Work Text:
(20:17 CT) Got traded to chicago. What is there to do here?
It’s probably too late to take the text back. Of course, it is. The Delivered message is taunting him. Kevin stares at the green text bubble and the previous one dated from the previous New Years. Unanswered. There are more hidden beneath where the keyboard pushes the messages up. All unanswered.
Despite the wilting hope in his chest, this message will probably go unanswered too.
Statistically.
Kevin locks his phone and tosses it two cushions away. He slumps down on his own cushion, willing himself to sink into the plush. Stupid. It’s so stupid. Kevin drapes an arm over his face and lets out a long sigh. The sound of it echoes around his barren apartment. The movers were still somewhere in the Midwest, thanks to a flat tire or something. They were probably off having some grand, self-aggrandizing adventure while Kevin sits alone with the straight-out-of-the-box he’d had delivered two hours after he’d gotten his keys and realized this apartment was a hell of a lot bigger than the one he’d had back in New York, and he’d have a lot more space to fill. Kevin wasn’t in the business of keeping a kept home. He’d thought about calling Allison to get he opinion of the space, but then she’d ask about the trade, and he’d get all blotchy and red and she’d know—she’d know because somehow, against Kevin’s will, Allison Reynolds had become someone who knew all of Kevin Day’s tells. And Kevin…Kevin couldn’t handle that right now.
So, he had to settle for his single, solitary couch and the scatter bag of branded gear he’d picked up from the Chicago Sturgeon stadium earlier that morning and his discarded phone with its unanswered messages.
The trade is a dumb one. Kevin himself had scoffed at it. Chicago is a disaster of a team at the moment and he’s taking a pay cut and it’s an overall risk to his career and therefore his life. When the offer came in, Kevin had taken it as a desperate plea for a glimmer of hope on the part of the Sturgeon after their starting striker tragically retired suddenly. Turns out that the Raven’s feeder program led to a lot of premature retirement thanks to CTE.
But then. Then, one Aaron Minyard had shot his biannually required proof-of-life in the Fox’s group chat and Kevin had gotten his terrible, stupid idea.
Aaron is doing his residency in Chicago. Aaron has been living in Chicago for three years. Aaron had once been Kevin’s first friend—one not born out of shared trauma or deals. His best friend.
Somewhere in between Kevin getting drafted and Aaron starting med school, their visits became phone calls, and their phone calls became texts, and their texts fizzled out into a string of unanswered green bubbles sinking farther and farther down the list of Kevin’s most recent messages.
Kevin isn’t sure what he could possibly gain from moving to Chicago. Virtually nothing. Aside from the rushing thrill that had flooded him when he saw Aaron’s name light up his phone. That thrill was sweeter than that first win against the Ravens, sweeter than scoring against a fully locked-in Andrew, sweeter than the rush of finishing his thesis paper on the myth of Romulus and Remus. It had gone straight to his head and Kevin had called the head coach of the Sturgeon the next morning, still dizzy with the high of the prospect.
In retrospect, Kevin probably should have texted Aaron sooner than right this second after the trade deal has already been made.
Twenty-twenty and all that.
Kevin sighs into his arm. The sound of it echoes through his empty apartment.
It’s not like he was leaving much behind with his old team. It was a team. They weren’t his friends; there wasn’t a connection. Not that there had been a connection with the Foxes, either. It’s just a team. It’s just a sport. It’s just Kevin’s livelihood. Chicago will be the same as it was in New York. He’ll train, he’ll suit up, he’ll win, he’ll go home. He’ll do it again. Every day. Every night. Exy has been his life for years. It’s in his blood. He was bred to play this game, and one Aaron Minyard isn’t going to change that. Aaron Minyard didn’t change that back at Palmetto and he wouldn’t in Chicago.
A text back from Aaron Minayard doesn’t define Kevin Day. It never has and it never will.
But there was a time… there was a time when Kevin had just been a student with a crush on a boy that lived on his floor. Deep in the bowls of the main library of Palmetto State University, Kevin had flushed over Aaron Minyard cracking a slack-jawed yawn in the small hours of the morning during exam week, over the soft rustle of medical textbook pages flipping and blond hair mussed beyond fixing and Kevin had bloomed bright beneath the tired, hazel gaze that fell upon him in the twilighted shadows.
But that time is gone and all Kevin has now is the memories and unanswered messages.
He groans into his arm again, sighing against the emptiness of his new apartment. It’s not so different from the one he had back in New York. Not really. Same barren walls, same stainless steel appliances. This move won’t change anything. It won’t change him.
Practice starts at seven. He should really pretend to sleep. There’s an unmade king sized bed waiting in the bedroom for him. There’s a box packed with a duvet and sheets and blankets that Kevin could unpack and curl up beneath. But his blood still hums hot beneath his veins and he’s sure he’ll only grow more restless. There’s a corner store at the end of his new block. It would be so easy, so quick, to take the elevator down, down, down and down the street to grab a case. He doesn’t prefer beer but it’s better than nothing. He’s been sober since June, so it would hit like water. But it might take the edge off, might dull this incessant thrill. Kevin itches to turn off the overhead light. He shouldn’t have turned it on in the first place. The city glows beneath the thickly paned windows of the wall to his left. Chicago. A place wholly indifferent to New York. A place wholly dissimilar to the sleepy haze of the south. Of North Carolina and of Maryland. Kevin has drowned himself in city lights and neon since he left Palmetto State. The ever-present hum of a so-alive city blots out any memory of the sleepy, halcyon days of his first taste of freedom.
Chicago won’t change any of that.
