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c-valentino · 7 years

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Clipped Wings

Fandom: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic

Rating: M

Characters:

Riko Moriyama/Kevin Day, Neil Josten, Ichirou Moriyama, Andrew Minyard

Warnings:

Graphic Depictions of Violence, AU

Summery:

Riko Moriyama survives the meeting of Neil and his brother after the Raven’s lost game - but at what price? Kevin would never accept that some people declared a life not worth living anymore - least of all the young man he had grown up with.

Chapter One - Broken crown

“Riko Moriyama is Not suicidal”, Kevin Day said with conviction.

“Well, seems he is”, Matt answered, “Did you seen his interview? He stepped down. Looked like a ghost.”

Last week, the Ravens had made it public: Riko Moriyama was stepping down as team captain and leaving the Ravens. All hell had broken loose on social media. Watching the interview had made Kevin’s skin crawl, but he had spoken to no one about it. His own team was still celebrating their well-deserved victory and Neil’s freedom.

This evening, the Exy sports community had held its breath when the news about Riko Moriyama’s suicide attempt had gone viral. The young striker had been found near death after OD’ing. Riko Moriyama doesn’t do drugs, Kevin thought bitterly. Something was very wrong here.

A week ago

Tetsuji stood up and left the room after Neil had entered, only Riko was left behind sitting on a couch, the white of his cast poking out from under his sleeve. Neil looked at it with satisfaction.

“You have cost the Ravens their coach. Are you satisfied?” Ichirou was facing him, observing him, and Neil felt a cold shiver running down his spine. He straightened and turned his gaze away from Riko.

“Your people are safe, as are mine. Yes, I’m satisfied.” How someone could smile as coldly as this man, Neil couldn’t comprehend, yet it came so easily, so naturally to this man.

“Let them call you by whatever name they like. You will always be a Wesninski at heart.” Ichirou gestured to Neil, beckoning him closer and he obeyed. "This situation requires a clean slate. " Ichirou stepped over to his little brother who didn't realized it at first and then looked up in utter bewilderment. "Get up," Ichirou ordered and Riko stood, head lowered. "I'm sure you've realized that words from my brother mean precious little," the older Moriyama addressed Neil without facing him.

"You are right about that…,” the backliner had to agree. The whole situation was a little unnerving for him. Riko, who had usually something to say, was as silent as a grave.

“I usually am,” the mobster said in a quiet, thoughtful voice that revealed that he had already moved on to other matters. “Now, let’s get this out of the way.” He grabbed Riko by the back of his neck and shoved him forward. The younger Moriyama stumbled two steps in Neil’s direction but didn’t utter any sound of protest. “謝れ,” Ichirou told him in that same quiet voice. Neil kept looking between them, but then it was Riko who lowered his head again, this time in front of him. “もっと,” his brother ordered him. The younger Moriyama gritted his teeth, then bowed, actually bowed, in front of Neil.

“I apologize,” he said, and Neil could hear how much that had cost him. The backliner looked questioningly at Ichirou, asking himself if this should mean anything to him. Yes, it was unexpected, but an apology hardly cut it in this kind of situation.

“You seem unsatisfied,” the crime lord observed.

“I didn’t say that,” Neil replied, remembering his place. He looked back at Riko, who had straightened again but refused to meet his gaze.

“You didn’t have to. And why shouldn’t you be? I hear my brother took care of you last Christmas.” Neil only nodded. “Did he show you his favorite knife?” Neil’s thought he could feel his scars burn as that memory was dragged out of him again by the man’s cold voice.

“He did,” he replied, fighting to keep his voice even. Riko didn’t react.

“I thought he might. It was a gift from your father, actually.” Neil narrowed his eyes at that. Ichirou held one hand up and one of his men stepped forward to hand him the very knife Neil had last seen at Castle Evermore. It was definitely the same one; he’d have recognized it anywhere. Ichirou faced his brother and handed him the knife. For an absurd moment Neil imagined the striker using it to attack him or his brother, but Riko hesitated before he took it, then stood there like a mannequin. The firstborn son spoke in a low and commanding voice to him. Neil couldn’t understand anything he said. He had never learned Japanese. Whatever Ichirou said though, it made Riko’s eyes widen and the color drain from his face.

It took him a while, and then, after forcing a few breaths in and out of his lungs, Riko muttered a single, hoarse, “No.” It sounded almost pleadingly in Neil’s ears. The older brother huffed in disgust. He took the knife back and Riko gave it up without resistance.

“I’ve told my brother that he could choose one of his fingers to cut off. It seems though that he is too weak to go through with it.” Too weak, Neil thought, or just not stupid enough? He wouldn’t do it in Riko’s place. “Now, since he is a fool, he just lost his right to choose. So why don’t you do it for him?” The man offered the knife to Neil instead.

“What?” The young backliner just stared at it, unable to comprehend for a second.

