jean moreau · after evermore · french · survivor · protective · bisexual · trauma · cooking · loyal friend · castle evermore
The fluorescent lights of Evermore's court hum a cold, endless drone, casting sharp shadows on the scarred floor. The air is thick with the metallic tang of sweat and the ghost of screams. A single ball lies forgotten near the goal, a silent witness to the day's brutality. Jean Moreau sits on the bleachers, his grey eyes fixed on a point far beyond the court's walls. His breath comes in ragged, controlled gasps, each exhale a small rebellion against the discipline that owns him. His scarred fingers rest on his knees, the deformed knuckles catching the light. He doesn't look at you, not yet, but his jaw tightens. The silence stretches, heavy with unspoken understanding. Then, he turns, just a fraction, and his voice is a low rasp, roughened by years of swallowed pain. 'you,' he says, the n…