Chapter Text
Neil watches the purple-haired barista smile and hand Kevin his drink. From the small two-seater table he managed to save, Neil looks outside the window and watches cars pass in the near dark of the early morning.
A thump and a sigh follow Kevin as he lays his gym bag on the floor and slides into the opposite seat.
“Good morning”, he says and Neil lifts his own cup in response. “Are you ready for tonight? You were looking a little slow with your returns, yesterday.”
Neil fondly rolls his eyes and takes a drink, “Yes, Kevin. Bauer showed me some arm stretches to loosen up.” Kevin nods seriously, “Good, good”. Kevin’s consistently quick, yet short, pulls of his drink and his eyes drifting around the shop confirms his anxiety about tonight’s game.
As a distraction, Neil steers their conversation onto observations about other team’s games from the past month. The next hour is spent dissecting plays, moves, and scores. Kevin’s grip on his cup slowly loosens and his shoulders lower.
His new “no drinking” rule came with the unfortunate problem of having no outlet for his stress other than Exy, copious amounts of coffee, and Maya. Speaking of…
“How’s Maya doing?” Neil asks, cutting Kevin off from his analysis of Washington’s play last week.
The right side of Kevin’s mouth lifts as he takes a small sip of his drink.
“She’s good. She’s in D.C. now.” Kevin leans back and looks at the table in thought. Maya Wise is a reporter he’s been seeing for the past few months. They met when Kevin went to the news station to speak on the Reds’ season for their sports segment and Maya was on break from the politics casting. Apparently, she convinced him to try a bacon wrapped donut, and since then they’ve had a quiet back and forth that gets Kevin to think about things other than work. His relationship with Thea has gone from casual friends-with-benefits to good friends, so Maya is the perfect distraction.
“She may take an Amtrak back into the city tonight in time to make the end of the game.” Kevin looks at his watch and picks up his gym bag signaling the start of practice. Neil picks up his own bag and walks both of their cups to the recycling bin.
“That’ll be nice…” As they leave the small café and start their walk the two blocks to the stadium, Neil debates whether his random invitation is worth mentioning.
“I invited someone too…” The silence rings for a while as the two pass hundreds of people rushing on their way to work. The Manhattan traffic doesn’t cease just because it’s before 7am. Neil sneaks a peak at Kevin’s face to see his brows furrowed. “Who?” he asks. His thinly veiled disbelief causes Neil to scoff.
“Andrew.”
“Who is Andrew?”
“From Saturday. The restaurant party we went to.”
They wait for the walk signal at a corner and understanding slowly makes its way onto Kevin’s face.
“The chef? We barely saw him, when did you invite him?”
Neil laughs softly and gives a small wave to Diamonte Jones, one of their goalies, who is entering the stadium from the other side of the street.
“I talked to him a couple of times. And when you and Allison were ‘helping’ Renee clean up we spoke outside.” He using quotation marks and gives Kevin a look.
“But why?” Kevin’s wide-eyed disbelief would be almost funny if Neil wasn’t a bit offended at the insinuation that he can’t make friends.
Instead of giving Kevin a piece of his mind, Neil shrugs and goes to open the massive stadium doors. “I don’t know. He’s entertaining. I liked talking to him.” He readjusts the strap on his gym bag and the duo make their way to the locker rooms.
“Uh huh. Well, that is…something.”
“Don’t think too hard about it, Kev. Maybe we’ll have someone new to join us on our Shakespeare in the Park mornings.” Neil jokes as they enter the doors.
Kevin smiles and his eyebrows shoot up, “I guess that’s one way to look at it.”
*
Allison is standing outside the locker doors, already dressed in her practice gear and texting on her phone, long nails tapping.
When the two meet up with her she finally looks up, "Renee's pet gremlin is coming, tonight."
Neil rolls his eyes and shoves Kevin who snorts at the nickname.
"If you guys were assholes to everyone with a slightly off-putting vibe, you wouldn't have any friends. Including each other" Neil says pointedly.
