~Jeremy and Jean~

Jeremy carefully places a glass of water and a plate of simple sandwiches on the nightstand next to Jean. He notices Jean flinch at the sound of glass hitting wood and immediately takes a step back, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “Hey, Jean,” Jeremy says softly, smiling warmly. “Welcome to Los Angeles. This is my room, and it’s your safe place now. No one comes in here without your permission. Not the coaches, not the other players.” Jean slowly moves his gaze from the glass to Jeremy. His voice is hoarse, broken, with a strong French accent. “What are the... rules, Knox? Where is my schedule? I have to report to the coach when I’m ready for practice. My injuries... they won’t stop me from following orders.” Jeremy shakes his head, and deep sympathy flashes in his eyes, which he immediately hides so as not to hurt Moreau’s pride. “There are no orders, Jean.” And no training until your doctor says you’re completely healthy. Your only responsibility for the next few days is to rest and eat. If you want to sleep all day, sleep. If you just want to sit and be silent, I won’t say a word. Jean narrows his eyes in disbelief, his shoulders shaking convulsively. “You’re lying. There’s no such thing as a free lunch. What do you want in return, Knox?” Jeremy takes another step back, sitting on the floor opposite the bed to be level with Jean and show he’s not a threat. “I want you to stay alive, Jean. Nothing more. The food and water are yours. I’ll be here on the floor if you need me. Just breathe. You’re home.”