drugs & candy

by liliyee

Summary:

Kevin shrugs. Aaron is drunk and, therefore, talkative, so he asks, "Don’t you have a girlfriend?"

"Don’t you?"

And what the hell is that supposed to mean?

Kevin frowns, and Aaron hands back his empty glass. A rainbow dances over Kevin. Aaron isn't drunk enough.

Kevin and Aaron are somehow each other's sun.

Chapter 1: a bitter taste

"Aaron."

"Kate, I—"

Aaron takes one unsteady step back after another, one hand holding the phone to his ear, the other gripping the crook of his arm. Restlessness evident in the way his limbs shift from side to side.

Katelyn’s exhaustion is a third presence on the call, heavy over the line in the form of a drawn-out sigh. Aaron’s teeth pull at his lower lip, breaking skin and bringing forth a familiar metallic taste, and he catches himself mimicking her. Sucking in all the oxygen he can, trying to hold it in. To keep it. To keep this, that’s what Aaron wants. He spends too much time contemplating everything that’s out of reach, everything he’s let slip away. The primal need to have something is a painful weight in his chest, a noose tightening around his neck.

"Just," Kate starts again, the sentence coming out on a sigh. Aaron can picture her if he closes his eyes—fingers rubbing her forehead, manicured nails and soft skin. "Not today, okay?"

It’s not okay, and he wants to say so. But wanting doesn’t seem to dictate his actions lately.

"Yeah, fine."

Is there anything else he can say? Katelyn is strong—or maybe crazy—enough to want a place by his side most days, even if it’s secretive, even with everything being so utterly complicated. Maybe because of that. Maybe Aaron is adrenaline and chaos in her life while Katelyn is sweetness and light in his. He doesn’t mind that it might not be about him. Sometimes, he thinks it’s not really about Katelyn for him, either. It’s about having. Something to hold close, separate from the mess that is real life.

So it's okay, even if it isn't. It's enough. Katelyn is nothing if not brave to even walk this tightrope, to skim the surface of who Aaron is and get a little taste of madness now and then. That’s why he feels obligated to understand days like this, when even a little bit of Aaron is too much, and Katelyn needs space to breathe.

"But was it Andrew? Did he— Did he do something?"

"No," she says firmly, insistently in his ear. "I just need to think. Life’s been kind of crazy, and my parents are on my case about a million things..."

Aaron understands. He had a parent in his life at one point.

She’s pretty dead now, though, isn’t she?

"Sure."

He rubs his eyes, nodding toward the floor even though he knows Katelyn can’t see him.

It’s like she thinks he might say something else, but he won’t.

"We didn’t even have anything really planned, right?" she tries. "We can hang out midweek, or..."

"No, it’s fine," Aaron says. "See you between classes?"

"We’ll make it work."

Eventually, she hangs up. A canceled date isn’t the end of the world. Even if Aaron had planned it far in advance and booked a surprise reservation at an actual restaurant this time. Even if it had been a premeditated distraction, really, and lunch with Katelyn had been his only motivation to drag himself out of bed after looking at the date on his phone this morning.

Tilda didn’t have a tradition of breaking Aaron’s face on her birthday, specifically. She just had the habit of hitting him at least a few times a week, so it was only natural to extend that routine to her supposed celebration day.

He still tried to make her celebrate somehow—bringing cake or some crappy gift, expecting a smile or a slap, depending on her mood. Whipped cream and chocolate filling, the taste of blood and bruises.

Thank you, darling.

Get lost, you worthless piece of shit.

That’s so thoughtful.

Want to give me a gift? Get the hell out of my sight.

"Aaron?"

He has to look up to meet Kevin’s gaze, narrowed the way it gets when Kevin watches an intriguing play or reads a particularly captivating page from one of his history books. Those sharp, attentive eyes are fixed on Aaron now, as if wasting breath on him is something Kevin would simply do. As if Aaron were Andrew or something.

But then Aaron realizes Kevin just wants to lock up and is surprised to find Aaron still in the locker room after everyone else has left. Aaron, of all people. The indifferent one. An extra, like Nicky. The ones who like Exy just a normal amount and outsiders in a place where obsession is the norm.

Aaron doesn’t answer, forcing himself to take heavy steps to where his things are, shoving socks into his backpack.

In his peripheral vision, Kevin leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, watching as Aaron stuffs dirty clothes into a bag and wrestles with his belongings, rearranging them in an attempt to make everything fit. The scrutiny is exhausting, and Aaron isn’t used to being stared at the way Kevin stares at his brother. He isn’t Andrew, and he feels like reminding Kevin of that. That he has no business being near Aaron now or ever, because Aaron isn’t the one who’ll throw punches for him or threaten gang members with knives for the sake of a brat like Kevin. That’s Andrew, and Aaron is not Andrew.

Especially today, Aaron has to promise himself constantly that, despite having the same cursed face, he wasn’t the one who killed Tilda Minyard because Aaron couldn’t handle a punch or two. It was Andrew, not him.

The zipper snags when Aaron pulls it too hard at an awkward angle, and he reminds himself It was Andrew I swear it was Andrew. His hands shake, he hyperventilates because what if she thought it was him? What if, in her last moments, face twisted in panic, unfinished words on her lips, she thought she was looking into the eyes of the son she’d nursed, combed the hair of, and sent off to his first day of school?

A hand on his arm. Kevin again. Can’t he just leave? But Kevin is saying something, holding out something black and blurry in front of Aaron as static swallows his surroundings. A phone. Judging by the crack patterns on the screen, Aaron’s phone.

"... dropped it," Kevin finishes, though Aaron missed the start of his explanation.

Aaron snatches the phone out of his hand wordlessly. Kevin sighs, like he’s a teacher and Aaron, some troublesome student still in need of a firm approach.

"It’s good you stayed," Kevin says. As Aaron blinks, he tries to convince himself that it could only be Kevin speaking, because they’re alone, and the ghosts live only in Aaron’s head. "I wanted to talk about your performance, if you can even call it that—"

Sliding the phone he hadn’t realized he’d dropped into his pocket, Aaron finally manages to win the fight with his bag, slinging it over his shoulder.

"Fuck off," he dismisses him.

Aaron’s world is kind of crashing down on him right now, and the last thing he wants to hear is Kevin’s opinion on what he does on a court.

It’s not like Aaron ever had a choice when it came to Exy. His life stopped being his the moment he found out he hadn’t made the trip into this world alone. Andrew is a lot. Someone who wasn’t in his life for most of it and yet still managed to dictate it once their paths became one.

"Look, I get that you’ve got your own shit, but you can’t let it affect your game."

Might as well tell him to suck it up. The crossed arms and determined expression Aaron sees when he turns back make him want to punch Kevin into next week. Kevin is like Exy, something Andrew shoved into Aaron’s life without permission, and that wants to take too much from him without giving anything back.

Your game, Kevin says. What a sick joke.

Aaron wants to deck him but doesn’t know what that would mean for Andrew. He’s pretty sure it would kill him to lay a finger on anyone today, of all days.

So Kevin Day is safe, but Aaron still pictures himself crossing the short distance and saying goodbye to him with a clenched fist.

"It’s not my damn game, Day," he says instead, the second-best option. "Spare your opinions to someone who gives a shit."

 

 

 

It's still his mother's birthday, and Aaron feels like he could hear his nine year old self singing happy birthday and simultaneously be tormented by the shrill clamor of his own screams, if he concentrated enough. It’s the Minyard brothers’ twin curse, to always remember.

In the Fox Tower, he spends half the day holed up in his room, doing nothing in particular besides overthinking.

Andrew and Neil are probably bathing in each other's company, which is good because Aaron doesn’t know how he’d react to his brother's face right now. He falls asleep on one of the bean bag chairs at some point, and the sky is already paling when he wakes up. Good.