Kevin thinks of the corner store and the case of shit craft beer no doubt waiting behind frosted glass. He does not think about read messages and a thread of green texts. He groans and pitches himself forward, settling his elbows onto his knees. His elbows dig into the muscle there. Kevin scrubs sweaty palms over his face. The small hours spread between playing exy have always been the hardest. That’s when the loneliness creeps in. That’s when the memories of his true partner, of Jean and of Aaron, slip between the hollow cracks of his ribs.
And then, like a sweet balm applied to open wounds, Kevin’s phone chimes.
Kevin won’t admit the way he twitches to grab the phone. He won’t admit the speed and the dexterity and highly trained athletic prowess Kevin employs to snatch his phone from where it sits two cushions away.
(20:27 CT) about time you reached out. when can the sturgeons spare the great kevin day??
-
Aaron Minyard is a dark blot standing out against the snow-dusted sidewalk he waits on outside of a quaint, softly glowing café. His hands are shoved deep into the pockets of a navy peacoat, and his black jeans are cuffed at the ankles of brown leather boots that bear scuffmarks on the toes. The knit cap on his head is pulled down low to crush his bangs against his forehead and he’s wearing his glasses.
Kevin’s heart flips at the sight of the glasses.
For a moment, Kevin takes in the sight of Aaron standing across the street. The way he keeps glancing around eases Kevin’s nerves somehow. He’s fidgeting; he’s nervous. Aaron Minyad is fidgeting as he waits for Kevin to meet him.
It had been Aaron’s idea, meeting at the café. Kevin had been too anxious to answer Aaron’s first text in months, so he’d paced his empty apartment until dawn blushed on the horizon and promptly passed out on his unmade bed for a scant few hours of sleep before his first practice. Then, after all the introductions and uniform fittings and bureaucratic nonsense that comes with starting a new team followed by a quick scrimmage with the established members for Kevin to get a sense of the new dynamic, Kevin sent the text that had been rattling around his brain all morning as he stood in the empty Sturgeon locker room with damp hair dripping onto his phone screen.
(12:07 CT) The rest of my afternoon is free.
(12:12 CT) jesus did your phone get lost between whatever highrise they put you up in and the stadium?
(12:13 CT) i’m off at 7
The quick reply made Kevin dizzy. He’d barely pulled his joggers up over his hips by the time the messages came in quick succession. He’d thought about making a quip calling Aaron out for his own hypocrisy but decided against it. There was a wound of time threaded between the Kevin that could rib Aaron and the one reading his casual suggestion to meet. They had texted back and forth to a bit on Kevin’s ride back to his apartment before Aaron had stated his break was almost up and asked if Kevin could meet when he got off. Before Kevin could even reply, a location link to a café in Hyde Park flitted into the message thread.
(12:57 CT) here at 7:30
Kevin had sent a thumbs up and closed his phone. Neither sent anything else until Kevin is standing across the street from the café the directions led him to, watching Aaron Minyard fidget across the street from him. A salt truck ambles down the street and Kevin rubs his stiff hands along the front of his jeans. He blows out a fogged breath into the chilly winter night and steels his resolve. Once the salt truck passes, Kevin crosses.
Aaron notices him the second his foot hits the street. He snaps to attention, bespectacled gaze locking in on Kevin from his place on the sidewalk. There is a pinched intensity to the downturn of his mouth. Even from here, growing closer and closer, Kevin can see the bitten and raw state of Aaron’s mouth. He’d always had a habit of chewing on his lip, peeling the skin back when he worked out a problem or locked in on a paper. Kevin can’t imagine his residency offers any more leniency in stress than college did, so he’s not surprised.
“Hey,” Aaron says—cool, detached, casual—when Kevin reaches the other side of the street. His expression doesn’t even change, like this isn’t the monumental reunion Kevin had been hyping himself up for.
“Hey,” Kevin says back. He shoves his hands into his own pockets, crowding his knuckles between his hipbones and the thin materials of his jeans.
Miraculously, Aaron’s mouth ticks up. The ghost of a smile flickers across his statuesque features. Kevin’s mouth goes dry. Aaron cocks his head towards the door.
“Come on.”
Aaron holds the door for him. Kevin ducks inside. The warmth of the café envelopes him and tinges him pink, washing away the flush of cold and the first words he’d spoken to Aaron Minyard in months. Years. A small bell chimes overhead as the door slides shut and he and Aaron stand in the lobby of the café. It’s Aaron that leads the way to the register. He knows this place. He’s been here before. He likes this place. He must frequent this place in some sense, given the way he smoothly rattles off his order. Kevin feels out of his depth when the girl behind the counter asks if they’ll have anything else and Aaron expectantly looks at him to give his order. Kevin rambles out something innocuous. Oat milk latte with sugar free vanilla. It’s not in his dietary plan, but it’s the first thing that jumps out at him on the menu and he hopes it’s not too much a hassle on the baristas at the late hour. The café is open for a few more hours, but he’d learned enough from Renee and Dan to be conscious about these things. Aaron pays before Kevin can even think about protesting.
It’s a short wait at the end of the bar for their drinks and then Kevin follows Aaron through the tight maze of tables to a corner tucked away between two towering, overstuffed bookshelves. Aaron slips into one chair effortlessly. Kevin is uncomfortable with the way his heart throbs at just the sight of Aaron doing something so simple as sitting down. It’s too much. Something about the way Aaron gripped the chair as he pulled it out, the way his fingers curled around the carved wooden back, the way his jeans do nothing to hide the flex hidden muscles has he lowers himself into the seat. It’s damning sight. Kevin forces himself to swallow and shake any spiraling thoughts from his head as he takes the seat opposite Aaron.
For a moment, they sit in silence.
For a moment, they are strangers cupping cups of coffee between red-knuckled hands.
For a moment, Kevin doesn’t know himself.
