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April 2007
Palmetto State University, South Carolina
Andrew’s medicated smile was a sharp and dangerous thing. Much like the blades he kept hidden in his armbands, he brandished it as a weapon, as a warning to anyone reckless enough to get in his way. I’ll bite, it said, I’ll hurt you. It was right there in Neil’s memory of the night they met: Neil on the ground, pain pulsing through his ribs and the taste of blood on his tongue; Andrew standing over him, baring his teeth. Neil had seen him wear that same grin every day for the months that followed, right up until Thanksgiving.
But then again, that hadn’t been a real smile, and that hadn’t been the real Andrew.
The real Andrew wielded his rage in silence, less like a spree killer and more like a hitman. He was quiet, observant and unexpectedly careful when it mattered. He stood beside Neil to steady him with his presence and stood on the edge of rooftops to let fear course through his veins. He let Neil get closer and he trusted him with his boundaries.
And, of course, the real Andrew didn’t smile.
That much had become clear in the last four months, as they grew closer and closer to each other every day. Andrew claimed that nothing could get under his skin, but Neil knew better. Behind his impassive, perpetually bored expression lay emotions that undermined the strict, calculated logic governing his every move. Neil was certain of it, but he also knew that those feelings were buried so deep that not even Andrew seemed capable of reaching them anymore. Neil had come to terms with the fact that whatever Andrew felt would probably never make it to the surface.
That was why, when Andrew’s lips had spread into a grin that night as he looked at the fresh tattoo on Kevin’s cheek, Neil’s heart had skipped a beat.
It had been a slow, cold smile, seeping venom and hunger. Andrew wasn’t smiling because Kevin was finally standing up for himself and breaking free of Riko’s chains, he was smiling because he could already see the destruction that decision would bring. It was one of his old smiles, and Neil’s chest had tightened as though remembering an echo of the pain of their first meeting. That grin had ignited something inside him, the part of him that craved chaos just as much as Andrew did, and the adrenaline rush that had followed had kept him awake until dawn.
But lying in bed in the dark hours of the morning, high on anxiety and Andrew’s kisses and the knowledge that less than twenty-four hours separated them from the match against the Ravens, Neil found himself staring at the ceiling, wondering.
Was that the closest thing to happiness Andrew could get?
March 2008
Palmetto State University, South Carolina
The time spent with the Foxes had done wonders for Neil’s stamina, not only when it came to Exy, but also to socializing in group settings. Although he still didn’t love being surrounded by crowds, he had learned that casual conversation came easily enough to him that post-game parties were an enjoyable experience for a couple of hours at a time. Letting himself drink a little alcohol helped too, though he rarely indulged in more than one drink per night; no matter how safe he felt surrounded by the people he now unabashedly called his friends, the idea of losing control still terrified him. Even so, one cocktail was usually enough to loosen him up a little, wrapping his thoughts in a pleasant buzz.
Another thing Neil had learned about himself over the years was that he was prone to fixating on things. He still refused to speak to Dobson, so he couldn’t know for sure, but he suspected it was probably courtesy of his father and the years spent running from him, when hypervigilance had been the only thing keeping him alive. Years later, it remained a core part of his personality. The most obvious example was Exy, the all-consuming obsession that had never left him since childhood and probably never would. Then there had been his years spent tracking everything Kevin and Riko did, and the instinctive habit of mapping every exit the second he stepped into a room. It applied to smaller, everyday things too: the smell of cigarette smoke, the bitter taste of cheap coffee, the familiar pressure of the armbands around his wrists, Andrew’s unreadable expressions. These things felt important, everything about them was something to be noted, understood, filed away in a part of his mind that refused to let anything go.
Sometimes a new fixation would settle into place for a while. It could be anything, really: a movie he would watch on repeat for days, a route he kept taking on his runs, a single moment from a game he replayed over and over in his head, a detail in someone’s body language he studied until he was sure he understood what it meant.
That night, for some reason, his tired, alcohol-softened mind had decided to fixate on Aaron Minyard.
Most of Neil’s attention was still on Matt, who had spent the better part of the last half hour telling him about the trip he and Dan were planning for that summer, after Dan’s graduation, but Neil’s gaze kept drifting away from him. Every few seconds he caught himself looking at Andrew’s brother, following him across the room whenever he moved.
Aaron was laughing.
It wasn’t unheard of, definitely not the first time Neil had seen it, but still rare enough for a guy who wasn’t exactly a bundle of joy. It tended to happen more often when he was with Katelyn, like that night. The cheerleader had been hanging to his arm ever since they had stepped into the common area and Andrew had wandered off like he did most of the times they celebrated after a game, and everything she had been saying kept bringing a smile to Aaron’s face. Neil doubted it was actually that funny and for some reason, that was starting to irritate him.
