Archive of Our Own ^omega

Chapter Text

Kevin had enjoyed himself the night before. Like actually enjoyed himself. Maybe it had been the copious amounts of alcohol he and the rest of the foxes had inhaled over the course of the night. Maybe it had been the comfort of his closest friends and teammates around him, their bodies huddled, burning away the new melting chill of the mountains.

Spring would be coming soon, he thought. A fresh start.

Kevin had to give it to Allison, she had picked just the right spot for them to spend their week long break. A spacious cabin hidden from view of prying eyes, tucked away from traffic and footfall. Neil wasn't the only one grateful for the privacy.

That night, the foxes had spent hours playing a mixture of truth or dare and drinking games, eventually petering out in favour of ‘who could get tanked the quickest’. Kevin hadn't been very good at the games anyway, he had regulated on the sidelines, watching over his friends, his family, knowing that they were alive and safe. And happy.

He had been glad they hadn't made a diversion to pick up any cracker dust on their road trip. The dust would have completely derailed their nights and made their hangovers ten times worse. And Kevin knew he wouldn't have been able to resist it’s temptation. And he knew that Aaron would not have been the slightest but happy cleaning up his messes, especially not on a holiday. He didn't deserve that.

Throughout the week Dan had tolerated him, neither saying or doing anything to interact with him. He couldn't blame her, Wymack had been like a father to her too. He had shattered her heart with this news. Kevin accepted Dan's torrid of insults and accusations with the gravity it deserved. She had every right to be angry. He had been angry at himself also.

It still stung. No matter how deserved it might be.

As the night drew on, storm clouds had gathered dangerously above. Rain began to pour from the heavens, threatening to drown the foxes had they stayed outside any longer. A clammer of shrieks and yells sounded as the foxes grabbed blankets, clothes, anything in arms reach. The rain hammered against the french doors. Glasses lay disregarded out in the shower, scattered over tables haphazardly. They could last the night.

The rush of adrenaline wore off quickly, the drenched clothes setting in a chill. Kevin's own clothes were plastered to his back, hugging his body with an awkward tightness. He felt suddenly very conscious of the others snagging gaze on his shirtfront. He wanted to leave before Nicky could make another inappropriate comment about his physique.

Luckily, the other foxes began to slowly make their ways to their designated bedrooms. Kevin trailed reluctantly behind Aaron as Andrew and Neil took up house in their downstairs room. Couldn't he have been even a little closer to them? And not be paired off with his least favorite cousin of them all?

Maybe the alcohol would soften his deteste of Aaron. He doubted it.

Below his feet, the wooden floorboards creaked obnoxiously as he stumbled towards the door. If anyone so much as rolled during the night, the entire cabin would be shaken awake. Maybe this cabin wasn't as perfect as it first seemed.

‘Just going to stand there the entire night or you coming?’

Kevin snorted loudly, barely containing his inebriated bred immaturity.
‘Something funny?’ Aaron retorted impotelty. Aaron had kept up easily as the other foxes inhaled shots at an alarming rate but his voice remained stoically sober. Matt appeared behind him, curious as to what was the hold up.

‘Nothing just…’ Kevin snorted again, slurring his words as drunkenly as he felt, ‘coming.’

Matt burst out laughing, wheezing just as loudly as Kevin was. He slapped his knee, barely able to talk through snatched breathing. ‘Coming, i-’ Matt collapsed against Dan's side in hysterics. She too was biting back laughter.

Aaron hastily made to unlock the door. ‘You guys honestly need to grow up.’

‘Aww no Aaron, you have to admit it's funny.’ Nicky had come to join them in the hallway, likely attracted by all the noise. Aaron turned back to the rabble, hand on the door knob, frowning deeply.

‘Cum jokes are just as shit as your mom jokes.’ Aaron deadpanned.

‘Sheesh Aaron, but wait your mom's dea- ooh... way to kill the mood, Minyard.’ Matt sulked. ‘Come on Dan, let's go.’

Dan grinned, catching on immediately. ‘Coming right after you my love.’

‘I'll come with you!!’ Nicky was taking obvious entertainment out of this. The rest of the foxes were killing themselves laughing, staggering along to their rooms, grasping each other's shirts as they doubled up in hysterics.

‘Oh fuck off.’ Aaron cursed, striding, defeated into the unlit room.

‘Coming in, Minyard.’ Kevin laughed, followed, staggering into the blackness.

Light flooded around the room, illuminated by several strings of fairy lights that hung delicately above each bed. How practical, Kevin thought bitterly. This room looked more like a teenage girls bedroom than it did a travel lodge. He held no grudge though, too drunk not to find amusement from the twinkling stars dangling from his bed posters. He traced his hand along one string gingerly, barely able to lift his arm high enough. They danced beneath his fingers, casting light in odd ways across the room.

Kevin smiled.

‘You know you can look at them lying down too?’ Kevin turned to see Aaron already tucked up in bed, changed into fresh clothes, covers drawn up to his shoulders. He lay on his front with his elbows propping him up, cradling a book between them. Glasses had slid down aarons nose slightly, giving him the haunty imperious-ness of a librarian.

‘You look cute.’ Kevin slurred, mock whispering to Aaron.

‘What?’ Aaron looked genuinely befuddled.

‘You. Your glasses. They are cute.’

Aaron blanched slightly, hastily pulling back an expression of disapproval. ‘And you're drunk, go to sleep.’

‘I'm not tired.’

That wasn't a lie. Kevin's insomnia had the upper hand on him most nights, and even with the liquor burning through his veins, sleep eluded him.

‘Then just lie there and be still. Watch exy on your phone, I don't care. Just stop moving around, you'll keep up the whole cabin.’

Defeated, Kevin turned back to busying himself with the sheets, mumbling half-hearted curses under his breath (mostly directed at Aaron), and changing into non drenched clothes. Seems like this would be a long night.

The bed was comfortable, if he hadn't been so sleepless, he would have fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. It was as soft as dreams, smooth and cool under his skin. And the duvet- don't get Kevin started on them. He could have lain there for days on end, drowning in duvets and covers and pillows. If only.

He dug around in his pocket, feeling for his phone. All he produced was a tangle of headphones, a crumpled tissue and Andrew's lighter. Where was his phone?

Oh shit. No no nonono. Had he left it out on the table? Fuck. Echoes of rain still thundered off the roof. Fuck fuck fuckkkk.

‘Where you going?’ Aaron said groggily, referencing Kevin hastily yanking on his sliders.

Kevin didn't bother to reply as he slipped back through the door.

The speed he ran down the hallway was phenomenal. He'd rival Neil’s mile clock at the rate he was going. Kevin skidded, almost hauling the french doors off their rails as he opened them.

In the center of the table, laying in amongst the discarded glasses was his phone, slick with rain water. Kevin grabbed at his phone, slipping straight through his fingers several times before he had a steady grip on it. His t-shirt was already plastered to his back, soaked yet again in the space of an hour. He pressed the home button twice, clicking the power button desperately. The screen was black then a red battery flickered blankly up at him. Shit. He’d completely forgotten to charge it after they came out of palmetto. At least the water hasn't busted up his phone. He did not want to go shopping with Andrew anymore than he had too, and certainly not phone shopping. Never again.

Kevin stripped his shirt, squeezing it dry and dropping it into a sopping puddle on the floor. Fuck, he thought, he’d used up his only towel just earlier, now drying in one of the rooms. Though it was tempting, he couldn't go storming up there, he couldn't wake them all up. It was supposed to be a holiday for fucks sake.

‘Kevin, what are you doing?’

The voice came from the kitchen, the figure obstructed by a protruding wall. But Kevin didn't have to see him to know that voice.

‘Left my phone outside, s’all.’ Kevin stumbled toward the voice in the kitchen, wiping the reminisce of residue off of the screen. ‘What you doing up, Andrew?’

Andrew grunted, his attention entirely focused on making a sandwich which lay unfinished on the chopping board. He was cutting the leftover filling viciously, slicing them smaller and smaller until they lay in a pulpy mess on the chopping block. Kevin leant up against the sideboard, placing his hand over the wet mush. If Andrew brought down his knife, his hand would be severed in two.

‘Move your hand.’

Kevin ignored him, idly plugging in his phone to the port with the other hand. ‘You good, Drew?’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Hey,’ Kevin took the knife from Andrew's hands. He didn't resist. ‘Is everything good with Neil? You can take my bed if you want, Andrew, I don't mind sleeping on the couch. Not that I think sleeping in the same room as your brother would be much of a riot either.’ Andrew hadn’t moved an inch. ‘Look, I'm just offering. It's your call.’

Kevin grabbed a bottle off the side, setting down the knife next to his phone on a teatowel.

‘Aren't you drunk enough already? Put that down, jackass.’ As Andrew made a swipe for the bottle, he pulled out of reach above his head. Kevin laughed, taunting it just out of Andrew's reach.

‘First off, I'm not drunk. Second, you're short and I like rubbing it in your face, so not a chance, shawty.’

‘Okay, first off, you are so drunk. You can't even walk straight or form a proper sentence. And second, there is nothing wrong with Neil. God, can a man not even get up in the dead of night to make a sandwich in peace? What has humanity come to?’ he tutted, waving his finger mockingly in Kevin’s face. ‘Come on.’

Andrew produced a plate for his midnight snack, setting it back down on the living room island. This room was probably Kevin's favorite. It was open plan with high ivory ceilings and large french windows at each end like giant book props. It was everything that the nest wasn't. And that made it the best room to ever exist.

Kevin settled in the convergence of the corner sofa, propped up by pillows either side and cradelling the bottle with both hands. He lent his neck back on the top of the sofa backing, gazing through the skylights into the star flecked black expanse. ‘I don't wanna go home.’

‘Mm, so we’re doing the drunk midnight rambling, are we?’ Andrew craned his neck to keep the bread crumbs off the couch. After he finished his mouthful, he tilted his head back toward kevin. ‘So why'd ya not wanna go back then.’ His normal monotonous drawl had softened slightly, he never raised his voice when Kevin was like this. It was like scaring off an already cowering rabbit. Kevin rarely opened up about anything, maybe it was okay to switch it up every once in a while, eh?

‘I don't know man, like all i am is like exy. And that's it, man. All i fuckin am is…’ Kevin choked back on what could have been tears or the copious amounts of alcohol in his system.

Andrew shuffled closer to him slightly, hesitantly taking Kevin's hand in his. ‘Hey, kev, it's okay. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. You're fucked and I'm not even sure if you'll remember this in the morning.’

Kevin clutched Andrew's hand gratefully. ‘No, no i just- everything I am is because of Riko. I'm Kevin Day because of him. Nothing of mine isn't owned by him. And, and at Palmetto, I'm Kevin day. Like you know, the one that Riko fucking made me into. And I hate it. He broke me in the nest and he's broken me here too. And I can't get away from him. But here? Here I'm just… I'm just me. Oh fuck, shit shit shit.’

‘Hey, hey shhh Kev. It's okay, you don't have to go back there. You don't belong to him. I'm protecting you, remember? I'm not going anywhere. You understand?’

Kevin nodded, sniffing slightly as he tucked his head into Andrew's smaller shoulder.

‘Hey do you hear that or is my tinnitus playing up again?’ Kevin looked up at Andrew. He could hear it now, a sort of buzzing, like a text, but playing simultaneously one after the other. ‘Is your phone still plugged in, Kevin?’

Andrew was on his feet in an instant, striding towards the constant buzz in the kitchen.

‘If this is Wymack im going to kill him.’

‘Andrew, who is it?’

Silence was his only answer.

‘Andrew? Drew, whos-’

‘I don't think you'll want to take this Kevin.’ He had emerged from the kitchen, his face a somber, stone mask. Oh no. This couldn't just be Wymack. A burst of raw panic surged through him, his chest spasmed, his throat lined with fear. This was bad. This was very bad.

Andrew seemed reluctant to hand him his phone. The screen flashed as he turned the screen toward him.

12%.

16 missed voice messages.

[ messenger details: jean moreau ]

A cry died in Kevin’s throat. Jean. Jean Moreau. Jean Moreau, the man who hadn’t called him the entire one and half years he’d flown the nest. Not one single time. And now? 16 voicemails?

16 fucking voicemails.

So many thoughts blurred together into one fearful, panicked, wholly terrified mess.

‘Andrew,’ he croaked, barely able to talk through his closed throat. He felt like he was dying. ‘Andrew, this isn't good. Andrew, he never- he never fucking calls and now hes called- Riko… if Rikos done somethi-’

‘Kevin, Kevin look at me. If Riko has done something then he will get what he deserves. Riko isn't indestructible, Kevin-’

‘No no, you dont fucking understand, none of you fucking understand. Just shut up for once, Riko is going to do something, i said he would, didn't i? I said he would do something, and he fucking has. With the Lord dead, he- i don't know what he'll do. I don't-’

‘Hey, hey kevin. I'm not pretending to know what Riko will do. I'm not pretending to know what you're going through. But I do know that you're here right now and riko is across the country okay? He's not going to harm you. I won't let him.’

‘DONT YOU FUCKING GET IT ANDREW? IM NOT FUCKING WORRIED ABOUT ME, I DONT CARE WHAT HAPPENS TO ME. I CARE ABOUT JEAN, THE JEAN THAT I LEFT IN THE NEST. AND I DONT FUCKING CARE IF YOU CARE ABOUT HIM OR NOT BUT I DO OKAY?’ Kevin seized, collapsing against Andrew's side like a marionette with his strings cut. ‘I care so fucking much it hurts.’

Silence hung between them for what felt like an age. Kevin checked the screen again. Nothing had changed. 16 missed calls. 16 voicemails. The notifications stared at him unblinking. He willed them to go away. But nothing moved. Nothing deleted, nothing new. Just a button away from hearing Jeans' voices.

Andrew pitched his voice down to barely a whisper. ‘You don't have to listen to it, Kevin. I can if you want.’

Kevin understood the sentiment, but it was worth nothing. No matter what or who listened to it, the facts wouldn't change.

Tears burned rivers down his face. He didn't bother wiping them away, he knew new ones would come replace them. Again and again. He clutched at Andrew like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

His hands shook uncontrollably as he unlocked his phone.

His finger hovered over the play button. He couldn't do it. His hands wouldn't move. His breath wouldn't come. His head swam, possibilities, chance, what was it to him. The message would never change. Just the same recorded reel that would play over and over and never lose meaning or change voice. It would still be jean on the other end of the phone. The phone which Kevin didn't pick up. The phone, which Kevin was too drunk to even notice. Too fucking drunk and too fucking blind and too fucking late. He didn't know what the automation of Jeans' voice would say. But it was his to find out.

The message began to play.

“If you want to hear all messages, press one after the beep.”

At first it was only silence, then shaking, haggard breathing coming from the other end of the line.

Then.