And then, Aaron Minyard’s face splits into a grin. His teeth are so white and he is so beautiful. Kevin had been hoping and praying that the distance had built up this infatuation with Aaron Minyard, but he is proven sorely wrong in the face of the man himself. He wants to drown a handle of vodka. He wants to throw up. He might throw up.
“What the hell are you doing getting traded to Chicago?” Aaron asks with absolutely no malice and only nostalgic fondness.
And that’s the million dollar question.
Swallowing down around the lump in his throat, Kevin says, “I needed a change.”
Aaron’s blinding smile slips into a reserved smirk. “Well would you look at that”
Kevin raises an eyebrow. His grip on his coffee tightens.
“Even Kevin Day can change.”
Kevin snorts. “If only you knew.”
Aaron raises an eyebrow and leans forward. The low light of the café makes him all the more handsome. Something like mirth glimmers in his hazel eyes. “Why don’t you tell me then?”
A silence falls over them as Keivn chokes on his own tongue. To break the tension, Kevin ducks his head and chuckles.
“I can’t give all my secrets away on the first date.”
Shit.
Shit.
What a stupid thing to say.
Everything Kevin Day has ever learned about media training and being palatable goes out the window when it comes to Aaron Minyard. Coming here was a mistake. Moving here was a mistake. Kevin should have—
But Aaron laughs.
It’s that real, soft, genuine laugh that Kevin has never heard in the presence of another person. It’s the one reserved for study rooms in the small hours of the mornings and the glow of a Game Over screen that has been lighting the room for hours. It’s tucked between Aaron’s cheeks and slithers through the gap of his teeth as though against his better judgement.
“What makes you think you have any secrets, huh?” Aaron asks.
Kevin doesn’t blush—he doesn’t—because he’s Kevin Day and he’s just meeting up with an old friend. Instead, he ducks his head and breathes through his nose. Out through his mouth. When he steadies himself, he flips his megawatt smile onto Aaron, the one only reserved for the press and professors and coaches Keven hasn’t met before.
“Why don’t you try and find out,” Kevin says. “It’s been a while. Who’s to say you know me as well as you think you do?”
Aaron pulls a face, his brows pinching together and the corners of his eyes crinkling behind the flash of his lenses. “Don’t look at me like that. See? No secrets. I know that’s your fake smile. I hate it. Don’t let me see that again.”
“What makes you think it’s fake?”
“Because there’s no light in your eyes, Kevin. You’re masking. It makes you look perfect and poised and holy. But that’s not you.”
Kevin rolls his eyes. “Gee, thanks.”
“I’m serious. You think I’m not? I’m serious about this. You’re like a funny puzzle. And I cracked that a long time ago.”
“Even after all this time?”
“Especially after all this time.”
And honestly how is Kevin supposed to cope with that? How is he supposed to respond with anything that isn’t just kiss me, kiss me, kiss me. It’s a monumental effort to clear his throat and take a delicate first sip of his caramel macchiato. Once he swallows, Kevin dims. Mellows, really. He lets the waves of his long buried affection for Aaron Minyard wash over him as he lifts his gaze and stares across the table at the object of his boyish desire.
“Tell me about Chicago, then,” Kevin says, entranced by the way Aaron’s own mask has fractured and peeled away. Aaron blinks, his blond lashes fluttering and Kevin is reminded of just how beautiful Aaron is. It’s arresting.
“The cold is a bitch,” Aaron says bluntly. “Really, it’s miserable. Every warning the locals give you before you get before you move here should be seriously considered.”
“I didn’t talk to anyone about the weather,” Kevin says candidly. He’s rewarded with another bright laugh from Aaron.
“Of course you didn’t.” Aaron props his elbow on the table and leans against his fist. “You just saw exy and your vision went red, huh?”
“Pretty much.”
“You should’ve texted me sooner,” Aaron says and it sounds accusatory. “I would’ve told you that.”
“The winter has scarred you that much?”
Aaron’s face screws up. His nose wrinkles in such a cute way. Kevin loves the soft freckles that smatter his cheeks. They’re so much more prominent now; probably something to do with the Chicago winters.
“Just you wait, summer child,” Aaron says. “You’ll be eating those words.”
“Summer child? Don’t you know my deeply traumatic connection to winter?” There’s a foreign lilt to Kevin’s voice. He sounds sultry. How he’s managed that, Kevin isn’t sure, but an inexplicable smile tugs at his lips, and he is powerless to stop it. He’s leaning forward, pulled in by Aaron’s gravity and it’s probably his imagination that Aaron is doing the same.
“Winter sport, you mean,” Aaron says and there’s a mirroring smile stretching across his mouth. Kevin never understood how anyone had difficulty telling the twins apart because Aaron has one of those freckles just below the left corner of his bottom lip. It was faint before, but now with the grace of winter and distance eradicated, Kevn cannot stop staring at the mark below Aaron’s plush lips. How he would love to flick his tongue over that spot. The freckle ripples as Aaron says, “Winter sports and winter living are pretty different.”
“I guess I’ll just have to find out.”
“I guess you will.”
“You ever get snowed in here?”
Aaron scoffs. He leans back in his seat. His fingers flex around his own paper coffee cup, thumb flicking against the lid. Aaron’s nails are blunt and the skin is unblemished. He’s given up his habit of biting his nails.
“They don’t get snowed in here,” Aaron says. “This isn’t North Carolina. They just carry on.”
Kevin pretends not to balk at that; he’s not going to give Aaron the satisfaction. “It can’t be that scary. It’s just snow.”
Aaron rolls his eyes. “Don’t call me when you’re snowed in and your power’s out.”
