Chapter Text
“All right, that’s enough for tonight!” A piercing whistle ends another practice for the New York Reds.
Neil Josten lifts his racket over his shoulders and rips off a white bandana to wipe his face. His teammates jostle each other in excitement for the weekend and discuss their different plans to travel after their last game of the season. A hand touches his shoulder and he looks at the owner: Kevin.
Neil’s old college teammate and closest friend looks determined and sweaty, the usual, as they continue together into the locker room.
“You’re still coming tonight, right?” Kevin asks, putting his own racket under his arm to remove his gloves.
Neil takes a second to remember what ‘tonight’ is and when it does comes to him, he barely manages to refrain from rolling his eyes.
“I don’t know if I can; I’ve just got-” Neil starts.
“You have nothing going on. I know this because when Allison told us we were going to the party two weeks ago, you agreed.” Kevin’s voice is steady, monotone, and unfathomably annoying. “If I have to go, you have to go.”
They reach their lockers and begin putting things away before Neil acknowledges that he’s been caught trying to escape the brain-numbing, high-end, rub-shoulders, event they’ve had managed to rope him in to.
“Yeah, yeah ok. What time is it?”
“Eight. Allison and I will pick you up,” He eyes Neil’s sweaty uniform in disgust–probably imagining some terrible fictional outfit. “Knowing you, you’ll show up in your workout gear.”
Neil made the mistake of showing up to one award ceremony in ripped jeans and a hoodie, and Kevin and Allison have made him regret it ever since.
“Dress nice. Bring a gift or something.” Kevin says as he grabs his things and walks towards the showers.
“I don’t even know them, what the fuck am I supposed to bring?” Neil mumbles as he does the same.
It’s been a long week of practices and nightmares. All Neil wants to do is go home and sleep.
He was planning on spending the next few days alone in his apartment, watching old Exy games, and laying on the couch with his gigantic cat, Sir. Matt and Dan invited Neil to their apartment to visit their new baby, but that was the extent of human interaction Neil was hoping for. Maybe even a few Exy practices with Kevin if he was still around.
During college, Matt, Dan, Allison, and Kevin were his only friends and eventually became his family. They were by his side when his father was released from prison and tortured him. They were there during the grueling trial, and the healing it took to get to where he was now. He has no idea where he’d be if it wasn’t for the makeshift family they forged, the lights guiding him to the possibility of playing Exy for a living. The one thing he truly wanted.
**
An hour later, Neil is entering his fifteenth-floor apartment a few blocks from the 59th and Lexington Ave station.
His calico greets him at the door, weaving between his feet as Neil bends down and scratches between her ears. He sets his gym bag down and makes his way to the kitchen for a glass of water.
It really is a beautiful apartment: open floorplan, light oak wood floor, and brand-new appliances in a one-bedroom ten minutes from Central Park. Neil has never really cared about the actual apartment–Allison found the listing and ordered all the furniture. The proximity to the park was the only thing Neil had any interest in; he ran the same route every day, saw the same people at the coffee shop, and the newspaper kiosk on his way back home. It was a comfortable life–all he truly needed.
He had a few hours before Kevin and Allison came to his place, so he fed Sir, ate a mango at his kitchen island while reading a Nat Geo magazine article about frogs in Bolivia, and took a short nap.
At 7PM, Neil dresses in the emerald green button-down and black fitted jeans that Allison had pre-picked for him. As he’s wetting his hair, he answers a FaceTime call from Matt on his laptop.
“Neil! Looking good, buddy.” Matt’s wolfish smile is contagious and Neil smiles into the camera. A baby crying in the distance and Dan singing fill the background and Neil extends his greeting to the pair in the back.
“Hey Matt, how are you guys?” Matt looks off-camera towards the sounds.
“We’re great. Little Leah isn’t a huge fan of the vacuum we’ve discovered.”
Neil lets out a huff of laughter, “Are any of us, really?”
“What are you all fancy for?” Matt lifts one eyebrow, “Do you have a date or something?”
“God no,” Neil remembers his last disastrous date and visually cringes, “The restaurant Allison’s fiancé works at is being awarded, so there’s a congratulatory party that she bullied me and Kevin into.”
Matt snorts, “Bullied? I’m swinging between ‘hard to believe’ and ‘extremely probable.”
“She threatened bodily harm. And buying me a leather satchel.” Neil deadpan, “I said ‘yes’.”
Neil’s phone buzzes, speak of the devil and she will text, with a message that Allison and Kevin are downstairs. He ends his call with Matt, checks his reflection in the bathroom mirror, grabs his keys, and is out the door.