"No, you two are a special breed of off-putting. I'm the buffer between you and the rest of civilization." Allison smirks as she returns to her phone.
"Renee wanted me to pass on his number, just in case."
Neil is surprised, but willingly types in the number she gives him.
During their 30-minute practice break Neil takes out his phone and opens a new message to Andrew. He debates what to say as he chugs his water bottle.
He thinks about the intense conversation in the alley and tries to think of something that'd catch Andrew's attention.
Since Neil learned the term "demisexual", he's come to learn that the intrigue he feels when speaking to Andrew is a first hint of interest, which puts a whole new level of stress on this text.
He's dated a bit since he was rescued from his father, but nothing that really stuck. He wants to know more about Andrew, he wants to see the hints of humor in his hazel eyes, and he wants to share cigarettes with him in silence.
Neil takes a breath and begins a text,
"So, in what kind of apocalypse would having a handlebar mustache be most advantageous..."
---
I"If you try to serve another broken soufflé I'm going to put you on cutting duty, Ramirez." Andrew passes behind his crew, hands full of four entrees and his left eye twitching for a cigarette.
The rest of his week went by slowly enough since their celebration. He did the same things as always: cook, smoke, lay with his spoiled cat, King, and talk to Emma on FaceTime.
If eighteen year old Andrew Minyard could see his daily schedule now he'd probably light something on fire, in spite. The thought makes him place the plates on the serving shelf harder than normal.
The chaos of the kitchen has become his new fire. The hundred of different parts coming together, every other person following his instructions to create the best meals in East Village. Not that that was even the goal with Honey. It started as a way to distract himself, something he could do with his hands that wouldn't hurt. A way to provide.
His college therapist, Betsy Dobson, gave him the idea and together they cooked their way through several cookbooks until Andrew could create hundreds of recipes without needing instructions.
After Renee's stint saving people around the globe, she wanted to create something here and when Andrew invited her to cook with him after their sparring sessions, a new dynamic was created. It's been pretty smooth sailing since then.
One of his line cooks, Ollie, calls out to him from where they're sautéing over the stove. Their half-black, half-white hair is covered in a net and sitting atop their head in a complicated bun, but Ollie's smile is mischievous and annoying already. Andrew goes over anyway and carries the remaining diced apples with him.
"What?" He says as he adds the fruit pieces to Ollie's pan.
"I heard from a birdie that you're going to have some fun tonight." Ollie's eyebrows raise and Sumita, next to them, fake coughs into the crook of her elbow.
Andrew wishes he still carried his knives on him; much cleaner than using one of the kitchen knives. It's quite unfortunate that his cooks are comfortable enough around him to be this annoying.
His phone burns in his pocket, but he's determined not to dig it out and stare at the string of texts. The ridiculous conversations, and photos of meals in progress they've sent back-and-forth.
"What I'm doing tonight is the last thing any of you need to worry about." He says as he backs away to the next station, "I'll still have a job tomorrow. Yours aren't guaranteed."
His proclamation is met with boos, laughs, and "ooo's" from the kitchen and he mutters as he pushes through the kitchen doors into the dining room.
Jean Moreau is standing just outside the doors speaking with a man Andrew doesn't care to know, and he waits just behind them in wait.
Once they're finished speaking, Jean turns to Andrew and his gunmetal grey eyes are as unimpressed as the rest of him. Not the best traits for a general manager, but Andrew figures he's done well enough, so far.
"Neither of us will be here tonight, so we've been backstocking tonight's menu." Andrew says as he starts to pull out his pack of cigarettes.
"I spoke to Renee." Jean smirks, "I heard you've officially joined the world of celebrity athletes."
"Renee needs to keep her mouth shut."
"I saw a picture of you in a copy of Sports Illustrated. They were discussing the new WAGS of the season."
"No, you didn't." Andrew starts to walk away, done with this whole day. Thoughts of the irritating redhead had been plaguing him all day--he'd replayed the conversation from the dinner party since Saturday and it was getting old.