Can I call you for other things? To ask to see you again? To hear about your day and tell you about mine? Kevin bites down on the questions, rolling them around and reshaping them until he says, “Your glasses look good.”
“Yeah?” Aaron arches a fair eyebrow and that smirk curls.
God but what Kevin would do to taste that smirk, to run his teeth along all of Aaron Minyard’s edges and swallow him down. Kevin Day has been hungry before. He has clawed and bitten and scratched his way towards everything he has ever had, but this bone-deep ache for even a scrap of Aaron’s affection is something Kevin hasn’t yet pounce upon. He wants to be gentle for Aaron, softer. So he nods in answer to Aaron and lets the paparazzi slip from his smile and tilts his head to the side as he studies Aaron and his glasses.
“They suit you,” Kevin says. “Fit your face or whatever. I always liked when you wore them while we studied. Wished you would wear them more.”
“Wow, didn’t realize you paid that much attention to me.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Do you want a list?”
“Yes, actually.”
Aaron takes a sip of his coffee—an iced vanilla latte. An interesting choice since Aaron used to say that people who chose iced drinks over hot in the winter were human abnormalities. His eyes don’t leave Kevin’s. The pull of his throat is a distraction, but Kevin finds he can’t even pretend to look away.
“Where do I even start?” Aaron laps at the corner of his lip as he lowers the cup. “I don’t care about exy or winning or the Foxes. I’m not Andrew; I’m not interesting.”
Kevin frowns. “You can’t honestly say any of those are true things. It’s been years. I figured you would’ve gotten over those insecurities.”
“Not liking exy isn’t an insecurity.”
“No, it’s just a lie. Because of your insecurities.”
Surprise flickers across Aaron’s face beneath the low shadows before smoothing out into a grin. “Are you going to therapize me, Kevin Day?”
Kevin shakes his head slowly. “Of course not. But I know you well enough to know you don’t actually hate exy. And your disdain for it has never made me less interested in you.”
Aaron exhales sharply. His fingers flex their grip around his cup. Kevin wonders what those fingers would feel like flexing between his own.
“Kevin,” Aaron says slowly. Kevin’s own name rumbles over Aaron’s lips in a syrupy drawl. That lingering accent that Aaron tries to bury catches on the syllables of his own name. He ducks his head, blond bangs falling in front of his face and obscuring his expression. He chuckles low and deep in his throat.
“Aaron,” Kevin echoes softly.
“You can’t say things like that.”
“Like what?”
Beneath his fringe, Aaron chews his lip. Kevin can see the telltale shift of skin caught beneath teeth through the shadows. Then, he looks up and there is a light to his eyes that Kevin has only seen in the recesses of his imagination. Or perhaps not his imagination. Aaron has looked at him like this before.
Aaron opens his mouth but swallows whatever he wanted to say before it can escape him. Kevin lurches a little, desperate to rescue the words from Aaron’s throat.
“Why did you stop answering,” Kevin says instead. He twists his cup between his palms. It’s going cold.
"Busy,” Aaron answers quickly and when Kevin waits in silence for more, Aaron sighs. He slumps a little in his seat and pulls off his hat. His bangs drop heavily across his brow and catch on the rims of his glasses. Through the veil of fringe, Aaron flickers a shy gaze across the table to Kevin. “You want the real answer?”
“Of course,” Kevin says around a tight lump that forms in his throat.
Does he want the answer? Maybe Aaron got a girlfriend that consumes his time and he can’t be bothered with Kevin’s nagging anymore. Maybe Aaron just came to his senses and realized Kevin is too needy, too clingy, too much. He never really has been able to kick that nasty Raven codependency; he’s just swallowed it down and down and down in the hollow wake of his absent partners.
It’s too late to take back his words now.
Aaron is quite for a moment. The background noise of the café slips away and it’s just the two of them in this secluded corner, sucked out of time and space. Aaron won’t meet Kevin’s eyes. He sighs a few more times and fidgets in his seat.
“You’re Kevin Day,” Aaron says finally and the weight of Kevin’s name has never felt so heavy. He sinks with the weight of his own self. “I guess… I forgot. Back at Palmetto. And I have been busy. Really. Residency has been kicking my ass, and I love it, but I barely even remember to call Andew and he schedules those calls. But I figured…well, I figured that you would be okay without me. I know you’re more than just the prince of exy but…would you really want to hear about my twelve hour rounds or the first patient I lost or the doctor that hates my guts when you’re worried about training and games?”
The admission makes Kevin shudder. He’s felt like there’s been a hole carved into his chest with Aaron’s absence. The sick, swirling guilt that churns in his gut every time he flicked open the abandoned text thread with Aaron and wondered what he did wrong doesn’t seem like something that would plague the thoughts of someone who thought they would be okay without Aaron.
“I wasn’t,” Kevin blurts out before his brain can tell him it’s a bad idea. “I wasn’t okay without you. Why wouldn’t I want to hear about that? Of course I would. I want to hear everything about you all the time. I’m so proud of where you are, what you’ve done, because I watched you work so hard to get here and I wanted to continue to be there for you in any way you would have me. But then you stopped answering and I thought…well, I thought maybe you were better off without me.”
Aaron’s eyes widen. Neither Minyard twin is adept at letting their emotions play on their faces but Kevin likes to think he’s got a bit of a leg up on the average person. Faced with surprise, Andrew will harden himself; his features tighten and he goes still. He’s suspicious of everything, especially surprise. Especially positive surprise. There is a stoniness to Andrew that overtakes him as he calculates how he wants to respond. But Aaron. Aaron brightens. It’s a subtle things but his pupils blow wide and all the tension and anger he usually carries on his shoulders and in the furrow between his pale brows. It’s like someone has poured water over his head and he’s a boy again, giving into the hope that he’s been good.
