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Kevin’s day starts out terrible and gets much, much worse.
His alarm doesn’t go off, and neither do the five back-up alarms, so he wakes up ten minutes before his lecture and scrambles out of bed in a haze of panic.
He’s not a morning person by any measure, and would actually prefer to sleep until noon, but evening practice means early classes. And that means waking up for lecture on time.
“Fuck,” Kevin spits as he begins the arduous task of shoving a sweatshirt on with one hand while pulling his pants up with the other. He tries not to trip over the stack of books on the floor (fucking Jean) and doesn’t fully manage, skip-hopping out the door with his pants only mid-thigh.
“You’re still here?” Jean asks from the kitchen, evil morning person that he is. “I thought you had class.”
“I do,” Kevin says, cramming his feet into his boots. “And I’m really fucking late.”
“Yikes,” says Jean, looking relaxed and unbothered with his fingers curled delicately around his mug of coffee. Kevin loves him, truly, but sometimes he does hate him a little bit.
“Eat a plant today,” he says sternly, because Jean’s dietary habits range from “nothing” to “cigarettes and coffee like the world’s worst French cliche,” which in terms of nutritional value is less than nothing. And then he’s sprinting full force out the door, trying not to eat shit on the icy streets.
He’s late to class. His professor is gracious enough, considering Kevin’s one of her top students and goes above and beyond in the participation requirement, but he’s missed the discussion portion, which is his favorite part. Kevin enjoys debates, and he enjoys winning them even more (he does not care that this makes his classmates occasionally hostile toward him). He tries not to be too disappointed by this, but it clouds the rest of his morning. The wind is bitingly cold, and in his haste he’d forgotten a beanie, so not only are his ears freezing but his hair is a wreck on par with Neil’s.
Four hours of history later and he’s exhausted, wanting nothing more than to pass out on the couch for his mid-afternoon nap and let a mindless sitcom’s laugh track lull him to sleep (Jean, Kevin found early on in their relationship, has an inexplicable fondness for American 90s shows. Especially Will & Grace- he’s been on a kick and Kevin can’t take much more).
It’s then, on his way home, that he gets a text from Andrew asking him to drop off some books he’d borrowed earlier that month. Kevin had placed them in his bag last night in anticipation that Andrew would ask, but he can’t even feel smug about being right because his ears are about to fall off.
Fine, he texts back, not feeling particularly eloquent, and begins the slow trek farther and farther away from the warmth of his boyfriend.
Neil and Andrew live about a fifteen minute walk away on a good day; the ice and sludge makes it more like thirty. Kevin is aching and miserable by the time he reaches their sketchy apartment building with the mold in the lobby shaped like the Virgin Mary. He thinks of his time living there fondly, because it was the time in his life when he reconnected with Neil and he and Andrew used to get into all sorts of trouble as roommates, but that doesn’t mean the apartment’s not a shithole. It really, really is.
He’s about to walk in when a blur of red and blue catches his eye. It takes him a second to understand- Spiderman! Fucking Spiderman! The real, actual, neighborhood Spiderman, who Andrew’s been rescued by upwards of twenty times now while Kevin’s never even seen him in person.
Well, now he has. And at his old apartment, no less. Kevin watches in delight as Spiderman swings up to the roof- Kevin’s been on that roof!- and touches down lightly next to a short blond man, who upon further inspection is undeniably… Andrew Minyard. Wait, what?
What the fuck?
Kevin’s delight turns to something closer to horror as Spiderman and the man who is definitely Andrew, neither of whom are facing out at the street and can’t see where Kevin is gaping up at them, slowly lean in. And kiss. On the mouth. For a long time. With tongue.
No fucking way.
(So much tongue).
Kevin can’t believe it. He can’t believe it- months and months of the painful trainwreck that was Andrew and Neil pining, and then finally rejoicing when they got their shit together, only for this to happen. Kevin had really thought that Andrew and Neil would make it. He’s never doubted their devotion to each other. Even their respective self-destructive tendencies can’t drive them away from each other.
But Andrew’s cheating on Neil.
With Spiderman.
Kevin’s seeing it with his own eyes.
