Chapter Text
The buzzer sounds. The stadium erupts. For one perfect second, Kevin can’t hear anything except the rush of blood in his ears.
Then everything comes crashing back down - the roar of the crowd, the goal in front of him still lit up a bright red, the foxes flooding forward in a blur of orange and white.
Neil reaches him first, slamming into his side with a breathless grin, all flushed cheeks and adrenaline. “Nice shot,” he says, casually, like Kevin hadn’t just scored the winning point with four seconds left on the clock.
Kevin laughs. He feels giddy, the excitement of a tough win amplified by Neil’s smile.
Andrew reaches them a second later. He doesn’t throw himself into celebrations like the others do, doesn’t yell or shove or jump around, but his hand catches briefly against the small of Kevin’s back as he passes close enough for Kevin to feel the warmth of him through his sweat-damp jersey.
“Not bad,” Andrew says.
Kevin beams.
The court is chaos around them. Matt has Dan halfway off the ground. Nicky and Aaron join them in a small mosh-pit. Allison has her arm around Renee, the two of them on the outskirts of the group.
But Kevin barely notices any of it. Because Andrew is here. Neil is here. And they won.
The feeling settles inside Kevin like sunlight racing through his veins, warm and dizzying and impossible to contain. Every game alongside them feels like this. Every time Neil tears down court with impossible speed, every time Andrew blocks a striker so cleanly it looks effortless, every time Kevin threads himself between them like they were built to play together - he thinks maybe that is the closest he’ll ever come to religion.
“Day!”
He turns just in time for Matt to nearly tackle him into the floor.
“You fucking maniac,” Matt says loudly, grabbing his shoulders. “That shot was insane!”
“We could’ve won by a larger point margin if you had been a little faster in the second half,” Kevin says automatically.
Matt laughs right in his face. “God, I missed you being unbearable.”
“I never left.”
“Unfortunately,” Aaron mutters as he walks by.
Wymack’s whistle cuts through the noise. “Finish your handshakes and get the hell off the court!” he shouts. “Press duty in fifteen!”
Several Foxes groan.
***
“Day and Josten are up for press duty,” Wymack says, checking his clipboard. He immediately frowns. “Well that’s not happening.”
Neil makes a face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Wymack shoots him a look. “It means I enjoy my blood pressure where it currently is.”
Matt snorts loudly from across the locker room. “Neil, buddy. No one’s letting you talk to reporters.”
Neil looks genuinely offended. “I haven’t caused a scene in weeks!”
“Congrats on your personal growth,” Wymack says blandly. He jabs the clipboard toward Kevin instead. “Day goes alone.”
Neil glances toward Kevin then, entirely unconcerned now that he’s escaped media duty. There’s the faintest hint of satisfaction in his expression, like he’d been hoping for this outcome all along. Kevin knows better than to be fooled by the offended act. Neil hates reporters almost as much as Andrew does - the only difference is Andrew refuses to speak while Neil speaks far too much.
Wymack points toward the hallway. “Go and try not to cause a scandal.”
Kevin rolls his eyes - he’s the last person who’d cause a scandal on this team - but he pushes himself upright from his seat anyway. The effects of the game are still humming pleasantly under his skin, his body loose with victory and exhaustion.
The Foxhole Court doesn’t have a designated press room, so all post-game interviews are held off the court, on the sidelines. It’s a rush job with a covered folding table and a line of cameras flashing in his face, reporters speaking over each other to get his attention.
Kevin sits at the table beneath the blinding lights and folds his hands together carefully so no one notices the lingering adrenaline still buzzing through him.
Cameras click relentlessly. Reporters shuffle papers and adjust microphones and stare at him with hungry eyes.
Kevin knows this game. He’s been playing it almost as long as exy itself.
Smile politely. Answer carefully. Give them enough to satisfy them without giving them anything real. Don’t answer anything personal.
“Kevin Day,” one reporter starts, a short man with a bright orange tie, “walk us through that final play.”
They always start out easy enough. Kevin settles into the rhythm immediately, his smile as natural as it is fake. He wears his years of media training like armor.