The expression is brief, just a flicker across Aaron’s shadow-flecked features, and then it’s gone.
But Kevin catches it anyway.
Aaron clears his throat.
“Tell me about the team,” Aaron says, smoothly changing the subject. “What are your first impressions.”
And Kevin’s never given up the chance to talk about exy, so he launches into an in-depth dissection of the Sturgeon as they stand prior to his arrival and his expectations for what he can shape the team into and lets all thoughts of the storm cloud that is Aaron Minyard’s guarded expressions over Kevin’s own heart wash away.
“Let me drive you home,” Kevin says after they step into the brisk night once the café staff putting chairs onto tables to signal them to leave.
“I’m not far from here,” Aaron says, one hand stuffed in the pocket of his coat and the other clutching at the remnants of his drink. His knuckles are red. As are his cheeks. His bangs brush against his cheekbones thanks to his hat. Kevin swallows down the urge to reach out and touch. “I walk here all the time.”
But Kevin, desperate to keep the lightness in his chest for just a few minutes more, shakes his head and smiles. “That was before I got here. I’ve got a car, you know.”
Aaron snorts. “You think that makes you special here?”
“From what I’ve seen so far, yes.”
The night ends with Aaron getting into the passenger side of Kevin’s car and hunching in on himself as they wait for the car to heat up. They shiver in silence as an FM radio station croons in the background. Snow flutters gently against the windshield and Kevin’s heart is in his throat. He’s not sure he has anything left to say to Aaron. Not without ripping his heart out of his throat and throwing it down at Aaron’s feet. So, he stays silent.
Aaron gives quiet directions through the neighborhood from the café to his apartment. The streets are atrocious. Kevin’s never felt so unsure of his ability to drive a car. He grips the wheel and stares straight ahead and does not get flustered when his brakes catch and Aaron huffs out a soft laugh beside him. It is a short—albeit treacherous—drive to Aarons apartment and it is no small feet to wrangle his car up to the curb in front of the building. He grips the gear shift even after the car is settled into park. The car idle beneath them in lieu of any sort of goodbye for a while.
“Well,” Aaron says, “this is me.”
“So, it is.”
A lone streetlight and the backsplash of the car’s headlights. Kevin’s gaze keeps flicking to Aaron and then away. He feels a bit flayed by this odd tension that’s somehow built itself up without Kevin’s knowledge. A muscle twitches in his jaw and when he glances at Aaron next, he’s caught by the wide flare of darkened pupils.
“It’s good to see you again,” Kevin says because he can’t stand the silence.
Aaron opens his mouth. The streetlamp flickers over the glisten on his bottom lip. His fingers curled around the door handle flex. Kevin’s breath catches in his throat as he waits—desperate.
Then, the tension frizzles out.
Aaron drops his gaze. His shoulders heave on a sigh. “Yeah. It’s good to see you too. Really.”
It’s not what he was going to say. Kevin wants to crawl down Aaron’s throat and pull the words out. A jittery thrill races beneath his skin. He grits his teeth and glances at the gas gauge.
“Don’t be a stranger,” he says.
Lame. So fucking lame.
“I won’t,” Aaron says with another shuddering sigh. “Promise.”
The overhead lights flick on as the door pops open, and a slip of Chicago winter fills the car. Aaron gives one last linger look in Kevin’s direction before he’s unfolding himself on the sidewalk. He hangs on the door frame for a moment, cheeks flushed pink and Kevin Day has only ever existed in the eyes of the world of exy but for one, terribly perfect moment he is being seen only by Aaron Minyard, and he is drunk on that knowledge.
“Take me out again,” Aaron says in one breathless whisper just before slamming the door and hurrying towards the door of his building.
Take me out again.
Was this a date?
Kevin levels a death glare at the consol of his car instead of staring after Aaron. There’s no way. Right? After all this time, it can’t be. They were just catching up. Like old friends.
Friends repeats itself in a mantra in Kevin’s mind as he punches his new address into his phone. It hums through him as he pulls away from the curb and bounces around his brain as he navigates the treacherous streets.
It’s still playing on repeat in his head as he stares at the eggshell white of his bedroom ceiling long into the night after he jerks of quick and rough into his hand over the memory of the spit on Aaron Minyard’s lips.
-
(7:43 CT) I set aside a ticket for you. Just give your name at willcall.
(7:50 CT) is it box?
(7:50 CT) Of course.
(7:57 CT) i’ll be there.
Kevin smiles down at his phone. He leans his forehead against the top of his locker and grins like an idiot. It’s been six weeks since Kevin got traded and the season is on the edge of kicking their off. Their first game is a charged rivalry home opener that has Kevin buzzing with anticipation. The whole team is—which is feeding into Kevin’s own anticipation.
Aside from that, there’s Aaron.
They haven’t seen each other since that first night at the café—Kevin’s new team and Aaron’s rotations got the better of them—but they text constantly. On a few occasions, Aaron has called him when he got off shift and lulled Kevin to sleep with stories from the operating room.
Things are good.
Things are better.
Kevin had slipped the offer of the game tickets weeks ago and Aaron had apologetically said he would try his best to get the night off but couldn’t guarantee anything. He’d put one on hold anyway out of some violent hope.
This feels like a guarantee.
A promise.
Kevin will step onto the court with the Chicago Sturgeon for the first time tonight knowing that Aaron will be in the same building as him.
The knowledge of that is electrifying.
He tries not to let it get to him as he goes through warmups and team meetings, but his blood is hot and racing beneath his skin and he feels as though he could play a hundred games against his perfect court and win.
It’s no question the Sturgeon are victorious.