Allison and Kevin are waiting at the curb in a large, black SUV. Allison rolls down the window and sticks her head out, “You clean up nice,” she shrugged and began rolling the window back up, “Thanks to me.”
Neil hops in the backseat and buckles in, Kevin takes half a second to hold a hand up in greeting without taking his eyes off his cell phone–most likely texting Thea who is playing for a team in Miami.
“We missed you at practice, Alli,” Neil says as they pull off into traffic.
“Some things are more important than sweating in a gym, like finding a gift for my fiancé.”
Kevin scoffs, “It was your last vacation day of the season. If anyone needs to practice, it’s you-”
“Excuse, and fuck you, very much.” Allison intones as she honks the horn at someone standing in the middle of the street.
“What did you get Renee?” Neil asks in an attempt to stop the bickering.
“And why did you wait until the day of?”
“Um, shut up, Kevin.” Allison deadpans and Neil smirks and shakes his head. “I got her a custom chef’s coat and hat.” She smiles and lifts a shoulder, “Made by a designer friend. Good art takes time.”
“Aren’t there some kind of regulations on that kind of thing?”
Allison huffs, “Neil, I really don’t fucking know. But I do know that she’ll look cute as hell. And anyway, Andrew will let her do whatever she wants.”
“Andrew?” Neil inquires as he watches buildings and people pass by. He’s heard the name in passing via Alli–usually reproachful.
The blue-pink tint of a sunset casts a hazy backdrop over the bright lights and people on the streets.
“Mhm, the owner. Head chef. Monster. Soulless dickbag. Renee’s bestie.”
“Sounds like a good time.”
“The worst, actually. But…he’s one hell of a cook.” Twenty minutes later, Allison finds street parking in front of a small, red brick, building in the East village called ‘Honey’.
The trio walks to the door of the restaurant and Neil can see a small gathering inside through the large windows. Allison made Kevin carry the white box with a golden ribbon wrapped around it, presumably Renee’s gift, so she wouldn’t ‘screw with the aesthetic of her dress’.
Kevin uses his one free hand to adjust the collar on Neil’s shirt, “In case there’s a camera crew.”
“You do know I’m not actually a toddler, right?” Neil asks, batting away Kevin’s hand.
“Obviously,” He huffs and opens the door, “I would prefer to not be seen with someone who looks like they just rolled out of bed.”
“I woke up 45 minutes ago…”
“Then act like it,” Kevin opens the door and ushers the two inside.
“C’mon boys, you’re both pretty,” Allison says as she walks inside and tosses a blonde curl over her shoulder.
Neil follows her lead and looks around. There are about 30 people in various conversations, sitting and standing around the space. Dark, wooden, high-top tables line the walls with metal chairs. Exposed lightbulbs hang from the ceiling, throwing warm yellow lighting across the space.
Kevin, box free, comes back to Neil’s side and hands him a glass of whiskey. Neil takes a sip and tries not to screw his face up too much. They spend the next ten minutes discussing the team and what the Reds will need to do after their short break to keep their place in the rankings.
A short while later, Allison comes to stand in front of Neil and Kevin holding the hand of, and nearly towering over, her fiancé. Renee’s pale white and pastel-colored hair dipped over her shoulder as she stared up into Allison’s face with a small smile.
Neil has only met Renee a few times, and each occasion was marked with an uneasy curl in his stomach-as if his intuition was warning him of something no one else could see about her. She’d always been kind, Alli adored her, she’d even come to a few of their games. Neil knew he should feel guilty about his apprehension for Renee, but it was the least of his worries when the season was active. She technically wasn’t even his friend. Sometimes it truly disturbed and confused him that his mind wandered to petty friendships that had little to do with his life, but then he remembers that this is his life now–and petty friendships are allowed. Normal.
Renee turns her smile toward Kevin and Neil. Her gift–a pale, cyan blue chef's coat with pastel watercolor cuffs–is under her unoccupied arm. “Neil. Kevin. Thank you both so much for coming.”
“Renee,” Kevin shoves a hand towards her, and Neil offers a polite smile, “We apologize for missing your opening, but you’ve done well here.”
She grins and looks around them, “We’re happy you were able to make it for this. That is what’s truly important. Tell me about how your season is going so far–Alli says some of your teammates have been difficult.” This is all Kevin needs to fall into a full conversation with Renee as Neil stands a bit off and takes minuscule sips of his whiskey.
