Chapter Text
The first time he heard the offer he wasn't at all interested. There were other things on his mind. Or rather, things that he didn't have at the time — the buzzing in his brain as a side effect of the meds had yet to take root. There were also other things he had to do upon leaving Oakland. Namely going to see Aaron. That worked out about as well as it could have. It didn't take long for him to make promises he was intent on keeping.
Until graduation, they agreed. He would be there, they would have each other. No one else. An even deal. Protecting each other and staying by each other's side. Isn't that what brothers are meant to do? Someone once told him that. Andrew of course never believed it. He doesn't get along with brothers well. For the best that he was given up as a baby in a way.
He's kept up his end. More than. Turned out that here, in the beginning at least, Aaron was the one in need of that deal. In need of protection. Silly boy couldn't hold his own.
Funny how time passes. He hardly noticed. Their deal is up soon and nothing is different. They'll be off to college soon. Untethered. This might be the first time Andrew is without a cage. Nothing keeping him in, nothing to protect him or others. Who's the threat? Could go either way. Just last night sitting across from each other at the table, after Nicky had already gone off to talk to Erik, Aaron eyed him. Searching for something, whatever it was wouldn't be there. The words were on the tip of his tongue though, he wanted to ask. He wanted more.
The second time he hears the offer, Andrew considers it. A new cage, a new prison. Cages keep ravens in. The kingdom will fall if the ravens leave. Kevin didn't say as much, but he can read between the lines. A formal contract wouldn't be given until he reaches Edgar Allan, if he accepts. Lucky Andrew came out early from practice for a cigarette to stave off the settling withdrawal before his next dose. His twin shadow doesn't have to be here for this. He wouldn't do anything, he wouldn't say a fucking word, but keeping his mouth shut has always been easier for him. Quiet Aaron, quiet.
"So, will you come?" Andrew stares blankly back at him. "You'd be the best goalie the Ravens have ever seen. We would be unstoppable, though you've already seen our track record."
Talk of the court does him no favors in getting him to agree. Still, "Enough about exy. I will think."
He turns toward the car, staunchly ignoring the protests coming from behind him. There's five minutes, perhaps ten, before Aaron will be out. Enough time to get into the car and mull it over. What this would mean for him… it's a good option. The reasons don't matter, no one will understand and he won't make them try. If Nicky presses, a simple all my clothes are already black so it's an easy choice, will suffice. Aaron lost his chance to ask for a new promise, he won't be asking anything at all now.
Two days later they play their last game of high school Exy, he couldn't tell you the score. Four days later Andrew sends a text in the middle of the night, to avoid dealing with it until the next day, wanting to send it while he's sober too. That same night he receives a near immediate reply followed by a plane ticket confirmation. Six days later he obliges Nicky in having what he calls family bonding night, not daring to say it will be the last until they are all half asleep.
Seven days later, he's squeezing two small identical beads from a broken necklace into the palm of his hand as he waits for the plane to take off. Before any symptoms can hit him he shakes a pill out of the bottle. Will it make it better or worse while he's in the air? Better or worse when he lands? Entertaining at least.
Kevin makes no indication of if he will be picking him up from the airport or not. He's not left waiting for the answer. A sleek black car is waiting out in front of baggage claim and he gets out to greet him. "You made it."
"Astute observation. Are all of you this simple?"
He lugs the two bags he stuffed with the essentials only into the back of the car. Taking in the new state. One he's never lived in before. He was mostly relegated to California, only made more formal by his stint in juvie after the foster homes. Then South Carolina, until now. So far he's unimpressed. Kevin doesn't seem to notice the lack of interest in whatever it is he's saying. Exy has always been a means to an end for him. Something to keep his mind busy, even if it loses him more often than it keeps him.
The drive to Edgar Allan isn't long but it feels it. He hates being in the passenger seat. It's been too long since he's been behind the wheel. Even just being in a car on his meds makes everything fuzzy. The world whooshes and whirls by. He can't focus on anything. Except for looking at the inked number two on the peak of Kevin's cheek bone. He can almost see how the ink seeps into his skin. Bleeds away from the intentional lines.
He digs his phone out, ignoring the sound of a thumb tapping on the steering wheel. He shoots a quick text to Aaron and Nicky made it, before shoving his phone in his bag to trade it for the bottle of pills again.
"What are those?"
He quirks his brow but doesn't respond.
"You won't be able to keep them." Kevin adds in his silence.
"Court mandated."
A slight hum comes from the driver's seat. He can't decipher it. His absurd medication is no secret. It's in some file that every school and team in the country would have access to. He hates them anyhow. The way they scramble his brain so much that he can't sort through any of the real thoughts from the random bits of knowledge he never needed to retain, or the way he finds everything funny or the way he crashes down hard. The doctor who set this prescription up should have their medical degree revoked. Absently he wonders if they even have a real one. Or if this was a shot in the dark to tame the violent monster everyone sees him as.