His body moves without his permission: by the time he’s processing what the fuck he just saw, he’s four blocks away and only gaining speed, borrowed books be damned. Should he tell Neil? Doesn’t he have an obligation as Neil’s friend to say something? His brain is white noise.
But Andrew is his best friend. And wouldn’t his real obligation be to keep Andrew’s secret for him? Andrew’s kept secrets for Kevin.
But none of those secrets were actively hurting someone he cared about.
Kevin’s head hurts (even more than his ears, which have at this point gone numb from the cold). He tries hard to stay above gossip- it’s never appealed to him- but this is something entirely different.
Before he knows it he’s shoving his key into the lock and barging into his apartment in a flurry of snow and general panic.
“Kevin?” Jean says from the couch. (Will & Grace. Horrible, horrible day). “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Worse,” Kevin says, burying his face in Jean’s hoodie. He relaxes infinitesimally as Jean’s long fingers card through his hair, lingering at the base of his neck. But even his boyfriend’s magic hands can’t erase his memory. “Andrew’s cheating on Neil.”
Jean’s hands go still. Kevin imagines him raising both eyebrows. “What makes you say that?” On-screen, Debra Messing is yelling at Sean Hayes.
Kevin’s in a state of disbelief, but as he begins to say it he knows it to be true. He knows what he saw up on that rooftop, no matter how crazy it sounds out loud. “Because I saw Andrew kissing Spiderman.”
Confused silence. “What?”
He twists so that he’s sitting upright and stares Jean in the eyes, attempting to convey that he’s being honest and not having some sort of mental breakdown.
“I’m serious. I was over by their place to drop off the book Andrew lent me when I saw fucking Spiderman, which was awesome, and then I saw him and Andrew on the roof and then I saw them kissing and then I ran away.” He pauses to catch his breath.
Jean raises one perfect eyebrow. Much like the rest of his features, his eyebrows are very French and very judgemental. “With tongue?”
“So much tongue.” Kevin cannot stress enough how much tongue.
“Maybe we can be chill about this,” Jean says. He says “chill” disdainfully, like he can’t believe it’s actually coming out of his mouth.
Kevin is many, many things, but he’s not “chill.” He’s high-strung, and anal, and somewhat selfish, and very uncool about his interests. No one in their life has ever described Kevin as “chill.” Jean seems to realize this and switches tactics.
“Do they know that you know? You aren’t going to be taken out in the middle of the night by this Spider Man, right?” Jean pronounces Spiderman as less of a title and more of an attempt to understand the youth’s new slang.
And oh, God, Kevin hadn’t thought of that. “They didn’t see, I think,” he frets. He briefly entertains a world in which Spiderman didn’t see him and doesn’t sneak in while he’s sleeping to smother him with a pillow. Jesus Christ, he’s going to die.
“Listen,” Jean says, clearly sensing Kevin’s on the verge of a meltdown. “Do not panic about this. I’ll make you some lunch and you can watch the game to calm down.” He kisses Kevin on the cheek then walks away.
Sometimes (read: often) Jean turns on soccer matches to keep Kevin occupied while he putters around in the kitchen; Kevin knows this and doesn’t care. He happily watches the Trojans thrash their opponent and tries not to swoon too obviously when Jeremy Knox appears on screen, sweaty and glorious. He’s been having a great season, and Kevin’s investment in his career is purely based on his phenomenal skills as a player and inspiring work as captain- nothing else, Jean. It’s a good way to take his mind off of Spiderman killing him, that’s for sure.
“You’re drooling,” Jean informs him as he places a plate of rice and egg on the table in front of Kevin.
“Ha,” Kevin deadpans, but he does make sure to stealthily wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Lunch is good, and Kevin’s not dumb. He knows when Jean’s being a little extra affectionate to keep him from losing it.
“I should tell Neil, right?” he asks after their plates are empty (or his is, at least. He won’t pretend to understand Jean’s relationship with food, but a bit of the rice has been dug into, which he considers a small success). “I think it’s my duty to tell him.”
“Duty,” Jean snorts. “What duty? If you think you have a moral obligation, then yes, tell him. But morals are not all they are cut out to be.”