Aaron’s eyes sting, his head throbs. He staggers into the kitchen, where he finds Kevin and a milk carton. The sight almost makes him laugh, insanely. Aaron brushes past him, scanning the open fridge before shutting it without taking anything. There’s alcohol in there, but he feels restless in a different way right now, so he turns to Kevin.

"Where’s your stash?"

Kevin looks at him, pausing mid-reach for a glass, his arm extended above his head to keep the cabinet door open. The hem of his white t-shirt is slightly lifted, accidentally revealing a sliver of skin. Hm. His fans would lose their minds, Aaron thinks, just a second before shifting his gaze back to Kevin’s face. He sees confusion in Kevin’s expression, prompting him to roll his eyes.

"Your alcohol," he clarifies. "The good stuff."

He watches Kevin’s throat move as he swallows, observing him pour a glass of white.

"Why would I have a stash?" Kevin asks. Aaron doesn’t bother responding.

"Where the hell are they?"

It encompasses everyone else. Andrew and Neil, mostly, but Nicky too.

Kevin tells him he doesn't know, probably smoking somewhere. Aaron's mind is going on about how, if you think about it, Kevin is objectively important, but hardly a driving force. Kevin is the golden boy to be protected, the favorite child of everyone around him. They both might lack control over the immediate, but Kevin in a way entirely different from Aaron.

God, thinking hurts. Aaron’s throat feels dry.

"Are you sure drinking is what you need right now?"

Aaron stares at him, silent.

"You’re the one who can’t handle a bottle," Aaron says venomously.

"At least I know how to handle a racquet."

Aaron turns toward him, watching him gulp down milk, feeling thirstier than he’d admit.

"Alcoholism and Exy. You really are your father’s son."

For a second, he feels this strange anticipation of being hit. His eyelids briefly close, waiting for the impact, welcoming the violence on his face.

Kevin’s leash must be exceptionally strong, or maybe he’s just that obedient of a dog, because all he does is step closer, looming over Aaron with all that height and all that anger.

An unfair comparison, since Kevin is hardly animalistic. Aaron is just being terrible, and Kevin was unlucky enough to be there with him.

The normal one, is what people call him. But Aaron is only normal by comparison.

Kevin shakes his head. Aaron thinks he’s going to leave, but instead, Kevin downs his glass of milk in one smooth motion. The gulps of Kevin’s swallowing do not help.

They precede a thud of the glass on the counter and Kevin’s hands planting firmly on the surface to push himself back, something decisive in the action. Kevin searches for something in Aaron he can’t quite pinpoint, but whatever he finds makes him stand on tiptoes, reaching above the cabinet, pulling down a bottle. The hiding spot doesn’t surprise Aaron, considering Kevin’s size.

Kevin hands him vodka and refills his own glass with milk. Aaron opens the bottle and drinks straight from it.

"What’s your problem?" Kevin asks.

Aaron shrugs.

He feels a bit bad now for being such an ass, so he tries a bit of civility for a change. Gesturing at Kevin’s full glass, he says, "You know that’s not really that healthy, right?"

Kevin looks confused.

Aaron clarifies, "There’s a lot of hype about calcium, but humans don’t have a biological need to consume milk after childhood. Many adults don’t even produce enough lactase to properly digest lactose."

One of Kevin’s eyebrows rises and stays that way as he drinks more, licking his lips.

"Dr. Minyard."

Aaron shakes his head and looks away, snorting, and takes another sip. He likes the burn. It’s easier when it’s physical.

 

 

 

Late at night, the lights are off, and a horror movie is playing on the TV, but Nicky is more focused on his phone, and Andrew and Neil on each other. Aaron is deliciously drunk. Light-headed, loose-tongued. Twirling the phone he had been so furious at hours earlier between his fingers.

Kevin is already typing, so Aaron lights up his own screen.

Sorry

It’s not much, but neither was what Aaron did. Kevin glances at him for a moment from across the room. Blue light flickers over his face. Aaron is drunk.

For?

You know

Kevin looks at him in silence. Then he goes back to his phone.

It’s fine.

And, a full minute later:

Is it your girlfriend?

Aaron nods, laughing a little because (1) it’s easy when vodka tickles your insides and (2) it’s kind of dumb to text someone when they’re barely a meter away.

Kevin seems amused, too. Aaron isn't sure why.

Did you break up?

Did they break up? Aaron wouldn't say so, yet.

Don’t think so

Kevin nods. Aaron stares at him for a moment, then hops up and heads to the kitchen.

The cold air greets him as he opens the fridge, and Kevin’s footsteps follow a few seconds later.

Aaron watches him blankly.

"What?"

Kevin steps closer. "You’re not going to reach it."

Aaron thinks, Oh.

"Not here to drink."

Not alcohol, anyway. He takes out the milk and lights the stove to prepare some tea.

Kevin’s eyebrow is doing that thing where it arches as if analyzing him. Aaron doesn’t know how he feels about it.

Kevin leans against the island, his shoulders shifting slightly.

"What's the deal with her anyway?"

For an irrational second, Aaron thinks he's referring to someone much older, long gone and buried. He knows better.

"Stupid fight," Aaron says. "Not any of your fucking business, anyway."

"Seemed like it was when you drank from my— What did you call it? Stash?"

"I don’t need relationship advice from the guy who spent most of his life underground."

"People still fuck underground."

"The hell are you two talking about?"

They both turn at the same time to see a very sleepy Neil shuffling to the fridge, scratching his neck as he searches for water. Aaron wonders if Neil plans to stay the night, but he thankfully leaves after chugging practically half a liter of water.

Aaron walks out with a mug of milk tea and leaves another on the counter as a silent apology for being a dick earlier. He lies down, preparing to argue more with Katelyn over text, but Kevin’s name appears on his screen first.

Are you secretly British?

Right.

Aaron sends a middle finger emoji, puts his phone away, and rolls over to sleep. All of his long-healed wounds sting as if they’ve been reopened, his mother’s voice haunting him until he falls asleep, and in his dreams afterward.

 

 

 

At Eden's Twilight, Andrew and Neil only have eyes for each other, while Nicky has eyes for everyone. That leaves Aaron and Kevin.

Andrew whispers something in German into Neil's ear, and oblivious as he is, Andrew doesn’t even notice that he also has the other two's attention. Kevin doesn’t understand the language anyway, but Aaron snorts.

"You should learn," he declares without sparing Kevin a glance.

"Why?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Aaron watches Kevin’s glass move to swollen lips, the slickness on it evidence of some unknown mouth. He had disappeared a few minutes ago; that explains it.

"I can barely stand you guys in one language."

Aaron rolls his eyes and fixes them on Kevin.

"That didn’t work out?"

He doesn’t need to gesture to indicate what’s going on with Kevin’s face, the clear signs of a rushed makeout session. Now that he notices, the chaos extends to his dark hair, messed up by insistent fingers.

Kevin shrugs. Aaron is drunk and, therefore, talkative, so he asks, "Don’t you have a girlfriend?"

"Don’t you?"

And what the hell is that supposed to mean? Aaron’s glare could kill as he grabs Kevin’s glass and downs it in one go. He feels the burn in his throat from the liquid and on the outside, from Kevin’s gaze. Kevin’s Adam’s apple moves as if in response to Aaron's.

Aaron says in German, "If you’re going to cheat, at least make it last all night."

Kevin frowns, and Aaron hands back his empty glass. A rainbow dances over Kevin. Aaron isn’t drunk enough.

 

 

 

All of Aaron’s flaws are barked at his face during practice. Kevin criticizes everything he does so harshly that sometimes Aaron wonders how he hasn’t managed to get Wymack to kick him off the team yet. Because of Andrew, his mind supplies easily. Kevin keeps yelling.

"I’m asking what the hell you think you’re doing." Fucking exhausted, it's how Kevin looks. Aaron wants to tell him to go to hell. "At this point, why even bother showing up for practice?"

"Kick me out, then, fucker. See if I care."

And Aaron knows Kevin won’t, and Kevin knows he doesn’t mean it, and then Andrew shows up with a blank expression and eyes blazing.