"Give them to the nurse when we arrive then. He'll handle it." He offers absolutely no faith in this system.
If he gets off them to play here, if they can work that out then great. Pity for the fool that argues he isn't a dangerous man that needs to be subdued into excessive joy. Everything he knows about the Ravens tells him they would have no problem with violence. Worst case they keep him on the bench. A shame! He might just perish if he doesn't play. What would he do then? Finally escape the claws of this fucking game? Really terrible, that option.
Apparently the walking Exy stick driving the car has been talking the entire drive, save for a handful of brief silences. Andrew thinks. He wasn't paying attention regardless. Focusing on keeping his stomach at bay, fading in and out of consciousness as a new, and possibly extra, dose settles in his system. Every other word out of his mouth could be directly tied to exy, the rest are filler. Once they're off the highway his head stops spinning as much.
Kevin parks and turns to face him. Still unreadable and he hates it. Not being able to tell what else he's thinking. What he's hiding? Surely there is something. Everyone has secrets. Who is privy to Kevin's? How does he make it himself? The number tells Andrew that he already knows the answer to that. Though he would love to be proven wrong. He already doesn't trust Riko. The self proclaimed best exy player. The sport is ridiculous, why would anyone want to be the best at it?
"Put those away too." He gives no context.
Doing all of the work on his own Andrew traces his eye line down to his arm bands. "No."
"Your loss then. They'll take them too." He says dryly reaching for the door handle.
Openness and vulnerability are not words that he understands. Much less with how they bounce around in his brain now. Letting people in, letting people see, letting himself be seen as weak. Comical. He huffs a laugh. Andrew takes them off only to shower and sleep. Never in front of anyone. Hasn't since he got them. Some people didn't like the look of his scars underneath. Some people would form idiotic opinions based on them. Better to keep that away from wandering eyes. Wouldn't want to be put on suicide watch with no privacy. Still, his brain fills with static and he can almost feel the blade piercing his skin.
Searching his eyes for any sign that he isn't serious is useless. For now, he slides them off. Looking away from whatever shock lands on Kevin's face. He's not responsible for the reaction. As gentle as he can he slots the bands and the knives that accompany them into the bag at his feet. This gets an approving hum, stilted by the uncomfort that's palpable.
"Lead the way second place." He mocks slinging his bag over his shoulder.
"This is the main entrance, there is another that leads directly into the stadium. Today you'll get settled and set up in the Nest. You'll be expected at practice in the morning." Kevin rattles off more information that goes in one ear and out the other. Something about hours and meals and pairs. Nonsense that evokes a laugh in his chest. When Kevin tenses, he closes his eyes to force his ears to focus and find the cracks. "Riko will meet us at your room."
Walking in is not at all what he expected. The moment the door closes any light is gone. Not a single ray of sun penetrates the walls of this fortress. They walk down one set of stairs and then another and another. Three floors down, opens into a long hallway. Two, if you're counting either direction. The walls are black with slight touches of red here and there. Perhaps he should dye his hair black to camouflage.
There is next to nothing for him to take stock of as they walk down the more black than red of the two directions from the stairs. Doors on either side, some open revealing rooms that could in some way be classified as dorm rooms. They live here. They live in next to total darkness. At least Kevin has an excuse for how pale and somber he is.
The room they stop in front of, has the door ajar already. The lightest touch pushes it open. A tall figure sits on one of the two beds, he has darker hair than Kevin and skin even paler. He's hunched over himself barely registering that anyone has walked through the door. Faintly, Kevin taps on the desk one, two, three times. The other boy looks up. Eyes glossed over, gauze revealed on one side of his neck while the other side is bruised. A small number three under his eye. Jean.
"Jean." He calls out hoping for more of a reaction this time. When he gets nothing, Kevin slips into what sounds like French, widening Jean's eyes. Back with English, "This is Andrew. Help him get settled in while I go get…"
He trails off for an unknown reason. This is decidedly not amusing. No amount of medication induced mania could pull a laugh out of him over this scene. Not until he understands better. Either the dose hasn't kicked in or his instincts are taking over. He crosses to where his bed sits and drops his bag on top. Jean makes no movement.
"Put everything away." He whispers.
"Neat freak?"
"Just do it. I will not suffer for you over something so simple." Ah so the french man likes to speak in riddle.
Whatever. He slides what he can under his bed and stuffs the rest in a drawer. Any proper organization can wait. If he does it now he would never be able to find anything. The medicated brain has no organizational skills. Not with thoughts or with space. Definitely not with time. Jean keeps his eyes on him, but his stare is blank. Andrew returns the same one.