He managed to ignore it for most of the evening, but when Matt finally wandered off to get another drink, pretense slipped from Neil’s face as he kept staring.
That smile looked good on that face.
Even from across the room, Neil could see the brightness in Aaron’s hazel eyes, the way his cheeks lifted, the faint hollows dimpling into them when the smile widened. He looked softer like that, kinder, more approachable. He looked so much like Andrew, and yet in that moment anyone could have been able to tell them apart instantly.
That wasn’t fair.
“Careful, that's the wrong twin, don’t get any wild ideas.”
Nicky appeared beside him, drink in hand, leaning against the wall with an amused grin.
“Very funny,” Neil commented with a sidelong glance.
Nicky laughed, but his expression softened. “What's wrong? Are you two fighting again?”
“No, nothing like that.” His relationship with Aaron remained what it had always been: mutual tolerance at best. “I was just wondering,” he continued, lost in thought. “Does Andrew have dimples too?”
Nicky blinked at him in surprise before turning to look at Aaron himself, considering for a few seconds.
“Yes,” he said eventually. “Yes, I’m pretty sure he does.”
Neil frowned into his Mojito.
Nicky let out a quiet sigh. “It’s weird, isn’t it? Up until last year he constantly had a smile plastered on his face and now we can’t even remember what it looked like.”
“If you could call that a smile,” Neil said.
“Fair enough, ‘manic grin’ is probably more accurate.” He grimaced. “Honestly, I’d be happy if I could erase the last time we heard him laugh from my memory forever.”
Neil’s stomach coiled in anger. He avoided thinking about Thanksgiving two years ago as much as he could. He hated feeling anything akin to pity for Andrew. He also hated knowing that Aaron had beaten him to taking care of Drake Spear. That was the one thing he was grateful to him for, but a part of Neil still wished he could have felt the vibration down his own arms when the racquet hit that bastard's skull. He shoved the thought away before it could settle.
“I don’t even know what a genuine smile would look like on Andrew’s face,” Nicky admitted.
“That’s what it would look like.” Neil gestured with his glass toward Aaron, completely absorbed in whatever story Katelyn was telling. “We can only see it on someone else’s face.”
Nicky hummed thoughtfully.
Neil knew he should leave it alone there and change the subject, but the warm haze in his head kept loosening his tongue more.
“Did he used to smile when you first met him? Before the meds fucked him up, I mean. He was a kid.”
Nicky barked out a bitter laugh. “Sure. A traumatized kid fresh out of juvie. His mother was dead, his addict brother hated him and his legal guardian was a lowkey suicidal mess. Loads of things to smile about back then.”
When Neil didn’t answer, Nicky cleared his throat awkwardly. “What do you think about this new meds thing?”
Neil sighed. At first it had sounded like an awful idea. He hated what Andrew’s old drugs had done to him, messing with his body and mind, forcing him into artificial glee until he couldn’t feel anything real underneath. But Dobson insisted these pills were different, more balanced, just a crutch to help him function. Andrew trusted her, so Neil had to trust her too.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just hope they help.” He stared down into the melting ice at the bottom of his cup. “It’s about time he got to be happy, don’t you think?”
Nicky smiled faintly. “I never took you for an optimist. Andrew happy? Smiling without any sort of malice in it? It feels out of character.”
Neil shrugged. “It shouldn’t.”
Nicky looked at him for a long moment, uncertain.
“Yeah,” he said eventually. “Maybe not.”
“Speaking of Andrew.” Neil pushed himself off the wall and handed Nicky his empty glass. “I’m going upstairs. Good night, Nicky.”
“Hell yeah!” Nicky beamed, throwing his arms in the air in cheer. “Go get it, tiger!”
Neil waved him off without bothering to explain that he was too tired and sore after the game to even remotely consider whatever scenario he was suggesting.
He crossed the room toward the stairs, weaving through the crowd. Before leaving he glanced back one last time at Aaron.
It was uncanny how similar the twins were; it was cruel how different. Nicky once said that their different upbringing had been determined by random chance. If Tilda Minyard had picked Andrew, would he be smiling in the middle of that crowd, now? Or would whatever chemical imbalance Dobson’s meds were trying to correct have found him anyway?
There was no point in obsessing over questions with no answers, so he chose to believe that even if he couldn’t make Andrew happy like Aaron was, knowing him safe and at peace would be enough.
When he stepped into their dorm room he was greeted by the sounds of a B-list horror movie and the sight of Andrew sprawled across a beanbag in front of the television. Kevin was still downstairs getting blackout drunk, which left the two of them alone.
“Post-game parties aren’t that bad once you get used to them,” Neil said, dropping into the beanbag beside him. “You should come sometimes.”
“And yet here you are,” Andrew replied flatly.
“I still have limits. I can survive a couple of hours but then I need to be alone.”
“And yet here you are,” he repeated.
“You don't count.”
