Chapter Text
Aaron spots a flash of color in his vision, a color closer to auburn than red, and immediately turns his attention away from his biochem textbook. In the crowded hum of the cafeteria, he can’t quite make out where Katelyn is headed, but he’s able to track that dot of auburn all the way through the salad bar line and across the dining hall, until she sits down exactly six tables away from his own. In the space between bodies, Aaron catches a flash of a brilliant smile, and he knows it is Katelyn’s by the slight curve in the pale pink lips, by the sharp line of her incisors.
Satisfied that she is here, in his presence, Aaron turns back to his textbook.
“You’re pathetic,” Kevin says with a sniff. Aaron had forgotten he was even there.
“You won’t be saying that when I get laid,” Aaron says smugly. He and Katelyn have been taking things slowly, slow enough that they haven’t kissed, hugged, held hands or been on a date, even, but Kevin doesn’t need to know all of that.
"You need to be thinking about Friday’s game,” Kevin says sternly. He stabs at his salad hard enough to rattle the table. "Not women."
"Woman,” Aaron corrects. “One woman. And, it doesn't matter anyway. You know that.”
“Gross,” Andrew declares, punctuating his presence with the dramatic slam of his tray onto the table. Aaron sighs at the contents of his brother's lunch; a bag of cookies and a plate full of french fries.
“Exy or women?’ Aaron mutters.
“You know, if you ate a bit better,” Kevin begins, his own eyes trained on Andrew’s plate, but Andrew slaps a hand over the striker's mouth before he can continue with the thought.
“Don’t care,” Andrew picks up a fry with his left hand and pointedly chews in Kevin’s direction. Kevin tolerates this for a second longer than Aaron would have before shoving Andrew’s arm away from his face.
"Without Gordon, we obviously have no chance of beating Belmont,” Kevin’s broad shoulders slump in clear disappointment. “But, that doesn’t mean we should be giving up entirely. You two could at least pretend to care.”
Aaron rolls his eyes at the dramatics. Last week, Seth Gordon, one of their starting strikers, had taken a particularly bad hit on the court. He’d tried to catch himself, and ended up breaking his right wrist in the process. Undeniably, he’s out for the rest of the season. With Palmetto being such a small team, they’d had to rearrange their whole lineup, ultimately putting Wilds on striker and Renee as a dealer. None of it makes any fucking sense, but it's the only way they can even field a team large enough to play. Somehow, despite the inevitable demise of their season, Kevin has been plastering on an annoyingly positive attitude, constantly giving unsolicited pep talks and advice. Yesterday, Andrew had threatened to quit the team if Kevin didn’t stop complimenting him. Now, it seems Kevin has turned a leaf, his mood sullen rather than falsely optimistic. Aaron doesn’t know which one is worse.
“We’re not giving up,” Aaron says, mostly in an attempt to end the conversation.“We’re just being realistic. Unless a new striker falls into our lap in the next seven days, our season is over.”
Kevin’s face crumples, and he quickly buries his head in his crossed arms. His temple thuds against the table.
“We were doing so well,” Kevin groans.
“I know,” Aaron reaches out to pat Kevin’s mess of dark hair, shooting Andrew a look when he scoffs. The quicker they can comfort Kevin, the quicker Aaron can return to studying for his exam, and the quicker he can turn his attention back where it belongs: Katelyn.
“We’re fucked,” Kevin says, loud enough that a few heads turn in their direction. “Absolutely fucked.”
“Um, sorry to interrupt,” A quiet, familiar voice has Aaron’s eyes shooting from Kevin’s head to the end of their table, where Katelyn stands, smiling. She’s dressed in the same jeans and navy sweater she’d been wearing during their chem lab this morning, but she’s tied her mess of auburn curls into a ponytail.
Aaron wants to wrap his fist around it.
“Kate,” Aaron says, hoping his voice comes out stable. It must not, if Andrew’s quiet huff of breath is any indicator. “What’s up?”
“Hey, Aaron,” Katelyn’s smile widens a bit, but she shifts on her feet, a clear display of nerves. “Um. I wanted to ask you something. Is it a bad time?” She glances down at Kevin, who still hasn’t lifted his head off of the table.
“He’s fine,” Aaron answers quickly. Kevin, of course, chooses that moment to release a particularly loud whimper. “One of our starters broke his wrist. He’s mourning our season.”
“That’s horrible, I’m so sorry,” Katelyn makes a sympathetic face, and Aaron’s heart clenches. “Well, um, I just wanted to invite you to something tomorrow. It’s the cheerleaders senior night, so we’re all having a little thing at my place after the game. Do you want to come? Maybe?”
Aaron temporarily forgets how to breathe, let alone speak. He’s been pining after Katelyn since the beginning of the semester, has been working up the courage to ask her out for nearly two months, and now, all of the sudden, she’s asking him out. His mind goes entirely blank.
“He’ll be there,” Andrew says, jolting Aaron out of his idiocy.
Aaron shoots his glance to his brother, shocked that he even spoke to Katelyn, let alone helped Aaron out. Andrew keeps his eyes pointedly trained on Katelyn, one arm draped protectively over the top of Kevin’s seat.
“You’re invited, too,” Katelyn says kindly, unaffected by Andrew’s scowl and overall air of violence. “I know Neil already invited Dan and Matt.”
Aaron frowns at the mention of Neil. He’s all Dan, Matt, Allison, and Katelyn ever talk about, each of them raving about how funny, how fast, how clever Neil is. Aaron has only met him a few times, but so far, Neil has not lived up to the hype. He’d been kind of boring, in Aaron’s opinion. Abundantly average.
“We’ll be there,” Aaron smiles. “All of us. Thanks, Kate.”
“Yeah?” Katelyn’s smile breaks into something so bright Aaron’s vision goes briefly white. He nods, awestruck.
“I can’t wait. I’ll text you the address? It’s about a ten minute drive from campus.”
“Yeah,” Aaron swallows. He hopes he’s playing it cool. “Sounds good.”