As they wait he appraises. Studies. Cataloging the injuries on his roommate, instantly knowing that something is off. There is practice today, so sports related injuries are not out of the question, but he can never be too sure. His eyes never leave him, but they never fall on his bare arms. What he's always been afraid people wouldn't be able to see past, Jean seems to look right through.
He can't help the way his own eyes trace them. It's been years since he properly looked himself. Avoiding his arms in the shower and keeping his eyes closed at night. Most of the lines are faint. There's too many to keep them invisible, but he's well past thinking that is possible. The minutes tick by as he waits. Tick tock, one scar two scar, tick tock, ten scar twenty scar.
"They will be here soon." Jean announces.
"Who would that be?"
"The king. You'll go see the master too." Nonsense comes out of his mouth, so he waits.
He's right about one thing, it takes thirty seconds for two figures to appear. The rest of the set. All of the numbered idiots are in front of him and it has him questioning every choice he's made to lead him here.
"Andrew Minyard. Welcome to the Nest." Riko smiles with too many teeth showing.
"Riko."
Disapprovingly he tuts and turns his attention. "Hmmm, Jean?"
"He's just arrived, let—" Kevin tries to interrupt but is ignored and his mouth snaps shut.
Alarm bells go off in his head. Not uncommon, but louder than the meds. Brighter than he knows what to do with. To figure out later. Without a bigger audience perhaps Jean will have more to say. Or he can find a corner out of sight to have time to sort through his thoughts alone. For now he keeps his fists clenched and wishes he could slip his arm bands on before he's beckoned to follow Riko out of the room.
"The master is waiting. Once your contract is signed we will welcome you to the team. Kevin said you have something to see the nurse about, we can stop on our way to the tower."
He spares a glance to Kevin for any bit of information, he is only looking at Riko. Body stiff and waiting. Curious. The thought to say something about it or remember it for later is already gone before he can catch it. On the other hand, when he looks across the room Jean's eyes are locked on him. Not moving an inch. Breathing is not a given either.
"Come." He directs, and rather than find out why Jean has bandages littering more than just his neck, Andrew digs the pill bottle out of his bag and shuffles toward the door.
The four of them walk through the halls and pass not a single other person. The Ravens are a large team, as far as he knows. He thinks it might be lunch time and there is likely a dining hall somewhere. It's hard to know exactly. The walk to the offices is long, up one flight of stairs and in the direction of the stadium. He thinks.
Andrew's memory is impeccable, though he has not been through these halls before. He's going off of approximations of the cardinal directions though even that is impossible without seeing the outside world. Even with the meds in his system he begins tracking every step they take to ensure he never forgets any of it. In a place as dark as this he can't end up with any unknown corners where anyone could be waiting.
The door they stop in front of reads Nurse Smalls, Riko walks right in. He follows because he is the one that needed to stop by. He's hesitant when it comes to any new people, but especially medical professionals. And adults. And men. The man in front of him checks all of those boxes.
"Riko. Mr. Minyard, welcome. What can I do?"
Silently he lifts the little orange bottle up. Distinctly aware that this is the most vivid color visible anywhere that he has been so far.
"Ah, I can keep those for you here."
"I have frequent doses. Keeping it would be easier."
Smalls shakes his head and spares a glance at Riko. "All medication remains here. Edgar Allan rules."
Reluctantly he hands it over. There are hours before it will fade out and the withdrawal sets in. Enough time to figure out getting back here after whatever meeting they are going to next. Kevin said he wouldn't be required at practice, so that gives him extra time. A problem for later. The shock comes when his outstretched arm gets no glance from the nurse. Something that has never happened. Today is full of firsts.
As they turn and leave the office, he watches the bottle slip into a cabinet that promptly is locked. The pills are ridiculous, make his brain fuzzy and jumbled. His reprieve from it every night is the one thing he looks forward to. Not sobriety, but an in between of the mania and something else. Two more years of it to get through. Seemingly monitored by this new nurse instead of his own hand. Hmm, he hates that too.
They continue down a new hallway that he has yet to see. If he's picturing it correctly it's continuing toward the stadium. But that could mean nothing and he could be making that up. Nothing is clear. Andrew can barely even see. Not unlike juvie. More black rather than a sterile white. He could acclimate. He's done it before.
His feet stumble over something. Not enough to fall. There's a small shuffling sound seconds later and he turns to find Jean under foot. Jean Jean Jean. An interesting one, he is. Always right there but quiet as can be. Lurking in the shadows. Good or bad? Which will you be Jean? How will it be found out? Andrew let's his name bounce through his mind on a loop. Jean Jean Jean. Jean's like a fawn. Jean Jean Jean.
Andrew looks up just in time again to see an elevator in front of them. Also black. Riko walks in first and turns in place, standing in the front making no room for the rest of them without awkwardly shifting around him. Kevin steps in, directly next to him. There's no choice but for Jean to slide around them to fall in behind. This feels like nonsense. It's an elevator, they could get on like normal people and make space for him. As best he can he slides around Kevin without so much as brushing his bare arms against him, questioning the act all at the same time.