"I’ll kill you both if you don’t shut up."

They stare at each other for another minute or two.

 

 

 

It’s humiliating to stand on his tiptoes to try to reach the bottle and fail. Eventually, Aaron gives up and grabs a chair.

"Stealing," he hears. Kevin is standing way too close. Aaron’s been caught red-handed.

He feels like he’s on fire from head to toe, consumed by shame. Standing on a chair is already ridiculous enough without the, well, stealing part.

"Caught me," Aaron blurts, climbing down lazily, one leg after the other.

Kevin grabs the bottle in his place and drinks a concerning amount in one go, tilting it completely back over his head, then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Well?"

Aaron takes the vodka Kevin hands him and drinks too. Aaron had seen how wasted Kevin had been earlier, had counted how many shots he downed throughout the night. Now, in the early hours, Aaron was almost certain Kevin didn’t need any more. Aaron’s the one who hadn’t had enough.

Still, he doesn’t say anything. It’s none of his business. Aaron takes the bottle with him and plans to sneak out without attracting anyone else’s attention, which shouldn’t be hard, considering how fucking wasted they were. Kevin follows more his vodka than Aaron to the door, a question on his face.

"Sun’s coming up," Aaron says. Kevin’s stare, tired and dark around the edges with unnecessarily long lashes batting in silent curiosity, forms an inquiry Aaron doesn’t answer.

Aaron goes out at three in the morning with a vodka bottle in hand and Kevin Day on his heels. He sits on uncomfortable steps and watches as his movements are hesitantly mirrored. Aaron rests his elbows on his thighs, staring at the sunrise.

Orange light dances over a chess piece, a well-formed mouth, and ridiculously dark hair, messy and perfect. Aaron drinks.

Notes:

is this something?

i haven't even finished the sunshine court yet so if there's anything in it (or even in the other books) that makes this inconsistent please just gently roll with it or let me know in case it's too unbearable 😭

kudos and especially comments are always very much appreciated 💖

 

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Chapter 2: young and easy

Summary:

"You just remind me of someone," Aaron admits hesitantly. Clicking his tongue, he adds, "You wouldn’t get it, though."

Kevin’s impatience flares. "Just say it."

"There’s this animated series called Haikyuu—"

He finds Kevin Day so unintentionally funny. Most of the time because of how Kevin will say the most unexpected things at random.

Tonight, Kevin has just returned from a late-night practice without the other two idiots. Aaron, eyes glued to his game, asks if they’ll be coming back later.

Of course, Kevin doesn’t know. It’s rare for him to have an answer to even the simplest question unless it involves a ball and a racquet. The car Aaron is controlling on the screen stays unscathed as Kevin settles on the opposite end of the couch, water bottle in hand.

With a quick glance, Aaron notices Kevin’s damp hair, likely from a post-practice shower. Barely avoiding disaster, he manages to get his car back on track.

The satisfying sound of the 3D vehicle accelerating fills the room. And then, as mentioned, out of absolutely nowhere:

"I’m not a cheater."

Aaron nearly misses the turn. He recovers quickly, but focusing on both his driving and Kevin at the same time is proving to be a growing challenge.

That’s not something Kevin can just say he isn’t, especially since Aaron has seen evidence to the contrary. Kevin hadn't even denied it the other night at Eden’s.

"Isn't that what you said? Betrügen, or something?"

"Did you fucking Google it?" he asks, amazed.

"Asked Neil."

Aaron smirks, shaking his head.

"You are, though."

Kevin shakes his head and leans back against the couch, which groans slightly under the motion. "The other night was an accident. I was—"

"Drunk. Shocker."

Crossing the finish line gives Aaron a small wave of satisfaction. He places the controller on the coffee table and yanks the bottle from Kevin’s loose grip.

Nodding at the ceiling, Kevin continues, "I panicked when I realized. Was still pissed because we’d argued earlier, but I should’ve saved it for the court."

Disbelieving, Aaron turns toward him, elbow propped on the back of the couch, and lets out a bewildered laugh. "Are you serious? You argued with your girlfriend, right? And your ideal solution is to take it out on Exy instead of, God forbid, talking to her?"

Kevin closes his eyes. Aaron can only imagine the coldness of his skin after the shower, but the scent of shampoo and fresh deodorant lingers.

"Doesn’t matter now. We broke up."

Instinctive concern threatens to slip out, but Aaron swallows it down.

Instead, he just points out, "And yet you haven’t drunk yourself to death."

"Not for lack of trying," Kevin mutters. Aaron notices his instant regret as his eyes snap open.

Things get awkward. Aaron and Kevin don’t have these kinds of conversations, it’s not what they are. Aaron drains the water bottle, then glances around for the cap, realizing Kevin is twirling it between his fingers.

"You should talk to your parents about this when they’re done smoking," Aaron means Andrew and Neil. "Or Nicky."

He reaches for the cap, but Kevin pulls it out of reach.

"I prefer death."

"Why?" Aaron smacks Kevin’s hand to make him open it. "Are you homophobic?"

"What? No." Aaron can’t tell if Kevin’s sharp tone is because he’s offended or because Aaron hit him too hard. Either way, Kevin caps the bottle himself with Aaron still holding it over his leg. "They’re just... not miserable enough, I guess."

Which means Aaron is.

Aaron lightly bops Kevin’s face with the bottle before getting back to his game, sitting cross-legged.

"What even is this?" Kevin asks.

Aaron doesn’t answer, but he stretches out a leg to kick the other controller—Nicky’s, abandoned when he left to call Erik—toward Kevin.

They play for nearly an hour before Aaron gets up to make tea. Kevin opens the fridge looking for milk, finds none, and settles for drinking it plain. They keep playing as the tea cools, and until Andrew walks in and demands to know why they’re still awake.

"We’re out of milk," Kevin says suddenly, earning a narrowed gaze from both Andrew and Aaron.

 

 

 

The next morning, Neil is already there when Aaron wakes up, and all five of them head to the market. Neil volunteers to drive, leaving Aaron to share the back seat with Nicky and Kevin while Andrew argues with Neil over the radio station.

Aaron prefers riding in the car by the window, but Nicky asks him to switch places halfway through to supposedly enjoy the view, which he finds highly inconvenient.

Aaron’s leg brushes lightly against Kevin’s as Nicky leans over Andrew's seat to fiddle with the AC. He silently thanks the universe he isn’t wearing shorts, unlike Kevin. Not that the contact isn’t faintly noticeable through sweatpants, but it could’ve been worse.

From where he sits, Aaron watches Kevin’s patience steadily dwindle under Nicky’s relentless enthusiasm. Finally, in a rare display of contained fury, Kevin grabs Nicky by the collar and shoves him back into his seat, ordering him to buckle up before Kevin throws him out the window.

"I’d love to see half that energy on the court," Kevin mutters behind the hand resting against his lips, scowl deepening the sharpness of his features.

Nicky is humming, "Someone needs to get laid..."

"You're such an idiot," Kevin shoots back.

Something clicks suddenly, and Aaron can’t suppress a chuckle. It immediately draws Kevin’s questioning stare.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Nothing more is said for a while as Nicky turns his attention to the front-seat duo, who continue their debate with Neil defending his station and Andrew threatening Nicky’s life.

But Kevin keeps watching Aaron until the silence between them grows uncomfortable. Aaron sighs in defeat, lowering his head.

"Spit it out," Kevin demands, too close for comfort.

"You just remind me of someone," Aaron admits hesitantly. Clicking his tongue, he adds, "You wouldn’t get it, though."

Kevin’s impatience flares. "Just say it."

"There’s this animated series called Haikyuu—"

"Anime," Kevin corrects him easily, as automatic as the commands he barks on the court.

Aaron stares at him, incredulous. The urge to laugh bubbles up again as he slowly forms, "What?"

Kevin frowns.