They sat in silence for a while, Neil halfheartedly trying to piece together the plot of the movie from the random scene currently playing. Eventually he got bored and he resorted to looking over at Andrew instead.
The thought of Aaron surfaced again immediately.
Almost without thinking, Neil raised a hand toward Andrew's face, stopping a few inches away to wait for permission.
Andrew glanced at him and said, “Go on.”
Neil cupped his face carefully, thumb brushing against his cheek the same way he had done dozens of times over the last few months, ever since Andrew had started allowing touches like this. This time, though, he couldn’t help indulging his curiosity. His thumb drifted higher before he lightly pressed a fingertip into Andrew’s cheek.
Andrew caught his wrist immediately.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Neil shrugged. “Just checking something.”
Andrew narrowed his eyes slightly, studying him for a moment, trying to read him, before quickly pressing Neil’s fingers to his lips and abruptly dropping his hand.
“I’m going to bed,” he announced, already getting to his feet. “You coming?”
“In a minute.”
Andrew nodded at him before going into the bedroom.
Neil leaned back into the beanbag, staring at the point where he had disappeared.
He already knew he had found a new fixation.
November 2010
Columbia, South Carolina
Neil blinked slowly as awareness dragged his mind out of sleep. For a moment he was disoriented not finding himself in his room at Fox Tower, but he had slept in that bed enough times over the last four years that it only took him a second to get his bearings and remember he was in Columbia. He took a moment to savor the sensation, the feeling of the duvet keeping him warm, pale light filtering in through the window, the soft sound of Andrew’s breathing behind him. A contented sigh slipped out of him as he stretched his arms and legs, then rolled over to face Andrew, letting his head sink back into the soft pillow.
Watching Andrew sleep had always been fascinating. Complete relaxation looked almost foreign on his face: brow unfurrowed, mouth slightly open, features appearing softer in the pale light; everything made up a mask of perfect peace Neil had never seen him wear when awake. He looked younger like this, even younger than he was when Neil had first met him.
The temptation to keep staring the whole morning was strong, but the restless buzzing in Neil’s chest was harder to ignore. He forced himself not to move closer, fingers curling into the blanket instead.
“Andrew,” he called.
Andrew’s eyes shot open, flashing with alarm for a fraction of a second before they focused on Neil. The sudden tension drained out of him with a sigh just as quickly, as his eyes closed again.
Now that he was awake Neil reached for his hand, gently tracing a finger along his open palm where it rested beside his head. Andrew instinctively closed his fist, trapping him there.
“Hey,” Neil called again, getting a dozy “Hm.” in reply.
“I have an idea.”
“Hm?” One eye cracked open slightly and Neil couldn’t help smiling at Andrew’s rumpled expressions. He had never been a morning person.
“Let’s go to court.”
“Fuck off.”
“I have the keys, Wymack won’t even know you’re back in town.” He prodded uselessly at Andrew’s shoulder as he rolled over away from him.
“Wymack is not the problem. It’s Sunday morning, you weirdo.”
“Come on, I want to see if I can score you.”
“You can’t.”
“That’s not true. I can, forty-three percent of the time on average.”
“See? You already know, don’t bother me.”
“But you’ve gone pro now, it feels different,” Neil all but whined.
“I’m just a racquet to you.”
“Andrew.”
He shifted closer, nudging Andrew onto his back again, stubbornly refusing to let him look away. Andrew sighed.
“You’ve said it yourself, I’m a pro. Exy is my job, I’m not working on a weekend. Get over it.”
It made sense, but Neil couldn’t shake off a trace of disappointment. Andrew living more than an hour away in Augusta had been a big change from sharing a room in the Foxes Tower and the chances of playing together had become extremely rare. He didn’t want to consider what it would be like in the future if one of them got scouted by another team, further away.
He shifted again, bumping Andrew lightly with his knee.
“What are the odds of you yielding if I keep pestering you?”
“You really can’t stay still for a moment, can you?” Andrew caught the back of Neil’s neck and guided him back down into the mattress. “Sleep.”
That was Neil’s turn to sigh. No matter how hard he tried, sleeping wasn’t an option anymore, that ship had sailed the moment he had started thinking about the court. He lasted all of three minutes before getting bored and setting out on the mission of annoying Andrew. He rolled over again, draping himself over his chest, hands tucked under his chin as he looked up at him.
“You’re heavy,” Andrew muttered, eyes closed once again.
“Get over it,” he replied with a smile.
Andrew didn’t answer, just gave him a light, exasperated tap on the head. When Neil leaned into it, Andrew’s fingers slid into his hair, slowly curling around the locks, sending a pleasant shiver down Neil’s spine. That wasn’t half bad, after all.
Feeling his entire body relax, he closed his eyes.