There is no explanation, no talking, just an eerie quiet. Luckily his medication fills that emptiness with ease. Random facts, trains of thought that run so far off track. For the briefest moment he wonders about Aaron. Home with dear Nicky waiting for their summer practices to start too. On a court far from here that he will never see. A different district, a different world. Separate once again. Hardly twins for two years. Worth it at least, it was necessary.
"The master will speak with you, you will sign your contract, then we will go out to the court to watch the remainder of afternoon practice." Riko sounds idiotic as he speaks.
"The master?" He snorts a laugh. Master, servant, master's degree, master a skill. Master master master. "What is this a children's villain?"
He's used to things that go bump in the night, he's always watching for shadows. Just as he anticipates somehow, Jean darts a hand out toward him but he side steps. A warning glare in his direction to not try that again.
"The master is coach." The french boy murmurs, not phased by the flinch. This only makes it more amusing.
"You will address him as such. Go on now. Jean, wait here with us." This direction from Riko is followed with him stepping back, obeying, but shifting his weight between his feet unsettled.
He doesn't. Call Tetsuji the master. It sounds ridiculous enough in his head, he will not be saying that out loud. Instead he stares straight ahead bored through the entire meeting. If that bothers him, nothing is said. Perhaps Riko just wanted to see what he would do, but that would do little to explain Jean's uneasiness. Everything is simple and uninteresting.
Going over what playing exy here means for his future doesn't keep his attention at all as it must for all other players. Andrew has no dreams of going pro. He's not even sure what a future looks like for him. This just seemed like the most entertaining option at the time when Kevin asked again. That might have been the medication speaking, but so far it's something. Entertaining might be the right word, interesting for sure. Unique.
Many things are unique about the Ravens. They follow sixteen hour days for one. All this means for Andrew is that when he takes his medication will need to be adjusted. He's not one to get all that much sleep except for in the crash that follows everything exiting his system. Easy enough. Next.
They have pairs. A replacement for the twin he barely had. They aren't meant to go anywhere alone including classes once school starts. What would Aaron think of that? Did he give them the idea when they made their deal in high school? Oh, but Ravens also don't have contact with their families, a fine print catch that he isn't sure what to do with. Luckily Aaron let him go, he's missing nothing, he knows how to not have a family. Fine.
More and more nonsense about exy is rattled off before he is passed papers. Sign here to sign your life over to a glorified Disney villain, you will get fame and money from this sport if you do. He chuckles at the neon flashing sign in his mind. Grabs the pen and signs. He is a Raven now.
The five of them take a different path down to the court. He commits this one to memory too, even if he doubts he will be back in this tower frequently. When they get down, Kevin drags Jean along side him behind Coach Moriyama. Leaving him with Riko who sizes him up. Andrew is well aware of his height, usually seen as a disadvantage. He doesn't feel that. It never has been for him, he's stronger than some guys a foot taller than him. Besides, he plays in goal and lets few balls in on a bad day.
"Come." He turns down a different hall, leading to a locker room and handing him a blank jersey. "You'll wear this for now. Until I make a decision."
Curiosity bubbles to the surface. As much as he wants to ignore it so as not to indulge him, he hates having blind spots. "Decide…" He goes with half question half statement instead.
"Kevin seems to have an interest in you. Went back to try to recruit you a second time. Thinks we should have a goalie in the perfect court." He turns to face him just enough that his little line of a tattoo is in clear view. "I'm not too sure. I'm holding out for my other backliner to find his way back to the Nest."
"I have no interest in a tattoo." He bites his tongue on all of the jokes he would like to make over this childish game Riko has made.
"You'll change your mind. Everyone wants one." His smirk is nauseating.
𓅂
He doesn't change his mind about that. Andrew does however change his mind about handing over his fucking medication to the nurse that is no where to be found. He's not totally sure what time it is, real world or Evermore, but the nausea is hitting him at full force. Another dose should have been given to him at the meal after practice. Nothing was, and he was dismissed to his room until night practice. Another one he will be sitting out of, but watching this time rather than talking to Riko on the side.
Sitting on the not very comfortable bed will take getting used to. More than that, he's hesitant of Jean. He's sitting on his bed going in and out of consciousness. Hasn't said more than a few words all day. Without fail though, every time Andrew moves even slightly he is alert and ready to jump up in motion.
"What is wrong with you?" He quietly asks now with a touch of annoyance laced through his words.
"Sick." Andrew focuses on a small mark, nothing more than a scuff, on the wall opposite him.