"Who do I remind you of in Haikyuu?" For a tense second, Aaron can practically see the gears turning in Kevin’s head before he scowls. "Don’t say Kageyama."

"Kagey—" Aaron isn’t fast enough to avoid Kevin’s open palm pressing against his cheek, shoving his face to the side. Not laughing is a losing battle. "Ouch?"

Kevin’s tone is sulky as he mutters, "And that’s why you need to work on your reflexes."

"You know who else would say that?"

Kevin tells him to shut up just as Nicky falls silent too, which means that they’ve arrived.

 

 

 

Notes:

so i finished tsc and had to rush to write something happy because what the fuck

kudos and comments are ALWAYS appreciated 💖

edit: yeah i know this is short but i will not be promising any consistency so...

edit 2: a rather useless note: long after writing and posting this chapter, i stopped to consider that this fanfic supposedly takes place in the mid-2000s, and even the haikyuu manga would only start being released in 2012. i thought about replacing it with some other japanese sports title, but i don’t think it would hit the same. so, for all intents and purposes, in this universe, haikyuu had already gotten an anime adaptation in the early 2000s. a small au, if you will.

Chapter 3: honey on your tongue

"We should take a break," Katelyn says, her first words after a long stretch of silence.

Aaron refuses to look at her, but careful fingers guide his face for inspection. The decor in Katelyn’s room is pleasant in a comforting way, and Aaron isn’t sure if he likes it because it’s hers or because it feels familiar. It’s always these small sanctuaries that capture his affection. He doesn’t realize how much he likes something until enough time has passed for him to understand that he would miss it if it were gone.

He isn't sure this is even about the room anymore. Katelyn remains standing in front of the bed where Aaron sits, her scent sweet, her clothes light. Aaron rests a hand on her leg, pulling her closer. It’s as much a response from him as any other. From the way she shakes her head, Katelyn knows but chooses to ignore it, for both their sakes.

"After everything?" It’s a plea. Aaron is desperate and not above begging. He loves her, he thinks. He’s certain he needs her.

She’s the only one who knows him, and if she leaves, will Aaron even still exist?

 

 

 

The weight of the armour on his body grows gradually heavier as Aaron puts each piece on with distant slowness. It’s a robotic sequence of actions, layering on protection for the inevitable impacts. Taking so long leaves him as the last one in the locker room. Nicky, the last to leave before him, jokes that Aaron looks like a zombie extra from a game they've been taking turns playing.

It’s not some dramatic moment of isolation, just a solitary breath before plunging back into the chaos of the team. Aaron can’t explain the ache twisting in his chest as he bends down to tie his first shoelace, hands trembling for a second before he regains enough control to make the knot.

The air in his lungs seems replaced by thorns, and breathing hurts. All of a sudden, he feels like the last person left in the world, rejected and forgotten.

He swallows the feeling. Knows it’s a senseless thought, unfounded drama. Aaron has never allowed himself the luxury of feeling alone, and he won’t start now. Standing up, helmet in place, racquet over his shoulder, he walks to the court, each step forced, synchronized with a mental reminder that Aaron isn’t lonely—he has acquaintances outside the team, his lack of connection with his teammates is purely by choice.

He has better things to do than wallow in self-pity.

Sure, it’s strange being single after so long—a weird, unwanted freedom Aaron doesn’t know what to do with. But how does it change his life? The absence of stress, the fear, and the calculation of finding the right day for the next date? When? At what time would Andrew be too absorbed in Neil’s orbit to care about tracking him down? By the end, it wasn’t about lack of permission—they had that. Not that it stopped Aaron from having nightmares, more than once, of his brother and lover trapped in a closed space, imagining all the ways it could go wrong.

Aaron’s mind is fertile ground, where he spends most of his time—often more a spectator than a participant in his own interactions. But now, he feels present in a way that tortures him.

Between one thought and another, he arrives at his position, tuning out the complaints from others about how, "Took you long enough."

Surely it’s Matt, but Aaron doesn’t pay attention. He wants to, genuinely, but can’t escape the spiral of noise and fears. And in the midst of so many familiar faces, he tastes the most overwhelming loneliness he’s ever known.

Aaron forces himself to fill his lungs, closes his eyes for a second, and plants his feet on the ground as he knows he should.

For once, he doesn’t treat practice as a mindless distraction to execute automatically while pondering more important things. Today, Aaron forces himself out of his head and exists in every step, every racquet swing, and every burst of movement.

Aaron simply plays.

 

 

 

At some point, after hitting more shots than in a typical week of practice and throwing himself to the ground, breathless and exhilarated, Matt and Nicky run up to him with variations of identical excitement. He feels more pairs of eyes on him—curiosity, maybe even a little satisfaction, like in Wymack’s. Nicky’s hands squeeze his shoulders, and Matt whistles in front of him.

"Good fucking game, man" Matt says, offering a hand to help him up.

Most of the gazes have turned away by now, but one—green and sharp—lingers for a few seconds longer.

Aaron wonders what it would be like in another life, one where he started doing this because he genuinely enjoyed it.

 

It doesn’t take long for regret to set in. The moment Kevin starts sending not-so-subtle glances in his direction, Aaron knows exactly what’s going through his head.

The hesitation is harder to explain than the interest. Kevin is like a moth drawn to potential. Aaron has heard the speech directed at Andrew too many times and had memorized it the first time. He’s just waiting for his turn to tell Kevin to go to hell because of it.

It happens at Abby’s house, during one of those team dinners Aaron drags himself to because the only worse prospect than being in the endless chatter of the Foxes is the silence of an empty dorm room.

They’ve finished eating, now busy arguing about what should be an extremely obvious decision for the movie they’re about to watch. Between Ready Player One and some inspirational nonsense Abby has stashed away, Aaron has a clear opinion, though he keeps it to himself.

He opts to watch the chaos unfold from behind the couch, arms resting on the back as the debate carries on in the middle of the room. If he tries hard enough, he can pretend not to notice Kevin’s cautious approach, stopping in a similar position, one elbow resting on the couch.

"I’ve never seen you play like that."

They don’t look at each other. Is that a rule—not looking at each other? Aaron never had to wonder before, but he does now. The background chatter keeps any silence, comfortable or not, at bay. Aaron nods, letting his head tilt forward, and sighs.

"Not even in official matches," Kevin adds, which earns him a glance, Aaron turning his face toward him.

"Everyone has good days."

"You weren’t better," Kevin feels the need to clarify. "Just more... ‘there.’"

A nasal laugh, Aaron shakes his head. "That doesn’t make sense."

"You know it does."

Aaron props his face on his palm, the argument drawing to a close, judging by the light dimming. The others start to take their seats, and apart from Wymack, Abby, and Renee in the kitchen, the two of them are the only ones still standing.

"Whatever." Aaron looks ahead as the screen lights up, the final movie selection aligning with his quiet preference after all. "You’re the one who said different doesn’t mean better."

"But it could," Kevin says under neon lights.

"Do you even know how to play chess?" Aaron asks suddenly. Kevin furrows his brow.

Face still propped on his hand, Aaron raises his free hand and stops it inches from a small queen piece.

"Not to win," he hears Kevin admit.

In an imitation of Kevin’s tone, Aaron replies, "But it could be to win."

"In a world where I know German and chess, is there a version of you that plays for real?"

Aaron smirks faintly as they move around opposite sides of the couch. He grabs a pillow from the pile and tosses it at Kevin for him to use.

"Guess we’ll never know."

 

 

 

Imagining other versions of themselves—this is how their game of make-believe begins. The second time happens at home, Aaron being surprised at the stove by Kevin, who walks past him straight to the fridge. They make tea without talking, but after the first sip, Aaron’s attention is drawn to Kevin’s hands trembling around his mug.

"You okay there?" 

"Peachy," comes Kevin’s acidic reply, sharp enough to shut him up. 

He doesn’t shut up. 

"In a world where you’re not a moron, you’d tell me why you look like you’ve just seen the fucking Grim Reaper?"