It’s the perfect game, really. Tulsa is just as ragtag as Chicago, but Chicago has had the benefit of Kevin scraping them together over the past six weeks. Still, it’s brutal and tough and Kevin’s legs feel like lead as he stands in the center of the cacophony of celebration as his teammates rile up the packed stadium around them. Kevin’s gaze tracks around the stadium, through the piercing glare of the lights, the neon of flashing billboard advertisements, and the sea of nameless faces with the hope of finding one.
And then, he sees him.
Aaron has come down to stand against the railing of the second floor balcony, a bright golden 3 on his Sturgeon jersey.
If Kevin wasn’t checked by one of his new teammates throwing themselves around his shoulder to yell in his ear, Kevin would’ve collapsed in on himself at the pure joy of seeing Aaron here in his new home, wearing his number. He stares up at Aaron and is content to watch as his teammates holler around him. Then—incandescently—Aaron’s gaze tips down to meet Kevin’s. From on high, Aaron smiles. He lifts his hand in a small wave and Kevin is awash with a thrill that has nothing to do with the victory as he waves back.
Later, after the team debriefs and hits the showers, Kevin is the last to leave the Sturgeon locker room. The hallways are empty, littered with piled remnants of the spectators as he rounds the corner out of the tunnel and into a darkened hallway leading to the exit.
Aaron stands by a water fountain, leaned up against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest while he plays around with his phone.
“Hey,” Kevin calls out as he approaches. He hikes his gear back higher on his shoulder. “Thanks for waiting.”
Aaron pushes off the wall. He pockets his phone and steps towards Kevin. Up close, wearing Kevin’s jersey, Aaron looks like a walking dream.
“Good game,” Aaron says. They stop toe to toe from one another. “You looked good out there.”
“Thanks.” Kevin tilts his chin down to meet Aaron’s gaze. For one hair-brained moment, Kevin imagines lifting Aaron off the ground and pinning him to the wall. It’s an old urge, one long digested, but Kevin lets the memory of it reawaken something in him and he throbs. “The team has promise. I’m happy with them.”
“That’s good.” Aaron smirks. “Maybe you’ll stay.”
Forever, Kevin almost says. Forever if it’s with you in the stands, watching me.
Out loud, he says, “The team is going out. Some tradition, they said. I’m meeting them there.”
“Yeah? Good old Kevin Day night out?”
Kevin shakes his head. “I don’t drink anymore. Just hanging out.”
“Is that the change you were talking about?”
It’s a bit of a surprise that it hasn’t come up in their texting over the past few weeks, but Kevin finds the topic of his sobriety a tedious one. Still, he likes the little flicker of pride that crosses Aaron’s face at the mention of it.
“One of them.”
“Sober at the club, huh?” Aaron reaches out and brushes some invisible lint from Kevin’s shoulder. The tip of a finger brushes against Kevin’s throat. “I’ve got rounds in the morning.”
“You don’t have to come. If you don’t want.”
“But you want? You want me to come?”
Their eyes lock for a moment and Kevin realizes he’s being offered an out at the same time he’s being offered a proposition.
“Yeah,” Kevin says, a whisper through his teeth. “I do.”
Aaron’s smirk widens into something more genuine. He takes a step back. “Lead the way then.”
They settle into Kevin’s car, and he punches in directions to the club his teammates had texted him. It’s a short drive from the court. A valet takes the keys from Kevin at the entrance, at which Aaron scoffs and teases Kevin about his high social standing. Kevin checks his shoulder into Aaron and he stumbles, laughing as he reaches out and grabs Kevin’s arm to drag him towards the door.
The club is loud and packed and saturated with neon lights and a heavy bass. It’s a far cry from the night Kevin used to spend with Aaron in Columbia. The bouncer barely glances at their IDs as they bypass the line and a hostess points them in the direction of the booth occupied by the rest of Kevin’s teammates. Aaron’s grip on his arm slides down to curl around Kevin’s wrist as he navigates them towards the bar. The sea of bodies is dressed in a significantly nicer state of dress than Kevin, in tight shirts and tighter pants, and Kevin feels a little self-conscious in his joggers and hoodie but then Aaron is pressing his shoulder against Kevin’s as they squeeze up to the counter and Kevin doesn’t have a single care in the world.
Aaron flags down a bartender and orders a diet soda for himself and a cherry sparkling water for Kevin. The bartender slides the cans across the counter towards them and Aaron slips her a hefty tip—more than would be warranted for two sodas.
“Aspartame doesn’t seem very healthy, Doctor Minyard.” Kevin has to pitch down and press his lips to Aaron’s ear to be heard over the din, so he feels the full body shudder that quakes Aaron. Then, he gets an elbow in his gut.
“Shut the fuck up, Day,” Aaron says and he turns his head just enough that Kevin can feel the way he speaks the words against his cheek. “At least I’m not drinking that fruity bullshit.”
Kevin laughs as he leans back and takes a long sip of his drink. Carbonation explodes on his tongue, and he watches Aaron watch him swallow.
They stick close together as they wade through the club to make their way to the upstairs booth. Kevin’s teammates are easy to spot; raucous and rowdy with their victory, they spill out of their section and consume the upper floor of the club in teal and gold. There’s a quick round of introductions to be had—most of which Kevin is sure will be forgotten by the morning—and several exclamations of “Bro, you look just like Andrew Minyard” to which Aaron grimaces and Kevin laughs. When he’s exhausted of making rounds with the team, Kevin is overwhelmed by the heady euphoria drinking used to supply. His head spins as he sips his water and then a song comes on that used to play at Eden’s and he tells Aaron they have to dance. Aaron gives him a calculating look washed in fuchsia and shrugs. Kevin fist pumps the air and downs the last of his drink, ignoring the way Aaron is laughing and shaking his head at him. Then, he strips off his hoodie and Aaron’s laughter cuts off. He tosses it somewhere behind him and thanks his high clothing budget that he’ll be able to grab a new one tomorrow before grabbing Aaron’s hand and dragging him back downstairs.