It does nothing to alleviate the effects of withdrawal. Mentally he tracks back the hours trying to figure out how long he has until it's bad. Worse. It comes in waves. First was the crash which he started to feel in the dining hall. Fully hitting him the moment they reached the room. Jean didn't seem to notice that one, equally exhausted perhaps. As he crashes the world simultaneously comes back into more clarity, so it's not all that bad. The second, now, is the debilitating nausea. It will last either until he downs the next doses or an hour — whichever comes first. Then it's about getting a fix. Medication, whiskey, cigarettes, anything to fill the space. Rinse and repeat.
He comes off the meds on rare occasion and only with supervision of Nicky or Aaron. If he wants to space them out differently to have a few lucid sober hours awake. Andrew's not sure how abruptly stopping his doses will work. Unless the nurse is just getting him adjusted to the sixteen hour days — another thing he doesn't get, but Jean seems to be accustomed enough to be a guide.
That should be the whole conversation, Jean should leave him be if he's not going to get the nurse. Instead, "if you will throw up do it before practice."
What does it matter when he's not stepping on the court tonight? He is no use to them like this and he doesn't care to push himself to get out there. If the nausea is gone by morning practice, he will follow the other goalkeepers on the court like he always has. Enough to make believe he plays exy. Enough to make believe that any of this matters. Enough that it's mildly entertaining. He's a freshman anyway, there are older Ravens to play instead of him.
His legs fold up and he presses his head between his knees. Uneasy as he tries to relax into it, ignoring the prying eyes. Privacy is something Evermore lacks. Kevin had told him to ditch the arm bands, he has yet to be alone for even five seconds, it's all very strange. It's not juvie though, he wouldn't choose to go back there. This may be a cage but it's a cage with a door. However heavy and locked and guarded.
"You will be okay to play in the morning." Not a question.
"Depends."
"No, you will be."
Andrew leans on the right side of his face to look at him sideways. As clear as the world was as the medication faded from his system, he only sees a blur now. "You care because…"
He waits for him to fill in the blank, but it's none of the expected shit he hears from Aaron or Nicky. "You are my pair. Your success is my success, your failure is my failure."
"That's bullshit." Fucking hell this guy is either insane or brainwashed. On his meds he would be laughing, now the nausea hits in another wave.
"No." It's the loudest his voice has been all day. Then, "They will demand contrition, the Master on the court and the king off."
"That's fucked up." He aches for the medication to find the humor in this.
"We are in this together." His significantly taller frame adjusts to mirror how he is sitting before he whispers a barely audible, "you should not have signed if you had a choice."
So quiet that he could have misheard, but he knows he didn't.
Night one is not the time to test this, he decides. For better or worse he will follow Jean to the court and watch the rest of the Ravens traipse up and down the court in a ridiculous manner, or not watch ideally. On the way he feels the final wave of nausea hit and he can't do anything but keep moving. One split second leaning over a trash can with Jean right at his side like a shadow, and then he has to keep moving.
Everyone changes out in the locker room, no privacy still. He tries to not look anywhere but at the floor in front of him. Even like this he gets glimpses of legs walking by bruised and scraped. Purple and yellow and green flashes over skin. Almost no one is without bandages or bruises. The Ravens play rough, seems they do within their own team too. Even better yet that he will be sequestered in his goal.
The court lights make it unrecognizable of what time it is. Everyone files out and lines up for drills. Led by Riko tonight it seems. He finds a spot on the bench and zones out. Andrew knows how to defend a goal. A new team, new jersey, new court makes no difference. He wouldn't care if it did. This is all child's play. A means to an end, a ride through college that he can pretend will give him a future. Keep his people safe from him.
An hour into practice a racquet stomps down in front of him. "Pay attention."
"Trying to prove I was worth your investment? I'm not even on the court." He mocks while his nails drag up and down his far too visible scars.
"Don't you care at all?" Kevin frowns.
Andrew shrugs. Poor kid thinks the world revolves around exy. His might, but the rest of it doesn't. He's still trying to push through the withdrawal, that's something that matters. Or should. The last phase of it, cravings, is the last he knows. What comes after if he still doesn't get the next dose?
"Start caring when you get on the court tomorrow. Watch the goalies tonight, start learning now."
His bored stare is taken as a confirmation. He'll think about it. If only he could get a cigarette right now. That would make it easier to think. Not about exy, he rarely thinks about exy. Against his will he sits on the bench for the entirety of practice. Nothing seems all that interesting, drills and more drills. Could be the same ones everyone was always doing on his last team, he never participated. A goalie only has to defend the goal. Easiest position, yet most goalies he has seen are mediocre at it at best.
There's predictability in all of it. Monotonous almost. The strikers are passing and aiming at the goal or at cones, following every movement Tweedledee and Tweedledum make. The defense runs through their own drills on the other end of the court. His eyes catch on Jean against his will. He's alright. Doing everything he's supposed to and seems to have every drill down to a science. Good, that means he will not cause Andrew trouble if what he's said about being partners is true.