And there it is. The face Kevin makes isn’t as effective when he looks so close to breaking. The mug is set down on the counter with a thud, and Aaron thinks he’s left. Except Kevin comes back shortly after with a laptop, opening it beside his tea for Aaron to check. 

It’s an article. The sensationalist headline reads: "God Save the Queen: Signs of Imminent Decline of Exy Star." Aaron gives him a wary glance. Behind his mug, Kevin motions for him to keep going. 

Bracing himself, Aaron moves to the next tab: "Queen of the Bottle?" Kevin stands beside him to look too, their arms brushing as Aaron switches to the next page. This one shows a discussion forum questioning the authenticity of Kevin’s injury, regarding his performance against the Ravens in their last match. 

He finds it kind of impressive. Kevin had played so well they were doubting whether he was even hurt.

And? What’s the problem with being absurdly good? 

Aaron searches Kevin’s face, shrugging as he speaks, "So what?" 

Kevin tilts his head slightly, his quivering fingers now white-knuckled as he grips the counter. Then Aaron understands it’s not terror on Kevin’s face. People are doubting him, and he’s just understandably pissed.

"Fuck this," Kevin snaps, abandoning his half-full mug to rummage above the cabinet. 

Aaron finds himself following him and grabbing his arm. Kevin makes a move to pull away. 

"Let go." 

Aaron is running out of ideas, looking around. "It’s the middle of the week. What about your precious nighttime practices?" 

Finally yanking his arm out of reach, Kevin shoots him a glare. 

"Neil went to get a piercing or something." 

A sigh. Aaron’s going to regret this. He doesn’t even care, about Kevin or Exy or the fact that one of these is going to make the other puke his guts out in Aaron’s shared bathroom within a few hours, if he lets him drink.

"Go put on a jacket," Aaron says. 

 

 

 

It doesn't go terribly. Kevin is angry about Exy, and Aaron is angry about losing the woman he fought so hard for.

But on the court, their only language is the racquet, sweat and impact and rapid breaths, a heart hammering in his chest with disbelief because not all of Aaron has accepted yet that he’s really there, doing this. For now, they understand each other surprisingly well.

Still, Kevin demands more than Aaron thinks he can give. Their positions are complicated for practicing together, they’re complicated people to exist in the same space. Kevin is fierce and gets past him again and again, and the sting of losing is only instinctive. Aaron fights back because he’s human, loses every time because maybe Kevin isn’t. 

They end up two damp, panting things sitting on the floor, Aaron’s racquet propped up like a staff between his raised knees. Kevin looks up at him through messy, damp strands, his shoulders moving at a steady rhythm, though his hands have stopped shaking.

"You think Andrew would kill us?" 

For practicing together? For sharing tea and drinks and, every now and then, a half dozen words? 

"Probably." 

 

 

 

It’s just the two of them in the locker room. They get dressed partially before anything, and there is, in this kind of environment, a silent agreement to avoid lingering gazes. Even so, Aaron sees them. From far away, on specific points of Kevin’s thighs where the black shorts barely cover, and scattered on his firm torso. 

Aaron knows Kevin sees his too. Also on the thighs, small circles here and there, some on his arms. Tilda never cared much about using cigarettes—only when one was already in her hand and the moment was convenient. Otherwise, it was more about nails and palms; maybe handiwork was her thing. 

They're stolen glances and silent catches. No judgment, nothing but the silent understanding between two—not equals, but very similar. 

"So?" Aaron risks. 

"You’re worse than I thought." Kevin slings his bag strap over his shoulder. "Your flaws get blurred by the team most of the time, but it’s terrifying up close." 

Their shoulders collide purposefully when Aaron crosses the space toward the exit. 

"Yeah, whatever." 

 

 

 

Kevin holds the pill right in front of him. There are too many lights and sounds, and people dancing on both sides, against him, wherever he looks. A sea of colors, sweat, and euphoria. It's a blurred memory, like so many others that take place at Eden's.

Aaron reaches out to take it, but Kevin raises his arm to stop him. His face has taken on a reddish hue, and his mouth curves into a sly smile, both clear signs of his drunken self. Aaron isn't exactly in his most sober state, either.

He hears the smacking of Andrew and Neil's lips far too close, where they cling to each other in the middle of the dance floor. When the hell did they get so comfortable with public displays of affection (and how can Aaron make it stop)?

A hand closes around his arm, pulling him with ease. Aaron looks up.

"They're going to swallow you by mistake," Kevin says, his voice full of amusement and air.

"What the fuck is wrong with them?" Aaron hisses, glancing briefly before looking away, regretting it.

Instead of answering, Kevin simply bites the pill and sticks out his tongue, showing the remnants of white before downing the contents of his glass all at once. He grabs Aaron’s hand and presses the other half into his palm.

"Here. Be less miserable," Kevin suggests.

Only after swallowing the substance with a burning shot does Aaron understand what Kevin meant about his brother’s and his lover’s behavior. The warmth that envelops him begins in his chest and spreads to all his extremities.

So absorbed in a cacophony of sensations, it takes him a second longer to look at Kevin when he feels his warm breath dangerously close to his forehead. When did they get this near?

He swallows the lump of dryness in his throat, staring at slightly parted lips. He notices that Kevin’s movements have stopped, and that he himself is no longer dancing. The music fades from his ears, and they become something like a prison for each other, Kevin bending over him while Aaron tilts his chin to meet his gaze. Their chests rise and fall, like on the court. But now Kevin is gripping his shoulders as if his survival depends on it, Aaron's shirt crumpling under his determined fingers.

The touch is inexplicable and brief, as Nicky’s hips collide playfully with his the next second, breaking the spell. Aaron feels breathless even afterward. When he checks on Kevin, whose jaw is locked and who turns abruptly to grab another drink, Aaron realizes he’s not doing much better.

His fingers search Kevin's back, eventually hooking onto the hem of his loose shirt. Aaron is stared at over a shoulder.

Whatever was on Kevin's mind disappears in that instant, and Aaron settles for asking Kevin to bring him a shot of whatever he’s drinking. Kevin nods, and though Aaron has never seen him smile—and that doesn’t exactly change now—, the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth is undeniable.

Somehow, Aaron can feel Andrew's suspicious gaze, from where his face is buried in the curve of Neil's neck nearby.

 

 

 

Notes:

i wonder what andrew is thinking.

as always, kudos and comments are very much appreciated!

Chapter 4: the look of love (the rush of blood)

Notes:

omg kevin's pov hiii

In Kevin's defense, he had been both drunk and high when he did it. Not that Andrew would be particularly interested in his physical state as he tracks him through the crowd, unbeknownst to Kevin at first.

It’s too late by the time Kevin realizes—a hand hitting the counter and a request for two drinks slipping from his tongue, completely unprepared for the abrupt interruption. Andrew's fist hits him from behind, his ear ringing and the world spinning further as he blinks, bringing a hand to his aching face.

The complaint of pain dies on his lips as Kevin barely has time to turn around before being grabbed by the collar and struck again. He tastes blood mixed with alcohol, feels it on his tongue as he licks the small cut. Fuck that ring on Andrew’s hand. Since when did he start wearing that thing? And, oh, these weren’t the Minyard hands Kevin wanted pulling at his clothes tonight.

Between being punched and letting his head fall back, a disappointed sound escapes him, eyes closed and warm blood trickling as Andrew shakes him. Andrew isn’t silent. He shouts curses and demands answers from Kevin—what the hell was he thinking, how dare he. And it’s not common for Kevin to be on the receiving end of Andrew’s fury, rather than shielded behind it. It’s a terrifying sight, really. Kevin would be worried if he were thinking at all.

Neil saves him. Somehow, he always does. He grabs Andrew by the arm, and for some supernatural reason, isn’t kicked for it. When Kevin’s limp neck rolls forward again, he sees Neil turning Andrew away, smoothing him over, calming him like a wild beast. Yet Andrew’s gaze insists on finding him, and even in his haze, Kevin understands that he might be dead if he were anyone else in the world.