“See you tomorrow, then!” Katelyn bounds off back towards the cheerleaders table, and when she glances back at Aaron, still grinning, he’s so giddy he barely feels Andrew flick his forehead.
“I didn’t agree to drive you,” Andrew says slowly.
“I’ll walk if I have to,” Aaron says dreamily, unaffected. “God, I’d crawl.”
Andrew rises from the table with a rather dramatic eye roll.
-
Andrew agrees to drive Aaron and Kevin to Kathryn’s party only because he doesn’t trust the two of them to make it home otherwise. He doesn’t, however, agree to attend the thing. Aaron has no complaints about the matter, but Kevin throws himself into attempting to convince Andrew, who eventually stops responding to the desperate pleas.
Thankfully, Aaron ushers Kevin to the football stadium not long after, promising him unlimited access to the concession stand. Rookie mistake. Andrew has not only seen Kevin eat his way through an ‘all-you-can-eat’ buffet after losing in the playoffs last year, but he has also watched Kevin stress eat twelve protein bars and then still proceed to gargle raw egg yolks. Andrew temporarily wonders if it's worth attending the football game just to see how many calories Kevin manages to consume.
Instead, Andrew spends his time editing other students' papers. He makes nearly fifty bucks a piece on them, even though all he really does is fix citations and grammatical errors. For other, particularly horrible pieces of authorship, Andrew charges a hundred bucks, and spends hours reconstructing arguments and rewriting entire paragraphs. By the time Aaron and Kevin make their way home from the game, Andrew has edited fourteen papers, one of which was a frighteningly bad essay by none other than Neil Josten, a cheerleader friend of Kathy’s that Allison apparently adopted. Andrew had barely managed to make the thing make sense. The grammar, or lack thereof, had given him a headache. Maybe he should tell Allison to cough over some cash for tutoring.
Andrew slams his laptop shut just as Kevin comes barging into their common space. He’s dressed in a worn, grey Palmetto Exy t-shirt that Andrew thinks was once Matt’s, and there’s what looks like a mustard stain dripping down his middle. For Kevin, that is particularly disheveled.
“Andrew,” Kevin pants, his eyes wide, chest heaving. “I found us a striker. Oh my god. I found him.”
“Kevin, don’t-” Aaron yells from the hallway.
Kevin slams the door shut, cutting him off. A second later, Aaron stumbles inside the common space, breathless.
“Don’t,” Aaron begs Kevin. “Don’t.”
The desperation in Aaron’s voice catches Andrew’s attention.
“Who is it?” Andrew asks, shocking himself with his own interest.
"Neil Josten,” Kevin throws his hands into the air dramatically. “Aaron said his name is Neil Josten. He’s perfect, Andrew. He’s going to be our new striker.”
Andrew thinks of Neil Josten’s abomination of an essay and resists the urge to hit something.
“Neil Josten barely knows how to spell his own name,” Andrew drawls, but Aaron is turned towards Kevin, glaring up at him and pointing a threatening finger into his face.
"No, Kevin,” Aaron spits. “He’s not.”
“Not yet,” Kevin corrects. He swats Aaron’s hand away from his face.
“Well, he’s already in season,” Aaron says with a cocky grin. “Hah.”
“Cheerleading is not a sport,” Kevin says dismissively. Both Aaron and Andrew open their mouths to argue against this, Aaron likely in defense of Katrina and Andrew just to be difficult, but Kevin bulldozes on. “And, their season ended today. Hence the whole ‘senior night’ party. Keep up, Aaron.”
“He’s a cheerleader,” Andrew says dryly, allowing the realization to wash over him.
Maybe that’s why Neil’s essay had been so bad. Too many flips and spins.
Both Kevin and Aaron look in Andrew’s direction, nodding in an eerily synchronous way. Andrew slowly begins rising from the couch, heading towards his bedroom. Kevin, of course, follows. Andrew wonders if Neil Josten is exactly the type of cheerleader he’s so far painted himself to be; vapid, airheaded, poor at utilizing the synapses in his brain and clearly useless at the English language.
Only one way to find out, Andrew thinks as he begins rummaging through his clothes.
"Yes. I know it sounds… Odd,” Kevin turns to face the door when Andrew wordlessly reaches for the hem of his shirt. “But it works. He’s fast. Like, really fast. I’d put his mile time at anywhere between four to five minutes. And he’s flexible. I think that could be a serious advantage, something we could hone-”
“Has he ever picked up an exy stick in his life?” Andrew asks, interrupting. He tugs on a pair of clean jeans, watching Kevin’s back as he shrugs.
"No idea,” Kevin answers. “We can figure it out tonight.”
“Josten is annoying,” Aaron yells from the common room. “You’ll hate him, Kevin. He’s loud and-”
“I don’t care. I hate Andrew most days, and Andrew hates everyone every single day. We don’t have to like one another. Talent is talent.”
Aaron emerges in the doorway right as Andrew tugs on his favorite black henley, the kind that Allison had once told him made his arms look ‘really, really, big.’
“Why are you changing?” Aaron demands, furrowing his eyebrows.
"I’m coming,” Andrew says as he shoves past Kevin, who immediately trails behind him, still rambling about Neil and his mile time. Andrew continues to tune it out.
“To what?” Aaron asks nervously.
“Katalina’s party,” Andrew says with a slicing smile. He locks the bathroom door before Kevin and Aaron can follow.
“What? Why?” Aaron demands through the wood.
Andrew doesn’t bother answering. When he emerges from the bathroom, Aaron and Kevin have also changed, trading their Palmetto t-shirts and athletic shorts for jeans and otherwise cleaner clothing.
“Why?” Aaron demands again.
“Because he needs to meet our new striker,” Kevin grins. “Right?”
“He hasn’t even agreed!” Aaron protests.
“Neil’s going to say yes,” Kevin shrugs. “I know it. Am I right, Andrew? Please say I’m right. If you sign off on the idea, there’s no way Coach will even try to protest.”