He does not want to be responsible for anyone. No one should be responsible for him either. This, whether in his contract or not, is not a deal he's made. In his mind he is not bound to anyone, Andrew has no outstanding deals. He is his own person by choice. Distance between himself and everyone he cares about. His own promise to himself to not hurt them.
And then Jean stumbles. An equally tall, or no, a bit taller and definitely stockier guy, comes up and roughly grabs his shoulder pulling him to stand up on his feet. His vision hasn't cleared much with nothing to settle the withdrawal, he can't make out the number on the jersey or the name. He's not met all of the Ravens and there are so many that he doesn't care to, he hasn't memorized their lineup either. But still, he watches the interaction to see how much truth there is in what he's been told.
Words are exchanged far from his ear shot. Then a mouth pressed to Jean's ear that bring tension to his shoulders. Flashes of rough hands and daunting words flood his mind. Come one, you want, this will be fun. He's never needed a drink or a smoke more. Andrew blinks harshly to expel those images from his mind. If only his memory would fail him for once in his life.
This isn't his to deal with now. It may be nothing. Just upperclassmen pushing around the kids of the team to keep them in line. It's always a cycle no matter where he has been or where he has played. He would have to care about exy for it to effect him personally though.
His focus, more so his line of sight, shifts to the goal. Battered and hunched over, all three other goalies look about ready to throw up. The same as he did on his way here. He didn't watch them at all during practice like Kevin suggested, simply because he asked him to and he's not in the business of listening to silly requests. They could be inadequate to begin with so a little practice wipes them out. Unlikely, but a fickle hope.
"Everyone to the locker room, now." Riko calls out and everyone falls in line.
He stays on the bench. Watches them file in through the doors they entered through. Those trailing behind already looking worse for wear. Rough play, violence on the court. Nothing he's not accustomed to and will fall in easily with tomorrow. Might even be refreshing to not be told off for laying his hands on another player. What will the judge say when they see where he's ended up? What will the Ravens do about that? What power does the master have over the law?
The end of the line of players has Jean darting his eyes around. Waiting for him, it seems. He says nothing. Just looks and looks and looks. Staring. Andrew raises one brow, challenging him to walk away without him in tow. Pushing the boundaries of their so called pair. There are enough Ravens around that he can buddy up with one of them.
Leave Andrew a solitary crow in a nest of ravens.
Then: "Moreau! Handle that before I do."
That being him. Riko is predictable already. Over powering, overcompensating perhaps. He tests it, stays put. Takes him time thinking over his next move. Pushing the limits that Riko has set just to see how far they go. How much the rules can bend.
He doesn't get to push very far, Jean jogs in his directly within ten seconds. Mouth giving away his mumblings and probably curses. Regretting what's brought him to have Andrew tied to him. Unwilling to cut his losses.
"Get up."
"More fun to sit here."
"What do you care about fun? You do not want to anger the king." Jean says with more bite than he thought the baguette had.
He bites back a laugh, a laugh that is not mania induced. Weighs his options of following like he should and staying put. But the word catches in his brain. The king. Self proclaimed of course. Surely not Andrew's king. It looks as though Jean will crawl out of his own skin if he doesn't do something, so he stands.
Pausing before walking to retort, "Oh no precious idiot number one will have to cry to his uncle that I didn't listen. Or should he be idiot number two, since following him as Kevin does can only imply that he is the stupider of the pair?"
"Do not say that." Jean defends, which remark is unclear.
He waves it off, over the conversation entirely. Itching to get away from the court despite having nothing waiting for him down in their room to distract him. Inside the locker room everyone is standing around waiting expectantly. There a few faces that look confused. Other newcomers perhaps. Though Andrew was the only one to sit out of practices today, a touch of special treatment that he can't understand. On top of being placed with a player who has a ridiculous tattoo rather than a commoner.
The only bit of information he retains from this is that their next practice is in four hours. He will be expected to change out and participate. Nothing else pertains to him, he tunes it out. A few unfortunate players are asked to stay back by Riko, the rest file back down the stairs. Most side by side with their pair. Something Andrew will not initiate, if Jean wants to walk with him he can find him.
Kevin finds him instead, matching his walking pace without explanation. The backliner from earlier is next to Jean hurrying him along. It seems to be more a buddy system than a true partnership by the looks of this. He files that away in his more clear brain now. Once at his room he's lost sight of anyone else other than the tall idiot to his left.
"Swapping roommates?"
"No, just filling in while he's away." Kevin provides absolutely no details. "Get some sleep, it will be an adjustment for you to get used to the days here."
"Why sixteen hours?"
"More practice time."
His eyes roll as he crosses the room to his partially still packed bag and digs out a change of clothes and his arm bands. The latter he slips on first and his chest untightens. Relief washes over no longer seeing his scars flashing in front of him. Like drawing a curtain on the wort parts of his mind. Kevin sits on the edge of Jean's bed, awkwardly and out of place, but he makes no comment on his accessories this time.
