Jean opened the window and let the cool wind paint a sheen of mist on his face. The rain sank a deep wet cold inside him, soundly different from the Los Angeles aridity. He breathed in the reminder. A small digital clock on the bedside table told the inside and outside temperature alongside the time. Jean didn't care to read it.
Fahrenheit and 12 hour clocks and the English he dreamt in now; that had all been easy once. Now it hurt to think, to smash his thoughts into the ill-fitting words people wanted to hear. Jean's failure shouldn't have surprised him.
The Ravens had rules. The Foxes had rules. The Trojans had rules. The only overarching thread was that Jean conformed to each one in turn; breaking his own bones to reset and restart after each displacement. His body had to behave and perform. Jean had to understand the flickering directions across the tangled lines of his mind, severed and re-fused through every interaction he had.
Leaving the window open, Jean slipped back into bed. When he'd first been kept in this room, all he'd wanted to do was leave. Now, his containment was just another fact of his life and not one that unsettled him. There were no new rules or expectations, just the dark and the earthy smell of dead leaves drifting in from outside. The residue of his past remained in the urge to seek out another body to be beside and the space he gave up automatically when someone reached for one of his arms; turned a wrist.
But the system he had for survival, figuring out what he was allowed to do and what he allowed of himself, was dead and Jean lay dormant in the disconnect. Jean had broken the rules of every place he'd ever lived. If all roads led to failure, had he even learned any of them at all?
If it mattered, he didn't care now. The walls of his anger had crumbled long ago and instead of it rushing it to envelope him, it had simply drifted away.
Someone knocked on the door and Jean made no move to answer. It wasn't his room and he wouldn't pretend it mattered whether he wanted someone to enter or not. Not when it suddenly took all his effort just to turn his head away. The door swung open, Kevin spoke, and Jean thought, exactly.
"Abby says you helped make dinner last night," Kevin said.
Jean had done that. He'd even set the table and plated the pasta before he realized what he was doing. Maybe Abby hadn't told Kevin that Jean had gone back to bed without eating a single bite.
"We're going to the court…" Kevin said. "Me, Neil, and Andrew," he added unnecessarily.
A brown leaf stuck against the window screen. Jean's head pounded as he squinted at a large black dot in the center of the leaf, feeling no anger or humor at the absurdity of Kevin's attempt. He had no words for the other man. Kevin's gaze lay upon Jean with an expectant heaviness, but Jean kept staring at the leaf. Its stem wiggled in the wind, a tease of freedom
Kevin barged into Jean's line of sight and blocked it from view.
"Come with us," Kevin tried again. "Even if you can't play."
Jean closed his eyes. It helped with the ache but the satisfaction Kevin not knowing whether Jean could or couldn't play was even sweeter. He'd overheard Kevin the other night, raging to his father and the nurse. Jeremy won't tell me what happened! I told him what he needed to know when Jean joined his team. When he asked, I told him everything! He won't tell me anything!"
No one bothered to correct Kevin that he hadn't, in fact, told Jeremy everything. Besides keeping things from Kevin, Jean's head hurt to much to process what Jeremy's secrecy meant. The only word's that made it through were a question: why now?
"You can't just stay in here." Kevin's voice grew louder. "You're going to have to do something, Jean."
But Jean didn't know what to do or what he could do and he didn't trust Kevin's judgment anymore. After all, he had chosen the Trojans.
Chapter 1 will be up on ao3 this upcoming week, consider this the teaser.