Andrew twirls his keys around his pointer finger and stares blankly at Kevin until he’s stopped speaking. Andrew juts his chin towards the door in a wordless ‘let’s go.’ Kevin sighs, but there’s a small lift to the corner of his lips as he steps into the hallway. Aaron matches Kevin’s sigh with one of his own, and when Andrew locks the door to their rooms behind him, he pauses next to his twin, their shoulders brushing.
Andrew still isn’t great with other people touching him, but Aaron has always been the closest thing to an exception.
“I’m not going to ruin your night with Kimberly,” Andrew says quietly.
“I never thought you were,” Aaron shrugs, but Andrew sees the relief in his eyes. “But… Why?”
“Josten wrote a horrible essay,” Andrew offers.
It’s the closest to an explanation he can give.
-
Neil surveys the crowd in Katelyn’s apartment and tries not to feel overcrowded. He knows most of the people in the room, from the mass of football players to the gaggle of artistic stoners in the corner. Neil’s already done his rounds, has said hello to Dan and Matt and a bunch of other, lesser, friends. Most people know better than to touch Neil abruptly, but a select few pull him into tight hugs (Allison and Dan) and others clap him firmly on the shoulder (Renee and Matt), congratulating him on finishing the season. Neil offers up tight smiles and quiet thanks, but in truth, he could care less about the end of football season.
He’d fallen into cheerleading after his mothers death, specifically at his second foster home, which was located next to a gymnasium. Neil used to sneak in to sleep on the mats, but other times, he came in during practices, where he watched teenagers flip violently through the air.
He’d taught himself how to do the same, and when high school came around, and with it, a sixth foster home in California, Neil allowed himself to be corralled onto the cheer team by none other than Allison Reynolds. While Allison certainly looked the part (all sleek, blonde hair and toned, tanned limbs), she’d never been a cheerleader herself. She played exy, a sport that, like all others, Neil had never been able to afford all the equipment for.
Meanwhile, Allison’s family had donated the gym at Neil’s high school.
Somehow, they became fast friends despite their financial differences, and when Neil turned sixteen, it was Allison’s mother who walked him through the papers to emancipate himself. At seventeen, Mrs. Reynolds helped Neil apply for college, early decision to Palmetto State, where Allison had already begun her freshman year. If it hadn’t been for his cheerleading scholarship, Allison’s parents probably would have paid for Neil’s tuition.
Despite all of his history with the sport, Neil isn’t particularly attached to cheerleading. It’s fun and all, and it keeps him in shape, but Neil has always yearned for something a bit more competitive, a bit more violent.
“There you are,” Allison huffs, snapping Neil out of his thoughts as she wraps a loose hand around his bicep. Neil allows himself to be dragged into a corner, his back to the wall as Allison stares down at him. “Kevin is looking for you.”
“Kevin?” Neil repeats. Allison nods. “Your Kevin? Why would he be looking for me?”
“He is not my Kevin,” Allison scoffs, her smoky eyes darting across the room. “I have no idea. You want me to tell him to beat it?”
Neil considers the offer. He knows, if he said yes, Allison would have Kevin gone in a matter of minutes. But, Neil can’t help his curiosity. Kevin Day is an exy legend. His mere presence in Palmetto is a miracle, his mysterious arrival fueled by an uber secretive transfer out of Edger Allen University. Neil only feels slightly pathetic when he remembers that his Youtube search history is filled with Kevin Day’s highlight reels. Sue him. He likes exy, and even Allison wouldn’t deny that Kevin Day is the best striker in the league.
“No,” Neil says eventually, trying to tone down his excitement. “Let’s see what he wants.”
“Okay,” Allison slides her hand down Neil’s arm and slowly interlocks their fingers, giving Neil ample time to deny the touch. He doesn’t. It took him a while to become comfortable with casual touches, but now that he’s used to it, Neil craves it like a drug.
Allison squeezes his hand gently, then begins shoving her way through the crowd. She’s taller than Neil to begin with, but in her icepick heels, Allison looms over him by a good six inches, and she navigates the mass of bodies easily, only pausing once Kevin emerges in front of them. At the flash of blonde hair next to Kevin, Neil freezes. Allison hadn’t said anything about Andrew Minyard.
“Day,” Allison tugs Neil into the small circle they’ve created. “This is Neil.”
“Hey,” Neil says casually. His gaze slides to Andrew, and the depth in his brown eyes makes Neil’s pulse flutter.
He’s had a casual, mild obsession with the goalkeeper ever since last year, when Andrew and Allison had both signed with Palmetto. Arguably, Andrew’s arrival had caused more of a stir than Kevin’s. Andrew had been the highest ranking goalkeeper for all of high school exy, had broken records starting in his sophomore year and then rebroken them all again his senior year. Andrew was offered a position on every college exy team that Neil could name, including Edgar Allen. Only, he’d turned them all down. Apparently, Andrew only wanted Palmetto.
Neil would never admit it to anyone, but he knows Andrew’s stats better than he knows Allison’s or Kevin’s.
What Neil didn’t know, even despite memorizing the Foxes roster images and attending every possible game within a seven hour radius, is that Andrew Minyard looks like this. Though he’s shorter than Kevin, Andrew’s nearly as broad as the striker, his muscle packed densely into his form. His eyes are a warm, complex brown, and there’s even a few freckles dotted across his milky skin. Andrew’s strong jaw is set tight, maybe in annoyance, and his hair is somehow more disheveled than Neil’s own mess of curls, and it takes all of Neil’s effort to turn his attention away from the goalie and back to the conversation at hand.
Objectively, Neil thinks, Andrew is really, really hot.
“Nice to meet you,” Kevin says. Neil scans his eyes over Kevin, noting the broad set of his shoulders and the interesting hue of his green eyes, but feels none of the allure he’d felt with Andrew.
