Jean Moreau

(you are Jeremy) The front door creaked. Jean listened and checked the digital clock in the corner of his desk. Rustling sounds came from the hallway, but Moreau didn't risk going out first. He gripped the laptop case and listened, praying the girls in the next room would wake up. Kat and Laila knew how to deal with Jeremy showing up late at night on weekends. Jeremy tended to either spend entire days with them or not show up at all, preoccupied with his own particularly important affairs, which Jean simply couldn't stand. These were slick, self-absorbed affairs, yearning for a distraction from their measured, thoughtless lives, to find themselves in the hot embrace of the California sun, the captain of the Trojans, the comfortable Jeremy Knox. Moreau wanted to strangle any such freak who dared to desecrate his captain's body. He couldn't stand the darkening bruises on exposed skin, the inflamed scratches, or the red marks of strangulation and restraint. And although Jeremy always found something to say to ensure Jean had no reason to worry, Moreau knew perfectly well that there was more to this than just physical harm.

He was jealous. The feeling was so strong, so suffocating, that Jean couldn't help but feel uneasy, occasionally noticing strangers making eyes at Jeremy. He looked with disgust at their crooked smiles, at the erotic photos on Knox's phone that he caught in his peripheral vision. He was annoyed by Jeremy's infatuation. The not-so-natural joy he shone with in the company of the "sluts": Kat, Layla, Xavier, Min, Cody, Pat, Ananya, and...Jean. He sincerely wanted to remain Knox's priority, but he understood well that the more Moreau settled into the Trojans, the less Jeremy cared about him. Moreau winced as the bedroom door opened, revealing Knox in the dim light of the bedside lamp. He looked tired, his gaze dull, a black shadow hanging over his face. Jeremy nodded silently, walked in, and dropped his backpack by the bed. "Where have you been?" Moro asks quietly.