"You’re going to leave him alone," Kevin hears Andrew say many hours before he fully comprehends it.

Neil also throws Kevin a thoughtful glance. Kevin bites down on his bloodied lip, leaning his lower back against the counter, feeling the weight of a hundred stares after the commotion. The buzz in the air succeeds, though no one had time to interfere in the fight before its not-so-disastrous conclusion.

Andrew is dragged away by his handler. Hand clutching his own chest, Kevin notices the frantic rhythm beneath his shirt.

Returning to the dance floor would be a mistake at this moment, staying to end up in an enclosed space with Andrew an even bigger one. Running a hand through his hair, Kevin feels utterly lost. He pulls his phone from his pocket, ignoring the weight of a few turned necks still directed at him. Kevin thinks about the shit people write about him online and how it only takes one person to recognize him here for word to spread.

He's definitely not thinking about what he’s doing as his fingers press on the screen, moving from one letter to another. When he realizes, the conversation is open, and the message is sent.

Please pick me up

That simple.

Too simple, because no more than ten minutes later, he feels his phone vibrate as he orders one last drink, and Wymack’s reply is no less direct.

Where?

Edens

Wymack tells him to wait outside. Kevin gulps down the rest of his drink before stepping into the cold night, fingers still tingling with the memory of warmth beneath them.

Wymack waits for him in the car and doesn’t ask questions. Somehow, Kevin knows he won’t—that he trusts Kevin enough to tell him if he needed to. Kevin sits with one foot on the seat, hugging his leg with his cheek resting on his knee, watching the road.

Going home to his father after a failed night—somehow, this is Kevin’s life now.

"Who was it?" Wymack asks, once they’re under a roof and he cleans the blood trailing from Kevin’s nose with a tissue. "Your face."

Kevin says, "Andrew."

Wymack’s eyebrows rise, but he manages a nod, arms crossing in that way Kevin’s often do.

"You need me to do anything?"

Kevin blinks a few times, mouth slightly open in pure uncertainty. In the end, he shakes his head. He knows that if the answer were yes, Wymack would take action, and that, somehow, is already enough.

 

 

 

A night spent on Wymack’s couch is a common experience for the Foxes. Kevin wakes up to the smell of coffee and a killer headache. That, and a few messages from Aaron.

Where r u

R u making the booze 

Those arrived in the dead of night, a few minutes apart. The last one, however, is from this morning, almost half an hour ago.

Why does Andrew want to kill you?

Kevin types He saw us, but deletes it. Instead, he sends:

You know how he feels about you and drugs.

It’s not his decision

You should tell him that.

Aaron starts typing and stops at least four times before replying.

Did you crash on the court or something?

Kevin chuckles to himself.

Wymack’s.

…

  …

 Okay

 

 

 

Discomfort lingers in the air Kevin breathes as he passes through the dorm’s door. Andrew doesn’t speak to him, which doesn’t surprise him in the least. He’s smoking in the only space with access to some kind of fresh air, following Kevin’s movements with that disturbingly blank gaze.

Kevin can't tell if he is about to say something when Aaron appears from the bedroom, a bag over his shoulder, probably filled with clothes to wash at home. Warmth spreads through Kevin at Aaron’s inspection, from his clothes—which are the same as the night before—to the injuries on his face, which sting as he bites his lip. Aaron’s expression hardens slightly, and he turns to his twin brother for answers, only to be met with the same nothingness that greeted Kevin.

Aaron’s indignation on his behalf is unusual and leaves him somewhat dazed, especially when Aaron closes the distance between them, scanning him more closely, eyes jumping from one point on his face to another. Kevin withdraws slightly, looking at the wall and then the floor.

"What the fuck…" Aaron mutters under his breath before turning back to Andrew. Silence follows, and with an added note of disbelief, Aaron grabs Kevin’s chin, turning his face toward Andrew as if to present him.

This time, Aaron requires slowly, "What the fuck?"

The different approach doesn’t change the final outcome, and all Kevin gets from Andrew is a couple of slow, considering blinks. Finally, a completely unimpressed sigh. Andrew ignores him, staring at Aaron, whose hand falls away from Kevin’s face.

"Done?"

Still looking extremely unconvinced, Aaron nods. Both of them watch as Andrew strides forward and exits through the door, slamming it behind him.

Kevin knows better than to trust Andrew’s patience, nor does he trust himself enough to speak to Aaron. They share a look in silence, Aaron once again holding Kevin’s face, fingers pressing into the sides as he tilts it one way and then the other.

"Shit."

A thumb traces the spot on Kevin’s lower lip where the skin had split, and Kevin resists the urge to follow the movement with his tongue. He swallows, his throat sore.

"I’m bringing some of your clothes," Aaron suddenly says, letting go of his face. "I’ll take it to Wymack’s later."

Disoriented, Kevin only nods.

 

 

 

Neil is there too. He, Wymack, and Kevin are sitting at the table, around scattered papers and a paused match of the Foxes on the laptop. They’re analyzing performances and, as Wymack’s voice flows in his ears, Kevin’s gaze keeps returning to a blur of orange and sandy hair wielding the racket carelessly. Like with his brother, Kevin kind of wants to beat Aaron up sometimes. Where Andrew is calculation, Aaron is reflexes; Kevin is frustration.

Speak of the devil—a restrained knock announces him. Wymack springs up to answer while Neil regards Kevin enigmatically. He loses Kevin's attention as soon as Aaron appears behind Wymack, carrying Kevin's clothes in a bag that he drops on the couch. Letting the pen fall onto the table, Kevin stands up.

Wymack circles around him to sit again. Neil spreads out the papers and rises to his feet.

"How about a break?" he suggests.

Wymack begins stacking the papers into one neat pile.

"My ass thanks you. It’s square from sitting so long." He stretches and yawns. "Neil, grab us some coffee? There’s change on the counter."

With a mock salute, Neil grabs the money and heads out the door. Wymack scratches his stomach as he walks to the kitchen, where the clinking of dishes follows.

Aaron shrugs and drags himself to the armrest of the couch. Kevin circles around and sits beside him, one hand rifling through the clothes before turning back to Aaron.

"Thanks," he says.

As if Kevin were something alien and mysterious, Aaron leans his head back against the couch, watching him from there.

Kevin’s heart is beating so fucking fast. Slowly, Aaron’s fingers bunch the front of his shirt. His other hand moves to Kevin’s jaw, firm rather than gentle.

They stare at each other like it’s a competition, breath against breath with their faces centimeters apart where they lay on the couch’s backrest. Aaron traces Kevin’s cheek and rubs his tattoo with his thumb.

"There's no danger, you know."

This is such a lie. His mind reminds him that Andrew still exists, and there’s nothing to be done about it. Somewhere in the world, Neil is on his way back, Wymack will come from the kitchen to greet him, and they’ll need to pull away quickly and act unaffected. But when a pair of lips presses softly against his, light and gentle with a hint of whiskey—what Kevin guesses was liquid courage—everything else feels far removed from this. Aaron’s hand softly closing around his neck, Aaron’s breath on his face, Aaron’s nails grazing his nape before fingers tangling in his hair, lightly tugging it back. Taste in his mouth, touch on his skin, scent in his nose. Aaron and Aaron and Aaron. Both of them wear small, uncertain, twin half-smiles, quietly laughing at the absurdity of it all in the dimly lit room.

"Liar."

 

 

 

Notes:

added the alcoholism tag since these bitches are always drunk in this

kudos/comments are always appreciated 💖

Chapter 5: struggle just a little bit more

Kevin Day is a creature of small obsessions. He couldn’t care less about the muscle pain a grueling practice might cause and didn’t hesitate to keep playing Exy even when it meant risking his life. He demands himself everything he’s capable of giving—and, oh, there’s always room to give a little more. He can be better, faster, stronger, throw harder, catch with more precision.