‘The Monster,’ Allison had called Andrew all of last year. She’d complained about his attitude, his temper, his lack of work ethic, everything. Neil had still been in high school at the time, and he’d had to step out of class several times to talk Al out of trying to murder her team's best goalkeeper. Allison doesn’t call Andrew that anymore, though. Neil had never asked why, and Al had never offered an explanation. Nonetheless, Neil is surprised to see Allison offer Andrew a small smile as Kevin and Neil shake hands. Andrew juts his chin in her direction, in what Neil assumes is his version of a response.
“And this is Andrew,” Allison says, rounding out the introductions. Neil opens his mouth to say hello, but Andrew speaks before he can get the chance.
“Are you colorblind?” Andrew asks with an impassive tilt of his head.
Neil glances down at his outfit. He’s wearing the dark jeans that Allison had picked out for him, paired with a plain t-shirt. Allison had given the whole look her approval. Neil frowns, then finally realizes that his socks are mismatched; one bright orange, the other neon yellow.
“Are you colorblind?” Neil bites back, somehow embarrassed and giddy at the same time. Andrew tilts his head in a nonanswer.
“The amount of goals you let in last game, I would’ve assumed you were mixing up the color of your jersey for-” Allison slaps a hand over Neil’s mouth before he can finish.
“Oh,” Kevin’s eyebrows raise high onto his forehead. “He’s perfect.”
“Don’t,” Allison warns Neil.
“I’m not scared of him,” Neil says against Allison’s palm, the words muffled.
“Well, I am,” Allison eyes Neil for a moment longer, then drops her hand. “You two are quite possibly the most explosive people on this campus. The last thing we need is for you to interact. Go away, Andrew.”
Neil slides his eyes back to Andrew, who holds Neil’s gaze, unblinking and seemingly unfazed by Allison's demand.
“No,” Kevin corrects. “It’s exactly what we need. We need Neil to be our reserve striker.”
Allison whips her head around fast enough that the ends of her hair slap Neil’s cheek.
“What?”
“He’s fast,” Kevin shrugs. “He doesn’t have to be any good. If he can get the ball to me, that’d be great, but all we really need is someone who can run and-”
“Sure,” Neil says immediately, a slow smile taking over his face when Andrew finally blinks. “I’ll do it.”
“Neil,” Allison’s voice is practically a whisper. “You can’t.”
“I’ve played with you and Renee before,” Neil reminds her. “You told me I wasn’t half bad.”
“Did you score on Renee?” Kevin asks eagerly.
Neil nods.
Kevin moans a little.
"Twice,” Neil adds, grinning.
“Oh god, he’s perfect,” Kevin claps his hands together. “I have to go call Coach. Don’t go anywhere.”
“Kevin!” Allison yells after him, taking one step forward before pausing. She glances between Andrew and Neil and purses her lips. “Neil, please don’t enact any kind of violence on Andrew while I’m gone. Verbal or physical.”
“I would never,” Neil says sweetly.
Allison rolls her eyes, then takes off after Kevin. Neil isn’t sure whether or not she’s going to argue against the idea, or if she’s maybe going to explain to Kevin that Neil is all kinds of fucked up, but Neil finds that he doesn’t really care. Either way, he’s suddenly having fun.
“Your essay was abysmal,” Andrew says after a heartbeat of silence.
“What essay?” Neil frowns.
“God. You really are stupid,” Andrew’s mouth moves slowly, his tone condescending.“The essay you sent for me to edit. On Indigenous foodways.”
Neil frowns even harder. He had recently written a recent essay on Indigenous food practices. He just thinks he would’ve remembered sending it to Andrew Minyard, of all people.
“I didn’t send that to you,” Neil speaks just as slowly. “Maybe you really are deranged.”
Andrew’s eyebrows flicker upward. A sign of amusement, maybe.
“Someone paid for me to edit it,” Andrew shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest.
With that, the pieces fall together. Neil sighs. He’d asked Jean to look over the essay last week. Clearly, instead of doing so, Jean decided to pay someone else, Andrew Fucking Minyard, to do it for him.
“And it was abysmal?” Neil sighs.
“Horrible.”
“English isn’t my first language,” Neil offers as explanation. “Or Jean’s.”
“Am I supposed to know who the fuck Jean is?” Andrew scoffs.
“No,” Neil hides a smile.
Andrew eyes him, and Neil feels warm under his gaze. They stand in silence for a moment, holding eye contact until someone stumbles into Neil, emptying the contents of their drink onto his jeans. Neil throws an elbow out to shove the body away from him, hitting the football player whose name Neil cannot remember right in the ribs.
“Woah, Neil,” The guy mutters, his expression wounded. “Was just an accident.”
Neil smiles and mouths an insincere ‘sorry.’ The guy stumbles off without another word.
“Give me a reason,” Andrew demands as soon as he has Neil’s attention again. He takes a step closer, close enough that Neil can smell his woody aftershave and simple deodorant, but doesn’t elaborate any further.
That’s fine, Neil decides. He doesn’t have to. He knows what Andrew means.
“I never could afford the equipment growing up,” Neil offers. Andrew’s face remains completely blank, the kind of impassive that Neil knows requires focus. “Always wanted to play, though.”
At that moment, Neil spots Allison’s hair reemerge in the crowd, Kevin in tow behind her. Neil’s briefly overwhelmed with dismay. He wants to stay here, alone with Andrew, unspeaking or not. Andrew follows Neil’s eyes, and he swears the goalie’s shoulders tighten a bit.
“Next time, don’t let this Jean idiot anywhere near your essays,” Andrew says quietly as they watch Kevin and Allison approach.
“Just straight to you, then?” Neil grins.
Andrew shoots him a look that seems to scream don’t push it, but Neil loves it, and his smile only widens.
-
Andrew hates to admit it, but Neil is a natural. His footwork is near flawless, his stick-handling somehow better than half their team, and just like Kevin had predicted, Neil is fucking fast. Andrew hates that he’s interested by the kid, hates that he keeps remembering the challenging slash of Neil’s smile and the way his eyes notably lit up every time Andrew whipped the ball back down the court, in his direction.