Neil doesn’t recognize any of the people around the restaurant, but his eyes catch on a small figure in all black coming out of the kitchen doors and carrying a platter to one of the tables full of food. He would’ve figured the man to be a waiter if not for the tell-tale high collar of a chef’s coat. Though his face is completely blank, his bright white hair made golden in the yellowing light is disheveled, and there’s a bit of flower on his left cheek. Neil’s gaze stays on the man as he repositions and tinkers with the plates on the table until his attention was snagged by Renee holding a microphone and standing near the front doors of the restaurant.
“Hello, everyone.” She smiles and Neil notices that she’s wearing her new chef’s coat. “Andrew and I would like to thank all of you for coming to support us, our amazing staff, and ‘Honey’.
“When we opened, a little over a year ago, cooking was our unique means of communication. A way of expressing ourselves. And our love and passion for food and cooking just took off.” She looks around at the restaurant, at her friends, “Now, we have our first Michelin star. And we plan on keeping it, and expanding, and making you all proud.” The partygoers clap and cheer. “Eat and drink, please! Enjoy.” She smiles and turns the microphone off as everyone goes back to their conversations.
Neil looks around and sees that after Renee’s speech, Kevin and Allison have made their way to a table and are picking through a cheese board. He sets down his empty glass and walks toward the food table where–who he assumes to be–Andrew stands with crossed arms.
Up close, Neil can see that his eyes are light gold and there is a small spattering of freckles over his nose. Neil puts it out of his mind and reaches for some kind of pastry.
“For someone who just got an award, you don’t seem very excited.” The light brown eyes cut Neil a slow look and then move away. There’s no response, and for a minute Neil thinks there won’t be.
“What is there to be excited about? It’s just another advertisement. I’ll still cook whether or not I have an award.” His voice is deep, slow, and he sounds like he’s already done with the conversation.
Neil shrugs, “It’s praise. It means you’re doing well.”
“I already know I’m doing well: that’s why people come here.”
“Whatever, I’m just trying to give you a compliment.”
“I don’t need a compliment–stop playing with that and eat it.” Andrew is looking at the small puff that Neil has been holding in his palm with a curled lip.
“I don’t know what it is. I don’t like sweets.” He says as he holds it up in an attempt to gauge its contents.
“If you can’t tell, does it matter?” He asks while side-eying Neil as if he’s the least intelligent person in the room.
Neil scoffs, “If I’m going to eat it, then it does matter.” They’re both quiet for a moment as they look at the crowd of people in the restaurant. “I’m Neil.”
Andrew looks over at him and there’s no change in his features, but Neil can tell he doesn’t actually care.
“I’m here with Allison. I play for the Reds.” Andrew continues to stare and Neil finally takes a bite of the pastry–it’s cheesy instead of sweet so he picks up another.
“These are good. You should label them so people know what they are.” Because he’s an ass.
“I can’t tell if you’re annoying or just an idiot.”
Neil mimics back to him, “If you can’t tell, does it matter?”
“Oh…so you’re funny.” Andrew deadpans.
“Not particularly, no.”
“Hm.” He walks back towards the closed doors of the kitchen without so much as a backward glance.
In the kitchen, Andrew pours dollops of the brandy-laced pan sauce over plates of steak filets as their line cooks work around him. His sous chef, Renee, only required him to show his face for her speech. Although he was only stuck out there for fifteen minutes and stayed in the back corner, he was somehow still roped into a conversation. An irritating conversation. A good-looking, irritating, and mind-numbing conversation.
As Andrew sprinkles garnish over his plates, Renee walks through the kitchen doors in a flourish of pastels. She stands next to him silently until he’s finished and then turns an innocent look at him.
“Thank you for coming to hear our speech.”
Andrew’s answering hum is nondescript, “It wasn’t our speech–it was yours.”
“On behalf of us. So–ours.” She grins conspiratorially and looks away before side-eying Andrew once again, “I saw you speaking with Neil.”
Andrew says nothing as he starts carrying the plates from the prep table to a platter.
“He’s very quiet but interesting. He’s the one I told you about a few months ago.” The end of her sentence lifts like it’s a question. He gives Renee a withering look as he hoists his now full platter up to his shoulder and walks through the kitchen doors. Andrew hears: “I’m glad you finally got to meet him!” behind his back as the doors swing shut.
Andrew spends the rest of the night in the back-corner table eating from his personally procured bowl of dates and FaceTiming with his 4-year-old niece, Emma, in Chicago. Her coiled, blonde hair filled up most of the phone screen as she showed him her newest toys. He gets the chance to speak to her once-a-week, and each time it still surprises him that someone could be so excited to talk with him.
