Chapter Text
It’s been 178 days since he graduated.
170 days since he left Palmetto State and 155 days since Neil and Wymack left him to his new life in Chicago.
Not that he’s counting.
The months since then have passed monotonously, even more so once practice started. Every day is the same routine. The days have begun to morph into weeks of nothingness, yet Andrew can’t stop the count that he’s- absolutely not- keeping. He wakes up earlier, even earlier than he ever had to at Palmetto to make the commute to the stadium. It’s a quiet drive, now that he has no one to spout useless Exy stats at him. He grabs breakfast on the way, something healthy enough that Kevin would be proud, but not so much so that he has to suffer for it.
Practice goes the same as it always does. He blocks his teammates’ shots with a blank, silent demeanor. After months you’d think they’d get the hint that he doesn’t want to talk to them, yet it hasn’t stopped them from trying.Maybe some day he’ll give in to their menial small talk, but today’s not that day.
After practice he rinses off quickly in the team’s locker room, fast enough to not linger for chatter, just enough to make the drive home not miserable. He washes thoroughly when he arrives back to his apartment before starting on dinner. Most days he makes a simple meal, but some days he just forgoes dinner entirely if he can’t find the energy.
The apartment is quiet when Andrew steps through the doorway. It’s always quiet, but tonight it makes Andrew’s skin crawl. He can’t help the scowl that forms on his face at the thought. Being by himself is nothing that he’s not used to. It’s always just been him, for years, passed from location to location, from family to family, with one one else by his side. There’s no way the four years at Palmetto made him so soft that he can’t live on his own.
It’s not like any of the Foxes actually leave him alone anyways. One of them is always blowing up his phone. Usually Nicky, with useless chatter about his day, but sometimes it’s Renee, just checking in. Neil only calls, opting to hear Andrew’s voice, when he’s turning in for the night. And Kevin. Well, Kevin never calls. Or texts. Andrew doesn’t expect him too, but Neil keeps him updated.
Speak of the devil, Andrew thinks, as his phone flashes Neil’s name. It’s early for Neil to be calling, but Neil is nothing if not unpredictable. Andrew settles himself on the edge of his apartment’s balcony, letting his toes inch over the edge between the gaps in the railing. He had given up smoking during his third year at Palmetto, but he can’t find it in himself to give up the thrill that heights give me. His apartment is on the eighth floor, several storeys taller than the athlete’s forms were, which only adds to the adrenaline running through his veins.
“Neil,” Andrews answers, voice rough with disuse, toes tapping against the concrete ledge.
In lieu of a greeting, Neil shoots out a question. “Have you heard from Kevin?”
The question makes Andrew pause, feet falling still. He never hears from Kevin, hasn’t since graduation. Neil knows that, so why is he asking?
As if reading his mind, Neil answers, “Neither Jean nor I can reach him.”
That’s wrong. That’s wrong. Kevin is always glued to one of their sides, he never lets himself be alone. He’s always willingly handing over his leash to the nearest person that will take it, will hold it tight. It used to be Andrew’s job, to keep Kevin in their sights. He should’ve never handed it over.
If they can’t contact him, something must have happened.
“I,” Andrew starts, pausing to clear his throat before his voice breaks, “I’ll call him.”
Neil ends the call without a word, like the problem has been solved simply by Andrew intervening. The line goes dead in Andrew’s ear, but he doesn’t shut his phone. He takes a moment to shake out his hands, trying to dislodge the itch he feels under his skin.
Finally, after several deep breaths, he presses 2- the speed dial he hasn’t used in 178 days.
The phone rings and rings and rings. Andrew’s certain that Kevin won’t pick up. If he won’t answer Neil or Jean, he’s sure as hell not answering for Andrew. Why would he? Andrew all but told him he’d kill him if he saw him again the last time they spoke.
After the fourth ring, the call connects.
The voice on the other side of the line is quiet, rough around the edges like he was sleeping. Stepping back into the apartment, the stove top tells him that it’s only 5 in the evening in Seattle. Andrew scrunches his eyebrows at that fact, Kevin should be just getting home from practice.
He can’t find the words to say, startled into silence by the sound of Kevin’s voice after all these months.
“Andrew?” Kevin repeats, a little louder this time. The weariness in his voice is more noticeable this time.
Andrew hums in response, letting Kevin know that he’s still there. “Is there a reason that Neil is asking where you are?”
“Fuck,” Kevin says in a hushed whisper, more to himself than to Andrew. He doesn’t say anything more, opting to let the call fall to silence. Andrew lets the silence settle, knowing the weight of it will get Kevin to talk.
As predicted, there’s a sigh. A heavy one, that Andrew can feel the weight of through the phone. He can picture Kevin’s shoulders shaking with the effort, the way the tension sits afterwards. “I’m fine.”
“You’re a liar that spends too much time with Neil, is what you are,” Andrew retorts with a scoff.
There’s another moment of heavy silence when neither of them are willing to speak, neither willing to spill forth any sort of truth, any ounce of feelings. Andrew knows this isn’t the time to think about the way Kevin’s voice eases an ache that he didn’t know he was carrying, but he can’t help the stupid, unwarranted feeling of calm that comes with Kevin’s presence.
When the silence continues to linger, Andrew knows he needs to be the one to break it. Bee’s words replay in his head, her constant reminders to communicate, reminders that it’s better to have difficult conversations than to let them fester. He grinds his teeth hard enough that he’s sure Kevin can hear it.
“Kev,” he starts, pausing to let the nickname hang in the air. It’s a nickname that only gets used when the night is quiet, when it’s just the two of them when their barriers are low. “What’s going on?”
Another sigh rattles the phone, this time it’s a stuttering, wet thing, like Kevin’s trying to keep from sobbing. It sounds close, too close.
“Can you open the door?”