“The defense overcommitted on Josten after the turnover,” he says smoothly. “Their backliner went too far left trying to anticipate the shot, so I was able to gain control of the ball.”
“How do you feel about tonight’s win?” another reporter asks next.
“Confident,” Kevin says. “We executed our offensive strategy well.”
The questions continue to come easily, relentless and monotonous, but predictable. Safe.
“What adjustments did the Foxes make at halftime?”
“How has the offense evolved this season?”
“Do you think tonight’s win changes the championship projections?”
Kevin answers all of them without thinking. It’s muscle memory at this point. Give credit to the team. Praise your coach. Discuss strategy. Never discuss yourself.
The cameras flash steadily, bright white lights that sting at his eyes.
The adrenaline from the game has started to fade into something softer now. The win still sits warm beneath his skin. Every time he thinks about that final shot, about Neil streaking down court to create the opening, about Andrew shutting down the opposing striker seconds before, satisfaction blooms in his chest all over again.
He could talk about exy forever. Exy is easy. It’s the people that are difficult.
“Kevin,” a woman near the front says, raising her hand slightly. “What's it like playing with two of the most controversial athletes in collegiate exy?”
Kevin pauses. “Controversial in what sense?” he asks.
The reporter smiles. It is not a kind gesture. “Andrew Minyard and Neil Josten have both generated a tremendous amount of media attention over the last two years.”
That's one way to put it, Kevin thinks.
“Both are exceptional athletes,” he says. “Their stats speak for themselves.”
“Do their reputations ever create difficulties for the team?”
“No.”
“None at all?”
“No,” Kevin repeats, his tone final.
A few reporters exchange looks. The woman nods. “What's it like sharing a court with them?”
That question, at least, has an easy answer. “They make me a better player,” Kevin says honestly. The answer slips out before he can polish it. Truth tends to do that.
The reporter's eyebrows rise slightly. “Can you elaborate?”
Kevin looks down briefly. “I've played with a lot of talented players,” he says. “Andrew sees the court differently than anyone I've ever met. Neil creates opportunities most people wouldn't even recognize.”
A few pens start moving.
The answer should have ended there, but of course, it doesn’t.
Another reporter jumps in. “You three seem particularly close.”
Kevin's smile fades. “We work well together,” he says carefully.
Another reporter speaks up before the previous one can continue. “Some fans have called your dynamic codependent.”
A flicker of irritation sparks beneath Kevin’s ribs. “That’s not a question,” he says coldly.
A few nervous laughs ripple through the room. The reporter presses on anyway. “Would you describe your relationship with Minyard and Josten as unique compared to the rest of the team?”
Kevin keeps his face blank. It’s not hard. He learned young how to bury panic beneath stillness. “The Foxes have always been a unique team.”
The room suddenly feels just a bit too warm, the lights a bit too bright. This is exactly why he hates press conferences. The signs are always the same, the subtle shift away from exy. The growing interest in everything surrounding the game instead of the game itself.
He's not ashamed of Andrew. Not ashamed of Neil. But he knows professional athletes aren’t supposed to be like him.
Kevin knows that's irrational. He knows it.
Neil tells him that all the time. Andrew rolls his eyes whenever it comes up. The world is changing, people don't care anymore. The Foxes certainly don't care who Kevin dates, as long as the betting pool stays interesting.
But the fear still lives inside him, old and stubborn and ugly. The Ravens had built Kevin's future brick by brick. Professional athlete, public figure. Kevin remembers being fourteen and listening to sponsors discuss marketability. Remembers hearing people talk about athletes like racehorses: investments, assets.
He’s not a person when these cameras start flashing. Just a name.
The Nest had been full of rules. Some spoken, most not, but Kevin had learned them all. Even now, some part of him still carries those lessons around like scars beneath his skin.
Professional sports aren't kind to people who are different. Not historically, at least. Kevin knows every statistic, every controversy. Every athlete reduced to a headline. He knows exactly how ugly people can be.
Allowing the public to see him as heterosexual is simply easier. Even if it eats away at him inside.
“Kevin?”
Kevin blinks. He realizes someone asked another question. The reporter is watching him expectantly.