“Hello, Kevin. Kevin, if you're hearing this I'm already dead. I am saying this to bid you goodbye and thank you. Thank you for giving me life. Thank you for giving me everything I ever had in this dark dark world. You were the light in everything. You have been there to pick me up again and again and again but I guess not this time. ‘You've got to fight your own battles’ that's what you told me once. And you never lied, Kevin. You never lied and that was the thing I loved the most about you.”

“I love you so much, and I never got to say. I never got to tell you how amazing you are, mon cheri. How in love with you I am. And how that love has just, it never left. I wish it did. I wish it had left the moment Riko laid hands on me. You were his. Haha, not anymore I guess. Congrats for getting out of hell, Kevin, now we all have to pay.”

“Ha, i've burdened you for so long now all i can say is this? I never thought I would have to say goodbye. I never thought the day would come. You’re better off without me anyway. All I've done is make your life a living misery. There is no going back from that. So now I'm at a dead end. There's no other way. I wish there was, I love you oh my god, I love you so much, and Renee. And Renee. Jesus. No. I can't do this-”

“Please, I don't know what I'm doing. I do, I planned it. I knew I'd hit the end soon enough. It's either I go out on my own terms or I'll get ripped apart by Riko. I'm no use to him anymore. I'm not the best backliner, I'm nothing special. I'm just his dog. Neil, in the two weeks he was here, he would already outplay all the strikers. Think what he could do in a month. He's better, he's the best. And me? I'm nothing. I'm the third player in this game. There is no room for three, only one. And with me gone, christ, he’ll get what he wants won't he. I've given him a free spot on the podium. If I don't do it, Riko will.”

“Please understand Kevin, I beg you please. I didn't want to leave you. But I need to do it on my own terms. I need to at least have some dignity as I go out. I'll be forgotten soon enough, don't worry. And then there's yours and Riko’s little rematch. I'm glad I'm not there. The press will love it. Now I'm out of the equation, it's just you too isn't it. You can finally get the stand off they've all been waiting for. It's gonna be great, isn't it? It's gonna be fine. You're going to win. You’re going to fucking win.”

“I hope you remember me though. Even if everyone else forgets. I don't care if they forget, they never meant anything to me. It was only you. It was only ever you. It could only ever be you, Kevin. Kevin my love, my dearest. I just want you to remember, you’re the only one who knows me. Who knows my truth. I know they will twist my death. This palace of broken memories. They will do whatever they want with me. Burn me, bury me, I don't care, I'm dead already. Just remember me, okay? Just you, you and me.”

“I hope when I'm dead I stay dead. I don't want to come back, I don't want to see anymore than I have. I want to burn like Icarus in your stories, I want to fall so far not even your Hades can reach me. Your love was sunlight to me. The only sunlight I needed in these dark halls. I don't want heaven or hell. I know if that were to exist I would be cast to eternal damnation, and I wouldn't want to see Riko again. Never. When I am dead I stay dead, yes? I want to die and be left in peace. With only the memory of you. You and i.”

“When you are to die, I want you to have peace as well. Do not mourn me. I was dead long ago. I was dead the moment I walked into the nest and the master assigned me a number. That was when Jean Moreau died. I was merely a debt being paid. And now it is time to reap what has been sowed. The debt needs collecting. Now it all seems so close, I can almost touch it. Like all them nights. I reached for you, but you were never there. You left me to live and now I leave you to die. Life and death, eh? Such a fine line. Such a risk. I guess you will always live in uncertainty of death, but in death you will never wonder of life. In life we always see death as so far off, this abstract concept that will never happen to us because we are young and so full of life. But in death, life is further than a hare's breaths away.”

“God, I just realised. I'm so scared. Finally I'm facing death and I'm scared?” he broke away, laughing hysterically. “How ironic. Ive craved and wanted this for so long, and yet im here having fucking second thoughts? The irony is astounding. God, I'm scared. I'm not sure what of. Maybe knowing that you won't be with me. Christ you fucking left me years ago, why am i thinking like this now? Fuck. I just want you to promise one thing, one thing. please, for me. Do not follow me. You promise me, okay. Promise a dead man his dying wish.”

“You made me hate this place. You know that? You made me hate this place so much. You made me realise that I deserved better than this. You were a living testimony that there is still good in this world. You were the misunderstood protagonist, weren't you. You always were. And you were the only reminder that there is a choice. There is always another choice. So this time I have to decide. I'm standing up to him. This is the only way I can get through to him. Maybe you’d be happier with someone else. Maybe loving me is the reason you cant love yourself. Maybe. It could have been us, Kevin, it could be us. When I'm away from here, I'll be happier than ever. You know that, and I made my choice. What's yours, Kevin?”

“You always said life was like chess. You stick to the rules, you make strategy, but you also make sacrifices. You told me that you know? And I'm playing this game, this game of life. I've played it every day I've been here. I've always been the pawn, so why not use me for what i was made to be? The sacrifice. Funny thing about pawns is they can only attack when you get close enough, when the opposition is on diagonal, when all the conditions are geared toward you. But the thing is, the pawns are played for defense, they are used to push till the end of the board, where they can transform into the queen. That is you. You will be the queen of the court, the deadliest piece on the board. You will bring the king down, even if it means bringing down his pawns first.”

“Life is like a game of chess, you said, but it's your move now.”

“Thank you for everything, Kevin. I'll wait for you. I’ll wait.”

“I love you.”

“Je t’adore.”

“Je t’adore.”

“Au revoir. Goodbye.”

Kevin sat unmoving. If Andrew wasn't so close to hearing his ragged breathing, he would have thought him dead. His face was unnaturally white, a taught sheet stretched over his face. His eyes darted rapidly around the small space in front of him, as if searching for answers in the palms of his hands. Andrew wished he could go back, pretend he had never seen those notifications on Kevin's phone screen. Pretend none of this had happened. In the minutes that had passed with only Jean's voice to fill the void, everything had changed. Kevin's world was no longer the same. It never would be. And all Andrew could do was sit and watch. Watch his closest friend's mind cave in, watch his whole world burn before his very eyes. If only he had left his phone outside. If only.

‘Kevin, do you want me to call Abby?’

His mouth worked, but no sound came out. He was drowning in his own crumbling psyche.
If only he were there. If only. Tears spilled down his deathly mask. Jean's voice rang in his ear, replaying the beep and then the message. Again and again. A ghost's voice. A dead man. His last moments.

He was dead.

He was dead. The reality and gravity of it all was setting in. Jean. Jean, the same Jean who he had spent his entire life with. The Jean who had picked him up time and time again, who had patched up every broken bit of him and held him up through the very end. The Jean that had whispered comfort into his ears night after night. The Jean who supported his flying the nest, who knew he was going to die there. Without Kevin. Alone. Despite everything. Despite all that had happened to both of them, to him. He still had love. And what did that say about him?

It felt as if a tidal wave had come crashing down onto his chest, his heart strings snapping under the weight. The air in his lungs was drowning him, wrenthing at every shaking breath he took. Kevin had never felt grief before. It had always been a distant sombering, an unimportant hurdle he had to pass. Seth's death had just been a speed bump, his motheres too long ago to remember. Jean's death was hurting off a cliff into a crushing void. Not even when Riko had shattered his hand and in turn, his future, had Kevin felt anything even close to this.

It was a dead, cold numbing deadweight that seared, burning through him. It was everything and nothing. It was a snaking, writhing pain twisting his gut, slowly shutting down each of his organs.

‘Kevin, I'm going to call Abby. Just stay there, I'll get my phone.’ Andrew wouldn't call with Kevin's phone. He recoiled away from it as though it had transformed into a snake. Every word Andrew said felt like an ocean away, echoing hollowly through empty caverns miles away. He gently eased Kevin off his shoulder, making a break for his room.

The sandwich lay forgotten on the table.

The basking quietness was deafening, the dimed lamps as harsh as interrogation torches. The lights and sounds and thoughts and the pain blurred together, hazing and bending and breaking. Why did he have to be dead? What had he done to deserve this? He didn't feel gone, his voice still ringing over and over, he'd been alive just then. He'd been alive on the phone, his voice, real, so very real. He had been alive one minute and now he was… gone.

Gone.

Forever. This didn't feel permanent, it felt like a cruel twisted joke on him. One where he'd wake up and Jean would wake up. Alive. If he called Jean again, he'd pick up, and he'd tell him he loved him. Tell him it was a nightmare. A nightmare that he wouldn't wake up from. A nightmare where the world had gone horribly wrong, a tilted reality that would never happen. Jean wouldn't leave him. He would never. He couldn't go. He couldn't.

Andrew must have told Neil, he heard voices drifting through the door, raised in panic but quickly hushed to a stage whisper. Kevin didn't bother to strain to make out their conversation. The voices in his head were louder than any noise around him.

Neil appeared beside him, replacing Andrew, propping him up the best his small body could. ‘Kevin, Andrew’s just on the phone to Abby. He told me what happened. I'm sorry. He- he kept me alive in the nest. He wasn't a bad person.’ Neil dragged his gaze up to meet Kevin’s downcast eyes. His panic stricken grief was plain on his face. ‘Hey, Kevin. Kevin, lean forward for me? That's good, thats-’

Kevin had already thrown up. He hasn't felt the acidic burn in his throat. It was like he wasn't even in his body anymore. He didn't feel the spasms that wracked his frame, the throat tearing sobs that followed. Nothing felt real. It was all slow, his brain unable to process what was happening. Neils words did not land, they had no meaning. It was all white noise, merely background to the tumult inside, his voice, his voice.

‘Kevin, i need to get a towel, can you stay in that position. Oh shit, is that blood? Andrew, come in here.’ Andrew appeared, phone still pressed to his ear. Kevin did not want to talk to Abby. He didn't want to talk at all. They wouldn't understand, no one would.

Andrew reclaimed his post next to Kevin, stroking circles along his back. He’d almost forgot he was shirtless, the sweat still stuck to him like a wet t-shirt. He felt clammy all over, slick with sweat and tears.

‘Abby, he's not talking. No. He's not. No, he's vomited. No Nei- Neil said there was blood. Nosebleed. I can't say he won't, I'm not his parent.’ It was hard to follow Andrew's stop start conversation, hard enough without only hearing half of it. He pulled his phone away from his ear momentarily. ‘Kevin, Abby wants you to go to hers. Says she can pick you up.’ he paused, thinking. ‘Hold on.’ Kevin wasn't sure who he was addressing.

Andrew pressed the home button of his phone, turning the screen toward kevin. Kevin had used this AAC app plenty of times before, but every word on the screen swam, mingling into one big mess. Kevin shook his head. Understanding, Andrew produced a pen and a scrap of paper from his pocket.

Kevin's grip was deathly, shaking so hard, the words he wrote down were barely legible. Andrew read the note out when he was finished.

“I want to go to the nest.” He read. “I need to see him. I love him.” Andrew sighed, brimming with emotion Kevin had long since heard. ‘Kevin, you will not go back there.’ Andrew embraced Kevin. ‘The nest is not your home anymore, Kevy. He's not there anymore. It will only bring you more pain. Just come back with Abby.’

Kevin hugged Andrew tighter, his tears staining his shirtfront. Through all the inebriation and unwanted noise, this thought was clear. He must go to the nest. He had to. There was no choice.

This was his move.

He took the paper again.

“I will go even if you try to stop me.” Andrew sounded completely exasperated, utterly defeated. Grief manifested itself in strange ways. Defeat did not have a good look on Andrew. ‘Fine. You are not driving though. And i'm not going anywhe-’

‘I will take him.’

Renee stood at the bottom of the stairs looking surprisingly awake. Neil stood not far behind her, towels in hand. He must have told her. As Renee stepped closer, he could tell she’d been crying. Her eyes were bloodshot and her voice strained and raspy. She reached out her hand, brushing Kevin's hair away from his face. She’d been listening.

‘I knew him too. Nowhere as close as you were- are. It would mean alot to me, Andrew. I will take you if you wish, Kevin.’

Neil knelt, cleaning up the vomit at Kevin's feet. ‘I'm not sure if it's safe, Renee,’ he said hesitantly. ‘Not the nest, I mean. Just for Kevin. There was blood in his puke, I don't want you doing anymore damage to yourself by doing this, Kevin. And Riko, he's still-’

Kevin stopped listening.

Why couldn't they see this like Kevin did? Why couldn't they see he needed this? Why couldn't they see it? He needed to see Jean. One more time. One last time. Why couldn't they understand? He could be alive, he would be standing before them as they entered the nest. He needed to know. He needed Jean. How could they not see it, how were they so blind?

‘Kevin, what do you want, hunny?’

Kevin flipped the paper, leaning it against Andrew's chest as he scrawled his response.

‘He says “I'm going with you. He’ll be there”.’ Andrew turned his face away from kevin. He’d never seen Andrew cry before. It came on as suddenly as it left, scrubbing his face viciously with his sleeve, leaving streaking red marks across his face. ‘Kevin.’ his voice caught in his throat. ‘Kevin, don't- If Kevin’s going, then i'll have to-’

‘No,it's okay, Andrew. He’ll be safe.’ Renee caught Andrew's gaze. ‘I promise.’

Neil took Andrew's hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

Andrew sighed again. ‘Fine. Phone me if anything happens.’ he drew himself up, straightening kevin and assisting Renee with him to the car.

‘Sorry, where did you leave your keys Andrew? I must have left my copy at Palmetto.’

‘In the bedside draw.’

Renee flashed a strained smile, jogging back toward the cabin as Kevin pulled on the sweater Neil had brought down for him. Each limb was coldly unpliable, aching with every movement. Andrew took a sick bin out of the boot, setting it down between Kevin's legs. He patted Kevin's head, ruffling his hair affectionately. ‘Are you sure you can do this, Kevin? I don't even know why you want to go, crawling back into that-’ Andrew caught himself. ‘Are you sure, you don't have to, Kevin.’

‘No.’ he sniffed hard, blood slipping back down his throat. ‘No I need to. I need to see him. I need to know.’

‘Hey, hey, it's okay, I'm not doubting you. Just worried. I should trust Renee, she'll keep you safe. Just don’t do anything stupid, okay?’ he patted Kevin on the head again, closing the door gently behind him. He knocked once on the window before making his way back into the cabin.

Renee shut the door and started up the engine. ‘Ready?’

Kevin nodded.

‘Lets go.’

The entire parking area was flooded with red and blue lights. Police swarmed, milling, stopping and starting, taking statements, signing off whatever shit they needed to confirm Jean's death.

‘Name and ID.’ A cop had pulled them to a halt. With the hours of silence of the journey, his voice sounded startlingly loud. ‘State your intention please, ma’am.’

‘Renee Walker. I'm here on behalf of my friend,’ she gestured to him. ‘Kevin day.’ He made a face, the name bore no recognition on him. ‘He was dating Jean Moreau.’