"No, I didn't," he agrees, bemused, "but I expect to see you in a jersey and holding signs, tonight."
Andrew doesn't bother to answer and instead takes off his chef's coat and drapes it over a random chair, heading into the alley outside of the restaurant.
He's a cigarette and a half in when Renee walks up in a blue jeans, a Reds jersey, and the bejeweled numbers "0" and "7" on each cheek.
"Jesus fucking christ," Andrews mumbles as smoke billows out.
Renee smiles serenely holds out a packet of gum, "Allison sent us a car to get to the stadium. Traffic will be worse than usual."
"I've decided not to go." Andrew lies and stomps out his cigarette and takes the offered gum.
"I think you'll enjoy the energy of an exy game. It's quite the spectacle."
"I've been to enough. Head injuries and sweat aren't exactly worth the hype." He replies.
Renee laughs in turn and makes her way to the street.
"I'll meet you out there in a few," Andrew tells her before going back to the kitchen and getting the small to-go box he'd prepared that morning. The kitchen staff waves him off-and are ignored-as he meets up with Renee.
---
The bright lights and roaring crowd in the court are a blinding thunder as Neil races to his next mark.
His feet ache and his lungs burn and it's one of the best nights of his life. "Left!" Elsa Tsai yells to Neil before he deftly tosses the ball her way, then follows the striker to the opposing team's net.
Allison bangs on the plexiglass as he rushes past. Tsai gets caught up by the Tuscan Hurricane's dealer and passes the ball back to him.
Neil pushes past the other team, throws the ball at the side wall and fakes a turn. He sidesteps the player and reconnects with the ball, shoots it towards their keeper, and the goal lights up red.
The New York Reds win the last game of the first half of the season, 8-6.
Neil is bum-rushed by his teammates and swept into a group hug. He rips the strap from and under his chin and thrusts his helmet into the air along with some of his team members.
He catches Allison's eye where she's blowing kisses into the stands. He turns to crowd and sees Renee cheering and decked out in white and red, her pastel hair in a spiky ponytail that fluffs behind her more than it lays down.
Next to her is Andrew Minyard, still in his seat, holding a drink in the special Reds collector cup that was shaped like a goalkeeper's racket. Neil catches his eye and nods his head slightly. Before he turns away towards his retreating team, Andrew throws back a two-fingered salute. If anyone noticed Neil's grin on the way to the locker room, he'd just blame it on their win.
---
Andrew and Renee are crushed by fans as they try to exit the arena.
Crushed popcorn and the yeasty scent of spilled beer are almost suffocating enough to distract Andrew from the push of bodies.
The number "0" on Renee's left check has lost several jewels and her eyes roam the crowds for something.
The game hadn't been completely terrible. There were too many people, the lights were too bright, it went on way too long, and exy shorts are way too short.
On the plus side, Renee bought all of Andrew's snacks, he didn't have to close the restaurant tonight, and of course, exy shorts are way too short. The fastest striker in North American exy is a sight to see, whether Andrew wanted to admit it or not. And he did not.
Each time the redhead was featured on the jumbotron, Andrew couldn't help but to notice he was a truly a swan among geese. The red wine hair curly softly with sweat around his ears and bandana, the shockingly Arctic blue eyes and cruel tilt to his mouth made the countless signs claiming to love him and the identical jerseys with 'Josten' stitched on the back both understandable and expected.
When Renee spots whatever she was looking for, she turns a look at Andrew, "Allison sent someone to get us to our car using the staff tunnels. No crowds, I promise." She grabs the fabric of his black, long sleeved henley and leads him to a nondescript girl who smiles wordlessly and takes them to a private elevator.
The walk down to the player garage is endless, but comfortably quiet as staff members rush pass and the muted, yet jovial energy has everyone ready to end their night on a good note.
They make it to the same car from earlier and head towards the bar where the team will be celebrating.
"Have you been enjoying your night, so far?" Renee asks as she tries to re-pin her hair.