“Sorry,” Kevin says automatically. “Could you repeat that?”
“Do you think your relationship with Minyard and Josten contributes to your success on court?”
Relationship. Such an innocent word. Such a dangerous one. Because the answer is yes. Obviously yes.
Andrew is the reason Kevin survived long enough to become himself. Neil is the reason he learned that survival and living aren't the same thing. Together, they're the reason home stopped feeling like an impossible concept. Of course they contribute to his success. They contribute to everything.
But Kevin can't say that. So he falls back on the safe answer.
“We trust each other.”
The reporter nods. “And off the court?”
Kevin's stomach drops. There it is again, that push. That relentless need to dig deeper.
Andrew and Neil don’t particularly care about being public. Andrew has never given a damn what strangers think. Neil spent half his life being hunted by people who wanted him dead. Public opinion barely registers as a threat anymore. They keep the secret because Kevin asks them to. Because Kevin isn't ready.
They've spent these last few months accommodating fears they don't even share, patient and supportive even while they don’t fully understand.
A new reporter steps forward, a young man with perfectly styled hair. Kevin can tell he’s not going to like this man’s question as soon as he opens his mouth.
“Andrew Minyard has a reputation for violence and instability,” the reporter starts. “And Neil Josten is notoriously hostile during interviews. Some critics believe your association with them damages your professional image.”
Kevin feels himself still. The room quiets, like everyone’s holding their breath to see what he’ll say.
“Do you worry,” the man continues, “that tying yourself so closely to people like that could hurt your future career prospects?”
People like that, Kevin thinks. He feels something ugly twist low in his stomach.
For a second, all he can do is stare at the reporter.
Violence and instability. Hostile. Damages your professional image.
The man says it so casually. Like Andrew is a liability instead of a person. Like Neil is a problem to manage instead of the reason half the Foxes are still standing. Like the two of them aren't sitting in the locker room right now, probably arguing about whether Nicky stole someone's celebratory Gatorade.
The room waits. Kevin knows what he's supposed to say. A diplomatic smile, a vague statement about team chemistry, redirect back to exy. He’s well trained in how to disappear inside answers.
That's what Kevin Day is supposed to do. Kevin Day, the son of exy, the prodigy, the brand.
There are hundreds of things Kevin has spent his life wanting. Championships and recognition and survival and freedom. Entire years of his life consumed by hunger so sharp it hollowed him out from the inside.
But none of it compares to the way he wants Neil and Andrew.
The realization isn’t new. He’s known how he’s felt about them for a long time now, since before they started whatever this is. He's just never let himself look directly at it. Could never examine it too closely.
The Nest taught him that love was weakness. The Ravens taught him that vulnerability was something people exploited. Professional sports taught him that image was everything. The world taught him that there would always be consequences.
So Kevin built walls. He convinced himself it wasn't shame. It was practicality, career preservation.
He told himself keeping Andrew and Neil a secret was protecting all three of them.
But sitting here now, listening to a stranger reduce them to headlines and rumors and convenient little narratives - Kevin suddenly realizes he hasn’t been protecting them at all. Just himself and his fear.
And he's tired. God, he's tired. Tired of acting like the most important people in his life are somehow separate from the life they helped him build.
The reporter waits. "So?" he presses.
Kevin's pulse pounds in his ears. His hands unclasp. His shoulders straighten. And suddenly the answer is easy.
"No."
The reporter frowns slightly, like that wasn’t the answer he was hoping for.
Kevin looks directly at him. "No," he repeats. "I'm not worried about my future because of Andrew or Neil. Andrew Minyard is one of the best goalkeepers this sport has ever produced. And Neil Josten is one of the most talented strikers I've ever seen."
His voice is steady as he continues, "And frankly, if you think their value can be reduced to a few headlines and rumors, then I don't think you've been paying attention."
A murmur moves through the room. The reporter's expression tightens.
"But what what about your public -"
The words come easier. Like a dam breaking.
"Andrew and Neil are the reason I have a career," Kevin states. “I think ‘the public’ needs to focus a little more on the game, and a little less on the personal lives of the players.”
