help him after he had shut her out, had walked away, felt incomprehensible. Jean stumbled through a “thank you” anyway.
The smile on Cat’s face appeared instantaneously. “Does that mean there can be a next time?”
Jean scowled. He pointed an accusatory finger. “I knew you heard me!”
“Okay, but seriously?” Cat was already convinced. “I can you get a bike! My family has this old one everyone’s learned on, but they’ve all got their own now. Say the word and I’ll make my little sister drive it out here. Vivi owes me a favor anyway!”
In the few months he had known Cat, Jean had heard of so many family members, he’d lost count. “How many are you?”
“Seven,” Cat answered, cheerfully. Jean’s shock must’ve shown on his face, because she laughed. “I know! Two marriages though, on my Dad’s side, so I didn’t grow up with all of them. You think that’s crazy? Dad’s got a soul mark for each and every one of us! Nine total.”
The mention of soulmates had Jean tensing. Cat winced. “Sorry, I think sharing that fun fact has just become instinct at this point. We can talk about something else.”
The idea of a father sharing a mark with all of his children was shocking. Seven marks. Jean couldn’t imagine an event that tied them all together. Against his better judgment, he asked. “All of you?”
Cat’s smile was small. “Yeah, we are just really close I guess… I mean I only share a mark with Dad, but Sonia and Luis share one too. They are the oldest, I don’t see them as much.” Her eyes jumped to his visible soul marks — silver ring around his wrist, the star on his hand — before moving to his face. “What about you?”
“A sister. I have one sister. Younger.” Cat hadn’t asked about the mark specifically and so Jean didn't share. His fingers poked at the yellow on the meat of his thumb anyway.
Thoughts of her brought flashes of ducks and dark curls. Reading her whispered fairytales under the blanket with a flashlight. Sticky fingers and a stickier smile, both stained purple. The ugly sobbing noise she made when he left and the way his mother had torn her off him.
Jean’s first soulmate. The one he’d known the longest.
Cat cleared her throat and Jean was back on the beach. “Have you talked with her recently?”
“Not since I left home.” Even if his parents had left him a way to contact her, the Raven’s would never have allowed it. The Moriyama’s even less so.
“Do you want to? Reach out to her?”
The thought was terrifying, as much as Jean ached for it. Would she be mad at being left behind? He was always a coward when it came to facing punishment for his own mistakes. His answer was non-committal. “Maybe.”
Cat nodded. Satisfied with his answer or not, she didn’t push. Instead, she popped another fry in her mouth and looked back towards the water.
Food finished and bill paid, Cat dragged him to the water. She insisted on combing the beach for shells before letting them leave. “A gift for Laila,” she claimed, but the intact sand dollar she found was tucked neatly into Jean’s pocket instead of her own. The sun was already starting to set by the time the two of them boarded the bike to head back home.
Head blissfully clear, Jean thought about his lists. His soul marks could never be a reason to live, except… When he’d added rainbows to the list it had felt almost in memoriam. Renee hadn’t died, but whatever existed between them had, from the moment she dragged him from the Nest.
Maybe Jean didn’t need to wait for something horrible to happen, for someone to screw up, to be grateful for whatever moment of peace Cat had given to him.
The list was only for him. No one else had to know when Jean added open roads.