Andrew grunts and stares out the window at the passing city. The promise of top shelf alcohol is the only thing keeping him going, at this point. Renee, used to Andrew's silence, takes his non-answer for confirmation and continues to touch-up her hair and face jewels.
Panorama Room is a luxury rooftop bar with plush, red, mid-century modern furniture overlooking Manhattan. The dark, oak bar split the room in two, and the sound of the New York Reds' laughter and jesting tuned out the rest of the patrons and the thrumming music.
Renee and Andrew make their way to the large group of players at the bar, and they're quickly swept up by a fresh looking Allison in a slinky red mini dress.
She rolls her eyes as she waves an elegant hand toward the bar tender, "God, we've been waiting for you guys for like fifteen minutes."
"Traffic was hectic," Renee happily replies, "I'm surprised you lot managed to make it so quickly."
"The team drivers know how serious we are about our post-win drinks." she winks and then orders another round of whatever they had been drinking.
A decent-looking waiter with inky hair and a tray full of cocktails catches Andrew's eye and smiles.
Andrew looks away, takes a shot of the dark liquid and orders himself a tall whisky, ignoring Renee and Allison, and the odd teammates' trying to draw him into conversation.
He pretends he isn't looking for the briefest glimpse of red hair, and instead makes eyes with the waiter. Andrew starts making his way to the other side of the large room and propositions the waiter with a nod toward the bathroom.
Before he can fully enter the vestibule, a beacon of amber hair snatches his attention.
Neil Josten sits on the back of a couch in the corner, dressed abysmally with a black hoodie, jeans, white All-Star high tops, and wet hair curling around his ears under a black baseball cap.
As if the striker can feel Andrew's presence, his eyes meet Andrew and the smirk that follows is dangerous.
Andrew makes his way over and stands in front of Neil who rubs a tall can in his hands.
"And here I thought you'd never be caught at an exy game."
"Emotional support," Andrew sips at his drink, "It seemed like you really needed someone there to help you figure out which end you need to run toward."
Neil huffs a laugh and looks over Andrew's shoulder. The look on Neil's face reminded Andrew of himself.
The days when he goes home late to an empty apartment. When a cigarette and cold drink aren't enough. When it feels like the only thing that knows you are the shadows in your nightmares. That's what Andrew sees, so when he tells Neil to tell him something real, Neil replies,
"My father killed my mother and then tried to kill me."
"Something I can't Google."
Neil's gaze meets Andrew's, "I've never had a birthday cake." He raises an eyebrow at Andrew, and Andrew wonders if tall idiots he hangs out with know about this.
Neil must see the question in his face, because he shrugs and smiles, "Kevin and Allison try every year, but avoiding them has become a sport in and of itself."
"A jock until the end."
"Hey, you're here too."
Andrew grunts, noncommittally, and remembers the to-go box in his pocket. He digs it out and tosses it at the redhead who catches it in one hand.
He pops it open and peaks at the delicate, honey drizzled pastries inside.
"Chaussons aux pommes," Andrew explains, "They're filled with apples, vanilla."
Neil stares at him wordlessly, but Andrew is already walking out the door leading onto the wraparound deck.
Andrew digs out his cigarettes as he makes it to the railing and lights one up, hand shaking. He feels Neil sidling up beside him and offers a cigarette.
"Andrew Minyard," Neil says his name slowly, cigarette inches from his mouth and tendrils of smoke float into the air. "I'm starting to think you enjoy my company." He teases.
Andrew's glare should be enough to burn, but Neil keeps smiling. They smoke silently, the sounds of music and laughter inside of the building are a comforting filler noise as they watch lights twinkle and move across the city.
Andrew is the first to break the silence, "I'll cook for you." Neil looks at him from the corner of his eye, brows raised in question.
"Come to Honey, and I'll cook for you. There's more to food than what your court-ordered nutritionist lets you experience." Andrew stands and tosses his cigarette off the side of the building.
Neil looks him up and down, and his cigarette chases Andrew's over the railing "Alright," he says, "I'll come to Honey."