He was always amazed by the constant contradiction of Andrew’s touch, gentle and rough at the same time. Sometimes he wondered whether Andrew had been learning softness despite his harsh nature or whether that was something he had always had, buried deep inside himself for self-preservation. Either way, Neil had stopped questioning it a long time ago and gladly accepted whatever Andrew was willing to give. He remembered how long it had taken before Andrew felt comfortable enough to even let Neil touch him at all. In Neil’s freshman year, lying like this would have never been an option, but now it felt like the most natural thing ever. Through the years their agreements had changed again and again, their boundaries shifting over time and blurring more and more until their trust had become an absolute. They each knew the other would never cross the lines that mattered and would handle everything else with care.
Lost in thought as he was, it took Neil a minute to notice Andrew had gone still.
He opened his eyes, thinking he had dozed off again, but found he was looking at him instead. There was something peculiar in his unreadable expression, a razor-sharp attention pinpointed on Neil, something like a burning question hanging between them. Neil was about to ask if he was okay when Andrew moved again. His hand slid back into Neil’s hair, catching a strand and turning it between his fingers as if studying the way it reflected the morning light from every angle. Then he kept going. Slowly, he traced down the side of Neil’s face. The curve of his cheekbone. The line of his jaw. Pressing just enough to feel the shape of him beneath his fingers, putty in his hands. His thumb moved back up his cheek, following the trace of his old scar.
The weight of Andrew’s stare was almost unbearable and yet Neil couldn’t look away or force himself to say a word. Andrew’s hands kept moving softly on his face, tracing his features, the bridge of his nose, the curve of his chin, the burn mark on his skin. He was like a blind man trying to commit something to memory, and yet Neil felt exposed as if that was the first time anybody had ever really seen him.
“Andrew?” he managed to say in a whisper. If Andrew heard him, that wasn’t enough to shake him from his trance-like state. His hand moved to Neil’s brow, smoothing over the faint crease there. His gaze stayed fixed, as if he was studying the way each small movement shifted Neil’s face. Neil’s brow furrowed slightly under his touch. A moment later, Andrew mirrored the motion without seeming to notice he’d done it, like an artist trying out an expression to better capture it in ink. Then, a thumb brushed over Neil’s lower lip, the touch as soft as a feather.
Instinctively Neil exhaled, parting his mouth slightly, and Andrew mirrored him again. He sighed deeply and Neil couldn’t help smiling at that, fondness burning in his chest. Andrew didn’t let the opportunity pass and he started tracing the shape of Neil’s smile, from one corner to the other, studying the way it was slightly crooked on one side and the way it pulled at his skin and changed his face, careful as if he was analyzing something. As if learning the movement.
And then Andrew smiled.
At first it was just the faintest shift of the corner of his mouth, as if the muscle was being tested after long disuse, uncertain whether it still knew how to move. Then it deepened, slowly, experimentally, the shape of it settling into something small and uncertain, dimples creasing into his cheeks, and Neil stopped breathing properly.
Because Andrew was smiling at him.
Not the manic smirk he had known years before and almost forgotten, not a wicked grin or a carefully crafted mask. Just a smile.
It should have looked wrong, like something borrowed that didn’t really belong on Andrew’s face, and yet it didn’t. The world shifted around Neil as he caught a glimpse of another life and he froze in place, terrified any movement would break whatever spell had settled over them. Despite that, something of his internal turmoil must have shown, because Andrew’s smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a puzzled look.
“What?” Andrew said.
“What was that for?” Neil felt his own voice shake with excitement, which only increased the confusion in Andrew’s eyes.
“What was what for?”
“You smiled.” It was Neil’s turn to reach for Andrew’s face, thumbs pressing into his cheeks as if that would be enough to bring the dimples back. “Like, an actual smile.”
Andrew frowned. “Didn’t notice that.”
“That’s even better!” Neil laughed.
“Alright, leave it.”
He obeyed, dropping his hands and rolling onto his side to give Andrew space, but he kept staring at him with a giddy smile.
Andrew shot him a dirty look, turned his gaze to the ceiling and went still, brow lightly furrowed, lost in thought. Neil watched as he raised a hand to his own chest and took a couple of slow, measured breaths, as if trying to steady the rapid thrumming under his ribs. He stayed like that for a minute, then sighed dramatically.
“You’re more annoying than usual this morning,” he said.
“I woke up in a good mood.”
Andrew gave him one last glance. “Alright.” With a swift motion he kicked the blanket away and sat on the edge of the bed. Neil watched as he grabbed the bottle of pills from his bedside table, shook one into his palm and swallowed it with a sip of water. “Let’s go, before the interstate gets too busy.” He got to his feet, reaching for a shirt.
“Where are we going?” Neil asked.
“Court?”
Neil jolted upright, kneeling on the bed. “You’re serious.”
“I have to leave tonight, I don’t want to hear you complain all day.”