Jean-speak for: mind your own business. Contrary to popular opinion, Kevin can take a hint.
He just doesn’t want to.
“I’m going to tell Neil,” he resolves. “I won’t tell Andrew I know, in case Spiderman literally kills me, but maybe I can hint? Try and make him sweat.”
Jean gives him an indulgent look. He doesn’t care much for either Neil or Andrew, but Kevin appreciates him talking him through it. “Good luck with that.”
Now (mostly) done with the panic, Kevin curls into Jean’s side. He’s tall, himself, but Jean’s even taller. It’s nice to feel small for once.
“I don’t have my last lecture for another hour,” he says. “If you want to…”
Jean’s fingers tighten a bit on Kevin’s shoulder. “If I want to?”
“You know.”
“I don’t think that I do.” His hand rubs purposeful lines, dipping beneath Kevin’s sweatshirt. “Show me.”
Kevin smiles, predatory. “Gladly.”
(“Your feet are freezing,” he grumbles, fifteen minutes later. “You should’ve kept the socks on.”
“Shut up,” Jean says, and kisses him soundly.)
Nicky gets back from Germany at two p.m. Thursday, and the “Welcome Back Nicky” dinner party hosted by Matt and Dan is at five p.m. Kevin has club soccer practice in afternoons on Tuesdays, and in evenings on Thursdays at six p.m. Naturally, he’s not happy about this.
(“You’re not even in season right now,” Andrew had pointed out a week earlier, when Kevin aired his grievances. “You can skip one practice.”
“This isn’t the time for jokes,” Kevin had said.)
The dinner, as most gatherings tend to be when the whole group gets together, is a disaster. They’re friends, but can only go five minutes tops without someone initiating an argument. The fact that Neil isn’t here to bridge the DanMattAllison and KevinAndrewAaronNicky gap doesn’t help (Jean and Renee, like Neil, are neutral floaters).
“Where is the hellcat anyway,” Jean murmurs to Kevin. “Minyard almost looks worried.”
Aaron Minyard could not have looked less worried. It was Andrew who, while not expressive in his facial features, was showing a little anxiety for Neil in the cigarettes he was chain smoking out the window into the freezing New York City night.
This dinner, Kevin had decided, would be where he took Neil aside and told him what he had seen on the rooftop. Neil, never one to miss a chance to fuck up Kevin’s plans, has yet to show. Kevin can’t help but think that’s a sign; he’s too annoyed to be concerned about where Neil is in the first place.
Jean wanders over to talk to Renee, and reluctantly Allison (who he swears he doesn’t like, but shares a scary number of opinions with), and Kevin is left standing in the foyer, running through practice drills in his head. He has twenty minutes before he has to leave, tops.
“Kevin!” says Nicky, wearing a plastic crown on his head with large lettering across it. LONG LIVE THE KING. “I missed you, you bitch.”
“I missed you too,” Kevin tells him, stilted.
“I’m worried about Neil,” Nicky continues.
“That’s great,” Kevin replies. He wonders if he can get tickets to Jeremy Knox’s next meet and greet. He wonders if Spiderman is going to kill him before he can. He wonders who will tell Neil then- certainly not Jean.
“I’m serious,” Nicky says. “Not even a text like, hey, I might be late? I just think-”
The front door opens and Neil walks in, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, skin pale and ashy. Seconds later Andrew has teleported from the window to be by his side, barely beating the mob of people (led by a delighted Matt) clambering to see him.
Kevin steps back and stares at Neil trying to break free of the coddling. Only when the back-up pizza arrives (ordered by Allison when the initial order had been devoured less than ten minutes in) and everyone is suitably distracted does he get a chance to talk to him.
Be smooth, Kevin. Try and break it to him gently.
“You look terrible,” he says.
It’s not a lie.
“You don’t say,” Neil says wryly. The others (sans Aaron, who is helping himself to the pizza, and Andrew, who is watching Neil like a hawk from where he’s resumed smoking) have formed a hushed circle as they unsubtly discuss what’s up with Neil. Jean makes eye contact with Kevin from the huddle and mouths this fucking guy.
“I have a protein shake in my bag if you want it.”