Kevin can feel it happening, the moment his words start to sink in. He’s passed the point of no return, and he thinks he probably should be panicking right now - and he knows he will be later - but all he feels is a strange sense of relief.
There are consequences waiting on the other side of this, but when he thinks about walking back into the locker room after this and being met with Neil’s easy grin and Andrew’s gentle hands, the fear suddenly feels very small.
The reporter tries a different angle. "Your relationship with them seems unusually close. Is it possible you three are more than teammates?"
There are consequences waiting on the other side of this, the small kernel of fear still a fear at its core, but Kevin isn't thinking of all that, though, when he speaks.
He's thinking of the night Neil had picked up his broken pieces off the kitchen floor, or the time Andrew said “Then I won't let you,” and then gave up drinking like it was nothing. He’s thinking of family, of home, of staying.
"I’d say that’s very possible," Kevin says calmly, “considering Andrew and Neil are my partners.”
There are a handful of seconds where the reporters just stare at him, mouths agape and eyes wide. Then, all at once, the flashes become blinding. Everybody starts yelling over one another to be heard by him, voices overlapping and questions crashing into each other so quickly Kevin can barely distinguish one from the next.
"Could you repeat that?"
"Did you just confirm a relationship with both Minyard and Josten?"
"Kevin, are you saying you're dating them?"
"Does the university know of your relationship status?"
Kevin stares at them, at the hungry gazes, at the microphones shoved in his face, and a strange calm settles over him. The worst part is already over, he thinks distantly. The damage is done, and his heart is still beating.
The questions don’t stop, but Kevin has heard enough. He suddenly feels a little out of his body, numb and distant as he looks around the room.
"Kevin, are you confirming that you're in a romantic relationship with both Andrew Minyard and Neil Josten?"
"Was this relationship occurring during the season?"
"Would you describe it as polyamorous?"
"Have you discussed this with potential professional recruiters?"
Kevin suddenly understands exactly how Neil feels every time he has to do interviews. He pushes his chair back, and the legs scrape and catch against the floor. He doesn’t hear it, though.
"Kevin!"
"Please clarify your statement!"
"Just one more question, Kevin -"
Kevin looks out at the sea of faces. For so many years, this would have been his worst nightmare. Right now, all he feels is strangely detached from it. Like he's standing several feet outside his own body, watching somebody else live through the consequences of a choice Kevin Day would never make.
Except he did make it.
Kevin reaches for the microphone one final time. “I think that’s enough questions for today,” he says, and his voice sounds different even to his own ears.
A dozen voices rise instantly, but Kevin turns around and walks away before any more questions can form. The shouting follows him into the hallway, his name repeated over and over and over again as the security team tries to keep anyone from following him. Kevin doesn't look back.
He shoves open the door to the hall, the noise fading with every step he takes. His heartbeat doesn't slow, pounding steadily beneath his ribs. He feels like somebody has wrapped him in cotton, softening the panic he knows he should be feeling.
His feet keep moving. He passes the locker rooms. Passes the lounge. His feet keep moving all the way to the parking lot, the fresh air hitting his hot skin like a balm.
My partners.
The words echo through his head.
Kevin realizes that he’s never even used that word to Neil and Andrew’s faces, and then he’s laughing, his back pressed up against the concrete wall of the court.
Kevin slaps a hand over his mouth, but it doesn't help.
Another laugh follows. Then another. Then another. He doubles over with the force of it, his shoulders shaking and his eyes stinging. He can't stop.
Years of fear unraveling all at once apparently sounds a lot like hysteria.
"Kevin?"
Neil's voice cuts through the haze.
Kevin looks up to see Neil and Andrew burst out of the building, Neil striding up ahead of Andrew to reach Kevin. One second Kevin is half-folded against the wall, laughing so hard his stomach is starting to hurt, and the next Neil is standing directly in front of him, eyes wide and worried.
“Kevin.”
The laughter keeps coming. Kevin presses the heel of his hand against his forehead.
“Kevin.”
“I just -” Kevin wheezes between laughs. “I just came out.”
Neil's expression twists, a mix of concern and outrage blending together across his face. Andrew stops a few feet away and just looks at Kevin, watching, like he’s checking to see if Kevin’s finally cracked.