‘Can he not talk for himself? Hello, can you hear me?’ he waved his hand obnoxiously toward Kevin. Kevin was unresponsive. ‘Is he deaf?’

‘No, just his boyfriend happened to have died a few hours ago, that's all Officer.’ Renee plastered on her fakest smile Kevin had ever seen. The venom dripped from each word. Kevin just hid his face further into his jumper covered arms. His eyes stung from crying, his face red and raw. He sniffed back on the blood hard. At least he hadn't vomited again.

The officer rolled his eyes, letting them pass through. How often would they see scenes like this before becoming completely desensitized to it all?

The car rolled to a stop.

Neither moved.

Renee was waiting for him to make the first move.

He caved.

‘What if…’ Kevin whispered hoarsely, rough from disuse and sick, ‘what if he's not dead. He could be alive, you know. Maybe he didn't call, I just, I'm making this up. And, and it's all in my head because he's not gone. He's just hurt, he's alive. And when I walk into the nest he'll be there, he'll be there in front of me and I can- I can hold him again and tell him it'll be alright. And i could- i could tell him-’

‘Hey, Kevin, it's okay. Shhh shhh you're doing great. Come here.’ Renee wiped away a tear from his face. ‘You are so strong, Kevin.’

‘I just, I wanted-’ Kevin couldn't contain his sobbing, ‘I just wanted to tell him I loved him. One last time. It had been months since- since I told him. Since I said I loved him. I didnt even call him. I never called-’ he broke off, gasping, raking a shaking hand through his hair. ‘It had been secret. Us, I mean. I was so fucking blind. And I fucking killed him. I fucking killed him-’

Renee cradelled Kevin's face between her hands. ‘Kevin, look at me please. Can you copy my breathing, Kevin? Hand on my chest, that's good. Well done. In and out. In and out. Good job, keep going Kevin, you’re doing great.’
‘Listen to me now Kevin, it is not your fault. You did not kill him. Okay? And if anyone tells you that, even the voices in your head, they are wrong. You did not kill him. None of us did.’

She looked away as an alert flashed up on her phone. She cursed quietly, reaching into the driver's door. ‘Hey, I'm just going to take this quickly, is that okay?’

She had already left, muttering into her phone as she made her way across from the car.

This wasn't the first time Kevin had seen her smoke. He’d stumbled upon the odd pairing of Andrew and her one time, sharing a packet. She’d told him that she’d tried completely giving up once she was taken out of the system to lead her ‘good christian’ life. Turns out it wasn't half as easy as she’d first thought it’d be.

Hazy tendrils followed as Renee drew further from the car, cloaking her petite form.

Kevin sat in silence. The only company he had was the ever quickening pace of his breathing. At this rate, he would faint for sure, every breath fast and shallow. Lights danced in his eyes, the reds and blues of the police cars. The constant hum of inquiries, the ever shifting sea of faces, Kevin couldn't say how much time had passed. The blood began drippin over his nose, his lips. There was no point wiping the blood, more would just come to replace it. Again and again and again.

He knew he had thrown up, gasping on stolen air as the vomit burned through his mouth. It dribbled down his chest, unpleasantly warm. He did not care if he died gagging on his own puke. Let him die. There was nothing left for him. Nothing but denial and regret and anguish. Wouldn't it be easier? To leave. To run. To hide. As Neil had.

He drew his sleeve up.

He'd seen Andrew's arms plenty of times. A mismatch of overlapping scars, some faded into a white pressed line.

Kevin's arms were not clean of scars. But he'd learned soon enough to hide them. Find other places, where the master would not see. The places that clothes would cover, out of sight, out of mind.

Kevin knew where Andrew kept his spare knives, tucked away in the glove box underneath the license.

Up close, they didn't look like much. Maybe it's danger lay in the balance, the not knowing. The ‘what if?’. It didn't feel like much. But it was the first real thing he'd felt for a long time. He hated it, he hated it as the red lines swelled and bloomed across his skin. He hated it as it mingled with the salt of his never ending tears. He hated it as much as he hated himself. Guilt rose, curling familiarly around his chest.

He’d sworn he was clean. To Abby. To Betsy. To Andrew.

But that was then. And this was now.

They didn't understand. His mind worked too fast, too fast, his body couldn't keep up. He couldn't.

What was Renee going to say? What did he care? He should be as dead as Jean. he deserved to be six feet under. Not Jean. Fuck, Jean Jean Jean JeanJean jeanjeanjeanjean. They didn't care, these police, just fucking ticking files and collecting evidence. They didn't care that he was gone. They didn't care that he was left behind. No one did. It was just procedure. A mechanical automation cleaning up the aftermath, going through the movements. Over and over and over. Jean was no different to any other death to them, just one more to tally on a list.

Maybe the problem was he did care. So much that a cavern had hollowed out of him, a hungry devouring, a missing piece. There was no way to fill this endless, devouring void. Kevin could just watch as the pieces slipped away into the oncoming blackhole, bending and warping, filling him with a excruciating, deep, gnawing pain.

Maybe he deserved to feel this, this empty, lonely cave.

Maybe he deserved to know how Jean felt, all those years alone in darkness, in hiding.

Maybe this was his punishment.

His own eternal damnation.

A knock rapped on the window. ‘Kevin day? May I have a word?’ a uniformed officer stood imposingly before him. She didn't quite hold the swaggering righteous aura that the others did. More of a quiet understanding, a self reassurance. Past her, Renee stood, phone still pressed to her ear and cigarette between her fingers. Her tears showed up red and blue, fluorescent scars against her unblemished skin. When she caught Kevins eye, she gave a tight smile. Kevin hated that too. How she would pretend, build up defences for everyone around her, smiling and using that soft, reassuring voice that comforted everyone but herself.

Startled, Kevin shoved his sleeve down, pressing Andrew's knife into the hoodie's oversized pocket. His heart beat in his mouth, so fast Kevin was sure it would shatter.

‘Sir, step out the car please. Can you come with me? I've been told your Kevin Day, is that right?’ Her voice was muffled through the window. The car had never felt so claustrophobic. Its brewing stagnant heat, settling uncomfortably underneath his hoodie.

Kevin nodded. The lock clicked open. He stepped out of the car.

The officer gestured for him to follow. Renee took Kevin's back, off the phone to what must have been her mother. Her face was stony but her eyes told it all. Grief was plain in her eyes, like a carving set in stone. She held him up when no one was there to hold hers.

They were led to the back of an ambulance, uniformed police standing watch. A chair was propped open beside the stretcher bed. Renee and Kevin took up post on the makeshift bed, leaving the lone chair to the officer. Another policeman stood beside them, notepad in hand.

She let them settle before beginning. ‘Mr. Day, do you understand that three hours prior, Mr. Jean Moreau died?’ He hesitated. Kevin could have denied it. Plead innocent to all knowledge of it. Because then he could have been alive. Alive, waiting. Renee held fast to Kevin in a sideways embrace. Kevin nodded, the bile in his throat tasted bitter as he bit back on tears. The officer leant forward. ‘And do you understand that he died as a rusult of suicide?’

No non nononono. No he didn't understand, he didn't understand at all. But that was kept to himself. His denial would get him nowhere. He nodded reluctantly. Why were they asking him this? Were they the ones listening to a dead man's voice? Were they the ones haunted by the tone, then beep, then Jean- oh Jean. He knew he was dead. He heard his last, dying breaths. He needed a drink so bad.

‘How- how did he die?’ Kevin shifted, his voice dry and raspy.

The officers traded glances. Silent words were exchanged. Eventually the officer spoke up, resting a hand on Kevin's shaking knee. ‘From what we’ve uncovered so far, Jean died of an overdose. It seemed like he had collected medication over some months or weeks, and used them in the attempt. Pain meds. From an outside perspective, it looked like he had been using for quite some time, but we can only speculate at this point. None of us knew him prior and no other witnesses are cooperating. I'm sorry.’

Kevin couldn't contain himself. ‘No… no he wouldn't. No no no nonono. He didn't, he never.’ his eyes darted, his brain scrambling to make sense of all this. ‘He would never. Jean- Jean never took meds, not even when he was hurt. He didnt use. He would never, he hated them. He didn't even drink. He wouldn't touch- Riko, he- Riko said he’d-’

‘Hey, hey now,’ Renee pressed Kevin's wet face against her chest, rocking gently. ‘Kevin, were not bringing him into this. Jean doesnt deserve that, okay? Shh shhh shh, now.’ Renee stroked his hair gently, smoothing it down as you would a spooked stay cat, as if that alone had the power to lull him to sleep.

‘I know it's difficult, and I know you will want someone to blame, but there is something your boyfriend wanted you to have. He left it all for you in here.’ the officer drew a box out from under her chair. It was a battered moving box, with tape stuck haphazardly across it. None of it had been cut. ‘Jean left instructions to not open the box unless given to you specifically. Since we didn't need any more evidence for the investigation, we didn't touch it.’

How considerate, Kevin thought begrudgingly.

Kevin scrunched his eyes shut, pressing his face into Renee's sweater. He did not want to see what was inside. He couldn't. He couldn't.

‘I need a drink.’

‘I think we need to sort out your face first.’ the officer gestured to the steady stream of blood that crept down his lips. Renee's shirt was stained a browning crimson. Kevin touched his nose hesitantly. ‘Im… i’m sorry i-’

‘Hey, we’re not worrying about that now. Lets clean you up, Kevin, come one, tilt your head up for me. Good boy, well done.’ The paramedic handed Renee the tissues and gauze as she got to work. His head began to spin as he laboured breathing through his mouth, dry and neausiating. She wiped her hands and leaned back from Kevin, downcast gazing at her handiwork on his nose.

‘Can I go now?’

The noise Renee made wasn't one of approval, but understanding. ‘Let's get you home Kevin. If you have any further questions, I left my contact details with one of your people.’ The officers nodded, ordering their papers. No matter how deeply grieving she was, Renee never brushed aside pleasantries. It was her wall. Unshakeable.

The officer let them go, escorting them back to Andrews maserati. One last farewell and they were on the road. Eventually the nest faded back into the darkness of the night.

Kevin pressed his back against the seat hard enough to crack a rib, he didn't want this to be true. He didn't want to hear Jean’s voice anymore. He didn't want to hear the police confirming it, solidifying his falsehood that Jean had lived, that he would see him there in the nest, alive. He could feel a headache brimming behind his eyes. The pain was unbearable.

Yet another reminder that he was living. And Jean was dead.

The rest of the night was a senseless blur. Miles of black skies and silence passed by without recognition. Somewhere along the way, he must have fallen asleep. A deep, unshakable nightmare filled with the horrors of that night. Oblivion awaited him, and he was relieved to submit.

He wanted this living nightmare to be over.

He didn't want to wake up. Ever again.

Renee couldn't sleep.

She knew that it would help, not thinking things over again and again. Over and over until her thoughts were a senseless mess of guilt and emotions that hadn't been dragged up in a long time. Emotions she had never wanted to feel again.

It all festered and churned in her stomach, the anger, the regret and remorse. Just knowing that she could have saved him. She could have got him out of there. But no. No, she fucking waited. She waited because of the Ravens v Foxes showdown. She had listened to Kevin. Wait till then, he’d said.

Why hadn't she listened to her gut? But no, now she had a dead man on her conscience.

A dead man, a dead man that she had loved, that she had cared for. A dead man that she would never see again. A dead man who would stay dead.

The bed she lay on felt more like a coffin than comfort. Abby had prepared the rooms hastily, loose sheets and quilted blankets piled ontop of each other to make a nest. Glowing plastic stars hung above her, mesmerising. Renee remembered when Andrew had stuck them up, a bet to see how long it would take Abby to notice.

It had been two years.

Renee remembered that like it was yesterday.

That was a very, very different yesterday.

Kevin had not let Abby touch him when they made it back, locking himself inside the spare room. Renee wished she could have done that too. She wished she could have cried and shook and screamed. But no. Of course the job of breaking the news fell to her. As it always did.

She had to play her role, the quiet sweet christian girl. The supportive friend, the one with all the answers, with endless patience and love to go around. The mediator to everyone and everything.

Maybe they had forgotten that she was human.

Sometimes she forgot too. She felt more like an automation going through the programmed motions, day after day, than any human. She served a purpose. That was all.

There was no shoulder for her to cry on, no one waiting to hear about her day. No one was interested in how she felt, or whether she felt at all. That was until Jean.

Jean had listened and understood, he had heard her for what she was and not who everyone else expected her to be. With him, she'd never felt like Renee. She was Natalie. She was herself with no facade or strings attached. Just her and Jean against the world. Maybe that was selfish of her, expecting him to be there for her, to listen to her endless problems. Maybe she should have been the one listening. Maybe she could have helped.

Maybe.

A ball of fury burned inside her, consuming everything, the guilt, the terror, the tears that came thick and fast. There was no one to blame but herself. Her and her blindness, her own stupidity. She didn't deserve sympathy. She didn't deserve anyone's love. No wonder she always ended up alone. She was her own curse.

The panic seized her as swiftly as an eagle to its prey. Renee had almost forgotten the helplessness that came with it. The feeling of lying in the dark, alone, suffocating in your own head. Her breathing was erratic and ragged, the tears spilling into her mouth as she fought to stay afloat. But she was drowning deeper, deeper, devoured by her thoughts. Her hands slipped straight through control, throwing her overboard. Her heart beat in her throat, the sick acid rising. She could feel her hands trembling as she raked them through her sweat slicked hair, picking at the bloody stain of her shirt. Each movement sent a searing pain, like every nerve was set on fire, hot and cold all at once. It was everything and nothing. It was a rock atop of her chest, crushing into her like waves against cliffs. She had to do something.

Now. If it wasn't now, then it would be never. She had to move, something, something.

Standing up was a mistake, dizziness overwhelmed her senses as she gripped onto the mantelpiece with white knuckles. Her body was shutting down bit by bit, limb by limb.

The window was cool underneath her forehead, the fresh spring breeze freezing the pane solid. Just focus, focus. The colourless skies, the condensation of her skin, the cracked lips she’d worried at until they bled.

Breathe.

Safe. Home. Okay. Breathe. In. Out. That was all that mattered. In. Out. In, out. Again.

She was safe, she was home. She was okay. She could breathe. She wasn't fine, but she had never been.

Her face was wet, her throat raw from sobbing. She needed water. Just- something.

Smoking had not helped, only added to the ever growing pile of guilt, its infinite pain and unsteady tempest. A balancing act hazed with fog.

Maybe sleep would help. Put her mind to rest, to process this, to deal with it all. If she could just close her eyes for one minute-

A knock rapped at the door.

Renee froze. It wasn't Abby’s gentle tap. It wasn't Wymacks imperious rat-tat. But that meant- but Kevin was locked in his room, wasn't he?