Kevin fits them neatly in the center of the throng of bodies and looses himself to the music and the thrill and the glow of Aaron Minyard’s eyes on him as he moves. Their hands are still clasped together. As Kevin rolls his hips to the beat, he threads his fingers between Aaron’s and squeezes. Aaron squeezes back. He’s sweaty and flushed and watching Kevin with rapt attention.
“What?” Kevin shouts at him.
Aaron shakes his head but he’s still watching. Watching. Kevin rolls his hips again and lifts their linked arms to drape over Aaron’s shoulder, drawing their bodies closer together. Aaron’s wrist bends at an odd angle, but he doesn’t let go. He just tilts his head back and watches Kevin some more.
“What?” Kevin asks again, softer.
“You make me nervous,” Aaron says and he settles his free hand on Kevin’s hip. The touch scorches Kevin. He slips his fingers from Aaron’s and fully wraps his arms around Aaron’s shoulders. His fingers dance at the length of Aaron’s spine and Aaron brings his freed hand to Kevin’s other hip. They sway closer and closer, as Kevin leans down to breathe the same air as Aaron.
“Nervous? Why do you I make you nervous.”
“You always do. Make me out of control. S’why I couldn’t keep talking to you. Missed you too much.”
Fuck.
“Fuck.”
Kevin leans forward so his forehead presses to Aaron’s. He’s so small; the angle of their height difference is awkward, but Kevin wouldn’t change it for a thing. A new song starts but Kevin can’t hear. The world narrows down to the two of them, to Kevin and Aaron alone in the company of only each other. Aaron skims his hands along the waistband of Kevin’s joggers, teasing at the hem of his shirt. His fingers are cool as they play at the small of Kevin’s back.
“Are you going to kiss me, then?” Aaron asks, tilting his head back. Kevin’s heart launches itself into his throat and then he’s floating. He unwraps his arms from around Aaron to cup his face between his palms. Aaron’s lashes flutter and his lips part ever so slightly.
“You want me to?” Kevin asks, entranced.
Aaron nods. His heavy-lidded gaze is hazy, and the pads of his fingers press divots into Kevin’s skin.
And Kevin has never been able to deny Aaron anything, so he kisses him.
It’s hesitant at first, a brief pressing of lips when Kevin closes the distance between them. Just a taste. Just a chance.
Aaron takes that chance and wraps his arms around Kevin’s waist, opening his mouth as he presses against Kevin. His mouth is hot and welcoming, tasting of cola and mint and hint of some stadium food. Kevin moans at the slightest touch of tongue against his lip and the sound is returned when Kevin threads his fingers through Aaron’s hair, knotting them in the strands. They’re silky against Kevin’s skin. He relishes in the little huff Aaron lets out when teeth scrape his lip and Kevin uses his grip on Aaron’s hair to haul their bodies closer.
“Jesus, Kev,” Aaron pants into Kevin’s mouth. “I’m obsessed you.”
Kevin sucks on the tip of Aaron’s tongue about it and Aaron moans into his mouth. He the one obsessed, possessed by the raw power of having Aaron Minyard in his hands, in his mouth, all encompassing.
Their teeth clack together in their desperation. A thigh is fitted between Kevin’s own, pressing up against where Kevin wants most. He’s half-hard from just a bit of kissing and that knowledge alone, the thought of what only Aaron’s mouth and hands on his body can do to him.
“I used to think about this,” Aaron says when Kevin tears their lips apart to suck at his throat. His head tips back and Kevin keeps him balance with his hands spread wide along Aaron’s back. He laves his tongue along the thrum of Aaron’s pulse, humming against the skin. Aaron tastes like soap and sweat, a heady combination that Kevin is intoxicated over. “I used to think about kissing you stupid when you were running that loud mouth of yours at practice. Or in the study rooms when you couldn’t shut up about some project.”
Kevin dislodges from Aaron’s throat with a slick pop and gasps. He drops his head into the crook of Aaron’s shoulder. Aaron is hot, scalding. Kevin can feel the sunburn settling in as he swears softly.
“I’ve gotta get you out of here,” Kevin says against Aaron’s throat. “Can I take you home? Please?”
Aaron laughs and it shakes something effervescent loose in Kevin. Blunt nails score lines up Kevin’s and then slip out from under his t-shirt.
“God yes,” Aaron says as he steps away. He reclaims Kevin’s hand. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
It’s a blur leaving the club. Kevin thinks he says something to one of his teammates, maybe. He must look horribly desperate in the eyes of the valet as they retrieve his car. He has been flayed apart after all. His whole heart has been yanked from his chest and is sitting in Aaron’s back pocket as he giggles stupidly beside Kevin.
“You sound like some schoolgirl,” Kevin hisses as they wait.
“And you look like some a porn star walking around with your hardon.”
“Wh—hey shut up. Who’s fault is that?”
“Don’t worry.” Aaron wraps his arms around Kevin’s waist, pressing his forehead between his shoulder blades. “I’ll take care of it back at your place.”
And that does nothing to help the situation.
The car ride back to Kevin’s place sobers them, though. Aaron falls silent as he sits in the passenger seat, staring resolutely out the window. A pensive expression settles over his handsome features, one that makes Kevin nervous. To ease himself and maybe Aaron, Kevin reaches over to place a hand on Aaron’s thigh. His hand looks massive compared to Aaron. He looks away so as not to get distracted.