When he stares in the mirror this morning, at the bruise on his cheekbone and the small bandage at the corner of his lip, Kevin feels no regret. If any thought crosses his mind at that moment, it’s just: More.

Kevin plays as if fueled by rage. More than once, he’s scolded by Wymack, Neil, or whoever else is unfortunate enough to cross his path. Ball after ball, like a gunfight, as if he’s impatient for the world to match his pace, just for a moment.

In his two decades of life, he’s been accused more than once of being self-centered. Selfish and cowardly, friends and rivals have called him—insults Kevin never understood because, really, isn’t it only logical to put yourself first? What use are others if there’s no self to perceive them?

There’s no answer to that, but Kevin’s constant self-focus might answer a different question. The thing is, the Foxes step onto the court and play as a divided unit, and Kevin doesn’t bother to notice who exactly forms the opposing team. It’s a personal exercise; he knows them too well—their gifts and sins—and if he pays too much attention, he won’t challenge himself. The thing is, Kevin is inspired. There’s too much happening inside him that he doesn’t quite know how to handle. He wants to shut his brain off and play, and that’s exactly what he does. Violently and recklessly, as he was taught, regressing to that raw state of the game.

Nothing prepares him for how exhausted he feels, playing as if the court were a battlefield. He’s more out of breath than usual, and—

What happened, Kev? Lost your edge?

Rage, sudden and inexplicable, consumes him.

When his frenzy crosses the line and Kevin charges across the court to collide with the backline, it’s only natural for him to trip his opponent. A dirty move, reeking of Raven’s tactics, exploiting his physical advantage to knock someone down, hopefully injuring them in the process.

In that moment, he’s not merely shoving a teammate. The force behind the hit comes from his desire to silence Riko’s voice, Jean’s pleas. All the lies about him.

Kevin’s head spins.

The problem is, he can't pretend the one he knocks over is some faceless jersey standing in his way. This orange blur tumbling sideways, rolling on the ground, racquet falling out of reach with a thud. Through a red haze, a number five looks up at him from the floor. A man clutching his knee. Kevin blinks, stepping back.

Looking despite his dread, he meets Aaron’s eyes. Anger, of course, but there’s more. Furrowed brows, a mouth half-open as though to ask a question. Kevin has no reason to feel this tightness in his chest or the sudden loss of words it brings. These things happen on the court, and Kevin won’t offer an apology—unnecessary and pointless.

Somehow, Aaron gets back to his feet, though Kevin still towers over him. He shoves Kevin out of the way, as expected. Aaron is limping, Kevin notices, but then Wymack is leading him to see Abby, and Kevin feels as useless as any unspoken apology would be.

So, he does the only thing he knows how to do. He keeps playing.

 

 

 

He waits outside Abby’s office with Wymack.

"You’d be benched from any game for that," Wymack tells him. "Forget a yellow card. That'd be straight-up red."

Kevin’s lips press into a thin line.

"I know."

"I thought you didn’t play like that anymore."

"I don’t." Lowering his head, Kevin stares at the floor. "I try not to."

"Was it really Andrew who gave you that?" Wymack’s chin indicates the bruise on his face.

"Who else would it be?"

Wymack shrugs right before Andrew storms in, shattering any hope of a civil conversation.

"So you drug him and then beat him up? Not very friendly of you, you know."

Wymack closes the door shortly after Aaron glances at the commotion outside the room. He looks around as if asking himself, Where the hell is Neil Josten?

Kevin wonders the same.

"Andrew, it’s Exy. Aaron’s not the first person to walk off a court injured, and, dare I say, he won’t be the last, from now till the end of times," Wymack says.

"Thing is, coach, I told this one to stay the hell away from him," Andrew invades Kevin’s space effortlessly, and even Wymack’s attempts to stop him don’t ease Kevin’s tension. "Did they look far away to you?"

Kevin feels Wymack’s gaze on him before he finally separates them. Fortunately, Neil appears from wherever he’s been just in time to pull Andrew back, if only slightly.

"That’s enough," Neil says. Kevin notices now that Neil had shut the door behind him after leaving Aaron and Abby. "Aaron’s fine. Just tweaked his knee."

If the news means anything to Andrew, his expression doesn’t betray it.

"Abby did what she could, but he’s not walking right," Neil continues, his tone low and directed at Andrew, who’s still glaring daggers at Kevin. "You want to help me get him?"

At that, Andrew storms into the room, slamming the door. Neil doesn’t follow immediately.

"Anyone care to tell me what’s going on?" Wymack finally demands.

Neil shakes his head. "I need to go."

Kevin wants to laugh at all the urgency, considering how much Aaron and his brother-in-law despise each other.

"Since when do you give a shit about him?" Kevin asks.

Neil smiles at him, the way Kevin imagines Nathaniel might have, if he still existed.

"Since when do you?"

Neil leaves without waiting for a reply, and Wymack looks as starved for answers as ever.

"Well?"

Father and son both stand with arms crossed. Communicating doesn’t come naturally to Kevin; he needs to organize his thoughts before trying, sighing at the sheer effort.

"You know how Andrew is. I’ve always thought this thing with Neil would end up damaging the team."

Wymack’s raised eyebrow meets him.

"That didn’t seem to be about Exy."

Everything is about Exy, Kevin wants to say.

"Neil brought them together somehow, and now Andrew thinks he can control his brother’s life again."

The unspoken like when he killed their mother lingers in the air.

"Sorry to ask, kid, but what the hell does that have to do with you?"

Kevin lets his arms drop to his sides.

"Nothing," he says, watching the door open as Aaron emerges with one arm draped over Andrew’s shoulders and the other over Neil’s.

They support him down the hall, Aaron’s left leg bent as he shifts his weight between his right and the others. Aaron doesn’t look at Kevin as he passes, the burning in Kevin’s chest returning with a vengeance.

 

 

 

Riko's hands squeezing too hard, hitting where no one could see. Spit on Kevin's face, because how would anyone know?

Most of the time, Kevin was forced to watch Riko taking out on someone else the anger Kevin caused him. Jean with his head shoved underwater, pushed to the ground, grabbed by his hair. Riko's breath, his laugh, in Kevin's ear.

It's all your fault, you know that?

You're enjoying this, aren't you?

It's all because of you.

More rarely, the punishment was direct. Pinches on his arm and torso, on the parts of his legs that clothes would cover. Hair pulling—always just enough to rip strands but never more than a handful. Kevin was too much of a pretty little doll to be destroyed, Riko used to say, so much so that Kevin came to believe it.

That was possibly Riko's mistake: making Kevin believe he could be very, very damaged but was too valuable to throw away. Riko gave him this invincibility complex, and now that Kevin lives in the real world, he doesn’t know what to do with it.

He dreams of Riko drowning a struggling figure for a long time. At some point, though, the dark strands of hair—which had to be Jean’s—start changing color under Riko’s grip, turning from black to a sandy shade of blonde. Riko lifts the lifeless head to show it to Kevin, who wakes up with Aaron’s ruined expression etched in his mind.

 

 

 

Kevin approaches Neil at the first opportunity he gets to be somewhat alone with him.

Somewhat, because Matt and Dan are also present, waiting for Wymack to finish a call as they sit in the common room. From the hallway, they hear the coach pacing back and forth, his voice muffled.

"What did he tell you?" Kevin asks, in French.

Deep down, he knows that’s not the question. It’s about everything Andrew didn’t say but Neil noticed anyway.

"He’s more observant than you think. He..." Neil sighs. "He has his theories."

"Can’t wait to hear them," Kevin says with false sarcasm.

"Since Riko died—" and Kevin freezes slightly at that. "He thinks that’s when it really hit you. That for you, that was the end of the Ravens and the Nest. Of the pairing system."

That makes no sense.

"And what does that have to do with his brother?" He’s notably avoiding saying Aaron’s name, which no language switch could disguise.

"He thinks you picked one of us to either be your new Riko or, you know, for you to be their new Riko."