Panic bred curiosity dragged her from her perch on the window sill.

Renee smelt him before she even opened the door, the reek of alcohol was overpowering. This was not good. She wiped her tears and forced her trembling hands to silence. She would not break.

‘Kevin, something up?’ Kevin stood, propped up by the wall only, his lax expression smoothed with inebrity. An acquired bottle hung loose between his fingers.

‘Renee, come in please?’ Kevin slurred plenty. His eyes were defocused, dancing around feverishly. Renee nodded, inferring his poor English greatly.

The bed could barely fit one, let alone two. Kevin slumped, his back pressed up against the wall. She didn't want to have to deal with one of Kevin's drunken moods, no matter how grief stricken he was. She was tired and wanted so dearly to be alone and mourn Jean’s passage quietly. Empathy was not something she had the energy for right now. Still, this wasn't Renee's fantasy where she wasn't a doormat. This wasn't Jean.

Renee bit back a cry. From up here in the dim lamplight, Renee couldn't help but notice how similar Kevin looked to Jean. Identical raven black hair, parted down the centre, not a shade different. Those same dark eyebrows that were always pinched no matter how they felt. Them long eyelashes that feathered their cheekbones as they downcast their eyes.
She had to remind herself that this was not Jean. Because Jean was pale and not freckled, his eyes rounder whilst Kevin’s were slanted and mismatched in colour, black and midnight green. Because Jean’s hands were thin and fragile where Kevin had the hands of a pianist.

Because Jean was dead and Kevin still hung on.

Renee sat herself down beside Kevin, embracing him awkwardly. ‘You good, Kevin?’

Kevin buried his face into her chest. The dampness of his face was already seeping through her already marked t-shirt.

‘No.’

His honesty was startling.

‘Im sorry, i know its hard, i shouldn't have asked tha-’

‘I think... I'm dead.’

That shut up Renee immediately. Whatever she had expected him to say, it wasn't that.

‘Kevin, you're not going to die, okay? Well get through this, I promise you. Grief can make you think like this but I promise you won't, you’re just drunk okay? You won’t di-’

Kevin was already pulling up his sweater sleeve with intoxicated slowness. Andrew had once mentioned that Kevin had gone through some bad periods of self harm in the nest and throughout his transfer. But these weren't old scars. These were as deep as the memory of jeans suicide, ripe and fresh in their minds.

‘Kevin, i-’

Blood had soaked through his jumper sleeve, a sopping black mass. The cuts were deep. Deeper than renee had thought possible. Kevin looked impassively down as the mess of what used to be his arm. She wanted to scream. He was bleeding out on her bed, thick and fast. The blood just kept coming. It wouldn't stop. Why wouldn't it stop?

Renee had noticed the knife in his pocket back at the ambulance, glinting in the flashes of red and blue. She had assumed that he'd taken one of Andrew's knives for defense. She wouldn't have blamed him, they were stepping straight back into the nest. Jeans grave. How badly she'd been wrong. How badly she’d misjudged everything. Oh fuck fuckfuckfuck.

Tears prickled, burning her eyes unbearably.

Renee could barely keep her voice steady. ‘Kevin, Kevin i need to get Abby, okay? Can you give me the knife you used, please? You're not in trouble, no I just need you to stay here for me, yeah? Good, thank you, I'm just getting Abby now.’

Renee shut the door softly behind her. She jammed her fist into her mouth as the lock clicked, she would not let them hear her terrified cries. She would not break. Her whole body shook, sliding down the wall, crumpling in on herself. She was terrified. She was so frightened, a life crumbling before her eyes.

She barely recalled waking up Abby, explaining what Kevin had done. She couldn't remember finding the empty pill capsules strewn over Kevin's bed. She couldn't remember when the ambulance had come, the blue and red lights blaring in the darkness. But she could recall the deafening silence after, like the whole house was holding its breath. She could recall Abby's hands gripping her tight around the shoulders in an embrace, either in comfort or fear she would run.

The stench of vomit and alcohol mingled long after Kevin left, festering despite being scrubbed and bleached over and over.

She wanted to tear the house out floorboard by floorboard till it left. It was everywhere, choking her, drowning her. It gnawed at her stomach till she retched. There was no escape.

And the thoughts, the talking, it wrapped itself around her like a rope, tightening around her neck bit by bit. Little by little. Knowing that she had been thinking about Kevin, how he was responsible. He wasnt, of course, she couldn’t blame anyone, it was suicide. Kevin hadn't killed him. But she couldn't help thinking. That maybe if he'd stayed. If he’d have just stayed a bit longer. Jean would have lived. He'd be alive. She’d hear his voice again. One more time. One last time.

Wymack had left with Kevin. The ambulance had come and left without so much as a word. It was just Abby and Renee, stranded in the shock, struggling to make sense of what had just happened. It was all so fast. One minute they’d thought Kevin was sleeping, the next he was as good as dead.

She didn't want him to leave them.

She didn't want him dead.

His life was up to God now. Who’d have thought that the very knives she had gifted Andrew for protection were now used to harm one of her closest friends. Her Kevin, her boy.

Give them the rope and they'll hang themselves.

What has she done? She’d fucking killed him.

Just another man, Natalie had killed so many. It meant nothing to her. But Renee's hands are clean.

Were clean.

Were.

Abby's voice floated in from the kitchen. Andrew had not taken the news lightly. She wouldn't be surprised if he hated her. She had promised. And she’d broken it, in turn breaking his trust. Every string was being cut, everything crumbling under her touch.

She was a bad person who no longer held the facade of a good one. It was lying. And it had cost her her friend so dearly.

The crushing guilt shrouded her, squeezing her lungs dry of air. The tears that fell were feverish and plentiful. The flow didn't stop, her face wet and burning. There was no one to comfort her. Not that she deserved it. She didn't deserve any pity, she didn't deserve this life when she had destroyed countless others. What made her more deserving of this than Jean, than Kevin? What had she done? Why why why why?

Crying could not solve this mess, but it was the only thing her body seemed to be able to do. The sobbing was no comfort nor was it useless. It was a distraction at best. The only sounds she made were her shaking breaths and violent sobbing. At least it wasn't Jean's voice. Renee didn't think she could bear that, a dead man reanimated. A lost man who would never be found.

The stain wouldn't move. No matter how hard Renee scrubbed, her hands were raw and chemically irritated. Her shirt remained stubbornly red, the more she worked at it, the further it spread, turning the once white material a lingering shade of pink. It was useless. She couldn't fix it. She couldn't fix anything.

Renee threw the shirt down in frustration. ‘Fuck you, fuck you,fuckyou,fuckyouyou.’ `The soap stung her eyes as she rubbed at them, sliding down to her knees.

If only she could have stopped him.

If only. If only.

Renee didn't sleep.

Not with Jean's ghost lingering so close. Not lying curled on the edge of Abby's bed, not with her silently lapsing into sleep beside her.

Renee lay there till the sun broke. She never thought it would rise again. Maybe the darkness made it less real. Maybe the darkness hid the blood, bleeding into the blackness of oblivion.

The sun would never rise again for her.

Nor would it for Jean.

The hospital was an ordered mess. Patients coming on going, on stretchers, running, in wheelchairs and on morbid metal contraptions they called beds. The whole place reeked of chlorine, wet wipes and death. That sort of smell that clogged your nose and dried your mouth until your head began to swim with fog. It was a sterilised graveyard.

Death was an odd smell. It wasn't exactly decay you expect but more a heavy coolness that drained you to your very core. A sort of sweet, viscous scent that clung to you no matter how much you scrubbed and showered. A smell that got under your nails, an unmovable stain.

The room he sat in had no windows, just two chairs and a lone bed dead centre. Wymack had never been claustrophobic, but these walls felt oppressive, tightening and warping the stark white walls into a crushing abyss. He wondered how doctors could survive being in these walls, imprisoned by an endless array of tunnels that twisted never endingly. Maybe they grew used to it. Maybe the pay was good enough to put yourself through this for forty years before retirement. Wyamck laid his bet on the latter.

Wymack had sat in this room for hours. He had no idea whether it was day or night or how much time had passed, the only marker was the nurses and doctors that came by at intervals.

For a man of his way, he was rarely quiet. But this had shut him up. Seeing Kevin lain still on that hospital bed, deathly palid despite his usual warm olive skin. Seeing the wires and tubes and machinery weaving in and under the blankets that were placed gingerly on top of him. Witnessing the doctors doing chest compression after compression, administering naloxone with practiced efficiency, watching him convulse harshly over and over. The blood never seemed to stop coming. From his arms, from his mouth, his nose. It just wouldn't stop.

Something tugged in Wymack’s memory unconsciously. The memory was of his mother. She’d looked just like him before she died, her eyes rolling and mouth frothing. She’d died in his arms in the place she once had called home. It was only a matter of time before she went out like that, to tell the truth David had waited until the day the light went out of her eyes. He’d wished and dreamt so long.

But this wasn't how Kevin was supposed to die. It was too early, too soon. He’d been like the son he’d never had. He'd been a brazen light burning in the middle of the team, an invisible glue that never broke no matter what.

But now. Now-

David hadn't cried in years. There had been no reason to. But now, he couldn't stop the tears from flooding down his face. Noiseless sobs hitched and fell, leaving him disorientated and no better off than he was before. His tears couldn't save Kevin. He couldn't save Kevin. Not with his life pending on the edge like this.

Even looking at his crumpled form stung him in unbearable ways. The way Kevin's chest rose and fell irregularly shallow in sporadic patterns like it could cease at any moment. The drip looked morbidly imposing at his side, snaking up into his hand. Ivory bandages stood out stark against his blood crusted wrists, already clotting with deep crimson stains. And that tube, hanging out lopsidedly from his mouth. And the deep blue purple shadows that lined his eyes, the sunken drained look about him.

How could he tell him that he loved him, when he was so close to death. How selfish and hard and stubborn he was, keeping up his untouchable facade despite his tender, love fueled heart. And now he’d left it too late. Too fucking late. Each tear that fell felt like an iron rod, scorching their liquid paths down his face.

His son. The person who reminded Wymack so vividly of himself despite them sharing little in looks. Despite him being raised opposite to what Kevin had grown to call home. Despite everything, he still loved him as though he were his own.

Kayleigh would have been proud. Proud of everything Kevin had achieved and lived through, thriving in the darkest of places, overcoming everything the cursed fates had thrown at him. If only Kevin could see. See how far he had come and how effortless he made it look. If only he had told Kevin. If only.

There were so many what if’s. So many stones left unturned. So many words left unsaid.

What had he done? What had gone wrong? He wished he could show Kevin now how much he loved him, how much he needed him. He was just a kid. A very scared kid who had known nothing but pain and fear his entire life. A kid who’d burned so bright and fast that his own family couldn't handle his brilliance. No, they weren't family. They didn't deserve that from him. They weren't the ones sitting next to Kevin's unconscious monitored body, crying and crying for a future that might have been. That should have been.

His tears blurred everything, smudging Kevin into a watery image of himself. He looked no less alive. Why couldn't he just wake up. Why, why whywhywhy-

Children always think that adults know what they're doing. That was a lie. A lie that adults told themselves to reassure that at least someone had control. The truth was that adults were just as blind at the wheel as any other was. The only difference was they grew used to the lies they told themselves, believing the false knowledge they’d been fed. Believing that it was all under control, that at least someone knew what was happening. But no one did. No one. Not the doctors, not the lawyers, not the governments, no one. No one had a single clue.

No one could tell him if Kevin was going to live. Renee would have said it was up to god. Wymack would have said it was up to life. Up to the fates, up to nature, however you wanted to say it.

It was just playing the game of chance. The game of life.

Wymack had seen his wrists before the ambulance came. He could see the hate and the anger and the pain in each and every cut, deep enough to show the whites of his bone. He’d seen that pain too many times to not recognise it. With Janie, with Seth. With himself.

Andrew had asked why he had his tattoos over his forearms on what must have been his second visit. Wymack had been so taken away by his brazen casualty that he hadn't bothered lying. He could have put it down to anything. He could have said it was honouring his heritage, his beliefs, his ethnicity. He could have said he'd been in a biker gang, a drug cartel, a mafia organization. He could have lied through his teeth and twisted it anyway he wanted. Andrew was a kid, he didn't deserve an answer from him. Yet even so, he felt so compelled by his open honest interest.

Wymack knew Andrew would accept it, he'd probably guessed it already, he just wanted David to spell it out for him. He’d seen Andrew's armbands. He didn't need a backstory or that it was a running joke to differentiate between the twins. He didn't need any of that bullshit. Wymack had explained how he commissioned the tattoos after first becoming an exy coach. His scars were long healed by then, but as the nature of scars is, they didn't leave him. The reminder was always there, of his past, his parents and the place he had once called home. Also, it was rather suspicious looking of him never wearing short sleeves and keeping his jacket on him at all costs. It was time to move past that. So he’d had them done there and then.

After that, he’d bared his arms with pride, sporting sleeveless tops and vests wherever he went. His tattoos were part of him. As much as the scars he still bore were.

A light rap sounded gently, startling Wymack from his bittersweet nostalgia.

‘Renee,’ his voice strained with raw emotion and tiredness. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you were with Abby?’

The look Renee wore was utter defeat. A bone weariness layden with a deadweight. No wonder. She had just lost a very close friend. Wymack did not claim to know anything about the extent of their relationship and it wasn't in his place to pry, but this had clearly bled her dry. It had all happened so suddenly. One minute the foxes were happy on holiday, the next Kevin's boyfriend had killed himself, and Kevin not far behind. This shift had thrown everyone off their feet, and now, disorientated, they were trying to pick up the pieces. They don't know where to start. Not with Kevin hospitalised and Andrew off god knows where and Renee… well, it was Renee.

Wymack didn't know what to say. She stood, wrapped in a drenched windswept coat, strings holding her up barely.

It was all so fast. Like a whiplash none of them could have anticipated, no warning, no signs. Just the reminder that Jean lay dead somewhere. Dead. Dead as you get.

‘Andrew…’ Renee's voice croaked deliriously, ‘he’s, he’s back now. Abby said to go. I came here.’

Renees scarf had slipped slightly, a fresh crimson flush deepening into purple. Finger marks seemed to be burned into her skin, tender, soft skin. As if she could feel his weighty gaze, Renee pulled her scarf tighter, tugging at her sopping white hair.

‘Renee, was that-’

‘Im fine,’ she cut in. ‘Really… just, leave it.’ The tears told a very different story to her mouth. Her eyes were rubbed raw, stained red, bloodshot and glassy. She stood motionless, not taking the chair beside Wymack nor daring to stand beside Kevins limp body. She was just… there. Vacant, staring into nothing.

Renee was not fine.