Neil does his trademark half-smile. “Thanks, Kev. But I’m fine.”
“No problem,” Kevin says, pleased to have been of some assistance. He’s generally not great at offering comfort. He’s trying to figure out a segue into “hey, your soulmate is cheating on you with a vigilante” when he notices the blood staining the blue of Neil’s pants.
Everyone else notices too, once he’s pointed it out. Loudly.
At least it delays Kevin and Neil’s talk.
It’s quickly apparent that the reason Neil’s sweaty is because he’s in pain and bleeding profusely from the puncture wound on his thigh. And they are not, despite what Neil says, “overreacting.”
Aaron assesses the situation on Dan and Matt’s couch, everyone crowded around in a large circle and wringing their hands nervously. Neil, in comparison, practically looks bored. Andrew, clutching Neil’s hand tightly in his own, looks murderous and devoted. Kevin feels vaguely sick seeing the display of affection, knowing what he knows.
“It’s not that deep,” Aaron says to the group at large. “But it’s enough that he’ll need stitches.”
“I don’t need stitches,” Neil says. He is immediately met with boos.
“You do need stitches, asshole, and I need someone to get me bandages,” Aaron spits.
“I need another drink,” says Allison.
“I need to leave,” says Kevin. “I have practice.”
“Kevin!” Nicky yelps, aghast. Someone- probably Dan- audibly sighs.
“Neil’s roadkill,” Kevin responds, turning to look Neil in his very blue eyes. “You’ve been roadkill since I met you. Nothing about this is new, and I have drills to run.”
“You’re a bitch,” Neil tells him. It sounds unbearably fond.
“Yes,” Kevin agrees, glad Neil understands. He and Neil are very different people, but when it comes down to it they usually have similar priorities. He’ll tell him tomorrow, he decides. “Good luck on the stitches. Make sure to sterilize the needle.”
He’s ten minutes early to the field and sets up cones with purpose.
He has his first, real interaction with Spiderman (philandering, cheating whore that he is) when he’s saved from a mugging.
He took his favorite shortcut after class through an alleyway and mostly ignored the man walking behind him until he had literally no other choice. Kevin has never been mugged before, and actually doesn’t realize it’s happening until the guy pulls out a gun.
“Whoa,” he says, putting his hands in the air. “Jesus, man, take what you want.”
The man doesn’t take what he wants, though, because his gun is yanked out of his hand and up into the sky. Kevin and his mugger look up in sync to see none other than Spiderman perched on a fire escape above them, gun in hand.
“Fuck,” the mugger says, and books it.
“Fuck,” Kevin says, staring up at Spiderman- who this time is staring back.
Spiderman tilts his head, then moves as if to leave.
“Wait!” Kevin calls before he can think about it. He has things to say: one; thank you for saving me from being robbed at gunpoint, and two; do you know that you are putting me in an incredibly awkward spot by having relations with my best friend.
Spiderman waits. Kevin opens his mouth but no more words come out. He didn’t think he’d get this far.
He lets instinct take over.
“How often do you work out?” He asks. “Do you put any effort into maintaining your physique or does the mutation do all the work for you?”
Then, urgently: “Do you play soccer?”
Spiderman doesn’t answer. Upon further inspection, he really is quite small. Maybe a half foot shorter than Kevin. He’s fast, though- Kevin bets he could make a decent winger, with the proper training. He tries and fails not to get too excited at the thought of Spiderman playing on his club team. They’d be unstoppable.
But oh, yeah, he kind of hates this guy. “Actually, nevermind. Don’t answer that- I don’t care. You probably would suck as a winger. Just know that you’re interfering with an incredible relationship and not only are you putting me in an extremely difficult position, but you’re actively hurting someone who's been hurt enough. And he doesn’t deserve that. And you’re an asshole. And a slut. But also I’m a big fan of your work and thank you for saving me. Please don’t kill me.”
“What,” says Spiderman.
“Fuck you,” says Kevin, and walks away. He feels like Neil, in the sense that there’s a neon target on his back and he’s running his mouth anyway.
He also feels like he deserves to splurge on Starbucks on his way home for being so brave.
