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Eden’s was too stuffy. Most nights alcohol took the edge off the flashing lights and waves of noise that emanated from the speakers and the people alike, but Kevin was four shots deep, and his skin still hadn’t stopped crawling.
He’d retreated to the little alley behind Eden’s, where people stepped out to smoke, and slid down the brick to his butt. Sitting wasn’t so much a choice as it was a necessity. His legs were unsteady, just as they had been at the end of a 16-hour Raven day. This, however, had nothing to do with over-exerting himself on the court. Much to his distaste, he was coming to terms with the Nest leaving more than just visible scars on him.
Riko was dead, but nothing would ever stop him from being in control of Kevin (not even the afterlife it seemed). He needed another drink. But returning to the buzz of the club was too daunting, and his legs were much too heavy.
Kevin jolted when Andrew appeared at his side. He shook a cigarette out of the pack and pointedly didn’t offer one to Kevin.
Kevin had lectured him too many times about the downsides of his habit. Tonight, though, Kevin would’ve said yes. He would’ve tried just about anything to stop the spiral of his mind. Stop the brutal weight of guilt that hammered to escape his skull. Stop the images of Riko flitting past every time he dared to blink.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
That had Kevin’s attention. He took a tentative glance up at Andrew. Events from the day bubbled to the surface: breakfast, practice, the ride here. He’d hardly spoken to Andrew all day.
“Hurt me?” He asked, confusion tugging his lips downward.
“Before Baltimore. I was…” Silence hung as Andrew fidgeted with his cigarette (the way he always had when he was still medicated). The flame wiggled in the looming darkness, as he passed it from one hand to the other and then back. “I didn’t intend to hurt you.”
Kevin dropped his gaze back to the splotchy concrete of the alley. Absently, his scarred hand rubbed at his throat; the sting of a fierce grip, robbing him of breath, and bottomless eyes, boring into him, echoed in the dull thud of his pulse.
“I had it coming. I knew from the moment I kept quiet about Neil that I’d pay for it eventually. If not at your hands, then–” He cut himself off abruptly.
Riko. It always came back to Riko.
“I promised to protect you.” Andrew ducked down beside him.
It dawned on him that Andrew was apologizing. That this, of all things, was something Andrew had thought about since that night was enough to give him pause. Kevin rolled this little pearl of truth around in his head, trying to decide what response Andrew hoped to achieve: remorse for keeping secrets in the first place, forgiveness for whatever injustice he perceived, or maybe some kind of… absolution?
“As far as I’m concerned, you did. Riko is dead, the Master is in the wind, and the Nest is gone. You’re off the hook, Andrew.”
In his peripherals, Andrew’s face flickered with something. He didn’t allow his attention to divert back to the blond, wouldn’t let himself wonder any further if he’d picked the right answer.
Andrew smoked his cigarette to the filter as they sat in silence. Murmurs of the few others in the alley floated around like the cigarette smoke that seemed to be a permanent fixture here.
“C’mon,” Andrew said as he got to his feet. He wasn’t ready to return to the stifling club, especially not after this conversation. When Kevin didn’t budge, Andrew nudged his boot into Kevin’s thigh. “Let’s go home.”
Home.
Of course, Andrew was talking about the Columbia house. But he snagged on that word, home. Where even was home for Kevin now? It hadn’t been the Nest for some time. If he wanted to drive Andrew crazy, he could call the court his home, but it wouldn’t quite be true. And Fox Tower might be where he sleeps most nights, but he’d never associated it with that concept of integral belonging. Fox Tower and Exy were where he betrayed the loyalty that had been ground into his bones. They were what he’d run to in hopes that living wouldn’t have to hurt so much. Was that enough to make it home?
The rough wall bit at his palms as he forced himself to his feet and trailed after Andrew to collect the others.
***
The days where fond memories of Riko slipped to the surface were worse than his usual loop of horrors. As much as he loathed the bad memories, the good ones tended to lodge right in his windpipe. He’d spend the whole day struggling to force any sound out of his mouth. Because how could he? How could he miss someone who had been so cruel?
Kevin was pouring creamer into his coffee when his breath caught in his throat. Riko knew exactly how he liked his coffee. Despite his best efforts, he’d never managed to get that golden ratio that Riko hit every time. He’d laughed softly and teased Kevin about taking it with sugar, wasting their minimal allowance of sweets on this, but Kevin’s coffee always turned up sweetened to perfection.