‘Renee, just sit down. Here, have my jacket. No, give me that.’ Wymack took her coat from her before she could do anything more.

She sat, defeated.

The fleeces washed out gray didn't do anything for her ashen expression. She seemed so lost, unable to comprehend this all. So overwhelmed by the sheer gravity of it. It was everything, waves crashing down all around her. The relentless tide, pulling, pulling her into its endless abyss. There was no escape.

‘Walker, what did Andrew do-’

‘I said drop it.’ Everything about her was uncharacteristically brittle. Wymack sensed this wasn't Renee at all, a sharper, cut edge version of her.
‘Sorry. I just… don’t please.’ The silence stretched for years. Wymack knew what had happened. That had been apparent as soon as he saw those bruises blooming reds and purples. He shouldn't have pushed. It was common knowledge that Andrew and Renees’ relationship was strange to tell the least, controlled violence was mutual between them, but this? This was something else.

Renees head turned to Kevin's unmoving body.

The harsh hospital LEDs glittered in her wet eyes. She bit her lip. No pain she inflicted on herself could hurt as much as this. A pain, breathless and encompassing.

‘You know what he said?’

The quietness of her voice caught him off guard, so small and fragile. Wymack couldn't follow her deceptive calmness.

She continued, thick sobs catching and falling as she spoke. ‘He- Jean. I was listening. To the message. I got the tail end of it all, but- I didn't want to say anything. It was Kevin's moment to grieve. They are- were boyfriends. They loved each other. I don't have a place in this. But he said, he said to Kevin 'I'll wait for you. Ill wait.’ he fucking-’ renee broke off, rubbing violently at her face. ‘Im sorry. I- i just can't help but think. Because kevin... I was worried. I heard that and knew he’d take it like he did. Because he thinks Jean is there, waiting. Im sorry, i shouldn't-’

‘Hey, hey no it's okay. It's okay. I understand.’ Wymack squeezed her shoulder.

‘Do you think,’ her voice came out a whisper. ‘Do you think that Kevin… wanted to die?’

It was as if he’d been hit by a truck or piled under heaps of bricks. That question had lingered at the fraying edges of his consciousness. But now it was at the forefront.

‘Renee, that's not our place to decide. But all we can do is look at what happened and pray to fucking God that he doesnt die, okay? Because I'm not losing him.’

Renee nodded minutley.

‘I could have stopped him, you know.’ Wymack titled his head to meet hers. ‘I saw that… knife. I saw it in his pocket. I thought- I thought he would be safe. He was safe. He used my knives… the one I gifted Andrew. I shouldnt have- Why was i so stupid? I could have fucking stopped him-’

‘Renee, Renee,’ her whole frame shook against Wymack. ‘Listen. Hey, shh shh. Renee, the doctors came by before, okay? You know what they said? They said it wasn't the cuts that sent him into this state, the blood loss wasn't too major. Just two transfusions. It was all the fucking alcohol and meds in his system. It kicked his whole system into overdrive. That wasn't your fault. None of this is, okay? He wasnt straight, he was already drunk as fuck before he came here. I'm not sure if you've already heard, it's not really my place, but this isn't a new thing for Kevin.’ he paused, swallowing the bile hard. ‘The ravens tried to keep it all on a downlow, no press were notified, not even the bloody ERC. He attempted several times back in the nest. And things like that don't just leave people. I guess this was all just a fucking catalyst to try again. The only thing we can do is sit here and pray to fucking God he wakes up. Because I'm not losing any fucking more of you.’ his voice cracked, dripping with guilty emotion.

The ripe memory of Seth hung silently between them, fresh imprints in their brains. They had seen his death coming, after four years of frequent overdosing and attempts and pills and therapists and hospitalizations; it had been inevitable. A waiting game. Only a matter of time before he would try again. It had been a cycle: get with Allison, break up, back on antidepressants, hook back up with Allison, repeat. A vicious cycle that wouldn't waver, time and time again. Until. Until the end.

Its predictable nature didnt take away from the painful mourning. Maybe it made it worse. Watching two trains hurtling towards each other's tracks. And knowing that there was nothing you could do. Powerless.

And now Kevin lay there, in the same bed as Seth once was. That same dead expression, motionless and drained, chest as still as a stagnant breeze.

Neither could unsee this.

Renee reached her hand over to Kevin's resting arm. The white bracelet was snow against his skin. ‘Will he recover?’

He didn’t pretend to know the answer, he wouldn't lie. ‘We don't know, Renee.’ he slowed, choosing his words with care. ‘Kevin is strong. We all know that. But none of us can know right now with his condition. I can't make any promises, Renee. I can't do that to you. Even if he recovers physically, none of us can predict what state he’ll be mentally. It's walking on eggshells for now. I'm sorry. There's just no guarantee, not when playing with lives. Sorry.’

Renee's fingers stroked soft circles into his skin absently. Under the tubes and wires and bandages, he was barely recognisable, his skin turned a pale shade of grey. His freckles stood out like inkblots, his eyelashes midnight against his skin.

The chair scraped the floor as she dragged it closer to Kevin’s bed. She took his hand in hers, the IV sticking out awkwardly. The muttering was quiet but Wymack could distinguish bits. She was praying. Over and over, she whispered, ‘please don't leave me, don't leave me. Not yet, not yet.’

Wymacks heart broke. He had not signed up to this, it was most definitely not in his pay grade. He’d gained a family, but what he’d lost was his price to pay. You can't save everyone. No matter how much they deserved it.

He’d overheard Kevin once. Well it was eavesdropping really. Kevin was sitting on the benches, phone cradled by his ear, staring intently toward the inner court. Bits were in French, others in Japanese but the snatched English he caught was something Wymack had repeated to no other. He never intended to. It was a private exchange he should have never stuck around long enough to hear. But Wymack had known from then on that they were in love. Deeply, maddly, painfully in love. So in love to swear their devotion to each other, pledging not to leave until the other left too. They’d wait for each other. That was what Renee had said. They’d wait.

Fuck, did that happen.

Jean deserved better. So did Kevin, Renee, they all did. But God knew none of them got what they deserved. And that's what brought them here, to the foxes.

‘You know, he looks like you. Especially when he’s sleeping.’

‘Hmm? Really?’

‘Yeh. Weird, I'm only noticing this now. None of you have changed but… you have? I don't know.’

‘Mmm. I'm going to go smoke. Want anything?’

Once Renee shook her head he made his way out into the corridor. It was a cramped mess, a shock from the sparsely furnished room he’d just sat in. Sights and sounds bombarded him, difficult to pick out any distinguishable noise. He wound his way through the never ending tunnel, Wymack swore he’d looped it several times already. Every wall was the same. Every polished linoleum floor, every blue and white scrubs he passed. He considered asking for directions before something caught his attention.

Voices rose around the corner of the hall, drawing closer by the second. Something resounded remarkably familiar to him. And the name, was that- ‘ANDREW, Andrew come back you cant- ANDREW.’

Ah, yes. Andrew. How did he guess?

He came around the corner, bringing strom with him. Abby could barely match his step despite his 5 foot stature, he was moving like a freight train. Both looked devastatingly drenched, Andrew's jacket plastered slick to his neck. Wymack made a move to intercept Andrew before he could plough through anymore nurses, despite his efforts he nimbly sidestepped him, maneuvering around him with ease.

‘ANDREW JOESPH MINYARD, GET THE FUCK BACK HERE.’ Wymack picked up his pace, not slowing for Abby. Andrew had run at breakneck speed down the hall. It was clear where he was headed but Wymack had no clue how he could navigate these continuous halls. Andrew steered clear of hospitals as avidly as Wymack avoided cleaning materials.

By the time Wymack had caught up, he was already in Kevin's room.

Andrew stood beside Kevin's bed, fury rolling off him. Renee was frozen exactly where Wymack had left her, her eyes cast down to the floor staring intently at nothing. Strangled locs of hair masked her expression, but her demeanor said it all. One wrong move and the facade would crumble. The tension could be cut with a knife.

Andrew was the first to break the unspoken truce. Whilst he spoke, he gazed unwavering at Kevin, unwilling to give anyone the satisfaction of his acknowledgement. ‘Fucking ran all the way to daddy then did you?’ Wymack could see that threatening snarl that ripped through Andrew's face even with his back turned. He was walking the dangerous line of sanity. ‘Couldn't deal that you've killed another man? Weighed too heavy on your holy conscience, did it? Funny, because I think I remember that you promised me… that you'd said, what was it again? Oh yes! I remember! You had said that you’d keep him safe and what was the last bit? Oh how could I forget,’ Andrew hit his head with his palm in mock realistion, ‘You promised! Now that truly is hilarious, Walker. Because you of all people know exactly what I do to people who break their promises. Either I misheard you or you’ve made a pretty shittingly big mistake. Which one is it, Walker? Are you a liar or just the dimmest person I've ever met.’

‘Andrew that's not fair-’

‘YOU TALK TO ME ABOUT WHAT'S FAIR AND WHAT'S NOT ONE MORE TIME I'M SNAPPING YOUR NECK. NOW SHUT THE FUCK UP, AND GET OUT MY FUCKING SIGHT. NOW.’

Something had snapped, broken, shattered into a million glass pieces. A burning, curling rage, simmering from Andrew's very core. The whole room held its breath. His murderous presence cackled like electricity. The fear, the adrenaline, the terror of it all, it was familiar to him. Like breathing could never fill that void of nausea that you choked back on. You couldn't show fear. You couldn't crack.

‘Andrew-’

‘One more fucking word.’ Andrew held up his finger, a smile savagely splitting his face. ‘And you’ll end up as dead as Jean.’

Renee did not speak another word. Nor another sound. When Andrew swore, there was no going back, there was no toeing the line. You obeyed. Because you valued your life enough to listen.

‘Renee, step out for a minute.’ There was no excuse for this, Wymack knew that, but there was no getting through to him in that state. He’d seen that raw fury only once before. And he knew exactly what happened if you messed with it. It was so pure and uncontainable and illogical and bloodthirsty. There was no talking him down.

Only time could weather this anger.

Once Wymack had jarred the door, he turned to see Renee silently sobbing into Abby's shoulder, her whole frame shaking, racked with cries that were never voiced.

‘Sshh it's okay now, it's okay, Renee,’ she said, methodically combing her way through Renee's hair. ‘Your safe now, okay? He won't touch you again, I promise. It’ll be okay.’

Abby threw around her promises as languidly as one would lie. But he could see that set determination, an unwillingness to doubt any word she told.

A passing nurse led them to a secluded waiting room.

Four chairs lay in a row, ominously facing the door as if they themselves were awaiting yet another piece of morbid news.

A memory flashed quickly as it had come, of him, sitting, waiting, knowing that in the room adjacent, his mother had died. A room too much like this.

The muscles in Wymacks chest tightened, clawinging uncomfortably at his throat. ‘I'll go back, check on Andrew. Make sure he hasn't killed another doctor.’ His lame attempt at humour fell short, doing nothing to help the situation. It wasn't even reassurance to himself.

He was helpless, stuck in limbo, thrown between two waking nightmares.

Wymack stood outside the hospital doors, where Kevin would be lying as if he’d been laid to rest. He needed to compose himself, his thoughts. But his head and body were functioning on two different levels. His eyes were wet, burning with unspilled tears. Seized with regret, guilt, terror of what lay unknown and unturned. Why couldn't things be simple? Why couldn't life treat his foxes the way they deserved? Why couldn't this all be over, a bad dream, a hoax? Why couldn't he wake up, his bed familiar and warm in the midday sun? The grief tormented him, a grief for a living man, premature mourning. Mourning a past and future that could not be.

His son.

His blood.

His own.

He pinched his nose bridge hard before going to push open the doors. He hesitated. There were voices. Well one voice. It sounded like a melodic whisper, raised just enough for Wymack to catch it. It was Andrew.

He cracked the door open by a margin. Andrew sat on the foot of bed, neatly avoiding kevins feet as he swung his legs to and fro. They didn't touch the floor. If he hadn't known, he’d have thought Andrew was a child, patiently waiting on a friend's bedside. No one would for a second have thought that mere moments before he had threatened to snap each of their necks in turn.

It was a morbid contrast to Kevin's state, the ventilator, wires snaking over his nose, his mouth, his impending fate nothing more than a memory.

His voice was soft and chilled as a silent winter morning.

‘You know, you're going to have to wake up soon. I've asked you a lot of questions and I'm not patient. When you wake up you're going to talk to me. You won't hide anything from me, I know when you're lying. You're such an obvious liar, Kevy. You do this funny thing with your lip, you don't even notice it but I do. And then you go bright red, and you touch your scar, and you bite your nails. You can't even look anyone in the eye. It's like everyone knows you're hiding a secret but wont let anyone in on it. Maybe thats why everyones so goddamn fucking in love with you. You and your stupid face. And your fucking exy and your shitty mouth.’ He conversed with Kevin as if he were consciously involved, using that same quiet attentive tone he used when they stood together under the goal during practice, speaking about god knows what. Andrew's hair had fallen over his eyes, obscuring his watery eyes from view.
‘You know,’ he said, a smile playing at his lips, ‘I was crying before. I haven't cried in years. I thought maybe that bit of me had been shut off forever but I think i… felt. Like this hole in me, missing. I couldn't figure out what it is but I remember how you described losing your mum. A hole, you said. That you couldn't fill, even when you ignored it it hurt. I think that's what it is. But I'm not losing you, am i? You're staying here. You'll wake up in a couple days. You're not like Seth, Abby said you’d get better. You have to. You won't die on me.’

Andrew paused, adjusting himself so he could trace over the scar that laced Kevin's hand.

‘Your not like the others. You lived through it last year, didn't you? It's just the same. I promise. You'll live. Then, then i will fucking kill Riko.’ Andrew's hand was shaking, enraged by just the thought of it. ‘And you won't have to think about him again. You’ll be safe with me. Us. Just me, you and Neil. Because I promise. I promise that we will beat Riko. We will win, Kevin. I promise you. I'll give you home.’

Home.

And that was more than enough.

-

Betsy scribbled notes down with a blue pen with a fluffy ball that topped it, bouncing back and forth as she wrote. She didn't seem at all distracted by its constant motion. Kevin, however, could not take his gaze off it. He could not bear to look Betsy in the eye, even by accident. So he remained, staring at the pen as it sprung to and fro.

He’d been seeing Betsy for the past three weeks on a mandatory schedule written up by the school board. Three weeks since he signed himself out of hospital. It had passed in a blur, events strung together in a nonsensical mess. No exy. No classes. Just sat under the constant surveillance, watched vigilantly no matter the hour. Whether it be Abby, Wymack, Betsy, Andrew, they were always there. Watching over his shoulder. Waiting for him to make a wrong move. Waiting. Watching.

His hands shook as he worked his fingers over his scar, trembling no matter how hard he strained them still.