"This place is fucking weird." He says, mostly just to get a reaction.
His voice is level in a way that no one else he's heard talk here is. "It is home. You will get used to it."
𓅂
Bullshit. He doesn't get used to it. At least not overnight. One sleep here changes nothing and he's exhausted when he wakes. He gets very little sleep, due to the withdrawal or due to only having a four hour break. Though he knows he gets some because he misses when Jean comes in and replaces Kevin. Waking up and seeing his roommate does not ease him at all. It would be better to see no one.
"Five minutes," Jean warns him before turning away and adjusting a new bandage where one also was yesterday on his neck.
He's groggy, more so than usual. It's been at least twice as long as it should be between doses. There's no telling what his body will do. He should stop by the nurse and see. He would really rather not have the judge find out and throw him in jail. Quickly he gets dressed knowing he will just change into gear soon too. He slips his arm bands back into the bottom of his bag and zips it shut.
"Meds." He cocks his head toward the door, letting Jean know he's leaving with or without him.
"You will not get approved to take any."
"Court mandated."
"Does not matter. The master will deal with that." He wants to press, but resigns for now. He's too tired for a fight, too antsy, nails already coming up and scratching lightly across his bare arms. Later. After practice.
A mistake clearly. Practices on his meds have never been enjoyable. Practices in general aren't, but usually he can find something amusing. Blocking every shot used to be marginally entertaining. Laughing at the failed attempts. It wasn't something he had to work for, it was simple. A matter of tracing patterns of players and knowing exactly where they would aim. Getting there after it would be too late to change course but always before the ball.
Today's practice goes a little like this:
Andrew is directed to the goal immediately while the other goalies are sent to the other end of the court. He's told to block every shot. A warning against letting a single one in. He tests this because the incentive to put in the work is minimal. The first few strikers to take aim either go easy on him or they aren't skilled enough to do any fancy shots. He blocks those.
Then Kevin steps up, notably shooting left handed and is one of the only strikers to have the opposite dominant hand. He blocks one, lets the next in, and lets every other one in after that. Not even trying. This earns him an exasperated look from him, now that is funny. He's scored goal after goal and yet he's annoyed with him. How quaint.
"Put the racquet down now." Riko calls out, ideally swapping him for another goalie that will likely care more. "Block every shot now."
The second his racquet hits the ground balls fly toward the goal from every angle. Too many at once to block, let alone block with just his body. They hit him with precision. One to the shoulder and before he can steady himself from the blow another hits his stomach and he lurches but stays upright. Each striker continues, except for the one pair standing to the side. Watching.
"Stop," he steps forward now assessing the scattered balls on the ground that admittedly did not light the goal up behind him. Unintentionally Andrew did as he was asked. "My turn."
He sets up and raises his racquet and the ball lands just to the left of him. Where he was just standing, but he moved. Not enough force in the swing to hit the goal and too little forethought from Riko to actually hit him. He smirks, having won this one.
"Looks like you couldn't make it. I even moved out of the way for you." He mocks.
Hit after hit comes next. He doesn't see how Riko gets the balls into his racquet so quickly. No one else is shooting. With insane precision each time and more speed than the average striker has. They hit the same spot each time and Andrew is left without any time to move as he tries to recover and stay on his feet. A bruise already blooming under his gear is pressed over and over again. Five, ten, twenty, likely more. He's lost count.
Practice turns into a blur. Standing up straight is his only focus now. His racquet could be anywhere, it might still be at his feet. If he can lift it up after this he will smash it down on Riko's dominant arm. But he never gets the chance. His vision goes at some point. His head spins and control is lost, leaving him only with the thrum of his own heart in his chest and his head. Beating and beating and beating.
He stumbles through a scrimmage in goal. Unsure how many shots he blocks and how many he lets in. Just wanting to get off the court. Feeling another wave of nausea coming on that could be for any number of reasons this time. He'll save it for later at least, knowing now that it wouldn't get him any pity or even let him move to the bench and swap out with someone else.
The team gathers on the court to debrief the game as he struggles to keep his eyes open and his feet under him. He does, just barely. Needing to keep some semblance of control, needing to keep himself present. He'll collapse in the dorm after. In the span of a blink a body steps up right next to him. Close enough that he could almost brush against his shoulder, but he leans away from it. Jean. The entire practice he's not sure that he saw him once, yet here he is now. Surprisingly it keeps him alert and on his two feet more than a moment ago.
Everything said goes in one ear and out the other. Passes over his head. Whatever it is, he retains none of it. More of the same will be said tonight and tomorrow and at every practice after that. It's a game, there's not much variety in the feedback anyone could give on performance.