Andrew hates all of it, and yet, for the rest of the day, the idiot occupies more of his thoughts than he’d care to admit.
“Will you drive me to Neil’s dorm? Then to the court?” Kevin asks Andrew later that evening.“He wants to practice tonight.”
“Fine,” Andrew surprises them both by saying.
When they pick Neil up from his dorm, the freshman is pink-cheeked and grinning. Andrew makes a point of meeting Neil’s massive blue eyes in the rearview mirror, and doesn’t put the car into drive until Neil has blinked. Hah, Andrew thinks, triumphant.
Neil and Kevin babble about strategy for the entire ten minute drive to the court, and while Andrew would normally cut off any talk of exy with an excessively loud selection of music, tonight he’s curious to hear what Neil has to say.
“I think if I had a lighter racquet,” Neil says, leaning forward against his seatbelt until he’s practically sitting in between Kevin and Andrew, “I’d be able to get more momentum behind my shots. Right now, it’s too heavy for me to swing effectively.”
“Right,” Kevin agrees, nodding thoughtfully. “And we don’t have enough time for weight training.”
Neil rolls his eyes good naturedly and visibly fights back a smile. Andrew has to remind himself to focus on the road.
“Jean has an old racquet I can use,” Neil continues. Andrew’s stomach sours at the mention of this Jean person, an unreasonably dramatic reaction. “But he’s taller than you are, so I don’t think it’ll work.”
“We’ll buy you a new one tomorrow,” Kevin says with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Maybe we can look in the children’s section,” Andrew pipes up cheerfully. Neil’s eyes narrow.
“You really want to play the short card? You? Of all people?” Neil shoots back.
Andrew only hums.
From then on, Andrew’s night is full of Neil. Neil, walking Kevin through an intricate series of stretches, his shorts obscenely tiny and bright against his skin as he bends and lunges. Andrew leaves the court, shoves a handful of nicotine gum into his mouth, and counts to six hundred before returning. By then, Neil has moved on from his stretches, diligently standing by Kevin’s side as the striker models different drills, various methods of slamming the ball off of the court walls. Andrew watches in mild amusement as Neil blindly flings shots at the goal. By the time Neil has somehow managed to score twenty shots, Andrew finds himself entering the court, his racquet slung lazily over his shoulders.
“You shouldn’t be out here without your padding,” Kevin says immediately.
“I don’t think the ball will get close enough to me to constitute any real danger,” Andrew flashes a grin in Neil’s direction. “You get ten shots. Then we’re leaving.”
Kevin knows better than to push Andrew on the matter, but Neil responds with an immediate negotiation.
“Fifteen.”
“Ten,” Andrew says, releasing his racquet from his shoulders.
“Fourteen,” Neil retorts.
“Ten.”
“Thirteen?”
“Ten.”
“Twelve?”
“Ten.”
“Eleven.”
“Deal,” Andrew smacks his racquet against the wall. “Let’s go.”
Neil’s first few shots are a mess. The first five barely come close enough to the goal for Andrew to reach them, and even then, the angling is all wrong. They pause at Neil’s eighth attempt, and Kevin deftly takes the ball, whipping it towards Andrew with the speed and agility Edgar Allen had drilled into him as he rambles on about angles. Despite the beauty of the shot, Andrew happily smacks the ball away, aiming it perfectly towards Kevin’s exposed knee. Kevin catches the ball before it can hit him.
“Try again,” Kevin demands at Neil.
Neil tries until his eleven shots are up and his arms are visibly shaking. Despite the lean muscle of Neil’s frame, it’s clear that the racquet he’s using, Kevin’s backup, is much too heavy for him. After his last shot, Neil can barely lift the thing. Even then, he opens his mouth to ask for more chances, more drills, more anything. Kevin’s mouth opens and closes in utter disbelief, clearly shocked that he’s met someone as obsessed with this stupid sport as he is. Andrew tugs off his helmet before striding towards Neil, gripping the metal cage of Neil’s helmet in his fingers. Andrew tugs Neil’s helmet closer until he can feel the warm rush of Neil’s breath against his cheeks.
“This is the last time you wear yourself out like this. Understood?” “
I’m fine,” Neil pants. “Seriously.”
With his free hand, Andrew gives Neil a hard shove. Neil sways dangerously on his feet, but Andrew remains clutching him with his right hand, holding him upright.
“No. You’re not. You’re not used to it,” Andrew says with a shake of his head. Neil’s eyes light up, maybe in anger, but Andrew doesn’t release him. He thinks he’s familiar with Neil’s kind of anger, well-acquainted with those unreasonable, directionless flare ups.
“I’m still an athlete,” Neil snaps.
“Yeah,” Andrew nods. “You are.”
“Yeah,” Neil pants.
“Yeah,” Kevin agrees, but neither of them turn to look at him.
“I’m going to be good,” Neil says, his voice quieter now. His eyes still have that cold fire in them, and Andrew has zero doubt that what Neil says is true. “I’m going to score on you.”
Andrew hums. When he’s certain that Neil’s arms have stopped shaking, he releases his hold on the freshman’s helmet, instead fisting his hand into the back of Neil’s jersey. Andrew grabs both of their racquets in his free hand and walks them out of the arena.
Neil falls asleep on the car ride home, and when Kevin shoves at his shoulder to wake him, he wakes up flinching. Andrew watches as Neil slowly comes back to himself, notes the way his blue eyes go briefly wide and embarrassed. Neil mutters a quiet ‘sorry’ and darts out of the car without another word. If Kevin notices the way Andrew’s eyes track him until he’s inside the building, surprisingly, he doesn’t say anything about it.
-
“How does this team even work?” Neil mutters under his breath at the next practice. Seth has begun hurling insults at Nicky from the sidelines, most of which are wildly homophobic, and Neil watches as the scrimmage they’d been playing comes to a screeching halt.