The doctors had explained to him in the weeks after his admittance. His body had become dependent on alcohol. His central nervous system was shutting down. the seizures, the delirium tremens, the collapse.

But he couldn't remember even a moment of it. The only thing he felt was the empty well of pain left in Jean's wake. A gnawing void that wouldn't shake, a raven weighing down on him, crushing his soul, his everything. His world had been ripped from him, stripped him of any care he had left, and placed him here. A prison of scrutiny. A cage that forced him to relive his waking nightmares over and over and over.

He cast his gaze solemnly to the clock. Ten more minutes.

‘Kevin are you listening?’

Kevin broke out of his trance. Not a word Betsy had said had landed. Nothing stirred in his vast desolate mind. Her voice was like an electric hum, playing mildly like a broken record in another room.

‘Mm’

Betsy peered sadly at Kevin, her pen still poised. ‘Kevin, you do understand that these sessions are very important don't you? Your recovery, no matter how far off it may seem, is our first priority. We want to keep you safe and help you in any possible way. But we can't do that if you're refusing to accept it.’ Kevin tucked his head in further, shaming burning red on his face. Betsy sighed at length and set aside her clipboard. She took a long sip of hot chocolate. ‘Kevin, dear, just between you and me. I'm not talking as a therapist but as a friend who cares about your well-being very much. There are so many people in the world who love you. Who cares about you, who would do anything to make it easier for you. I can see it in the eyes of all your teammates, Abby, your dad. And I know that he is so proud of you. Because he loves you, and he’s seen you through these past couple years, even without knowing you were his son. Your father has-’

‘Can you just stop talking about this,’ Kevin snapped, immediately regretting his cutting words. ‘Please.’

She looked barely taken aback. That was the annoying thing about her. No matter what you said or did she was unfazed, cooley looking at you over the rim of her mug. She wouldn't raise her voice, she wouldn't fight, she just let them walk right over her. And it was infuriating. It ignited something in him like a spark. A single light in the expanse of blackness. A dead fury that he could not feel.

How Andrew had found comfort in her false warmth was unknown to him.

‘That's alright,’ she said, smoothing it over like no words had passed his lips. ‘Let's move on shall we. you mentioned yesterday that you would do anything to reverse what had happened. Do you mean your attempt or… you could perhaps be more specific. If you aren't comfortable answering, that is okay too.’

‘What, what do you mean-’

‘Could you tell me about your past a bit if that's easier for you? I know Jean was a big part of your life and your early life too. Sometimes things can get easier for us once we have let it out.’

The pen still sat on the countertop.

‘Umm. I used to live with my mum. She used to teach me how to speak Japanese and let me play exy with Riko. i wasn't alone when i was with her really, it was just… me and her.’ Kevin paused, reminiscing in those bittersweet fraying memories. ‘We would meet Coach sometimes, he taught me how to dance. I stopped seeing him after mum died. I was just shipped off to live with riko. I thought it’d be exciting, like a long sleepover with my best friend. That's where I met Jean I guess. I hadn't seen him before. He was this scrawny pale boy who spoke a language I had never heard of. His English wasn’t great so I learnt French instead. He got made fun of because of his skinny wrists and I got picked on because of my chubby ones. So we dealt with it day by day until we realised that Riko wasn't our brother any longer. He used to hit Jean until I stepped in to protect him, he used to… he used to gag him and me and- and. No. He did things that are unforgivable. But we knew deep down the boy he had been. Our brother. We knew that he had been broken by his uncle and the only thing that motivated him was his hell bent determination to be noticed. For his dad to talk to him. Once. so we stayed with him. We made excuses. But he thrived in our suffering, it was all he had ever known. Jean and I had families before the nest but all Riko had ever known was the Master. He beat him bloody just as he had with us. But in his head it was attention, he craved it. To him it was like a drug he could never be satisfied with. We were terrified by it. Everything that the Master did to him, he would do to us. So we became closer. We had to. Survival.
Jean was a big part of my life, no. He was my life. He was my boyfriend. Because I loved- love him. And nothing could change that. I thought nothing could. Until he broke my hand.’
Kevin stopped again, his bleary eyes unfocused, dazed.
‘I left. I had to. But I left Jean behind. Riko tore him apart, Jean told me. That was the last time he texted me about Riko until Neil went. I tried to stop him. But I still let Neil, knowing exactly what he would do to him. I wasn't surprised when Neil came back. But it was the worst decision I ever made. Because then I not only had the Ravens on my back but Andrew too. He hated me. I wouldn't be surprised if he still hates me now. I promised and I swore and I still broke it. Just like I broke Jeans’. I said I'd come back for him. I told him I'd come back for him at the end of the year, that once the foxes had won the finals I would get him out. But I was too late. I fucking ruined everything. I ruined him. I killed him. Because i chose to save my own fucking ass over his. And i can never fucking take any of this back.’

The drive back to Abby’s was silent.

Betsy smiled softly as she watched the road ahead, humming under her breath whilst she drove. She hadn't said a word after telling Kevin that, ‘we’d better get you home now.’ Betsy was undeterred by his sudden withdrawal, he had never told anyone any of that. Not even Andrew. Shame prickled at his skin, a heavy sickening guilt churning in his stomach. He shouldn't have said that. He shouldn't have told anybody. It was his to bear and his alone. There was no relief in it, just a sinking in his chest, an anchor around his neck.

Kevin had his own room at Abby’s. It wasn't big and he was used to it, staying there plenty of times before. But now, those rooms were his prison. Those four walls were his cage, where he slept, breathed, dreamt of something… else. Where he wasn't… him.

The indicator flashed as Betsy turned into the bi-lane.

Kevin hadn't meant to slam the door, he’d shocked himself as it swung shut with a bang. Sometimes he forgot his own strength. He hadn't been thinking.

God, he was doing everything wrong.

‘Thank you.’

Bestys smile was genuine and warm, crinkling the sides of her eyes. ‘Your welcome, Kevin. Stay well.’

Abby appeared at the door. She touched Kevin's shoulder briefly as she passed, ‘Betsy, mind if I talk to you for a moment. Thank you for bringing Kevin back, you didn't have to.’

‘Of course you can, and no it's quite alright, my pleasure.’

Abby turned herself back around to him. ‘Kevin, do you mind going inside for a second? It's just a private matter.’ Kevin nodded solemnly, already making his way up the path. He didn't mind. He wouldn't have chosen to stand there awkwardly scuffing his hoes against the ground as the others talked, one of them occasionally casting him a sympathetic glance. He hated that. The secret looks, the sad quirk of their mouths, whispering hushed whenever he was around as if he were an frightened animal.

The door clicked gently this time. Kevin sighed, his hand still clamped on the nob. The brass shook underneath his hand, trembling of either withdrawal or pent up anger he didn't know. It was hard to tell the difference. All the lines were blurred where one ended, another began, he could make sense of the screwed up mess inside his head.

His pulse throbbed as Kevin put his hand to his temple. Three weeks. Three weeks he’d been sober. And everyday that craving grew and grew. It was unbearable. He was forced through withdrawal and recovery at once, crippling his mental psyche in indescribable ways. A pain. A want. A hunger.

He pushed himself away from the door with effort, he knew where the liquor cabinet was. Surprise, Abby had not locked it the second Kevin turned up.

‘Where you think you're going?’

Kevin froze.

Andrew sat, seated atop of the kitchen island. He kicked his legs like a kid, cleaning his neils with what could only be one of knives. It glinted dangerously in the dim light.

‘What the hell are you doing here.’

Andrew smirked but Kevin continued. ‘No dont fucking start, Drew. Why are you here? You or any of the foxes have been avoiding me like the plague. I can't go to any classes, I can't even go to Court for fucks sake. Ive just been fucking suck here or in that damn fucking therapy and you dont even think- no you know, i just cant handle this right now. Can you just leave please it's not gonna make shit any better andrew.’

Andrew's legs stopped swinging.

‘Kevin, what the fuck that's supposed to mean.’ Andrew’s gaze was a deadweight. ‘I've tried to come everyday since you were released but everyday it was Wymack or Abby telling me to piss off. I asked Coach everyday how you were and all he could tell me was ‘getting there’. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Everyone just jacked me off and wouldnt tell me anything. Like i wasnt the one who fucking sat at your side hearing jeans messages, sat with you when you were fucking dying.and theyve kicked me out like i dont mean anything. I fucking helped you Kevin.’ Andrew jumped off the counter, reaching for Kevin as he backed away.
‘I've put everything into protecting you and this is what I get. Second hand messages telling me you don't need me anymore. That you've got your therapist and your mommy and oh so doting father waiting on you, hand and foot. I'm sorry that I wasn't living up to your standards kevin. I'll just leave you alone like you wanted, seems like you've got all the help you need.’

Kevin turned away from Andrew, working hastily on the cabinet latch.

‘Well if your going to fuck off then leave.’

‘I was here for Abby, not you.’ Andrew's monotone drawl slipped right back into place. ‘And put that fucking alcohol back. You're supposed to be sober for at least another month. Doctors orders, remember? Kevin, kevin stop-’

Kevin had already nicked the cap open and swigged the contents.

‘Kevin you son of a bitch, stop.’ Andrew's attempts at grabbing the bottle were fruitless. ‘Kevin your going to fucking die of liver failure, i told you to stop, kevin-’

‘No, no Andrew. Fuck. you. You can stop pretending to care, okay? You can stop acting like you understand. Because you don't. You don't fucking understand anything. You fucking laughed when Seth died. You killed your own fucking mum. And I know that you wouldn't give two shits about me if I wasn't your investment. Im hurting, Andrew, it hurts so fucking much and it never goes away. It's like any day I could die and no one would even notice. Because no one fucking cares. Because it's easier to keep doing this shit instead of dying thinking about it. I can't cope, Andrew, I can't. I can't do it anymore. I don’t want anymore of this therapy shit, it’s not helping, nothing working and i’m fucking useless. And you don't even feel shit. So get the fuck out of my shit or ill make you.’

The tension in that room could be cut with a knife.

A click sounded as Abby opened the door.

‘Andrew, Kevin, what's wrong, anything happened?’ Andrew was already collecting his coat. ‘Andrew? I thought you were staying for tea, you said you wanted to tal-’

‘Already leaving.’

Andrews mock salute infuriated Kevin, rage sparking inside once more. The door shut with a snap. The house lay restlessly silent.

‘Kevin,’ Abby dragged her gaze from the door to the bottle in his hand. ‘Kevin, what happened?’

‘Doesn't matter.’

Abby frowned, sighing. ‘Kevin, I need you to be straight with me. What did he say to you?’

Kevin pushed himself away from the counter toward the bedroom door. ‘I've already said, drop it.’ Abby put her hand in his path. Kevin could have easily walked past her if he’d wanted to, but something kept him on the spot. ‘What do you want?’ he snapped.

‘I want you to tell me what just happened. Andrew’s your lift for the funeral tomorrow, Kevin. I don't want things to go south with you two.’ Abby paused, biting her lip. ‘Kevin, Betsy told me about some of the things you discussed today. Nothing in detail, don't worry, just… Well, it's just a lot. Alot for you to have to go through everyday with this added on top. She just said she noticed you were losing alot of weight and was concerned. She cares about your well being, really, we do. I'm sorry we didn't help sooner or help prevent- do you want some tea?’ Abby still eyed the bottle sheepishly.

‘I thought that therapy shit was confidencial,’ he said, ignoring Abby's wayward glances.

‘It is, but when it has someone's health on the line, it's in everyone's best interests to keep you as safe as possible. Please trust me when I tell you, we do care, Kevin. We really do. If there is anything that I can do, I will.’

‘Can you bring Jean back to life? No.’ Abby looked regretfully hurt. ‘So just leave it, okay? I don't want to talk about it.’

They didn't talk the rest of the night. It was for the best. Abby wouldn’t pry and Kevin wouldn't tell. It worked for them. For Kevin, at least.

Sleep evaded him. It always did as he just lay there in a warped paralysis, neither waking nor resting. Limbo. Water lapsing, ebbing at his consciousness. But still, that memory, that thought, it clutched his mind like a tree taking root. What if. It was a question with no answers, a catalyst of only more questions. There was no satisfying it, the rabbit hole of thinking, no escape, only dig the pit deeper and deeper until there was nothing left but… this. It consumed you and ate you alive, just questions and doubt and regret in a never ending cycle.

What if he hadn't left the ravens? What if Neil had helped him? What if he had just helped on till after finals? What if Kevin hadn't been such a stubborn wreck to just call him, text him, whatever it took? What if he had just died, there and then in the hospital wing. Like he deserved to do. What if he could see Jean again? What if what if whatifwhatifwhatif-

He drowned those thoughts in liquor, buried them as deep as he could get them as he sat, sprawled on top of the coverlet on the floor. Everything looked so much bigger from down there. So much simpler. The door, the bed, the window, the bottle, lit softly with moonlight. It was freezing. The kind of cold you felt deep in your bones, an unshakable chill that you festered to your very core. But he let the window propped open, Kevin liked the way the silken curtains billowed with the slightest breath. Kevin liked the way the duvet was lightly textured under his hands, the soft crescents of his fingertips. He liked the way the dust danced, lonely accompanied as they swirled, lit and happy. Contempt in their singularity. Those were the things Kevin could only appreciate when he was shitfaced. Those times he could smile at life, finding humour and entertainment in the smallest of things, a lucid entertainment. For all he knew he could be dreaming. But he did not remember. He couldn't.

Three weeks. Three weeks he’d been stone cold sober, thoroughly detoxed and ill with recovery. He knew he’d regret this. Tomorrow morning he’d kick himself, guilt and shame lining his stomach, sick from sobriety. But now was today. And today, he loved it. Like a relief, a breath in the middle of a storm. He relished in it, he savoured that feeling, that rush. Like he was untouchable. Not even emotions could touch him. The thought of Jean's death, his funeral, therapy, Andrew, Abby, it was all a distant dream. A haze in amongst the rest of the blur, a mess with no start or end. It was just this. Existing. Wanting to exist.

Finally.

‘Put your seatbelt on, don't make me put it on for you.’

Kevin scowled, obeying sluggishly. Abby had felt the need to wake him up at 6:30 to find him a suit. None had fit right except a deep midnight blue tailored jacket. Abby had cut the tag off it for Kevin. She said she wanted him to look smart for this. Jean's ghost would have murdered him if he’d attended looking anything bar perfect. She had told him after that it had been Wymacks once, a very, very long time ago. But she had kept it in pristine condition, looking as if it had been freshly picked from the rails.

Andrew had appeared not much later, stoically silent as ever. He washed Kevin's hair and shaved his face without nicking him once. He cleaned up the toilet when Kevin threw up. He didn't complain or say a word about it.

Though the journey was quiet, it was not uncomfortable. The hostility of the previous night seemed to have thawed, deemed to be of less importance than this.