Riko got up first, and Kevin took longer in the bathroom getting ready. Good day or bad, there was a coffee waiting on his desk when he was finished. Riko had never asked for anything in return for making his coffee, and it was a rarity anything came without strings attached in the Nest, especially when Riko was involved. This was a small kindness, given freely, sometimes accompanied by a little, knowing smile. One that, at a certain point, must have been more habit than generosity.
He had to believe that it was habit. His mind refused to reconcile that the day Riko shattered his hand, this gesture could’ve been made of genuine kindness.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood frozen, staring down at his coffee, but his previously snoozed alarm clock blaring in the bedroom pulled him from the pocket of time. He reached up into the cabinet and snagged from the back a half-filled bottle of whisky.
Heavy handedly, he spiked his coffee as a bang erupted from the bedroom, followed by silence in the absence of his screaming alarm.
Andrew, still mostly asleep, graced the kitchen with his presence as Kevin was stashing the whisky back in the cabinet. Even if Andrew did catch sight of the whiskey, he rarely involved himself in others’ vices.
Kevin sipped his Irish coffee and turned to level a gaze on Andrew’s sleep ruffled hair. Blankly, he stared back at Kevin, before rubbing at his bleary eyes and blinking to adjust to the sunlight flooding the dorm. Andrew hated waking up to Kevin’s alarm, but he didn’t grumble his usual grievances as he poured a cup of coffee for himself.
The coffee warmed Kevin in more ways than one, and once again the day was faceable. The caffeine woke him up, the whisky quieted Riko’s soft laugh in his ear, and he spurred himself into getting ready for practice, the one good thing he had left.
Fully dressed and his backpack slung over one shoulder, Kevin toed his shoes on and leaned against the wall by the door. Andrew was ready, even before he’d been, and was idly spinning his keyring around his finger. Neil was rummaging around in the bedroom.
As always, Neil was late. Kevin lacked his usual bark when Neil wasn’t ready to walk out the door at the agreed time. Instead, he traced the scars on his left hand, eyes unfocused on the present.
“Fuck.” Hurricane Neil emerged from the bedroom, “I know, I know. I’m almost ready I just need to–”
Neil was shoving his feet in his shoes as he cut off. A quizzical stare pressed adamantly on Kevin. He ignored it.
“Is it a Kevin quiet day?” Neil asked, his gaze shifting to Andrew. Andrew nodded, his jingling keys quieting as his hands stilled.
“The fuck does that mean?” He wanted to sound annoyed, but instead it came out defensive.
Neil shrugged, “We’re late as shit because of me, and you haven’t complained once. You’re having one of your quiet days.”
Kevin scoffed, attempting to hide how he squirmed under Neil’s gaze. Quipping back would prove Neil wrong, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he settled for pulling the door open and herding them out with an impatient hand.
***
Neil had a captains’ meeting following afternoon practice, and Andrew had gone straight to the roof upon their return to Fox Tower. So, he was left alone in the dorm.
Kevin pulled the whisky from the cabinet, intent on finishing it off tonight. He plopped down into the center of the couch and flipped on his favorite Exy D1 station. They were picking apart highlights from the Trojans’ game on Friday.
When a clip of Jeremy scoring and Jean smiling as they bonked their helmets together in celebration came on, Kevin’s stomach pulled up into his chest. If this was any indication, Jean was settling in with the Trojans, which Kevin had wanted more than anything. Jean deserved the chance to stretch his wings and glide past all the horrors of the Nest, including Kevin. Maybe, especially Kevin.
He tipped back the bottle, and his throat burned with more than just the whisky.
His hands were still soaked with Jean’s blood, and this thought quickly morphed past metaphor to a hot, sticky sensation running down his hands. The room was suddenly too dark and familiarly cold. The smell of antiseptic overwhelmed him and hushed French reassurances prickled at his ears. He wiped a bloody hand on the plush blanket settled on his lap, surprised to find his hand was bone dry, and with a cursory glance around, the dorm was as empty as it had been.
How could he still miss Riko after the violence the man had inflicted on Jean? Maybe he could overlook all that Riko had done to him… but to Jean?
