Chapter Text
It isn't often that Neyo actually catches a break. "Lucky" is not a word that applies to any clone cadets, much less Neyo. But today -
Today Neyo can tentatively say he’s lucky.
Dred Priest had been called away to a last-minute Cuy’val Dar meeting, leaving the cadets who’d been called to the fighting ring that night at loose ends. They should go back to their pods, split up and go to sleep like good little clones.
They are - not doing that.
“Incoming!” yells Faie, and launches himself at the pile of cadets. Neyo and Shock shriek with glee; underneath them, Awe and Bacara groan at the added weight.
“Get off,” Bacara says with a laugh, but his arm curls around Neyo to give Faie a welcoming pat even as he continues to whine. “You’re heavy! I’m being crushed!”
There’s a rare smile on Bacara’s face, belying his bitching. Someone jabs Neyo in the ribs; Faie wiggles his way across flailing limbs to ruffle Awe’s hair.
It’s not usually how four-year-old clones act - they’re eight standard, they’re supposed to act like it, but nobody’s here to see. They’re almost vibrating with energy, burning off the built-up anxiety of a fight night.
No one has to fight tonight. No one has to get hurt tonight. The relief floods out of the group of cadets in loud laughter and friendly roughhousing.
A shadow falls over the pile and they freeze.
“Ooh, Bacara, that looks heavy,” Fox drawls with a sharp smile. “Let me help you with that.”
“No no no no NO-” Bacara shrieks gleefully. He’s cut off with a huff when Fox spreads his arms and collapses face-first onto the pile.
Maybe it’s the weight on his ribs, or the warmth of his brothers around him, but something in Neyo’s chest swells almost to bursting.
He hides his smile in Fox’s ribs and thinks, yeah. Maybe just tonight, he’s lucky.