‘You know, i've always wanted to be the plus one to someone's funeral.’

‘Fuck you.’

‘Turning up drunk isn't very good form now, is it? To your own boyfriend's funeral.’ Andrew tisked mockingly.

‘Fuck you.’

‘A man of many words.’

Andrew left him alone after that.

Jeans funeral. The day had finally arrived. And he was fucking terrified.

The funeral seemed oddly formal. The decorations were perfect, looking untouched and false, as were the chairs, laid out in equidistant rows, a distorted reality played into life. There were several lines of chairs filed out but not even a half were full. Guests coming to pay their respects were scattered in loose groups, none in more than four to a row. But at the second front, a void of black seemed to have swallowed up the church. The ravens sat identically poised, dressed head to toe in midnight velvet like they were playing the part of a morning wife. Renee doubted they felt so much as a crumb of remorse toward Jean between them. And the most detestable thing of all was Riko. Sat where his family should be seated. Some unwanted emotion flickered inside her gut. It filled her with such unreasonable anger, his mother and father should be sat there, Kevin should be sat there. But no, he exacerbated his claim to mastery even onto his deathbed.

Instead, Kevin sat with Andrew, as far away from Riko as he could civilly manage. Even from where Renee was seated, she could see the deathly white grip Kevin had on Andrew's hand. Andrew's hair lit up gold, a sun against Kevin’s a shining sweep of raven.

Though she sat there beside her mother, attending the funeral of her closest friend, all she could think about was Kevin. Thanking God this wasn't his. Thanking God he was alive. Thank god. She wished she could be up there with Kevin, holding him, whispering to him that it would be okay. It would be okay eventually. There would be a time when he could look at this all as a distant memory. That he would rise and he would fall, but he was alive. Breathing. And alive.

The service hadn’t lasted long. No one made a speech, no music was played, just the steady drawl of an officiator. Like this was just another funeral. Another man, dead before his time.

Like clockwork.

An empty shell of a vessel, hollowed in grief or ignorance.

Once the casket had been lowered, the audience dispersed. The spectacle was over. To return home to grieve in private or turn the next page of their story. It was odd. She recognised none of the funeral goers, bar the ravens and her boys. No family that had attended games, given an interview, released a statement. No one. Either there had been no invite or their son was already dead to them, dead the moment they'd signed his life away to the Master.

The only two left standing by the grave were Kevin and Andrew, two ink silhouettes clutching at each other's hand against the setting sky. Kevin had been hanging off him the entire service, sagging limpy against Andrew as he held him upright. He had been drinking. Renee could tell that from a mile away, a haunting reminder of the weeks prior. To be frank, she wasn't surprised. She was not disappointed or upset just… reminded. That this was the real world. A world that sometimes no matter how hard you tried, there was no escape from the pit. And sometimes it was easier to give in than to try outlast the hunger.

‘It must be difficult for him.’

‘Hm.’ Renee looked up at her mother who gazed, reminiscing into the distance at the odd couple. ‘They knew each other for so long. They were so close, I can't begin to imagine what he feels.’

Her mother placed her calloused hands atop of hers. ‘Renee dear, it is difficult for you to. Do not compare your suffering, you are each hurting a great deal and it is distressing to see it. I know how much he meant to you, love. He seemed a good man. And I would like to think that he is in a better, safer place now. Now he can rest. But he will be missed a great deal, by you, by Kevin. All of you. But don't let the grief blinden the great things he had done, the memories he has made, by just existing in that place was beyond a miracle. He lived in the darkest of places and no one can fault him for that, nae ttal. You may remember Jean for who he is, not who he could have been. And that is the greatest gift of all.’

Renee nodded, pushing her face into her mothers warm jacket. Her eyes still prickled with tears but the pain in her chest had eased somewhat. She was grateful for her mother. Her mother was Kevin's Andrew, her rock, her everything. Without her these past couple of weeks, Renee feared she may have crumbled. Living at home again, away from the chaos and the questions and the sympathetic glances and the whispering behind hands. Those were the things she wouldn't miss.

‘You have a long journey back.’

Renee nodded again, wiping her nose and sat up straight. She would not break. She would not bend for anyone. Because she was Renee Walker, reborn and whole. And she would learn.

She would learn how to love a dead man.

‘Still out here?’

Kevin lay on his back. The sky had grown dark in the hours that had passed up here, only the faint haze of city lights lined the horizon. The air was still clinging to the warm, dropping slowly as the sun faded beneath the clouds. Stars lit up like pin pricks studded into a blanket of midnight.

‘Yeh.’

He had moved in two days ago. Four weeks lasting out an eternity of therapy, suffocating in the ripe memory of Jean, drowning in his own head. Kevin had moved the last of his things out of Abby’s. For a month's stay he had accumulated a surprising amount of things, a toothbrush, a blanket Abby had bought for an unborn child, a ball of yarn her long gone cat had distressed. He’d grown affectionate to it though he would deny it to his dying days. It was stupid, having such an attachment to a piece of string. But he couldn't let go of it. Even as he sat up on the roof, he rolled it absently between his fingers.

And that unopened packing box Jean had left behind.

Waiting. Watching.

Kevin looked up from his vantage point to meet Andrew’s flat stare. Andrews thick coat was layered underneath with flannel jackets and shirts despite the turn in the weather. It was spring now. A fresh wind. A fresh start. That was what Betsy said.

‘What you looking at me for?’

‘Am I not allowed to look in your general direction?’ Andrew was already settling himself beside Kevin, legs dangling precariously over the edge. A cigarette hung lit between his lips. Kevin hadn't heard him coming, nor did he ever. A silent cat amongst the whipping wind.

‘That's gonna kill you, you know?’

Andrew smirked. ‘I think that will too.’ He didn't gesture but they both knew he meant the bottle that perched between Kevin’s legs.

‘Fuck off.’

‘I will when you stop being such a hypocrite. Just go inside, you’re freezing.’ Although Kevin’s hands shook, it wasn't from the cold. His jacket lay under his head, serving as a temporary pillow.

‘No, I'm fine. I prefer it out here anyways, it's not stuffy and you guys aren't making any noise. Well until you came up here. Why are you here anyways?’

‘Am I not allowed to?’ Andrew feigned insult whilst Kevin flipped him off. There was no getting anywhere with him. ‘Am I not allowed to check if my friend has died of frostbite? Because it looks like he would have a pretty big inheritance, and my car is rather expensive. Got M.O.T coming up soon, maybe i should kill him off. Push him from the roof, it wouldn't be that difficult.’

Kevin rolled his eyes, propping himself up with his elbows. ‘Sure, like I'm not six foot three and you’re not five foot even.’ He swallowed the clear contents of the bottle with ease. ‘Likely story, Drew.’

Kevin was thankful for the light banter between them. At least some things hadn't changed.

They sat in silence for a while. Andrew smoking and Kevin finishing off his fill. It was comfortable like that. Just them. The original duo. Until Neil came into the picture. Not like Kevin minded. He knew he shouldn't, he liked Neil, he loved him even, but this restless grudge tempted him to jealousy. But he kept it to himself. He knew what this acid rot could do to people, Riko. When Jean had joined their trio, they were equals, brothers. But as time grew old, so did their relationship. Riko was the alpha, the leader and them two were… well. Left behind. So they learned French together, they shared a language, a hope, a love. It was all they had. And Riko was jealous. A festering envy that broke them.
That killed Jean. Jean-

‘Hey, Kevin? Kev? You good?’ Andrew had stubbed out his cigarette, cupping his hand gently over Kevin's face. ‘Kevin, what's wrong.’

Kevin scrunched his eyes shut. Things like this came and went, some days he could handle it, other days weren't so successful. It was like he was really back there in the nest, the lights, the sounds, all so sharp and vivid it was all too real. Jeans face, Riko’s hands. It was like all the memories he couldn't recall surged, overflowing, drowning him in his own past at the flip of a switch. Everything he wanted to keep away, forget, surrounding him, choking him.

Betsy had called it flashbacks. Kevin had not listened to her. Knowing a name for something wasn't going to help him. A diagnosis wasn't going to change anything.

Kevin gasped, he was breathing but no air reached his lungs, his head swam. ‘Hey, Kevin, lie down. Fucking give me that bottle.’ He half threw it away in disgust. ‘Kevin, look at me. Kevin. Kevin, fucking look at me. Kevin-’

‘No, no, please, Jean. Jean, please please.’ Kevin’s hysterical tears caughts in sobs, his chest rising sporadically. His head span, once again suffocated by the nest, Riko’s hand, the Master's cane, Jean’s eyes. The darkness, underground, black and silent. Rows and rows and rows. Tunnels. Everywhere. Tunnels winding and winding, turning, twisting in his mind. There was no escape.

Andrew's arms were solid around his, holding him as he fell apart. Again. Holding the pieces together as the whole world shattered before Kevin’s eyes. Again. Rocking with him, back and forth, back and forth. Breathing, in and out. One thing at a time.

Collecting the pieces. One by one.

He could breathe. He was alive. And the nest was nowhere to be seen.
He was safe.

‘Thank you.’

Andrew's voice was muffled against the nape of Kevin's neck, the jumper burying his face. ‘S’okay. How do you feel?’ His face was warm on Kevin's skin, his hands burning away the chill that was setting in. funny, looking at him once you would assume he would be cold, his hands like ice. Kevin had been surprised the first time he had held his hand, a soft, comfortable warmth of tender exposed skin.

‘I don't know.’ Kevin's voice was raw and cracked. A rough grating against concrete.

‘Mm.’ Andrew's face was still pressed to Kevin’s chest. It was nice to have a weight there in place of the consuming empty void. ‘Hey Kevin?’ he opened his eyes, casting them down to the shorter fox, prompting him to continue. ‘Want to trade something?’

‘Hm? No, I'm not going to play your secrets game like Neil if that's what you're asking.’

Andrew pushed himself up, leaning back on his hands. His eyes lit up, the stars dancing. His pale face looked so delicate and strong, everything and nothing. So plain yet unique. He was a paradox. An enigma, a puzzle that Kevin could never quite solve.

Moonlight mingled with the dying sun, lining Andrew's silhouette perfectly. The hollow of his throat, the dip of his collarbone, the breach of his jaw. Pretty was too kind a word for it.

‘No, that's not what I mean.’ Andrew mused. He tilted his head to meet Kevin’s. He held up three fingers. ‘Three months. That's all I'm asking. Three months sober.’

Kevin stumbled, ‘Andrew, what- Wait, Drew, thats-’ Kevin’s face fell. ‘That, that’s the Ravens last match. Andrew, we can't do that, you can't even get through this round, nevermind facing the big three. It's impossible Andrew, why are you asking me to do this? I couldn't even make three weeks. I hadn't even been back on court for a month, I'm useless.’

‘Useless,’ Andrew scoffed. ‘You ignorant asshole. You fucking think the foxes would be anywhere near where they are now without you? You think this team would have even gotten past November? You've been off because you're sick. And when you're ill you need time to recover otherwise the bone will just keep breaking. You took time when Riko broke your hand, and this is no different. Mental wounds are still there. They last, they hurt. So dont you are fucking say your useless. You stayed sober for three straight weeks with nothing but Abby's company. We can help you. I can help you. I'm asking for 12 weeks.’

Kevin bit back on his thoughts. ‘12 weeks it a pretty fucking long time, Minyard.’

‘12 weeks is a long time without exy too, you know.’ Andrew retorted.

Kevin blinked in confusion. ‘Wait, what- No. no no, you didnt make a fucking deal with Coach did you?’ He met Andrew's look. ‘No, no. fuck you. Fuck you, you cant do this shit behind my back, controlling me, its not your decision. You didnt even fucking care before and that was a shit ton more than i drink now. Why are you making such a big deal of it, and what do I even get in return? You said it was a deal, so what's in it for you then? What's your deal, your promise.’

Andrew exhaled, the heat of his breath a cloud masking his face. Quiet hung heavy between them. Kevin had almost given up on receiving an answer before Andrew shifted, placing himself directly before Kevin’s crossed legs.

‘Fine. If you really want me to spell it out for you. If you do as I say and stay clean for the next 12 weeks, then I promise,’ Andrew leant forward, a hare's breath between them. ‘I will give you something to live for.’

Heat exploded in his mouth, butterflies dancing in every touch, Andrew’s skin on his like fire. Their mouths slid together, burning away the cool spring air, Andrew's fingers delicately tracing his jaw as if he would break under his touch. Something rose in his chest, something… new. Unexpected. Something he didn't think he was ever capable of, an overwhelming realness, passion, something he could never truly put into words. It spread like sweet honey through his veins, ripe and fresh and welcome.

‘Andrew, I-’

He withdrew his face almost immediately. ‘Yes or no.’

Kevin's face burned. ‘Andrew-’

‘Answer me.’

If it had been anyone else, without a hesitation he’d have told them to back off. If it had been anyone else he wouldn't have learnt further in, wanting, needing. ‘Yes.’

He was gentler this time, his heavy lidded eyes tracing Kevin’s own. They were liquid gold, hazel, and beautiful. Where his were solid and same, kevins were split, a deep forest green in one whereas the other an inky depthless black. Every bit of him was on fire, emotions whirling in his head, and Kevin actively ignoring everything else but Andrew. He wished this could last. Each kiss felt as desperate as the last. Passion and desire burning behind every kiss, never growing old or dull. It was his. In the fleeting moment, Andrew was his. This was his promise.

‘Is that real enough for you?’

‘You’re giving me… this.’ Kevin paused, elated. ‘Yes. Fucking yes.’

Inside, there were no words. This was real. This was true. And this was Andrew’s promise. He had given him something to love for. And that was more than enough.

It was peace.

Andrew held out his hand to kevin. ‘Now lets get inside before you freeze your fucking tits off.’

-

Kevin sat infront of the box. It lay there unopened and untouched since Andrew had first shifted it into his dorm. The dust marks still traced his hands.

The tape was uncut.

He sat there, staring, unmoving, for hours at a time, tears slipping down his face as plentiful as the sand passing through the glass.. Like that itself could hold the memories of Jean. contemplation. Nights would pass without sleep just staring into oblivion, his only
company a sealed box.

He wasn't ready yet.

To move on.

So he kept the box around. Silent company.

One day he would be ready. One day.

-

The day couldn't have come around soon enough. 12 weeks had passed in a blink of an eye, one moment he’d been on the roof and the next, awaiting the Foxes massacre. Twelve weeks of grueling training, matches, travelling, distracting from even the thought of Jean. He put everything he had into exy, into neil, andrew. Assuring that they would improve. They could improve. Because that was all he had.

And he came back fighting.