Neil scrambled out of bed, energy rushing into his system in an instant. “You won’t,” he promised, not bothering to hide his grin.
Maybe that smile had been a fluke, a random unguarded moment that would not repeat itself so easily. But it was real. Having seen it once meant it could happen again and that, even behind his ceaselessly unfazed expression, Andrew could be happy.
Neil would take what he was given.
March 2012
Denver, Colorado
The glass doors slid open with a hissing sound, releasing travelers into the arrivals hall. Neil let the current of people carry him forward, unable to fight it; his limbs still ached from last night’s game and the three-hour flight had only made it worse.
Across the throng, a young man caught his eye. Recognition immediately sparked on his face, a Is that- already forming on his lips. Neil’s grip instinctively tightened on his shoulder bag and he averted his gaze, slipping deeper into the crowd to put as many bodies as possible between himself and someone who had a fifty-fifty chance of being a fan or a hater eager to harass the striker of a rival team. He hadn’t slept enough to deal with that today.
His stomach twisted with irritation at the constant jostling. Rising on his tiptoes, he scanned the hall wishing he could be anywhere else but there, until he caught a familiar flash of fair hair.
Andrew leaned against a column just behind the waiting drivers and families, looking around as he waited for the crowd to disperse. The moment Neil saw him, wading through people became an easy job. All frustration forgotten, he pushed through with renewed energy, making his way toward him with a light jog.
“Hey,” Neil said when he reached him.
Andrew gave a short nod and reached up, fingers brushing through Neil’s hair in a brief movement. “You cut it.”
“Last week,” he confirmed. “It was getting hard to manage.”
Andrew hummed in what Neil hoped was approval. He slid the strap off Neil’s shoulder before he could protest and took the bag, turning toward the exit without another word.
“I can carry that,” Neil commented, trailing after him.
Andrew didn’t bother to glance back and just replied, “Congratulations.”
Neil shook his head, smiling to himself as he followed. There was a spring in his step now, something loosening in his chest with every passing second. Weeks of tension melted away as he settled back into his most authentic self, as it always happened when Andrew was around.
“The flight was a nightmare,” he started babbling as they stepped out into the crisp Colorado air. “A kid started crying at takeoff and didn’t stop until we landed.”
Andrew made a vague noise of acknowledgement, letting him talk as they crossed the parking lot. When they reached his car, he tossed the bag into the backseat and shut the door, then turned to grab the back of Neil’s head and pulled him into a kiss, cutting him off mid-sentence. Neil melted into the touch, one hand catching on Andrew’s jacket to pull him nearer, now that he could. It had been five weeks, way too long, and the familiarity of it grounded him like nothing else could.
They might have stayed there indefinitely, but after a few seconds Neil made the executive decision of pulling back, tapping Andrew lightly on the chest.
“Time for that later,” he said, “I’m still on Michigan time and I’m starving.”
Andrew gave a quiet huff, giving one last reluctant squeeze at the nape of Neil’s neck before letting go. “Come on, then.”
They set off toward the city center. Neil rolled the window down, letting the cold air rush in as he went through the stack of CDs in the dashboard, searching for the right soundtrack for the trip.
“Chinese alright?” Andrew asked after a while.
“How about that Italian place you told me about last month?” Neil said. “I would kill for lasagna right now.”
“No can do, that’s closed this week.”
“Damn it. Alright, raincheck. But we’re going there next time.”
“Yes, sir,” Andrew agreed with exaggerated formality.
A minute passed in comfortable silence before he added, “What time is your flight tomorrow?”
Neil sighed. He’d been hoping to ignore that for a few more hours, but it was inevitable. Seeing each other less than once a month was bad enough and condensing most of their visits in just over twenty-four hours meant planning ahead whether they liked it or not. That was the only way to make the most out of their time.
“Seven forty-five,” he replied. “There’s a nine o’clock flight too but that would mean being back in Detroit at three in the morning and coach Zelnick will kill me if I show up to practice after an all-nighter again.”
Andrew nodded, tapping his fingers against the wheel. Neil could see the tension in his hands and he knew what he was about to say wouldn’t help, but he decided that it was better to get it done. Rip the bandaid off and then get to enjoy the next hours without worry.
“Speaking of,” he began. Andrew flicked a glance at him before setting his gaze straight on the road ahead. Neil took a breath. “You know how next month I was supposed to have a no-match week? Zelnick scheduled a training camp right that weekend.” He paused, then continued even if obviously Andrew already knew where that was going. “So my plan of staying here from Thursday to Sunday is a no-go.”
“Alright.” Andrew’s grip tightened on the wheel and Neil’s chest with it.
“But, new proposition,” he added quickly. “I saw you’re playing in Wyoming two weeks later, right?”
Andrew nodded after a second. “Cheyenne, May eleventh.”
“Yeah. That same night we’re playing in North Dakota.” Neil hesitated for a moment. “So, how about a weekend in the Black Hills?”