His cousin, Nicky, attempts to video-call him at some point but Andrew rejects the call, pauses Emma, and texts him a picture of the restaurant and the party going on.
He notices the nuisance from earlier looking uncomfortable in a group of people at the front. Gruesome scars along his face pulling when he spoke, smiled or grimaced. Dark rust-colored hair soaking in the dim lights of the restaurants, making it look like waves of blood-drenched satin. Impossibly blue eyes that never settled on one thing longer than a few seconds but repeatedly met with Andrew’s own hazel ones.
Around midnight, Andrew makes his way outside and into the alley next to his restaurant. He pulls out a cigarette and lights it up. He squats close to the ground and watches people pass the alleyway; couples, older people walking their dogs, people alone on cell phones.
He’s halfway through his second cigarette when a short figure turns the corner and comes to stand across from him in the alleyway. Neil Josten leans his back on the building behind him points with his chin toward the carton in Andrew’s hand, “Do you mind?” he asks.
Andrew shrugs and passes the box over, the lighter inside. He lights one up and puts the carton in his own pocket. Andrew raises an eyebrow. Neil ignores it and instead looks out at the street opening.
“Everyone is gone.” Neil blows into the silence, still looking away from Andrew.
Andrew, unfortunately, cannot take his eyes off of Neil’s side profile. The fact that he’s disgustingly attractive makes him that much more annoying.
It also means he probably won’t be sharing tomorrow’s soufflé with Renee since she thinks funny.
“You’re still here,” Andrew says, just to be contrary. Neil smiles a small thing and takes another pull of his cigarette. Andrew closes his fist to feel the bite, something to distract himself.
“Allison would say she’s helping clean up, but she’s really just drinking the leftover wine and eating crab cakes while she waits for Renee.” He shrugs, “she’s my ride.”
Andrew hums and debates going back inside–decides to light another cigarette.
They’re both watching the alleyway entrance where two people have stopped walking and are entrenched in a passionate conversation.
Andrew clears his throat quietly, “What do you think they’re talking about?” he wonders aloud before sliding his eyes to Neil.
Neil smirks, tilts his head to the side like he’s thinking about it, and unsheathes a grin. “She’s probably telling him that she won’t protect him once the apocalypse happens and small, independent gangs pop up all over the place.”
Andrew’s brows furrow but he picks up the thread, “You can’t be inconspicuous in a post-apocalyptic wasteland with a curly handlebar mustache. She’s smart.”
Neil laughs out loud and it feels genuine. Dangerous.
Andrew stands, puts out the cigarette under his boot, and stretches out his fingers. Standing puts him much closer to Neil than he expected but neither of them move.
Neil surveys Andrew’s face like he’s cataloging it, his small smile is still in place. “We-uh, the Reds-have a game this week.” He starts, “Our last game of the season, probably.” He looks away and back, and away again, “Because, you know, we’re not doing that great. But anyway, we have a game here on Tuesday. You should come.” It’s phrased like a question and Andrew wishes he lit a fourth cigarette.
“Renee will be there. Because like I said: last game. Allison and Renee-and you know Renee. And Renee knows Allison–” He’s rambling, so Andrew decides to put them both out of their misery.
“I don’t like Exy.”
“Oh-right. Okay.” It feels to Andrew like a thread his been left hanging in the wind, not cut, just left drifting. And if he were anyone else, someone who cared about making a good impression, he’d pick it up.
Before either of them can continue, the two people Neil came with stop at the mouth of the alley, clearly drunk, and followed by Renee.
“Neil, baby! Come on, we’re going home!” Alison yells with one arm held by Renee and the other held by, the infamous, Kevin Day for balance.
Neil looks at Andrew, one side of his mouth lifted in an almost-there grin. “I’ll maybe see you around?”
“If only you could be so lucky.”
He smiles and goes to meet his friends before they walk towards a black SUV. Andrew thinks there may be a chance to pick up the invisible thread again. Maybe he could save it for later.
Renee is still at the mouth of the alley when Andrew walks up on his way back inside. “Did you two have a nice conversation?” She asks kindly. Furtively.
“You know too many sportsmen for your own good.” She throws her head back and laughs.
“I’m glad you liked him. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” She asks before walking towards the idle car.
Andrew nods once and goes back inside ‘Honey’. As he turns off the lights for the night, he wonders what kind of snacks there are at Exy games.