“How was class?” Jean asks when he walks into the apartment. He’s on the couch, which is practically his home-base at this point. As a freelance book illustrator, he does his artwork in their guest room turned studio, which has the best natural light in the house. But when he’s not working, which is often, he takes to the couch while Kevin’s either at class or at practice.
“Good,” Kevin says, walking into the den. He thinks he’ll save the “I was mugged at gunpoint and saved by Spiderman” conversation until after food. He leans over the couch and gives Jean a chaste upside-down kiss, which earns him a smile so sweet he does it again. “I got into another debate with that asshole Hawking.”
“You win?”
Kevin smirks. “What do you think?”
“I think you always win,” Jean says, then pulls Kevin down for another kiss. “Naturally.”
“Naturally,” Kevin echoes proudly. He very pointedly does not think of the mugger and how he definitely was not a winner there. Instead he thinks about how exhausting this whole secret thing has been, and how much he’d like to make out with Jean instead.
Which is exactly what he does.
That night, he brushes his teeth with extra vigor. He punches his pillow too hard and probably too many times, and flings back the covers to slide under, scowling all the while.
“You’re angry,” Jean observes, astutely.
Kevin is angry. He’s angry that his best friend, who is a certifiable asshole, is even more of an asshole than Kevin initially thought. He’s angry on behalf of Neil, who looks at Andrew like he hung the moon, and he’s angry for himself, for being put in this stupid position. Because secrets suck. And he doesn’t want to have to be the one to hurt Neil, even indirectly.
“I met Spiderman,” he says, instead of spilling his guts. “And he saved me. And then I yelled at him and called him a slut.”
Jean doesn’t say anything, just stares at Kevin patiently until he cracks.
Which is about ten seconds, give or take.
“I don’t know if I can tell Neil,” he admits.
Jean tilts his head. “Why not?”
Kevin doesn’t reply. He doesn’t know how to put it into words, not when he can look into Jean’s eyes and see judgment. Jean seems to understand this and reaches over to turn off the bedside lamp, cloaking the room in darkness.
“Because I’m spineless,” Kevin finally says. It’s easier in the dark; he can imagine himself in a confessional, whispering his greatest faults for a man of God to forgive him.
The only one to forgive him now is Jean. Jean is not a man of God, and he is very rarely a man of forgiveness. Kevin wants to hear him, though. Sometimes he feels as if Jean is the only one he can be truly honest with. He knows how selfish Kevin can be, and they’ve both turned their backs on each other once.
Not anymore.
“Fear is not spinelessness,” Jean whispers back. “It is survival. And I would rather have you spineless and alive than fearless and dead.”
No matter how well Jean sleeps, he always has dark circles under his eyes, purple against his gray iris. Kevin can’t see them in the dim light, but he knows they’re there. He thumbs at them now, cradling Jean’s sharp cheekbones.
“But if this is bothering you this much, then you should tell him,” Jean continues. “I will do my best to bear the brunt of his anger.”
“Thanks,” Kevin says softly.
“Sleep,” says Jean.
He wakes up to a text from Neil.
This is suspicious for two reasons: one, Neil rarely remembers he has a phone, and even more rarely texts first; and two, it reads we need to talk
Fuck.
They do need to talk, is the thing. Kevin just doesn’t know how Neil knows they need to talk.
Okay, he texts back. When
afternoon. come to our place
Kevin flinches at “our,” and the reminder that he’s probably going to be the reason it becomes “my.” He does his best to put the text out of mind for the rest of the morning, but by the time mid-afternoon rolls by his muscles ache from being tensed.
Andrew opens the door when he knocks. This is horrible, because not only is Andrew the only person Kevin wants to see less than Neil, but also because Kevin had not-so-subtly avoided him at Nicky’s dinner and if directly confronted about it he might cry.
“Kevin,” Andrew says evenly.
“Andrew,” Kevin responds, voice cracking.
Andrew says nothing but steps aside, and Kevin warily enters. He can’t help but feel as if he’s walking into a trap. Neil’s sitting at the kitchen table, waiting.
Kevin nervously sits. “What did you want to talk about?”
“I think you have something you want to talk about,” Neil says. Kevin audibly gulps.