Breakfast is after this, but he isn't hungry. As they walk toward the locker room he uses Jean's need to be close to his advantage. "I'm going to sleep after this."
He nods, agreeing to skip the meal. Or bring it back for them. No argument is good at least. Maybe he will simply go off on his own again like he did last night. He wouldn't mind time alone. He changes out and steps under a shower head quickly rinsing off. Ignoring everyone else around him doing the same thing. Avoiding looking down at his own body not needing to see the marks beginning to deepen in color.
He slips his clothes back on and shakes his hair dry with a towel. Half of the team has already cleared out. Jean is waiting by his locker for him, "We have a stop before you can sleep."
A raised brow in his direction isn't enough to get an answer out of him. Food most likely. Except there is something in his voice that gives him pause. A heaviness, a warning. Fear. He can't have that, he hates it. If they are going to be together constantly he doesn't want to be looking over Jean's shoulder on top of his own. Waiting to find out what lurks around the corners that he is so scared of.
"For," he prompts on their way down the black hallway.
"The king—"
Immediately he's clenching his fist. "Call him by his name or nothing."
Under his breath he says something in French and then, "Fine, Riko asked for us."
His fists do not loosen the rest of the walk. Jean says nothing else but leads them to the end of the hall past their room. He taps lightly on the door three times and the door is opened for him. A grim expression on Kevin's face greets them. He almost suspected that those two would get separate rooms. Riko at the very least, finding a reason to be exempt from their pair system. Getting more privacy than most. But perhaps they have simply opted to share for the fun college experience or whatever.
"Sit, Minyard."
The demand on its own only makes him want to ignore it more. He's never wanted to blindly obey. When he has, it has never gone well for him. He's barely staying standing as it is though, so he listens. Focusing entirely on not stumbling over his feet right now between the withdrawal and exhaustion keeps his mind present at least. No flashes of the past that would typically haunt him when spoken to like this even attempt to resurface. He's safe from that at least.
Jean nudges him forward and he flinches at the contact. It distracts him long enough that he doesn't see the racquet coming. Half a step from the bed and he's hit in the stomach and he topples. Landing more laying down than sitting and with specks littering his vision. A strangled noise is caught in his throat but dies when he realizes that no one else is making a sound. He can't be the one to break that silence.
"You're already proving to be a problem. But Kevin here thinks you are worth the effort. Let's see what it takes." Riko muses.
What comes next happens without him entirely present. Only faintly aware that anything is happening at all. Only faintly aware that he's even alive and breathing. Another hit with the racquet he thinks. Hands touching him far too much. Maneuvering his weak body, pads of thumbs that are not his tracing over his scars. He thrashes, he thinks. Any punches he tries to throw are thwarted attempts and in the end he just stops. Everything fades out, there's nothing he can do.
A new wave of pain washes over him. His stomach, his chest, his hands, his shoulders. It's easier if his eyes are closed. If he can't stop it then he doesn't want to see it happen. Mentally he braces for what could come. What has always come when he ends up like this. His mind trained for this for years, but this ends up different.
It's no more than ten minutes before he blacks out entirely.
Andrew wakes up again entirely unaware of his surroundings. His eyes are still closed taking more time and effort to peel open. It gives him the time to realize that there are still hands on his chest. One cupping his shoulder and one holding down his body. He doesn't want to see, instead he tries breaking away. This time it works, he's not held down he's not restrained, he has more control of his body.
He uses his feet to kick the person off of him and hears the crash across the room where they land. With space between him and them he opens his eyes and regains his bearings. His room. This is his dorm. His bag is on the floor next to him. When he looks up and at the figure slumped against the door, farther than he realized his legs would kick him, is Jean. Staring up at him startled.
"Don't touch me." He seethes as his hands smooth down his arms over the scars that he knows and finding new rawness at his wrists. His chest heaves catching up in the breathing that he's missed in the time he's been out.
"You should have stayed still. I was almost done."
"Do. Not. Touch. Me." He repeats, hating to have to repeat such a simple thing.
Jean stays where he is across the room, curled in on himself more than he has ever seen. Afraid. Rather than continue looking at the broken bird in front of him, he looks down at himself. His torso is more purple than not. A gash on his shoulder that is half-stitched back together a small thread hanging where he left off.
"Let me finish." He warily stands up to cross the room.
He considers it. It's not as if he ever taught himself any part of tending to injuries. Anything self inflicted only needed to be covered, any marks left behind otherwise only needed to be covered. He swallows thickly, closing his eyes and finding a steady pace to breathe with. A tune in his mind. A soft beat that can serve as a distraction.
Andrew fills his lungs, feeling the sharpness under the bruises and exhales his answer. "Ask first, always."
"Okay. Can I?" Jean takes easily to this, points in his favor even if only clawing back from the negatives he put himself in by invading his space.
"Yes." He holds his breath the entire time.