Chapter Text
An atom bomb, or a whisper of wind, something coaxes Neil out of bed at four in the morning and he takes full offence.
It’s one of those days – when his body feels too big for his bones and everything cracks at the edges – he doesn’t want to do anything, to be anything, or to think about anything. But, here is a thing, the universe will not let him lie down and die peacefully because Nathaniel is a reckless creature with too little to care about. And Abram is – paranoid – careful but not within Neil’s reach at the moment.
So Neil settles at being Neil. The boy with pretty much nothing awaiting in the bright, blindingly bright future and even fewer reasons to be shying away from fun.
It is dangerous, he gathered that much from the speech Ichirou made on the phone yesterday, even if he tuned out most of the unimportant, uninteresting parts somewhere between ‘what the fuck do you think you are doing’ and ‘the psychiatrist said it is a trauma response’.
And oh – oh, Neil knows – he knows he is doing damage on purpose. However, he does not agree with calling it self-sabotage, trauma response, or anything else straight from the How Mental Are You Quiz the funky doctors make him take all the time – when he is home, that is.
This is an ongoing competition nicely titled Let’s Start Shit And See What Kills Me Firs t and it just started getting interesting.
He wants to be disappointed in the coffee coach makes him for breakfast, he really tries to, but his heart does laps around his fucking ribcage like an excited puppy – nobody makes him coffee for fucks sake – and it must show on his face because Wymack looks about ready to kill himself with laughter.
“Jesus, kid,” The old man wheezes, “I wish you could see your face right about now.”
Neil shrugs. Sure, the coffee is sweet, and it’s probably goddamn blonde roast – but he didn’t know he remembered how to feel grateful until now. Kindness was never present in Nathaniel’s life and Abram was not the kind of person to accept it even if it was offered, but maybe there it was for Neil.
And maybe it was as easy as coffee waiting on the counter when he woke up feeling as though the world tried to tear him apart, split him into pieces of confused identities that were never truly fake but never truly his either.
“Thanks,” He says when the coach is done laughing and he receives an odd look in response. “For the coffee, I mean.”
“‘S no problem. Just had extra left after finishing mine.” Wymack’s smile is genuine and light. It doesn’t have the underlying command of his mother’s or malice like his father’s, it still makes him shiver. “How’s the brother?”
“Moving houses,” He shrugs one shoulder. “Having a child and a wife. I’m the family's disappointment if you cannot tell.”
Wymack scoffs in amusement. “It doesn’t shock me, somehow.”
They sit in silence after that. Eat in silence and get ready for the day in silence, which is familiar, nice even. The urge to wreak havoc doesn’t disappear – it won’t for a while – but Neil decides it can wait, at least until afternoon.
oOo
He doesn’t get to the afternoon, which is a shame.
The practice is filled with Kevin whinging, Andrew lounging in the goal as if it was his beauty time, and Nicky shouting in German in the background with Aaron chiming in occasionally. Neil doesn’t care enough to listen to them, but he is annoyed enough with the lack of challenge to rip his helmet off at some point and glare at Andrew.
This finally brings some fun to the court – there is nothing more fun than Andrew Minyard being angry and struggling to stay looking bored – and Neil will absolutely abuse the power he has over him. Because if there’s anything he has a master's degree in, it must be taunting his childhood companion.
“Getting slow in old age!” He takes swing after swing, observing with satisfaction as Andrew barely manages to stop the ball for the first time in what must’ve been years. Nobody is good enough for such talent, but Neil is fucking great at being the exception. “This is underwhelming!” He shouted. “When did the wolf turn into the lapdog? Must’ve been all the sugar.”
The last line gives Andrew a pause, a ball hitting him straight on the head, and Neil is almost giddy with excitement. Did he step over the line? Damn, he really hopes he did.
“Oh my God, does he have a death wish?” He hears Nicky mumble in the background.
“Fucker,” Andrew growls – and, oh , there he is.
“Bring it on, old man!” Neil screams, just for good measure. Pissed off Andrew is the best Andrew because he stops caring about his facade and finally gets competitive as is in his nature.
Therefore, when the practice is over, he is almost ready to die with exhaustion, and Andrew looks decidedly ready to provide him with a horrible death. Which is fine, mostly fine, worth the gaping expressions they receive and Kevin waiting for them, seemingly torn between fuming – how dare you play when he tells you to – and bribing Neil to do whatever he did more often.
There is still the cracking-at-the-edges, tearing-me-apart problem, though. Neil wants to start a fire, even if he knows he should not, and he knows Andrew can see it too.
“You better run to your rabbit hole,” He snarls, a poor attempt at appearing angry or insulted when obviously Neil sees right through it. The hidden message. The way out.
Because as it is, the picture must be unchanged for Andrew. What he is seeing is probably the unhinged days of Abram Hatford – when he could not grasp reality enough, or care about it enough, and when he started dumb fights or came back to Spears’ high as a kite.
Even if the unhinged Abram is the happy one for anybody else – it’s one of the worst kinds of Abram for those who know him.
Because it means he struggles to accept something awful.