Kevin nearly chokes on air. What?

"Aaron is not Riko."

He might as well have said it in English. Dan and Matt turn to the two at the same time, alarmed.

Neil pays them no mind as he speaks slowly, "You do understand that the alternative could be even worse, right?"

"That’s absurd," Kevin says. "Is that what he told you?"

Neil rolls his eyes.

"Of course not. What he said was, ‘I don’t need my toys playing with each other.’ What I told you is what he thinks."

Wymack returns from the hallway, the call finished, with a date for a practice match, effectively ending Kevin and Neil's conversation.

 

 

 

Sorry.

It’s funny that Kevin is the one to send the message this time, since Aaron had started a conversation exactly like this a few days ago.

Copying me?

As if.

You should fuck up your knee

It's gonna sell it

Kevin stops with his finger inches from the screen, blinking.

Sorry.

He sends it again. Aaron’s reply takes a while to come.

You being an asshole isn’t half as shocking as you hope.

That pulls a little laugh from Kevin. What the hell. He needs to see him.

Tea?

Coffee

 

 

 

They meet in the kitchen.

Aaron is limping, but out of the Foxes, he’s probably the one who’d care the least about an injury like that. Neil and Kevin would go crazy.

"How bad is it?" Kevin wants to know, anticipation cutting his breath as he turns away from the coffee maker.

Aaron gets closer, cornering him as much as he can with his compromised leg. One hand resting on the counter beside Kevin.

"Could be worse. The way you looked at me, I thought you were going to smash the racquet into my face."

"Sorry, I didn’t—"

"Yeah, yeah. I know how the fucking game works."

Kevin takes a deep breath, checking over Aaron’s shoulder.

"Andrew’s out," Aaron says, guessing his worries.

Kevin places a hand on the surface behind him, tilting his head slightly.

"You don’t seem concerned."

Aaron shrugs, stepping out of Kevin’s personal space to grab the coffee.

"Mugs."

After a second of delay, Kevin turns to grab two from the upper cabinet.

"Why would I be worried?" Aaron seems particularly smug. "You’re the one who’s going to get beaten."

When Kevin sits down, Aaron is already there, one arm resting on the table and his chair slightly pushed back, turned toward Kevin instead of the table. He pours coffee into both mugs, the strong smell filling the room. With a creak, Kevin pushes his chair back slightly, mimicking Aaron’s posture.

They sit face to face, each sipping from their mugs. Then Kevin’s gaze falls to the swelling on Aaron’s knee, and Aaron scoffs.

"It’s a sprain. You didn’t break my leg."

Kevin swallows a lump in his throat. He wants to tell Aaron that with the mother he had, he’s probably just too used to making excuses like that. (But it was just/He didn’t even mean to do it.)

Kevin feels a little nauseous, haunted by what Neil said about Riko and Aaron’s presence in his nightmare.

He tries to tell himself it’s unrelated, that this is not what he wants with Aaron—the kind of codependency the Nest teaches and that he fought so hard to unlearn. But it’s hard to keep thinking that way when he musters the courage to look at him: sitting close, body leaning forward, resting his face on his hand, blonde lashes blinking at him with that unreadable expression, as if Kevin were something worth his most clinical observation.

A doctor—Aaron isn’t yet by education, but in essence. Kevin struggles to breathe, thinking that deep down, he wouldn't mind sharing a room with this guy, falling asleep with blonde hair as his last sight and waking up to his lazy grumbles. If they’d met at the Nest, they would've been a pair. Fuck Riko—he’d have found a way. Aaron would love Exy because he wouldn’t have a choice, and they’d train together and sleep together and murmur nonsense in the thundering language Kevin would’ve learned instead of French.

His mouth feels dry, and his heart sinks with the weight of his newfound longing. He lets his arm stretch out on the table, touching Aaron’s at the crook of his elbow. His hand trails up his bicep, feeling rigid muscle beneath his gray shirt. Aaron takes another sip of coffee, Kevin's touch exploring his arm, softly sliding to the sleeve’s end, which he rolls to reveal Aaron’s wrist.

Aaron doesn’t seem to mind, staying still while Kevin does as he pleases. Kevin hooks a finger into his sleeve and tugs playfully.

"Teach me German."

Aaron sizes him up.

"What’s in it for me?"

Nothing, Kevin thinks. Me.

"I’ll teach you French."

"Alright," Aaron says, sounding slightly breathless.

They only realize they’ve been whispering unnecessarily when the sound of the door opening startles them, Andrew’s heavy footsteps echoing.

The alarm is instinctive. Aaron stops Kevin from getting up by planting his foot on Kevin’s thigh. Kevin gives him a hesitant, suggestive look, picking up the phone he’d left on the table.

So you want me to get hit?

You'll look hot

Kevin glances at him immediately, feeling warmer. He sees Aaron chuckling silently and shakes his head at him, holding onto his ankle.

Setting the phone aside, where he can see whatever Aaron types, Kevin starts massaging his foot, one particular squeeze earning a low grunt and a disapproving look.

He’s not really mad at you

He likes you too much

Kevin pauses the massage to press two letters.

Hm.

Then he resumes, pressing different points on Aaron’s foot. Aaron sets his phone down and closes his eyes, and Kevin can’t tell if he’s enjoying it or annoyed. That is, until he notices Aaron is nearly falling asleep sitting up.

Kevin brushes his index finger along the sole of his foot, the ticklish sensation jolting him awake. Aaron responds with a small kick, grumbling at the movement.

"Sorry," Kevin mouths, helping him place his foot back on the floor.

Sliding his chair forward, their knees slot together easily. Aaron places his hands on Kevin’s legs, leaning forward and looking up at him with his head cocked to the side, amber eyes challenging him.

Kevin brushes hair from his forehead and picks up his phone, still waiting for Andrew’s door to shut.

So.

He types.

We’re setting up the practice game with the Trojans. I’m going to L.A. with Wymack this weekend to sort out the details.

Aaron automatically grabs his own phone.

Abby cleared me for the rest of the week

I’m heading to Columbia tomorrow

Kevin nods at him, pushing his chair back enough to stand up, anticipating the inevitable bang of the bedroom door down the hall.

He helps Aaron up and lets him limp out of the kitchen while Kevin stays to wash and put away the mugs, turning off the lights before leaving. He finds Aaron sprawled on the couch in the dark, injured leg elevated, gesturing for him to come closer. 

Kevin places one knee between Aaron’s, and leans forward, feeling Aaron’s warm breath against his skin. Aaron’s fingers find his nape, pulling him closer, tangling in his short hair.

"Growing it out?" Aaron’s whisper grazes his cheek.

Kevin hums, feeling the shape of his smile before their tongues meet.

Their heavy breathing fills the quiet space, mingling with the creaking of the couch under Kevin’s weight as Aaron’s hand presses against his back, pulling him even closer. Kevin tastes caffeine on Aaron’s lips and hears his gasps when his hand finds his waist beneath the thin fabric. Aaron is solid beneath him, except where they both dissolve into saliva and small bites.

Kevin lets his lips trail along Aaron’s jaw to his throat, sucking hard enough to earn a shiver and stronger tugs on his hair. Aaron groans, resting his head on Kevin’s shoulder.

"I'm sorry for hurting you," Kevin hears himself whispering in his ear, hand exploring Aaron’s torso before his mouth measures the pulse in his neck.

Aaron moans, which Kevin will take as forgiveness.

It’s far from enough, but Kevin forces himself to pull away. He offers to help Aaron to his room and lies in his own bed with swollen lips and unbearable heat.

The next morning, Aaron leaves for Columbia, and two days later, on Saturday, Kevin makes a last-minute call while sitting in Wymack’s passenger seat.

"On a scale of zero to ten, what are the chances of you coming with me to Los Angeles?"

 

 

 

Notes:

kevin is canonically kinda selfish and i love that about him

kudos are always welcome 💖 please leave a comment!