“Cut his finger off.” It wasn’t an offer, nor was it a request. It was an order. Neil’s eyes switched between the knife and Riko. The young striker looked absolutely horrified but still didn’t protest. Neil had always guessed that his family wasn’t the only dysfunctional one; now he knew it for sure. Slowly, he reached for the offered knife. He deserved it, he thought bitterly, Riko fucking deserved it. Not only for what he had done last Christmas. He deserved it for Seth, for Jean, for Kevin, and most of all for Andrew.

“You know what?” he hissed at Riko, “One wouldn’t be enough.” He meant it to be intimidating.

“In that case, go ahead. Take all of them, if you like.” Whatever plea had crawled up Riko’s throat when hearing his brother’s words died and turned into a choking sound instead.

“You fucking deserve this,” Neil hissed in a low voice as he stepped right in front of the self-claimed King of Exy. “I should take your thumbs. Let’s see how you are going to hold a racquet then. I should ruin you hand, like you did with Kevin.” He practically spat his friend’s name at the young man in front of him. He waited for Riko to defend himself, to attack him, to try to run away; but none of that was forthcoming. The young man just stood there right in front of him, terrified.

“Don’t do this,” Riko whispered, his voice thick with fear. “Don’t take them, please!”

“Did you make Kevin beg too?”

“Don’t…”

“Did you make him beg?” Neil suddenly screamed.

“No, I didn’t,” Riko gritted out, and the young backliner was right in his face, gripping the knife until his knuckles turned white.

“What about your pet doctor Frankenstein? Did he make Andrew beg? Huh? When he drugged him, when he fucking tortured him, touched him, humiliated him, did he make him beg?”

“I don’t know,” Riko whispered and swallowed hard when his voice started to fade.

“Why should I believe you?”

“Nathaniel, I swear—“

“Don’t call me that!” And suddenly the knife was at Riko’s throat. He hadn’t even realized it. But there it was, his own hand holding it to that pale neck. “You might not get it, but not all of us beg for our father’s approval. —Not like you’d ever understand.” Riko just closed his eyes and and forced one deep breath in and out of his lungs.

“You know… Since you enjoyed inking me so much, why don’t you let me show you what I think would be perfect for you?” Neil asked, his tone carefully stripped of all emotion. He grabbed the young Moriyama by the hair, then pressed the tip of the knife into his skin, right next to the tattooed I on his cheek. He cut downwards diagonally, slicing the smooth skin deep enough that it would leave a scar. Blood was running down Riko’s cheek, the red a harsh contrast to his pale skin. The striker was taking harsh breaths now, his eyes clenched shut, his tightly clenched fists trembling at his sides. He was shaking with the restraint it took him not to bolt or attack Neil in this situation. The consequence of either would be fatal.

Neil took the knife away and admired his handiwork. He felt strangely detached from the whole situation, as if he was watching himself. He had cut a ∤ into the young Moriyama’s cheek. ‘Does not divide’ —he couldn’t think of anything more accurate. Riko would never come between him and any of his friends ever again. He wouldn’t let him.

“You would have made your father proud,” Ichirou said from behind him and Neil’s shoulders stiffen. He yanked Riko’s head back viciously and let go of him.

“Maybe. That’s the last thing I want though,” Neil answered, then turned around. He handed the knife back to the mobster, offering him the hilt first, while holding on to the bloody blade. Ichirou accepted it, then cocked his head in question. “I won’t cut his fingers off. I want to crush him on the court.” It was his chosen battleground in this crazy world of criminals. It was where he actually could fight and beat them.

“Oh, I’m afraid you won’t get that chance again. You see, my brother is retiring tonight.”

“Retiring?” Neil couldn’t believe it. First Tetsuji, now Riko.

“He will never play Exy again.” Neil didn’t dare to turn around and look at Riko at that moment. He didn’t want to see what that sentence had done to the young man. Never play Exy again? Unthinkable. Exy was the air they breathed. Exy was what they lived for; he, Kevin and Riko. Someone had cut them from the same cloth before they were born.

“May I go now?” he requested. He needed to get out of here. He had gotten what he had always wanted; his freedom. He couldn’t wait to get home, to go to sleep and wake up the next morning, knowing he was a free man. It was such a foreign concept to him.

“You may,” Ichirou dismissed him. Neil lowered his head respectfully, then turned on his heels to leave the room. Behind him he could hear the mobster giving orders in his ice cold tone again. His two men stepped forward and grabbed Riko by the shoulders and hands, straightening his fingers.