Next to him, Allison shrugs.
“It doesn’t.”
“It could,” Neil says, and when Allison glances down at him, there’s a knowing grin on her face.
“If you weren’t so busy taking a dick up your ass,” Seth begins, drawing both of their attention.
There’s a devilish look on his face as he opens his mouth to continue, but Andrew is there before Seth can finish the sentence, flicking his gloves off his hands with a violent, practiced efficiency before plowing a fist into Seth’s nose.
The practice devolves completely from there.
Aaron and Nicky manage to haul Andrew away from Seth, but not without the help of Matt and Coach Wymack. Meanwhile, Dan, Allison, and Renee attempt to talk Seth down, the three girls speaking to him in hushed, gentle tones, as if he’s some wounded animal. Neil remains frozen somewhere in between the two scenes, watching as Andrew shoves hands away from him and slowly deflates from his anger. Allison looms over Seth’s seated position on the bench, a disapproving look on her face, but whatever she’s saying doesn’t seem to be working. When Seth abruptly rises to his feet, he shoves Allison backwards with both hands. She lands on her butt, unharmed, but Neil sees red.
“You fucking idiot,” Neil says as he stalks over to Seth, shaking his head.
Renee and Dan are helping Allison to her feet, and Neil knows by the haunted expression on her face that Allison knows exactly what is going to happen next.
“Oh, shut up, fag,” Seth spits in Neil’s direction.
“You know,” Neil laughs, “You use that word a lot. It’s almost like you got used to being called it, then decided there was power in reclaiming it. Am I on the right track? Are you working through some kind of internalized homophobia we should know about?”
Seth darts closer, shoving hard at Neil’s chest. Neil stumbles, but shoves him right back, and Seth blinks in surprise at the force of it. Neil steps closer, and Seth takes a half-step back.
“Scared?” Neil taunts, grinning.
“Don’t come near me, freak,” Seth balls his left hand into a fist.
“Neil, stop,” Allison says from somewhere behind Neil. “It’s not worth it.”
“You touch her again,” Neil says softly, allowing his smile to take on a menacing curve, “And I will fucking skin you.”
“I’m not scared of some five foot fag,” Seth laughs.
With that, Neil rams his knee into Seth’s groin. When the fifth-year falls to his knees, gasping, Neil uses the momentum to shove Seth onto his back. Neil pins him to the ground with one forearm against Seth’s windpipe, his knees pinning Seth’s hands by his sides. Seth thrashes underneath Neil’s weight, kicking his legs unsuccessfully and bucking his hips. Neil keeps him in place with minimal effort. There is commotion all around them, Renee’s quiet gasp and Wymack’s string of curses.
Neil figures he has under twenty seconds before someone hauls him off of Seth. He pushes down on Seth’s throat just a bit harder.
“Don’t touch her again. While you’re at it, keep your fucking mouth shut, and don’t even think about talking to Nicky like that in my presence again. You’re lucky Andrew got there first.” Neil removes his forearm from Seth’s throat and pats his cheek condescendingly.
“Alright. Get him out of here!!” Coach barks.
With that, someone loops their arms around Neil’s waist, hauling him up and over one broad shoulder before marching away from Seth. Neil goes willingly, but he’s still grinning, his blood still pounding in his ears, his throat. Neil sucks in a breath before glancing down at the jersey he’d unintentionally clutched in his gloved hands. It’s white.
Interesting.
“Hey, Seth!” Neil calls, and Andrew immediately spins, maybe so Neil can lay eyes on his target. “Did that give you a boner? Having me on your lap?”
Neil watches as Seth’s face reddens before he unsuccessfully attempts to break out of Matt and Dan’s hold. The rest of the Foxes rush to help, but Andrew is spinning before Neil can catch the rest of the action, his arm clamped solidly over the back of Neil’s thighs. Neil’s never been carried like this before, and while Andrew’s gear is digging uncomfortably into his own, Neil likes the weightless feeling. He relaxes into Andrew’s grip. Only once they’ve made it to the locker room does Andrew release Neil, tossing him casually onto the couch in the common space. Neil bounces a bit, then scrambles to sit up normally. Andrew takes the seat on the opposite end of the couch, and Neil turns to face him. For a heartbeat, they just stare at each other. Andrew’s hair is sweaty and messed up from his helmet, and his cheeks are slightly pink with exertion. There's amusement in Andrew’s brown eyes.
“Was the boner comment too much?” Neil asks, unable to hide his smile.
Andrew only manages to shake his head before Wymack comes barreling into the room. He tries to lecture Andrew and Neil, but Neil figures that neither of them are really listening. He only hears about ten words in total, though the speech goes on for nearly twenty minutes. When Wymack is evidently finished, Neil obediently says sorry. Andrew only smirks a bit, which makes Neil fight back a smile, which makes the whole apology seem even more insincere than it was to begin with.
“I don’t think I like this duo,” Wymack mutters as he makes for his office.
The rest of the team rushes in not long after that, and Dan refuses to allow anyone to shower until they’ve all sat down and discussed the ‘Practice from Hell’ together. Seth, thankfully, is nowhere to be seen.
“This can’t happen again,” Dan says slowly, her dark eyes darting between Andrew and Neil. “You two need to keep your tempers in check. Neil, I know you’re new to the sport, but you can’t resort to this kind of violence in a game. You’d be thrown out. And Andrew…”
Dan trails off, and everyone waits diligently for her to continue.
“You did what I should’ve done,” Dan says finally. “Thanks.”
“Yeah. Thanks,” Nicky echoes, his smile somehow bright and genuine even despite all of the names Seth had hurled at him.
“Shut up,” Andrew says immediately.
“I want everyone to come to the girls' suite tonight,” Dan declares. Aaron starts to protest, but Matt shuts him up with a slap to his chest. Dan plants her hands on her hips and looks every single one of them in the eye before continuing. “We should get to know Neil a bit more.”
