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“Here’s a glass of whatever.”
Kevin handed Neil the plastic glass and a straw before sitting down with his own. At least he wasn’t drinking straight out of the bottle tonight, but Neil doubted much of the concoction was soda. Kevin only drank soda when he was forced to use it as a mixer, and it was funny to watch him turn up his nose as the carbonation tickled.
“Thanks,” Neil said, more out of an excuse to fill the silence than gratitude. He sniffed it and made a face at the doctored cherry coke, but Kevin had promised to watch over him, and Neil begrudgingly trusted him. It was sort of awkward to hang out with him without the others, especially since Kevin was garbage at smalltalk, but half of the foxes were on vacation and the other half had refused to watch the Trojans game with either of them, and with Andrew’s blessing, it had become a Junkie’s Night In.
They sipped at their strong drinks in silence as the game started, the commercials and the previews and the stats that both of them could rattle off in a heartbeat. It was sort of nice to see Kevin in a good mood, getting childishly excited over anything, and as surreal as it was, Neil was starting to like it.
“Did Jackson gain weight, or is that a typo?”
“Got to be a typo,” Neil said, pulling his legs up into a more comfortable position on the couch. “Coach wouldn’t let him gain that much before a game.”
“Could be muscle weight.”
“You’ve met him. Human beings can’t fit more muscle on 5’6” of already-stacked.”
Neil hesitated, but let his knee lean against Kevin. If he minded, he’d push Neil off.
He didn’t.
They waited with baited breath for kickoff, and Kevin didn’t speak up until after the first half was in full swing and he’d made Neil return with refills. He, of course, couldn’t be pried from the screen with a crowbar.
“Let’s do shots,” Kevin said, “And then let’s do a drinking game.”
“You can do shots, but I’ll bite for the game. What are we drinking for?”
“Fumbles?”
“We’ll get alcohol poisoning.”
“I’m immune.”
“I’ve noticed. Bad calls?”
Kevin snorted.
“These refs are some of the best. I checked.”
Neil rolled his eyes.
“Fine. Another recommendation?”
“Trojan goals?”
“Or missed goals.”
“Shut your face.”
Neil grinned.
“Fine, you take your team, and I’ll take the other one. We’ll see how that goes.”
“Guess I better take two shots, then, because the Trojans are going to win by a mile.”
“You’re on.”
By halftime, Neil was drunker than he could remember being in years. Definitely the drunkest he’d been for a positive occasion, and the idea that he had a home, a family, friends, support, love, in the foxes warmed his insides so much he could feel it in his throat. Or maybe that had been the Fireball they’d found under the couch. Kevin, for his part, was having a great time, and it was a special kind of nice to see him actually smile for once, a real non-paparazzi smile. Neil had known Kevin long enough now to know he wasn’t as big of a dick as he talked, but it was still easy to get the impression during exy practice that he was an exy robot with no manners or friendly programming to speak of.
Both of them had complicated relationships with alcohol, but for tonight, the world had slowed and simplified and the tangled, burning garbage pile of their lives had straightened out to one goal, just like being on the court. For once, Neil’s brain could shut the fuck up and take things as they came, and Kevin could relax without the world on his shoulders, and both of them had something to talk about none of their shit talking was personal and Neil didn’t want to put a racket through his teeth.
“This is good,” he said, and he wasn’t sure if he meant the game or being alone together or the alcohol or the new drink Kevin had made him with some kind of coffee syrup Nicky had been hiding behind the garbage disposal. Kevin nodded, his eyes still wide from the game even though the only thing playing on the bright screen was a Doritos commercial.
It was almost hard to look at him like that. Like a person, instead of an idol or a trainer or an adversary or even a teammate. Kevin Day was a person, and Neil Josten was a person, and in some strange way the two of them had ended up here, together, alive, happy, successful. Significantly intoxicated. Nothing Neil could have predicted all those years ago, or even when he graduated from high school. It was surreal, to say the least, but he thought perhaps he liked it.
“Yeah,” Kevin said thickly, putting the vodka back in the freezer. It was cheap and it smelled more like furniture polish than something ingestible, but it sure had done the job. “Yeah,” he repeated, moving a little closer. Something in the flickering reflection of a beer commercial in Kevin’s eyes felt good, and Neil wondered if he could figure out what it was if he got close enough.
“Did you ever think-” Kevin started, apparently on the same track as Neil, and Neil almost had to laugh.
“No, not at all. None of it.”
Kevin nodded, looking like a special edition bobblehead. Neil kind of wanted to punch him, like maybe that would stop the tingling feeling that was starting to go to his head.
“Hey, um-” he said at the same time as Kevin started to say something else, and he stumbled over himself to let Kevin go first. More out of losing his train of thought and being wary of a resulting crash than courtesy.
“So,” Kevin said. “So. You.”
“Me.”
“Shut your face.” He squeezed Neil’s cheeks, still rough with just-healed scars, and something nasty in Neil’s stomach was sure Kevin would let go like he’d touched the growing hairball in their shared shower, but Kevin held on tight and looked Neil right in the eyes, or at least the one he could focus on. “I need to tell me- tell you. Need to tell you something.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“Our time is running out.” Kevin bit his lip, eyes flickering from Neil to the TV in obsessive distraction.
“So hurry.”
“I...” His eyes came back, shiny and a little big and too innocent for Kevin Day of the court. “I...I know. I’m hard. On the players. On you.”
“Myeah,” Neil said, still squished into a fish face and not inclined to release himself.
“But. I’m really glad...you made a huge difference to the team, and- and I know- after, well, what happened-”
“Kevin.”
Kevin squeezed harder.
“You’re...” He swallowed. “You’re something special, even off the court.”
“Um?”
The countdown started, and Kevin squirmed.
“You- I- look, I- This isn’t-”
“Jusht shay what you mean.”
Kevin looked at Neil, and then the TV, and then back at Neil, and rather than trying to corral his wild thoughts with his too-loose tongue, he used his death grip on Neil to pull him into a burning alcoholic kiss. It was warm and strange against Neil’s half-numb face, but it felt good in a way he couldn’t find the words to describe. This was his home, and every day he was surprised by how loved he could feel among the foxes.
Neil didn’t know how to react to that and frankly didn’t care. He hadn’t had such a good night in ages, and he wasn’t about to spoil it now.
“C’mon,” he said, pulling away enough to breathe, but not from Kevin’s too-warm hands. “The game.”
“Right,” Kevin said, looking a little dizzy, and he let Neil lead him back to the living room with their fresh drinks.
For the second half, it was much more comfortable to lean against one another. If Neil lost track of the score, he could always ask Kevin in the morning.