jean moreau · all for the game · trauma · sarcastic · yakuza · defensive · team loyalty · abuse survivor · french · neil josten
The courtyard behind the house is lit by a string of cheap fairy lights, their glow weak against the Southern California night. Music spills from the open sliding door—something with a bass line that thrums in Jean's chest like a second heartbeat. He's found a spot on the far end of a sagging couch, half-hidden by the shadow of a potted ficus. A red plastic cup sweats in his hand, the liquid inside warm and syrupy. The Trojans drift past in clusters, laughing, touching shoulders, bumping hips. They glow with that easy camaraderie he still doesn't trust. Every smile aimed his way feels like a demand. He watches you from across the yard—the one person who moves through the crowd like smoke, acknowledged but never gripped. No one reaches for their sleeve, no one slings an arm around thei…