Silence persists once the car is parked and they’re in Kevin’s building, riding the elevator up to his floor. Panic has begun to eat at Kevin, just a little bit, so he tries to reach for Aaron. He hooks a finger around Aaron’s pinky and tugs. Aaron startles. A crease pinches his brow when he looks back at Kevin but quickly smooths out.
“Tell me,” Kevin says.
Aaron shakes his head. He tightens his pinky around Kevin’s own and draws closer, close enough lay his cheek against Kevin’s chest and Kevin bundles him into his arms. The digital display of floors ticks upwards. Aaron’s head fits perfectly beneath Kevin’s chin. Kevin presses a kiss to the blond crown.
The elevator slides into place at Kevin’s floor. He takes Aaron’s hand and leads the way to his apartment. Post-game fatigue has begun to settle. The adrenaline of the club had kept it at bay but now the lactic acid settles into the crevices of his muscles. He pushes through and shuffles around to unlock his front door. Aaron does a quick turn of the living room and kitchen, silently inspecting while Kevin frets by the door.
“You’re severely lack in interior design,” is the first thing Aaron says since they left the club.
“Mercy, please,” Kevin says. He can’t tell if there’s a tremor to his voice or if the world’s just shaking. He tries for a laugh. “I only just got here.”
“And yet, I doubt your last place looked any better.”
“Ha.”
Kevin and Aaron eye each other for a quietly—warily, like skittish cats. It’s Aaron that breaks first, Kevin’s name cracking like a prayer across Aaron’s lips. They’re still flushed from the club, from Kevin.
“Come here,” Kevin says and Aaron does.
Aaron collides into Kevin, threading his hands through Kevin’s hair and pushing him back until Kevin hits the wall. He pulls Kevin down into a bruising kiss, one that is born more of desperation than desire. Kevin let Aaron have this, hoping whatever he’s been warring with since the club will work itself out. He just slides his hands down Aaron’s body, slipping his hands into the back pocket of his jeans and squeezing. He used to dream about Aaron’s ass. The jeans he wore tonight do nothing to dampen that desire.
“Ah, sorry,” Aaron says suddenly, slouching against Kevin’s chest. “Sorry.”
“Where did you go?” Kevin asks.
Aaron breathes for a moment. His heart beats against Kevin’s. Kevin doesn’t take his hands out of the pockets, holding.
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop. It’s okay. What happened?”
Aaron leans back. Kevin lets him go. With a sigh, Aaron runs both hands through his hair. There’s a blush of pink smattered across his nose. It makes his freckles stand out.
“You’re so beautiful,” Kevin has to say, has to let him know.
Aaron freezes with his hands in his hair. The pink darkens. “What?”
“You’re beautiful. And I wanted to tell you.” Kevin shrugs. “Come here. We can sit.”
Kevin tugs on Aaron’s sleeve and pushes off the wall. Everything seems brighter than before. His heart beats too quick in his chest. The trainer will not be happy with that tomorrow. Keivn settles on the center cushion of the lone couch. He really hasn’t done much decorating since he moved. The apartment is still just a couch and packed boxes.
To Kevin’s relief, Aaron follows.
He sits beside Kevin, pressed together in a line. Kevin takes a chance and guides Aaron’s legs to drape over his lap. Aaron lets him. Kevin curls a hand over Aaron’s knee and relishes in the closeness before Aaron tells him this was a mistake. Or that he changed his mind. Or that continuing this with Kevin in any sort of way isn’t what he wanted in the first place.
“You’ll kill me, Kev,” Aaron says softly. He shifts so he can lean against the back of the couch. Kevin doesn’t look at him, looks at his hand on Aaron’s knee, but can feel the weight of that stare.
“Kill you how?”
“Do you know how perfect you are? I’ve been obsessed with you for years. Probably since I met you, if I’m being honest,” Aaron says. There is a sadness to his words, which Kevin doesn’t quite understand, but he waits for Aaron to say his piece. “You make me so nervous. I’m so nervous I’ll do something stupid to try and keep you.”
“I’m yours,” Kevin says. “You don’t have to do anything. It’s always been you.”
Aaron chuckles in that self-depreciating tone of his. “You can’t mean that.”
Kevin squeezes Aaron’s knee. “I do. I’ve never meant anything more. You’re the first friend I ever made on my own, without deals or threats or even really exy. You’ve been the first thing that’s just been mine. How could I not mean it?”
“Kevin, you stupid sap.”
Kevin chokes out a laugh. “Take it or leave it, baby.”
“I’ll take it.”
The confirmation takes Kevin by surprise. He looks at Aaron—finally—and finds that Aaron is smiling at him with such tenderness that his chest feels too-tight. Aaron stretches up and presses a soft kiss to Kevin’s mouth.
“So, what happens now?” Kevin has to ask.
Aaron sighs. “I’m busy. You’re busy. The last relationship I was in was a mess.”
“You want to talk about messy relationships?”
“Heh. Yeah. You’ve got me beat there.”
“Maybe,” Kevin says, shifting so that he can face Aaron better. “Maybe we just take it slow. I like you. And you say that you like me. So, that’s the only thing that matters. And we just figure it out.”
“Figure it out?” Aaron snorts. “Kevin Day just wants to figure it out?”
Kevin shrugs. He’s out of his head a little bit, floating above the couch and held aloft by the giddiness filling him. “Stop saying my name like that. I’m just Kevin.”
“Yeah,” Aaron agrees. “You are. Now, I believe I told you I’d help you out with your situation once we got home. Still want my help?”
“I’m certainly not going to say no.”
Aaron smoothly shifts to straddle Keivn’s lap. Kevin drops his head back to stare up at Aaron and his freckly cheeks and his glasses slipping down his nose, and he thinks he’s never made a better decision than this one.