“Well. I know Neil plenty,” Allison shoots a glare in Neil’s direction. “And I’m currently furious at him.”
“Al,” Neil says between his teeth. He should’ve known this was coming.“We’ve had this conversation before.”
“And yet, you still don’t listen. Imagine that.”
Neil exhales deeply.
Allison has always had qualms about Neil fighting battles for her, particularly when it comes to Seth. Neil knows that, even despite their rocky relationship, they’ve had good times together, moments that mean something to Allison. Neil knows this. However, it doesn’t mean Neil’s going to allow Seth to treat Allison like shit in front of him, let alone lay his hands on her.
“Al,” Neil says slowly, his voice taking on a desperate tone that is too vulnerable for this moment, for this space and crowd. Neil can’t help it. He hates feeling distanced from her, feels the fear of abandonment roar up again like a monster in his chest.
“Stop,” Allison demands, but she still rises from her seat and crosses the room to sit next to Neil, yanking off one of his gloves to hold his hand in her own.
The rest of the Foxes watch the exchange with mild interest.
“Are you guys, like, dating?” Kevin asks quietly, his lip curled a bit in a clear display of judgement.
“No,” Allison crinkles her nose like she’s disgusted by the thought.
“Neil’s gay,” Aaron looks at Kevin like he’s grown four heads. “Did you not hear all of that?”
“Gay?” Kevin repeats.
“I’m not gay,” Neil says with a sigh. At the same time Allison says, “Neil’s not gay.”
“Okay, okay. Not gay. Not dating. Got it,” Kevin shakes his head in exasperation. “Are we done yet?”
Dan releases them all after that, but not before making them each promise to arrive at her apartment at eight o’clock, sharp. Only Andrew gets away with not having to do so.
Allison picks Neil up at seven forty five, and while she pointedly ignores him for the forty one seconds of the drive (Neil counts), her anger dissipates completely when Neil lays his head on her shoulder and whispers ‘I’m sorry.’
“I don’t like being defended,” Allison says quietly, barely audible over the Taylor Swift song she’s been playing on repeat. Neil has a terrible habit of forgetting every song he ever listens to, and he only knows it’s Taylor Swift because Allison loves Taylor Swift, and Neil memorizes everything that the people he loves love.
“I know you don’t,” Neil nods. Allison’s shoulder is bare and warm, and it smells like the expensive lotion she orders from Paris. “But I don’t like sitting back and watching people touch you.”
“I know you don’t,” Allison echos. She drums her fingernails onto the steering wheel. “Seth is always going to be Seth.”
“Okay.”
Neil thinks he understands. The rest of the drive passes in comfortable silence, and when Allison pulls into her parking space, the screeching of tires draws their attention to the corner of the lot, where Aaron, Nicky, Kevin, and Andrew slowly unfold themselves from a sleek black sports car. Much like Neil himself, they’re all dressed in sweatpants and dark hoodies. Aaron is even wearing a pair of fluorescent orange slippers.
“Would it kill you to drive like a normal person?” Kevin groans, placing a dramatic hand on the small of his back as he strides for the building's entrance.
“Lots of things would kill Andrew,” Aaron mutters.
“Smiling. Eating a vegetable. Drinking coffee without nine sugars,” Nicky lists on his fingers.
“Waking up before noon on a Saturday,” Kevin continues.
“A well placed knife,” Neil adds. Only Andrew looks amused at that one.
They file into the elevator all together, cramming themselves shoulder to shoulder in the small thing, and Neil notices how Andrew enters last, observes how his friends and brother and Allison, even, all seem to unconsciously take a step away from him, to allow only him a touch-free bubble.
When they get to the girls’ living room, Andrew sits down at the far end of the sectional. Inexplicably drawn to him, Neil sits down next to Andrew, careful to leave a few inches of space between them. Andrew shoots him a look, but doesn’t say anything. Allison arranges herself in the space next to Neil, and Renee sits beside her. The rest of the Foxes find spaces on the floor, forming a half-assed kind of circle around the coffee table.
“I know no one wants to talk about Seth,” Dan begins once everyone has sat down. “But, he’s going to be sitting out of practice until after the Belmont game.”
Nicky lets out a rather eager whoop, but no one else reacts to the information.
“Now that that’s over,” Dan grins, “I’ve got a list of questions I’ve been dying to ask Neil. Anyone else?”
“Is there going to be alcohol involved?” Kevin asks hopefully. Renee points towards the kitchen, and Kevin takes off, Matt hot on his heels. They come back with an armful of beers each, lining the cans up neatly on the coffee table. In sync, everyone lunges for one. Everyone except Neil.
“I don’t really drink,” Neil says.
Allison sighs pointedly. Neil knows what that means. Allison wants to showcase that Neil can drink, should drink, because this is a safe group of people. A group of people that, if Allison can trust, Neil can trust.
“I want the left side of the bed,” Neil mutters as he reaches for the last beer. “And breakfast in the morning.”
“Done,” Allison and Renee say in sync. Allison, because it’s her bed Neil will be sleeping in, and Renee because she will undeniably end up making the breakfast.
“That was easy,” Nicky says to Neil, amused. “Are you always this easy to convince?”
“Don’t make this sexual,” Aaron mutters into his beer.
“I’m not!” Nicky protests. “Really, Neil, I’m not.”
“I know,” Neil says, mostly to get rid of the horribly offended look on Nicky’s face.
"About things being sexual…” Dan trails off. She looks pointedly at Neil.
“Is there a question there?” Neil asks dryly. He takes a sip of his beer and hates it.
“You said you’re not gay. So, are you straight?” Dan asks.
“No,” Neil takes another sip.
“Oh,” Nicky nods. “Pansexual. Awesome.”
“Still no,” Neil gulps down three more swallows before Allison glares at him.
“So you’re asexual,” Nicky offers politely. “That’s totally fine with us. We’re just curious how you swing.”
“I don’t swing,” Neil resists the strange urge to glance at Andrew.
