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IT IS LATE INTO the night, and the stars are faint, swallowed by the glow of neon lights and the artificial hum of the city. The air still carries the warmth of the day save for a cold breeze stirring the parking lot, sending discarded paper and dry leaves skittering across the gravel and pavement.
The Ravens had won another game. Another victory to stack atop their ever-growing list of dominance. It was expected. Inevitable, even. The outcome had been written before they even set foot on the court.
The parking lot is filled with cars—some old, their bodies rusted from years of weather and time, others sleek and new with a sense of luxury. A horn blares impatiently in the distance and far above, a flock of birds soar in the sky, their wings black against the electric haze.
Jean sighs and turns, his gaze searching through the sea of black and red. Nathaniel’s hair is easy to find, even amidst the uniformity of the Ravens and the lack of height on his partner. Jean moves toward him, navigating through the quiet exchanges and the rhythmic thud of luggage being pulled from the bus. The others spoke in low voices, their words muffled by exhaustion.
Nathaniel waits near the doors with one of their coaches, his shoulder accompanied with a strap of his own bag while his free hand holds another. Their eyes meet, a flicker of recognition passing between them and the ache in Nathaniel’s expression softens almost immediately. He hands Jean his bag without a word but his gaze lingers, assessing and checking for any injury that could’ve been caused by the violent game. A habit as it is as instinctive as breathing. Jean shakes his head, the answer unspoken but Nathaniel understands—he always seems to understand.
Their fingers brush, a fleeting moment of contact, there and then gone. Enough to say: We’re okay.
They enter the hotel in a perfectly filed line moments later—a well-rehearsed procession of perfection drilled into the minds of the Ravens as young as possible. Nathaniel is just behind Jean who acts as a solid presence and a constant.
The lobby is a world of its own—a liminal space where lives intersect briefly before moving on, never meant to remain for long.
An elderly woman sits in a leather chair, her fingers resting lightly on the pages of a hardcover book. Beside her is a small child, curled into the crook of her arm with shut eyes and slow breathing with sleep. Across the room, a young couple whispers to one another, their laughter barely audible beneath the concierge’s polite words and wishes for a good night.
Jean shuffles closer to Nathaniel and his partner tilts his head, resting auburn curls and a heavy head against Jean’s arm just as a group of businessmen sit near the bar.
The Ravens are handed their keycards, their rooms assigned under the Master’s name. A process repeated in dozens of hotels across countless cities, each identical to the last, each never for more than the four hours of sleep they obtain. It hardly mattered where they are now—every hallway leads to the same doors, every bed dressed in crisp linen, every window overlooking a view that blurs together over time.
Their room is on the fifth floor, at the end of the hall. Close enough to be within sight of the others, distant enough to remain separate and have privacy. The swipe of a keycard, the flash of green, the quiet click of the lock.
Inside, the room is as expected: fit for two with twin beds and a nightstand between them, a lamp casting a dim glow over the white and gold of the sheets. A dresser stands across from the beds, a television remote resting on its surface. The closet would remain unused as would the drawers because they’d be gone before sunrise. This is merely a short resting period in a show of money and reward.
Jean drops his bag onto the dresser, his fingers brushing the polished wood. Gray eyes flicker to the closed door of the bathroom then to Nathaniel who stands by the glass balcony door, fingers parting the curtain just enough to watch the city below. Some sort of longing in his blue eyes, like there’s a hope to see more than this.
Jean moves without thinking and rests his chin on Nathaniel’s head, eyes following his partner’s gaze. Below, the city pulses with a life they’ll never truly understand with cars that slip through intersections and pedestrians moving in a tandem illuminated by changing lights.
“If you had the chance to travel, where would you go?” Nathaniel asks, his voice low and French softened by exhaustion. “Not for Exy. I mean really travel. See the world and all of that.”
Jean breaths in, his gaze fixed on the distant skyline.
He thinks of places he’s never seen. Streets where no one knows his name. Cities where he is nothing and where everything he does has no weight. He thinks of the silence that’s often paired with freedom. Postcards and magnets with signed names.
The question fades unanswered and Nathaniel doesn’t press him for one.