With a trembling hand, he flipped to another station that was replaying a recent Exy game between two teams in the northern division. He took comfort in the lack of connection to either team and forced himself to focus on the gameplay rather than the way his chest had seized up or the tang of iron he swore he could smell.
He had drained the whisky dry by the time Andrew and Neil got in. Kevin dragged his eyes from the game, and Neil gave him a faint smile as they shrugged out of their jackets and shoes. Both of their fingers and cheeks were red from the bite of the wind on the roof.
Andrew clattered around in the kitchen, presumably making a late dinner for the two of them. Neil got sucked into the game he had on. He stole some of Kevin’s blankets as he curled up with his back to the arm of the couch and his knees at his chest. He wedged his cold toes under Kevin’s thigh and passively Kevin allowed it.
Kevin was safe at Fox Tower; logically, he knew that. But a relentless, suffocating fire burned in his chest, threatening to consume him whole. The impending doom whispered that Riko was just in the next room, and he’d blow in any moment with thunderous rage and a downpour of righteous vengeance for all the harm Kevin had caused.
Riko would never forgive him for causing his death. Jean would never forgive him for leaving. He would never forgive himself for daring to think he deserved anything more than what he’d had.
A dull ache rippled through his scarred hand as his other hand wrung around it. Riko’s final act of harm to him was the only penance that remained, and he clung to it violently. His thumb dug up into his palm, and his right-hand covered the lightning strike of scars he’d long ago memorized. He stared down at his hands. The ache turned to a twinge as he squeezed harder.
“Stop.” Andrew commanded, as he dropped onto the couch beside him. Kevin wasn’t fooled by the nonchalance of his tone; this was a warning, a stop it or else. But through the haze of whisky, he couldn’t find his way back to the anchor he’d used Andrew as so often.
There was movement in his peripherals, then fingers laced into his left hand, gently tugging it away. Andrew, ever steady and ever present, was his anchor yet again. His grasp was warm, and Kevin trudged back from the depths of his spiral.
He found none of the malice or scorn his pity party should evoke on Andrew’s face. Taking refuge in the blankness Andrew projected was easy. It was safe. It was a consistency Kevin needed. A shuddery breath escaped him. For the first time that day, he was pulled back inside his body, in the here and the now. Andrew’s hand had all the callouses you’d expect from an Exy racket. Their knees knocked together. Neil’s feet wiggled under his leg. An excited announcer was calling plays from the game that had lost Kevin’s attention. He was here, and the atrocities of The Nest were distant.
Cautiously, Andrew brought his hand up and pressed a light kiss to the web of scars.
“You did not deserve this.”
Andrew let their hands fall back to his lap. Kevin furrowed his brows. Denial was on the tip of his tongue, but the protest was lodged in his throat at the sharp look Andrew shot him. His free hand caught Kevin by the chin, forcing Kevin to look at him.
“You did not deserve this.” He repeated, firmer this time.
Andrew used his light grasp on Kevin’s chin to tilt his head ever so slightly to the right. He leaned in and brushed a kiss to where his hands had left bruises months ago and murmured, “You did not deserve that, either.”
Andrew pulled back out of his space but kept their hands intertwined. He turned his attention to the Exy match that Kevin knew he wasn’t interested in.
He barely had time to process this tender gesture before Neil was shifting beside him. His feet unburied themselves and fell against the floor as he scooted over to press his side against Kevin’s. He leaned a head on his shoulder, and Kevin relaxed into him, resting his head on top of Neil’s.
The three of them stayed that way on the couch for a long while, eyes gazing at the glow of the TV in the dimly lit room. But Kevin wasn’t focused on the Exy game that was dwindling to its final minutes, instead lingering in the gentle brush of skin and casual closeness he was so rarely afforded. Every even breath Neil took in, and the soft squeeze of Andrew’s hand grounded him firmer than he had been in months.
A timer on the stove rang, and Andrew hesitated before releasing Kevin’s hand and getting to his feet.
Whatever Andrew made smelled good, and an appetite that had been absent for days reared its head. Much to his surprise, Andrew returned with three plates. He didn’t give Kevin a second glance as he set the plate on his lap and settled back into his place on the couch.
There were no complaints when another Exy game came on. Ever so slowly, his gut untwisted, and the dread clogging his throat dissolved. Perhaps home was right here, sitting snugly between Andrew and Neil.