Andrew glanced at him, puzzled.
“I can rent a car in Bismarck and drive down after the game. You do the same from Cheyenne. We’ll get there late Friday night, but at least we’ll get one more night together and we can already be there in the early morning. We can drive around for a couple of days or pick a hike. See Mount Rushmore or whatever. On Sunday night I’ll fly back to Detroit and you to Denver.”
Andrew considered it. “How long is the drive? Four hours?”
“Give or take. A bit more from Bismarck, but I don’t mind.”
“Can you drive five hours right after a game? You’ll be running around for ninety minutes.”
“You’ll be running around for ninety minutes too, the Denver Larks’ defense line sucks this year.”
Andrew shot him a sharp look but didn't retort. Instead, he hummed, thinking, fingers tapping against the steering wheel. “Alright,” he said eventually. “Sure. Whatever.”
Neil grinned, sitting a little straighter. Problem solved. Two chill days at Andrew’s and then a fun outdoor escapade in- he did the math and realized the Bismarck game was almost two months away. The satisfaction dulled, overshadowed by a nagging sensation in the pit of his stomach. A familiar feeling for the last two years, ever since Andrew’s graduation from PSU. Neil couldn’t remember how many times he had felt it, that heavy void, a tiny black hole at the base of his chest sucking the air from his lungs and the strength from his limbs. Those nights he curled on himself, hoping to force it out, but it never worked. He would always end up falling asleep holding his longing tight, the shape of it impressed on his heart by the next morning. Once dawn broke, he would go for a run or straight to court and he would feel good again, but he could never completely shake off the remote certainty that he could feel better. It was weird to feel the same way now, with Andrew sitting right beside him, at arm’s length, his voice not distorted by a phone line. This anticipatory grief was new and Neil hated it.
Another thought made its way through his brain, a thought that had been circling in the back of his mind for the better part of a year but that only fully formed a few weeks ago, while he was driving home after dropping Andrew off at the airport in Detroit, at the end of his last visit. Since then, it had been impossible to ignore.
“I saw the highlights of your game last night,” Andrew said suddenly.
Neil’s attention snapped back. “Yeah?”
“Milwaukee is always tough to beat.”
“We still did, though.”
“When you’re against Willner you need to shoot in the upper right corner. He messed up his shoulder a few years ago and never fully recovered. He swings slower on that side.”
Neil nodded, filing it away. It was a smart move on Andrew’s side, getting him to talk about Exy. He took the bait and they fell into easy talk, breaking down plays and comparing each other’s games. But the thought stayed, pressing insistently at the corner of Neil’s mind.
Finally, he decided he couldn’t take it any longer.
He waited for the conversation to ebb and took a deep, steadying breath.
“Say, Andrew,” he said, glancing at him from the corner of his eye. “Do you think the Denver Larks are in the market for a new striker next season?”
Andrew didn’t answer. He kept driving in silence, gaze fixed on the road ahead.
For a moment, Neil wondered if he hadn’t heard or if he was purposefully avoiding the question. An unusual flicker of unease sparked in his chest. They had been doing this for two years, flights, endless car trips, careful planning to make the distance work, all because they chose to and kept choosing to. They had found a balance, unsteady as it was. Andrew was willing to go through the trouble, Neil had never doubted that. But this, springing this new idea on him like that, meant changing everything, building something bigger. More permanent.
Was it overstepping?
Neil shifted in his seat, fingers curling against his legs, wondering whether he should take it back, change the subject.
Then Andrew spoke. “That depends. How good are they?”
Neil exhaled quietly. “I have it on good account that he’s pretty good. Trained with Kevin Day in college, currently on the Detroit Jaguars starting lineup.”
“I thought you said our weak point was defense.”
“I guess the best defense is a good offense.”
“I guess.”
Andrew’s hands tightened on the wheel again, knuckles paling. His jaw worked slightly, almost as if words were threatening to spill out of his mouth and he was fighting to keep them still. Through the years, Neil had become quite good at reading the tiny shifts in Andrew’s expression, but this time he couldn’t make out what was hiding behind the thin line of his lips.
When he spoke again, it was so quiet Neil could barely hear him. “Are you sure about it?”
Warmth spread through Neil’s chest.
“Absolutely,” he said. “I’m tired of the Midwest, I need a change of scenery.” He smiled. “And I’ve heard there’s a good Italian place around here.”
Andrew didn’t look at him. He nodded once, then again. He blinked quickly as the corner of his mouth twitched, so slightly Neil might have missed it if he hadn’t been staring at him so intently. Neil watched in wonder as the telltale dimple appeared on Andrew's cheek, his mouth spreading into a small, unguarded grin.