The room goes quiet.
“So… You’re a virgin?” Aaron asks eventually, clearly fighting back a laugh. Neil glares at him, but doesn’t bother denying it. It’s true, after all.
“No shame,” Matt lifts his beer to Neil in a phantom ‘cheers.’ “I was a virgin until I met Dan.”
“No, you weren’t,” Dan rolls her eyes.
“I was trying to make him feel better,” Matt hisses under his breath.
“I’m not ashamed,” Neil shrugs. “Like I said, I don’t really swing.”
“I think Neil is demisexual,” Allison offers, even though she knows better than anyone that Neil thinks putting labels on sexuality is a weird and useless phenomenon. “He only agreed to kiss me after we’d known each other for a year. I think he can only be attracted to people he really likes, really knows. Which is why he’s only ever been attracted to me.”
With that, the room breaks out in chaos. Kevin’s face cinches in undeniable confusion, Dan’s mouth drops wide open and Nicky begins cackling with laughter.
“I wasn’t attracted to you,” Neil huffs, remembering the way Allison’s mouth had tasted too sugary, her lipgloss grainy and fruity on Neil’s tongue. Her hands had been too soft on his cheeks, too gentle in his hair. But, Neil had been sixteen and curious.
"No,” Allison sighs, “You weren’t. Thank god. Can you imagine if we had sex?”
“Allison was your first kiss?” Renee asks gently, her smile soft. Neil nods. “That’s sweet.”
“I don’t believe this,” Dan mutters into her hands. "There’s no way.”
“You want us to prove it?” Allison taunts. She wraps a hand around the back of Neil’s neck, hauling his face closer to her own.
“No one wants that,” Andrew says, his eyes unreadable as they meet Neil’s own. Neil thinks they’re going to play their game, which is really just a staring contest, but Andrew quickly turns away.
The conversation turns somewhat normal after that, and Neil allows the Foxes to ask him all sorts of questions. They stick to basic things, like where he grew up, but even that question has a complicated answer, and Neil is content to let them assume that he lived in California his whole life. After a handful of questions, the team turns to different topics, and Neil rises from his seat under the pretense of getting some air. Only Allison looks at him skeptically, a silent reminder that if he runs back to his dorm Neil will never hear the end of it, but the urge to get up and move is irresistible, and Neil quickly finds himself sitting on the roof of the girls’ dorm. Neil had found the spot the first time he’d come to visit Allison at Palmetto, when he’d woken up from a nightmare feeling feverish and claustrophobic, craving fresh air. Turns out that most of Palmetto’s dorms have roof access.
For some reason, Neil isn’t all that surprised when Andrew emerges on the roof a few minutes later. He alerts Neil of his presence with a gentle scuff of his shoe against the concrete. It’s probably done intentionally, as to not startle Neil. Neil thinks this because he would’ve done the same exact thing.
“Want me to beg you not to jump?” Andrew asks as he approaches Neil’s position.
“No,” Neil huffs, a half-laugh. “I’ve already made up my mind.”
“Don’t do it,” Andrew drawls emotionlessly. “There’s still things to live for. Think of all the bad essays you could write.”
Neil hides his smile in the hood of his sweatshirt. One of Andrew’s hands disappears into his sweatpants pockets, quickly emerging with a pack of nicotine gum. He unwraps four sticks and shoves them unceremoniously into his mouth.
"Doesn’t that make your jaw hurt?” Neil wonders out loud. Andrew raises his eyebrows, wordlessly drawing Neil’s attention to all the ways that comment could be taken. Neil’s cheeks flush a bit, but he doesn’t allow himself to turn away from Andrew. Somehow, everything is an unspoken competition with them.
Neil blinks first, so he loses, but Andrew speaks next, so technically, he loses, too.
“You said English wasn’t your first language,” Andrew says, and Neil can’t tear his eyes away from the swipe of Andrew’s pale tongue against his lips.
“It isn’t,” Neil confirms.
“You love to make me spell things out, don’t you?” Andrew laughs, and it’s the first time Neil has ever seen him smile. Neil clutches the wall between his thighs a little tighter, grips at the concrete with his bare hands, certain that if he doesn’t, he’ll simply fall off of the roof.
“What’s your first language, Neil?”
“German,” Neil swallows. Andrew slowly stops smiling, and Neil’s heart rate slowly returns to normal.
“And I’m supposed to believe that you grew up in California?” Andrew asks, cocking his head to the side.
“No,” Neil says after a beat. “That’s a lie.”
Andrew hums, and turns his attention somewhere past Neil.
“Ask me where I grew up,” Neil says.
“Where?” It comes out more like a demand than an ask.
“I was born in Baltimore. But by the time I was ten, I was in foster care. In six years, I lived in six different foster homes in six different states. California was just the last,” Neil allows the information to rush out of him.
Andrew doesn’t bat an eye. Andrew is perpetually unwavering, Neil thinks, the kind of solid that you can throw yourself at time and time again and still not move an inch. The kind of solid you can rest your weight against.
“Okay,” Andrew nods eventually.
“Yeah?”
Andrew only shrugs his broad shoulders.
It remains quiet for so long that Neil seriously doubts Andrew is going to speak again.
“I was in twelve homes,” Andrew finally offers. “I have a bit of an anger problem, in case you haven’t heard.”
Neil takes a play from Andrew’s book by humming instead of answering. This time, he’s certain that there’s amusement in those brown eyes.
“Copying me, Josten?” Neil hums again, and Andrew runs a thumb over his lips in what Neil thinks (hopes) is his way of hiding a smile.
They sit in a comfortable silence until Neil’s eyes start to feel heavy. When Neil finally makes to leap off of the shallow wall, Andrew cups his elbow and guides him down gently instead. Andrew’s hand lingers on Neil’s arm, warm and heavy even through his sweatshirt, before slowly dropping back down to his side. When Neil walks past him, their knuckles brush, and instinctively, he knows it's only because Andrew allowed them to.