The laughter finally begins to taper off. His lungs ache.
“We can fix it,” Neil says abruptly. “The interview wasn't live. They haven't aired anything yet. We can stop them.”
Kevin blinks. Neil stays entirely serious.
“I can make a few calls. Wymack can, too. They can't release footage if we don't want them to.”
“Yes, they can,” Kevin says, not at all upset about it.
Neil ignores him.
“We can tell them it was taken out of context. Or that you misspoke. This doesn’t have to be how you come out.” The indignation in his voice grows stronger with every sentence, and Kevin feels another laugh bubbling up.
Andrew remains silent and Kevin smothers his laugh. He shakes his head.
“No.”
Neil pauses. “No?”
Kevin straightens against the wall. The humor has mostly faded now, leaving behind a strange lightness. It’s not relief, but it’s also not not relief. “I don't want to fix it,” he clarifies.
Neil gapes at him. “You don't?”
Kevin shakes his head again. The parking lot is empty save a few lone cars down on the end, and Kevin’s never felt so sure of anything in his life.
“No,” he says again. “I don’t regret saying it.”
The answer surprises him with how true it feels. He doesn’t regret it. And maybe he will in the morning, maybe this will turn out to be exactly as bad as he always expected, but standing here, Kevin couldn’t care less.
Kevin looks down at his hands, at the thin white scars lining the back of his left. They’re starting to lighten, fading.
When his eyes find Neil again, his entire face has changed.
The concern is wiped clean, something bright taking its place across his features. His lips are stretched into a grin, and Kevin thinks he looks beautiful like this.
“Yeah?” Neil asks, a hint of hopefulness under the word.
Kevin thinks he might be smiling. “Yeah.”
Neil's grin grows wider. Impossible somehow, but it does. Kevin feels something in his chest loosen at the sight.
Andrew moves from behind Neil, and Kevin's attention snaps to him.
To anyone else, Andrew would look completely unaffected. Indifferent and untouched by Kevin’s actions. But Kevin knows better - he can see the tension in Andrew’s shoulders, the way his hands flex once at his sides, the conflict behind his eyes that only appears when Andrew is feeling too much.
Andrew steps directly in front of him, close enough that Kevin has to press his back into the wall to keep from touching him.
Their eyes meet, and there’s a new fire under Andrew’s controlled expression that has Kevin’s breath catching in his throat.
“Yes or no?” Andrew asks, and oh, how Kevin loves the sound of that question.
His ‘yes’ has barely left his lips before Andrew is kissing him.
Andrew kisses like a collision, intense and desperate from the first touch. One hand curls around the back of Kevin’s head, keeping him from knocking into the wall, and Kevin always loved the way Andrew could do that, could make him feel so much with such a simple gesture.
Kevin kisses him back with everything he has. Andrew tastes like mint and victory and home.
His fingers find the front of Andrew's jacket, holding on as if he might otherwise drift away.
Somewhere nearby, Neil lets out a low whistle, sounding closer than before.
Andrew kisses Kevin like he's starving. Like Kevin is oxygen. Like he's been drowning quietly for years and has only just broken the surface.
Kevin can feel every ounce of what Andrew isn’t saying in the way he licks into Kevin’s mouth, in the tightening of his hand in Kevin’s hair.
Andrew presses all at once closer, and then he’s pulling back, just an inch or two.
Kevin’s lips almost chase the loss of contact, his body reacting before his brain can catch him, before he stops himself, remembering where they are.
Anyone could see them like this.
Finally, the shock from the interview begins to dissipate, like a fog clearing, and Kevin realizes with a start that none of that matters anymore.
“Weren’t you told,” Andrew says, their lips brushing, “not to cause a scandal?”
And that’s exactly what Kevin had done. He’d gone and pulled a Neil, mouthing off to the cameras.
The consequences will be waiting for him. Tomorrow's headlines will be there when he wakes up.
The entire exy world is probably seconds away from imploding, but Kevin knows he’ll wake up beside the two men in front of him. And for the first time in his life, Kevin realizes he doesn't actually care which comes first, the fear or them.
He already made his choice.