Neil couldn’t help but smile in turn, something bright lighting up in his chest as a new conviction bloomed in him: Andrew was smiling, Andrew was happy, and it was because of him. He wanted to make him smile again, as often as he could. He wanted to be there to see it happen every day.
“Good idea?” he asked.
Andrew cleared his throat a couple of times. “Good,” he said, lifting his left hand to cover his mouth, elbow propped against the window. “Good idea.”
It didn’t work. Neil could still see the dimple in his cheek, the light in his eyes.
Whatever dark weight had been resting on Neil's soul dissolved in an instant; the distance, the flights, the constant goodbyes, everything felt insignificant now in the face of what was to come in just a few months. Forcing himself to stop staring, he turned to look out the window, but he let his hand settle on Andrew's knee in a silent promise.
In the reflection, he caught a glimpse of Andrew still trying and failing to hide his smile. A laugh slipped out of him, warm and bright, his breath fogging the glass.
Without thinking, he lifted a finger and traced two dots, then added an upturned curved line beneath them. It stayed there for a moment before fading.
Neil couldn’t wait to see what lay ahead.
July 2016
Rio De Janeiro, Brazil
Everything hurt.
Every muscle in his legs felt like it was on fire, his chest was tight for lack of oxygen and his arms could barely hold the weight of the racquet anymore. But Neil couldn’t stop moving. Not yet, not until the end of the game, not until he could score one more point, get past one more defender, catch the ball one more time. His entire body screamed for relief and yet he didn’t want it to end. This was the most important game of his life and in that moment nothing mattered except giving it everything he had.
He moved toward goal, but every step was hindered by Moreau, his overwhelming presence making the difference in their size feel suffocating. But Neil was faster, he always had been. From the corner of his eye, he saw Kevin swinging. The ball left his racquet at high speed, aimed just past Neil. Muscle memory kicked in, hours and hours of late-night practices from his college years condensed into effortless movement. He had been younger back then, less refined, but those drills had etched themselves so deeply into him they felt like instinct now. He danced around Jean like it was second nature, slipping past him and intercepting the pass in one fluid motion, already turning toward the French goal.
It lasted only a second. A racquet hooked under his own and wrenched the ball free, sending it rolling away across the court.
Neil didn’t waste a moment in disappointment and immediately broke into a sprint after it. His whole focus was on getting the ball back, so much so that when the siren sounded and the stadium exploded into cheer, it took him a moment to understand what had happened.
The announcer was speaking in Portuguese and that was one language Neil couldn’t speak, but the scoreboard made it clear enough.
“Congratulations,” Jean said beside him, and Neil’s racquet slipped from his fingers.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the translation came through a moment later. “With a score of seven to five The United States of America are Olympic champions.”
A few feet away, Kevin dropped to his knees, forehead pressed to the ground as if in prayer. Neil’s legs were about to give out too, so he did the only thing he could.
He ran.
His body moved on its own, propelled by something stronger than exhaustion. Maybe he was shouting, or maybe what he heard was just his teammates’ voices echoing inside his ribs. He ran across the court, past bodies colliding in celebration or collapsing in exhaustion, and on the other side was Andrew. Helmet in hand, looking at him, like he always did. His expression was the same stunned disbelief Neil felt shaking through his bones.
The sight hit Neil like fresh air to the lungs. He picked up his speed, the fatigue of the game disappearing entirely. He was running toward Andrew now, the way he had been doing for the last ten years, and one day he would have been running toward him longer than he had ever been running away.
Andrew moved too, taking a few steps reaching out to him. Neil didn’t slow down, his legs gave one last burst of energy and he leapt crashing into him. Strong arms locked around his waist on instinct, holding him up for a few seconds, but Andrew was shorter, off balance, and they both went down together, hitting the ground hard.
Neil didn’t care.
He held on anyway, adrenaline still roaring through his veins, loud enough to drown out everything else, until something shifted beneath him. A sound, a vibration.
He pulled away just enough to see that Andrew was laughing.
It poured out of him, loud and unfiltered, shaking his whole body, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he had spent his entire life doing it, happy and excited and carefree. Like every awful thing from his past had been forgotten in that one moment, or simply didn’t matter anymore.
Neil stared in shock, unable to process what he was seeing, then he laughed too. He tightened his grip and pressed his face against Andrew’s neck, as close as he could to the source of that beautiful sound.
Something impossible had been made real right in front of him: the roar of victory resounding through the stadium and Andrew’s laughter cutting through it.
Neil had nothing more to wish for.
May 2026
Stuttgart, Germany
Weekends are a blessing for Nicholas Klose. For as much as he enjoys his job at the marketing firm, being able to sleep in on a Saturday morning remains one of the best feelings in the world.
His twenty-year-old self would probably be horrified by the life he lives now. Back then he thrived on endless nights out, deafening music and the feeling of hundreds of bodies pressing in around him. Sometimes he misses being that reckless and carefree but he doesn’t miss the hollow feeling that came with it, the constant need to fill every instant with noise to avoid sitting in silence with himself. Now that he’s in his forties, even just staying up too late to finish a movie could mean needing two entire days to recover, but he’s happy.