“I can’t say it in front of Andrew,” he tells Neil in a low tone. Andrew’s eyes are burning a hole in his head. Neil and Andrew exchange a look that Kevin really doesn’t want to read into, but Andrew does go to his room. He does so very passive aggressively, though, which Kevin notices and resents.
Looking into Neil’s eyes is so much worse than looking into Andrew’s. Andrew’s eyes are black holes, but Neil’s are a living thing: layers and layers of icy blue, a predator slicing through water.
“Kevin,” Neil says, eyes unwavering. “Spit it out.”
Kevin does. “Andrew’s cheating on you,” he blurts, then looks down at the table as if it will offer any relief.
Neil’s silence across from him is stunned. Kevin‘s heart hurts for him.
“What?” Neil asks. Kevin can’t look- the eyes are bad enough when they’re not filled with tears.
“With Spiderman.”
“What?”
“I know,” Kevin says miserably. “I’m so sorry.” And then he chances heartbreak, because at the end of the day he wants to be there for Neil, no matter how uncomfortable.
But Neil isn’t crying. He doesn’t even look sad- he’s fucking smiling. A bright, rapidly growing grin that transforms his face until he starts laughing harder than Kevin’s ever heard him laugh (including the time Aaron face-planted in the street).
“Everyone deals with grief differently,” Kevin says somberly over the peals of laughter. “I’m here if you need me.”
“Kevin,” Neil gasps. “Holy fuck, Kevin, you bastard.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do. Let it out.”
“No, Kevin. You don’t get- Andrew,” Neil calls. He completely ignores Kevin’s frantic hand gestures. “Andrew, come here.”
“Don’t,” Kevin mouths.
Neil abruptly stops smiling. “I need to confront him,” he tells Kevin, face now forlorn. It’s so creepy how fast he can do that. “For closure.”
“Not while I’m here,” Kevin pleads. “He’s going to shoot the messenger.”
“You don’t understand,” Neil continues seriously. “You’ve never been cheated on before. This is the worst pain I’ve ever felt.”
“You’ve been tortured,” Kevin reminds him.
“It’s worse. I need you here for moral support.”
Their heated whispering comes to a halt when Andrew materializes in front of them in that infuriating way of his (“You need a bell,” Kevin had told him once after letting out a girly shriek when Andrew tapped him on the shoulder).
“What, Neil,” Andrew says. He’s squinting at Neil with something like suspicion. Neil looks up at him, blank faced. Kevin is impressed with his acting, so strong against someone who wronged him.
“I know what you did,” Neil says, voice wavering a bit. Kevin pats him on the back, once, for support.
Andrew pauses. “And what did I do,” he intones.
“You can do this, Neil, ” Kevin whispers. Neil’s whole face twitches.
“You cheated on me,” Neil persists, courageous. Andrew opens his mouth, but Neil talks over him. “With Spiderman.”
Andrew’s mouth snaps shut. He’s silent for a long moment. “With Spiderman,” he parrots, blankly.
“With. Spiderman.”
Andrew and Neil continue to stare each other down, Kevin chewing on his nails anxiously. He doesn’t know who will be first to break.
It’s Andrew.
“Did I.”
“I saw it,” Kevin cuts in. He doesn’t want Neil to be alone in this, and now that it’s out in the open his spine is made of steel. “I saw you kissing him on the roof. Spiderman.”
Neil’s shoulders begin to shake.
“You are a moron,” Andrew says to Kevin.
Kevin scoffs. “What, because I figured out your secret? You’re my best friend, Andrew, but Neil deserves to know.”
“Kevin,” Neil says. “Where do Andrew and I go all the time? To hang out.”
“The roof,” Kevin says impatiently.
“And where did you see Spiderman kiss Andrew?”
“The roof,” Kevin says again. “We’ve covered this.”
Andrew’s nostrils flare, and Neil’s expression has gone from amused to annoyed. “Okay, Kevin, you’re not getting it. Andrew was kissing me on the roof.”
“No, he was kissing Spiderman.”
“Holy shit,” Andrew says. “Kevin. Holy shit.”