Every morning he was up by five, washed dresses and fed. Then he would train, an hour before the rest of the foxes were even awake, making up for each lost day. And he would train just as hard when they finally turned up, looking bedraggled and beheaded, complaining about their aches and pains. He had to keep up with them. He had to get better. He had to be better.

Every night, he and Neil ran, pacing themselves against each other, matching each other's fierce competitiveness. One by one, the other foxes showed their faces.

Bit by bit, he would get there. Piece by piece.

He replayed them mundane scenes in his head over, his lifeline to sanity as he sat, trapped in a place he once called home. These changing rooms were no different from any other except the matt black paint job that suffocated the entire room, as if a vacuum had opened up under the entire building. For ten years he had called this home. But now it was nothing more than a stadium.

‘You okay?’

Neil crouched, perched before him, gazing into Kevin's bicoloured eyes. The foxes made sure to give him room, never touching him suddenly or from behind. It was an unwritten rule between them after the last incident. He hated being startled this easily, and his reaction. From a small touch he could almost take a man's whole arm off. Even Neil stayed clear of his personal space, both of the pair keeping an arms length.

Betsy had not explained how or why or what he could do to stop it. It was like animal instinct. Reflex. A constant edge. It had only grown over the course of the months as the Ravens game drew closer each day, looming a shadow over his existence.

The ghost of Jean’s presence clung close like a haunting plague of memories. Every wall, every tunnel, every crack and plaster, it held a memory of him. His Jean. In the moments of secrecy, intimacy and truth. His affection, his love.

Why had he agreed to come back?

Why, why why-

‘Kevin?’

Kevin blinked. ‘Sorry.’

Neil’s sapphire eyes bore worry bred curiosity, placing a gentle hand on Kevin’s shaking leg. ‘Hey, no need to apologise. It's okay. Funny, being back here.’ Neil paused, reminiscing as he mused around the room. Apart from the odd pair, it was empty. ‘It's like everything that I've tried shoving down just comes right back up. Everything I’ve tried so hard to forget, It’s just… there. And knowing that Riko is here, somewhere…’ he trailed off, his eyes defocused yet sharp.
‘But he can't hurt us. He can't hurt you. Not with all these people watching. And Andrew. We just have to win this game. To prove it. To ourselves.’

‘To Jean.’ Kevin added softly.

The corner of Neil’s eyes crinkled slightly, a hint of a sad smile playing at his lips. Some masked melancholy slipped through the cracks. Neil had been his partner too, his friend. ‘To Jean.’

Neil kissed him lightly, a ghost on his mouth. A smirk playing at the corners.

The door jarred open. ‘Guys, hurry up, we’re on in ten.’ Despite Andrew's pressing words, he had no heat behind them. Andrew knew they needed time, all the time god willed them.

Neil stretched then held out a hand to Kevin.

‘Allez, mon amour!’

Andrew rolled his eyes. ‘Seriously, stop pulling this french shit, I can't understand you.’

‘Now you know what it's like when you go off talking German with Neil.’

‘Fine. next time ill use japanese so we can all understand you bullshittery.’

‘Now that's not even English, Drew.’ Neil’s smile was sly but a comfort to them both. They would be okay. They would get through this. And they would win. For Jean.

They entered the spacious foyer midway through one of Wymacks famously encouraging prep speeches. He nodded acknowledgement as they settled. ‘-and on that note, let me remind you maggots that this isn't about Riko anymore. This isn't about the Ravens. This is about you. This is everything it cost you to get here. You’re here tonight because you refused to give up,’ Wymack eyed Kevin quickly ‘and refused to give in. you’re here where they all said you’d never be, and no one can say you haven't earned your place. So it's time to show them. The Ravens have lost their strongest striker and are without any backliner that could ever match Jean. they no longer have control or power with their weakest link so exposed. Use it, foxes, and run them to the ground. Show them that Riko was never the strongest. A king is nothing without his men. This is your night, your game. In memory of everything you've sacrificed. In memory of every asshole who tried to tear you down. And in memory of those who couldn't be here to witness the king's fall.’
‘Lets go!’

Neil squeezed Kevin’s hand. ‘For Jean.’

‘For Jean’ the Foxes replied, with every bit of intensity and passion as they could muster.

It was going to be okay.

They were going to be okay.

The stadium lights were blindening, a sun at the end of the entrance tunnel. The roar of voices, the thunder of feet pounding above. It was time.

Voice overs echoed, blaring in from the inner court, calling for the captains to enter for the coin toss.

It felt a bit like falling, a bit like flying. A smile flashed deadly as the adrenaline hit. This was it. His number was gone. He had cut the leash. There was only one thing left.

‘Your mother would be proud of you.’

‘Not just me.’ Kevin murmured back. They both knew that was their cue, an aknoleagin end to a conversation better had another day. Wymack patted his back knowingly.

‘Lets go.’

And there it was. The entire court before him. The doors locked behind him. This was his domain. In this vacuum he was Kevin Day, son of Kaliegh Day, heir to the throne, a prince of exy. He controlled this place. It was his birthright.

His destiny, some might say.

There was only one thing left.

Kevin passed his racket to his left hand.

If he had thought the noise before was loud, this was something else, deafening yet coolly quiet in his head. He was in control. He could change the game. And he could show them all, no matter how hard they broke him, they could not take this away from him. The thrill, the rush, the love. Everything that the Ravens would never have. And everything that he would take away from them.

Nothing Riko said or threatened landed. He had made a point to make it across the whole court to him, only to be turned down by his perceived inferior. Humiliation was not a good look on Riko. it wasn't the best of moves, pissing off Riko right before the game commenced. But there was a certain statisation in doing so. It was as stupid as it was exilirating.

His heart leapt, his head even.

The bell rang overhead. Ten seconds. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three-

Kevin could no longer hear the crowd through the seering adrenaline, the blood rushing in his ears.

One.

It had been seven months since the two teams had faced off against each other on court, but it didn't take either long to figure that they were playing entirely different teams. Without Jean, their defense was wide open. And the foxes exploited their weakness over and over, time and time again the ball met the goal with vicious ferocity, lighting up floresantly each time. Every shot fired on fueled the Ravens rage and the Foxes spirit, drunk and burning with determination. Every gap that Jean would have filled seemed eerily empty, the fresh backliners running themselves dead to pick up the pieces. It was almost too easy in a way. Riko may be slandering through the Foxes defence, but that was their problem. They're job was to hold court, and only that. He couldn't fault them though. In every snatch moment of looking back, he could see the adrenaline fueled energy they thrived off, putting everything and anything into their plays. But they were playing like foxes. They needed to be something else. They needed to match the Ravens.

Kevin had tried teaching them as best he could have crammed in those two weeks of religious night practices. But that was nothing on Rikos lifelong dedication to his craft, refined down to an art form. He was born and raised, breathing exy since the day he could hold a racket. He was Kevin in another life.

It was a bitter remiss.

The buzz sounded again, the goal lit up red. Kevin used the Ravens advantages against them. Initiating Neil into the ravens was a mistake at best, but a catastrophe on court. They had taught him everything they deemed valuable, beating it into him night after night. Two strikers with a furious hunger and the skill of a thousand ravens, the unpredictability of colliding stars, destined to destroy each other but in those fleeting moments; the power combining into something unimaginable. Jean had been their only tether, reeling in their savagery. Without him, they dominated the court. Everything that Riko and Kevin could have been, but better. A ruthless rivalry that fired their competitiveness just without the senseless, bitter cruelty.

Half time couldn't have come around soon enough, his arms aching terribly from the constant stick checks and endless fouling. The Ravens were desperate, and in their desperation they turned to violence. Time and time again Neil and Kevin had come against them only for yet another raven to be red carded. It tolled the foxes much more than the neverending expanse of ravens that seemed to appear.

Kevin slumped against the foyer wall. There was one more half left. Whilst the foxes had switched out just nicky and allison, the ravens seemed to have cycled through the whale team. Second half starting lineup was against yet another set of new faces, with only Riko’s familiarly returning to court. They could afford mistakes. They could not.

‘Kevin,’ Neil sat down beside him breathlessly. ‘You're holding back.’

He sat there guiltily baffled at his accusation. ‘What do you mean, im playing my fucking hardest, if you can’t fucking tell.’

‘That's not what I mean. Everytime you reach the left D-line, it's like you freeze. On the right, you're fine. I know its Jeans position, he should be the one you're playing, not whatever fucking substitute Riko thinks will do. But you have to use it, Kevin. I know you're too in deep to see it, but Jean isn't going to be angry you won. Because you will. You'll win like you always do. So when you get back out there, look at the Ravens like they are a different team. Riko is not your brother. They are not your family. The foxes are your home, and you say that so believe in your words. Fucking do what your preaching, Day. Prove it. You deserve it as much as any of these do, so act like it. Act like you want this. Riko can't touch you. Not with all eyes on him. No one can make a move apart from on court.’

Kevin sat silently for a moment. ‘Okay.’

Neil grinned slightly, an odd look on his face despite suppressing it almost immediately. ‘Jean would be proud.’ Kevin snorted. ‘I mean it Day. you've lived up to your end of the promise. You're here, alive, sober, and playing the finals rematch against the Ravens. Just like you said you would. You're here now, so use it.’ that's all he said before pulling himself back up toward Andrew.

Maybe he was right.

Jean's ghost may linger, but it also added the force behind his swings, the bite behind his shots, each goal a bookmark to making history. Because all this was for him. This was all for Jean.

Every breath burned. Every step, a numb phantom of the legs beneath him. Every pulse beat harder, faster. He could not lose this. His life, his world, his everything. He had passed his limit long ago, the acid in his veins nothing more than a faint buzz against the seering adrenaline, pounding, throbbing with every pass. Nothing Riko could do would ever take away from this, a fleeting moment of thrill amongst the crushing void. A catalyst for havoc. Time after time he scored, time after time he threw off the backliners lie they were nothing. They were nothing to him. None of them were Jean. he toed the line till slowly, the ravens tired. They were fresh out of players, burning through a whole pack of players, dealing red card after dead card. And none of them had ever played the foxes like this. None of them had played Kevin Day.

He flexed his left hand and grinned slowly. His court. The siege of Rikos castle had begun. And they were crumbling. Backliners folded against the pair of strikers, buckling under their force. They were not backing down.

2 minutes left.

The clock ticked rapidly slow, each moment a star imploded but beheld years after its death. The sand dripped through the glass. Exhaustion flared as bitterly as victory tasted. He couldn't slow. He couldn't stop. Because if he did he would shatter, break into those tiny pieces Riko had fractured him into. He could never be whole without this. With Riko still breathing down his neck.

Rikos stare bore into him even with a court separating them. A mile could be between them and it would be no different. A predator set on its prey. He was angry. In a way only matched to that night, that night where he took everything from Kevin.

So tonight he would take everything from him.

Wymack had said not to drag personal vendettas into this but that grudge burned tenfold what any other emotion could ever hold.

Twenty seconds. Rikos mark still tracked on his back. He could feel its weight, its presence. They were tied. A draw that would only result in a shootout. One look towards the goal and Kevin could tell, there was nothing left in Andrew but a simmering anger that hadn’t wavered since the game began. But anger alone could not fuel him. He could not survive a shootout. None of them could.
Time was passing.

What was his choice. Jean had said that, that day he’d lost to himself. There was always a choice. Jean had made his. And he never lied. He never lied and that was the thing he had loved most about him. Those words left unspoken festered in Kevins chest. Every wasted chance to tell him how amazing he was, how loved and adored he was. But he could not go back. He could not fix them. He had turned his heart into a ghost town, an abyss with only Jean to fill it. There was only now, here, this. The very stadium those three had been raised as brothers. They were supposed to be brothers. But their love was a wasteland. And he would tear it down, tear this all down. Piece by piece. In a place love once was but faded to nothing. Broken memories. Riko did not deserve his words, his acknowledgment. His actions would speak louder than any word he had ever uttered. This was his choice.

He needed to move. Now.

Dan’s pass landed, Kevin's racket high.

16

Kevin's legs moved beneath him, a numb jolt with every step, his racket pressed to his chest with dear life. Jeans ghost trailing every pass, every step. One. two three. It was now or never. The goal was in plain view, three steps left.

15

14

13

Dan was blocked. Neil was too far away. Kevin whirled. To land a shot this far from the goal was near impossible. It would take a miracle. A risk. That was the game. Cat and mouse till one stuck their neck out too far. He had to shoot. Now or never.

10

9

8

His left hand twinged as he shot with everything he had, everything bottled up and hidden and suppressed. He had left it all on the court.

7

6

The siren sounded. Neil had collapsed in kevins peripheral. But that wasn't the end bell. Red lit up the court like a christmas tree.

9-10.

In favour of the foxes.

They had won. He had actually won.

Kevin collapsed in relief.

He had won. And Riko was overthrown, ripped from the palace he called home. Through all the blood that rushed, throbbing in his ears, he could hear the sounds of the crowd. A cacophony of screams, feet, the symphony surging all around them feverishly. This was history. This was the moment that will forever be remembered, a monument to everything the Foxes had built themselves to be. A testament to future Foxes to come. That they could win. That they could succeed. That they could prove everyone wrong. That they could defy odds and figures and stats, because they were more than all that.

They were the Foxes.

And they would win through spite.

-

‘He would be proud of you, you know.’

The drive back from the stadium was silent. The foxes had dropped off one by one as the coach descended into quiet. Neil looked up at Kevin sleepily, his eyes barely open as his head rested on Kevins lap. Andrew had fallen asleep, his head cradled in his shoulder.

‘Jean? Mmm.’ Kevin sighed, brushing his hands through neils curls. ‘Yes. I think he would. You told me that before.’

‘You should be proud of yourself. You didn't even stop, slamming that last goal, you saved us.’

‘And you should get some sleep, Abram.’

A flicker of a grin pulled at his mouth. ‘Only if you promise to sleep too. You aint sneaky, Abby will pin you to the ground and force your eyes shut if she found out you're still awake. Might even ship you back off to therapy, who knows.’

Kevin's eyes crinkled, a tired smile toying at his lips. ‘Who knows.’

Who knows.

Miles of black skies and silence passed by without recognition. Somewhere along the way, he must have fallen asleep. A deep, lapsing dream, ebbing and falling beyond recognition of that day, reality. Oblivion awaited him, and he was passive to relief.

There was no burden, no weight but the soothing memory of Jean.

Like a movie reel playing, snippets here and there, his smile genuine and warm, his arms soft around Kevins. The heat of his body sliding up against his own, the blankets their own fortress. One day he would learn this again. Learn the lines and curves of another man, the swells of vulnerability. One day his memories would manifest into reality, another time, another man. Without Jeans ghost toying at his heart strings, without his voice like waves crashing in his ear.

One day, he would learn.

He would learn how to love a dead man

“Where they had to learn to love a dead man
illusive you submit to live for,
how I do care.”

-Dead man