He’s halfway through his coffee and trying not to fall asleep face-first into it when Erik walks into the kitchen, weighed down by grocery bags. His husband has always been way more of an early bird than him.
“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Erik says, leaning down to kiss the top of his head on his way to the counter. “I bought the new issue of your magazine.”
“Thanks, Schatz,” Nicky replies as Erik drops ExyBack in front of him before starting to unpack the groceries.
The cover immediately catches Nicky’s eye: a picture that made the history of the sport, the 2016 U.S. Court celebrating their Olympic victory. Beneath it, in bold letters: Monster generation: Where are they now?
Curiosity wins him over and he immediately flips the magazine open.
Despite stopping playing after college, he has never stopped following Exy, mostly to keep up with what his more talented friends got up to. People are always shocked when he tells them he played with the Kevin Day in his prime, almost as shocked as when he casually mentions that Andrew Minyard is his cousin. Although none of it is in any way testament to Nicky’s skills, he still can’t help feeling proud when he sees their accomplishments praised on paper or television.
He skips past the ever-present section about Riko Moriyama and his untimely death that prevented him from living up to his immense potential and skims through the pages about Kevin instead: once hailed as the future of Exy, now celebrated as a living legend.
But the photos Nicky lingers on are Andrew’s.
The article paints a picture of the entirety of his career, from his days with the Foxes, to his debut in the Augusta Alligators, all of his greatest successes up until his retirement a few months ago. Nicky knows the story already, he heard first-hand recounts of it. He knows Andrew only retired when Neil finally did too and that convincing Neil that it was time to leave professional Exy and let new, younger players take on the court had been a long, arduous process. Since then, though, things seem to have worked out perfectly. Nicky hasn’t seen Andrew and Neil in more than a year, but he gets regular updates from their endless road trips: blurry pictures of mountains, roads stretching through deserts, unflattering selfies taken in the most random places he could think of. Tiny fragments of a life that would have been unimaginable once. After everything they both have been through, he believes they deserve that life, free and far from any threat or danger.
It’s strange seeing people age through photographs, twenty years compressed in the span of a few pages. Hairstyles changing, new uniforms replacing old ones, the first wrinkles making their appearance. Only two things remain constant throughout the article: Andrew’s perpetually unimpressed expression and Neil visible somewhere in the background, always orbiting close enough to him to somehow end up in frame.
Nicky is smiling to himself at the thought when he turns the page and freezes.
Because mixed among the pictures taken during games or in official shoots or during interviews, there are two candid photos.
The first one is from the 2016 Olympics, judging by the uniforms. It’s clearly a locker room, probably after a game, completely empty except for Andrew and Neil, who don’t seem aware they’re being photographed from somewhere around a corner. Neil is standing with his side to the camera, and from the position of his hands it is easy to suppose that he is gesticulating. Even in a still image, Nicky can practically hear him talking. Andrew sits on a bench beside him, elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped together. He is looking up at Neil, listening, and he’s smiling.
Nicky instinctively lifts the magazine closer to his face, wondering if he’s starting to lose his eyesight. Because in the twenty-six years he has known Andrew Minyard, he has never seen anything remotely like that expression on his face. He didn’t think it was possible to see it.
The smile is small, almost subtle, but there’s unmistakable warmth in it. Fondness, joy, contentment, a softness that completely transforms Andrew’s face and makes him look like a stranger. And yet it fits. That’s the part that startles him most, the realization that all of those feelings belong on Andrew’s face, but witnessing them is an exclusive experience, a privilege that only one person has gained through the years.
Guilt grips Nicky’s chest. He knows that he’s not supposed to look at this, that Andrew would hate the thought of other people seeing him in a moment like that, private and unguarded, a moment that is only his and Neil’s. He mentally curses whoever took the photo in the first place, violating his privacy, and yet he keeps staring. Because for years he genuinely believed Andrew simply wasn’t capable of looking happy.
Eventually, he forces himself to drag his gaze to the last picture.
That’s another candid, taken much more recently, Andrew and Neil spotted by paparazzi during one of their post-retirement trips. They’re walking side by side through what looks like a European town, paper cups in hand, dressed like any tourist on vacation. Andrew isn’t smiling this time, his expression is neutral, relaxed. His hair is shorter than it used to be, there’s a faint stubble along his jaw and age has softened some of the sharper edges of his face.
“What the hell, Josten,” Nicky murmurs under his breath. “What did you do to that man?”
In the photo, Neil is once again talking, his face lit by the same bright, restless energy he had at nineteen, and Andrew is listening to him intently.
Around his eyes, barely visible unless you look for them, are laugh lines.