Kevin is outraged. He knows what he fucking saw. He saw Andrew kissing Spiderman on the roof, with so much tongue, and they expect him to believe he was kissing Neil? That wasn’t Neil, that was Spiderman, and-
Oh.
It clicks.
“Oh. OHHHH. Oh my God, you cunt, Neil, you’re a fucking cunt. How could you not tell me?”
“I was getting around to it,” Neil says.
“Liar,” Andrew accuses.
Neil shrugs. “Yeah.”
“Oh my God,” Kevin murmurs. “This makes so much more sense than Jean and I’s mafia theory.”
“Well,” Neil starts, then cuts himself off. “Nevermind.”
Andrew’s still looking at Kevin speculatively. “That’s why you’ve been avoiding me.”
Kevin’s neck heats. “I didn’t want to betray your trust when I saw you kissing Spiderman. I mean, um, Neil. But I had to tell him.”
“I don’t know how I didn’t see you,” Neil says, sounding furious with himself. “I’m supposed to notice when any threats are around.”
“Kevin is not a threat,” Andrew says in the tone of voice of someone who has figured it out. It’s a tone of voice unfortunately familiar to Kevin; out of the three of them, Andrew’s often the first one to figure things out.
“I can be a threat,” Kevin protests, though really he doesn’t know why he’s defensive about this. Of course he’s not a threat to Neil; Neil is his best friend, second only to Andrew (and Jean- speaking of, he was going to shit himself when Kevin updated him).
“Would you hurt me?” Neil asks.
“No!” Kevin says. “Never.”
“Well then,” says Neil, “you aren’t a threat. I guess I didn’t see you because I’m so used to you being around. My senses don’t register you as potential harm.”
“Oh,” Kevin says, touched. And a little uncomfortable with the affection. But mostly touched.
“You called him a slut,” Andrew reminds him. “That’s pretty harmful.” He resigns himself to being teased for eternity about that.
“And I called you an asshole,” Kevin says. “So…I’m sorry, I guess.”
Neil and Andrew share another look (Kevin can’t believe he thought they would break up; their telepathy alone should have swayed him), and Andrew jerks his head at Kevin to get him to follow out the window to the fire escape. Kevin’s barely squeezed himself through when Andrew’s got a cigarette lit- where he procured it from, Kevin has no idea- and is taking a long drag.
“It’s fucking freezing,” Kevin says sullenly, arms wrapped around his torso.
“You were mad at me,” Andrew says, ignoring him.
Kevin hesitates. It was all a big misunderstanding, and he feels so incredibly stupid about the whole thing. And yet- yes, he was mad. And just because it wasn’t what he thought doesn’t mean, however irrationally, that there isn’t still leftover anger. “I was.”
“On behalf of Neil.” Andrew looks him in the eye. “I am not angry with you. Maybe that you would think I would do that to Neil, though our relationship is none of your business, but I cannot be angry with you for caring about him.”
Kevin absorbs that, then nods. He doesn’t point out that the only person who Andrew is angry at for caring about Neil is himself. “So we’re good?”
Andrew blows smoke in his face. “No.”
Kevin smiles at that, but he still pretends to cough. It doesn’t work on Andrew, but sometimes it works on the subway- smoking is a nasty habit, regardless of how sexy it makes Jean look. The thought makes him come to a decision. “I’m going to tell Jean,” he says.
Andrew doesn’t look remotely surprised. “I figured.”
Kevin looks out at the city skyline, however shitty the view, and somehow the cold vanishes. This has been his home for the past three years; it’s where he lived with his best friends, and now lives with the love of his life. It’s the city that Neil protects as fucking Spiderman.
“I’m good at a lot of things,” he continues, pausing to blow hot air into his cupped hands. “Like, a lot of things.”
Andrew seems to understand where he’s going with this. “Just not secrets,” he remarks dryly.
“Just not secrets,” Kevin agrees.
They watch the people down below go about their days, oblivious. Unaware that the vigilante who keeps the streets safe is sitting in a shitty apartment watching a rerun of an old Court match. It’s so much better, he thinks. It’s so much better knowing.
“I cannot believe you thought Spiderman was going to kill you,” Andrew says after a moment.
Kevin sighs. "You're a fucking asshole."