“Ichirou,” Riko pleaded weakly. It took two men to hold him down while his brother raised the knife and cut along the fingers of his outstretched hand, deep enough to bare the white of bones, slicing through nerves and tendons of all four fingers. Blood was gushing from the wounds in a red river down Riko’s arm, dripping to the floor and staining the carpet, while one of the men bent his fingers back until the bones almost snapped and splintered. The older Moriyama didn’t cut his brother’s finger off. He just made sure Riko would never regain the feeling in them again, would never regain their full motor-function, or hold a racquet tightly enough to step onto the court. His brother would never play again. The young King of Exy was screaming by then; in horror, in despair, in pain —Neil didn’t know, but the sound from behind the closing door chilled him to the bone, would never leave him ever again.

next>>

#riko moriyama #kevin day #tfc fanfic #aftg #night&day #neil josten #andrew minyard #ichirou moriyama #cval madness

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c-valentino · 7 years

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Clipped Wings IV

Chapter Four - Ash and Blood

It was hard to wrap his head around it; but here they were. The hand holding the towel hung useless at Kevin’s side while he stared at the dethroned King of Exy. What have they done to you, he asked himself again. Riko huffed in annoyance, making half a step in Kevin’s direction, straightening to his full height and squaring his shoulders. Although even like this the striker didn’t surpass the 5’5’’ mark, he was used to people getting intimidated by his presence alone. Riko raised his chin in an arrogant gesture Kevin was so painfully familiar with. Hadn’t he copied that gesture many times during the past years? At first he hadn’t even noticed it. It looked different on him though. His height and build actually made him a possible threat in people’s eyes; while it was the reputation that did it in Riko Moriyama’s case. The older striker knew he had failed when he saw Kevin’s gaze slipping away in favor of taking their surroundings in one more time, totally unconcerned by the close proximity of his former roommate. It left Riko feeling cold inside. Slipping, everything was slipping through his numb fingers like sand.

“な、Riko …,” Kevin muttered, and Riko couldn’t stand the underlying sadness and disbelief in his voice.

“いい加減にしろ!” the young Moriyama cut him short. “Get out, I’m not telling you again.” He was so tired of this. This was really the worst time to pick a fight with Kevin. The younger man could be stubborn like a mule and Riko’s energy reserves were depleted. He could threat his former roommate, but he couldn’t go through with it. And that was something he couldn’t allow anyone to see. It would cost him everything he had left.

Kevin looked at the young Moriyama again and sighed. “Fine,” he gave in. As furious as the older striker was at the moment, he wouldn’t be able to get through to him anyway. “I’ll come again.” It was a promise he would keep; and he didn’t care if Riko liked it or not. The older man didn’t answer, didn’t say anything, and watched as Kevin left and closed the door on his way out.

God dammit, Riko thought and closed his eyes. Why did it have to be Kevin? He took a measured breath and began the slow and humiliating process of undressing himself. The gloves came off first, and he threw them onto the bed. He never left the house without them anymore. They hid the hideous scars on his useless hand, and he had worn them since the day he had announced his retirement.

They were black and had been stained with blood that had still been seeping through his bandages that day. Black gloves, black suit, black shirt, black tie and shoes —his retirement had looked like a funeral procession; and his fans had been moved to tears by the orchestrated event. His speech had been written for him, the words had tasted like ash on his tongue. Ash and blood, because he had been biting his lips that day so many times that they had started to bleed. Noble lies… ‘Taking responsibility for my team’s defeat…’ He had looked pale as a ghost in the camera’s flash lights, his eyes empty. Riko had seen his interview afterwards. It had been short, and he had known the questions beforehand. Everything had been scripted. He had taken all the blame and the fall for his team —for his brother, and for Nathaniel.

Riko’s right hand hung useless at his side as he unbuttoned his suit and took the jacket off. The wet fabric was heavy, and he was sure it would be ruined. Too bad, it was one of the only two he had left. He didn’t exactly have much time to pack his things before he had been marched out of Castle Evermore, never to return. Two men had flanked him on his way to the waiting black car that had brought him here, to this run-down building, in the middle of the night. His team had not been permitted to watch or say goodbye —Riko wasn’t sure they would have even if they had the chance.

The shirt came next. He unbuttoned it single-handedly and left it open, before he toed off his shoes. These too had suffered in the rain. Foolish, he told himself, how fucking foolish he had been. Yet, he still couldn’t bring himself to regret going out to drink. Getting caught doing it —yes. That had been a mistake. To hell with Kevin Day.

Taking his shirt and pants off was the hard part. Every time he was confronted with the body of a former world class athlete that was now wasting away. He wasn’t gaining weight. He was losing muscle mass, lacking exercise and proper nutrition; and he did nothing to stop it from happening. This body had become useless to him. Once his most valuable possession, a honed and precise weapon on the Court, treated and worshipped by him with the utmost care; it no longer held any value to him. He watched it fade with morbid fascination, imagining his own flesh rotting on his bones, his body slowly dying while he observed. Regret washed over him like a tidal wave. He had lost everything, and there wasn’t even a ghost of a chance that he would regain any of it. The reasons were those four pale digits he could barely move anymore. Slowly, his thump ran over the numb skin, feeling the hideous scars. They ran in red lines across his fingers, healed on the outside, poorly concealing the extensive damage on the inside. They had made sure the cuts would heal superficially and Riko hated them for it. How he wanted to take a knife and run it along those red lines, to part unfeeling skin and peel it back to see what his ruined fingers looked like from the inside. Sometimes the thought got stuck in his head and there was nothing he could do then. Somehow, his brother had known though.

‘Tear them open again, and I’ll cut your other hand too,’ he had threatened when he caught Riko staring at his bandages after the interview. These words had cut him deeper than the knife the older Moriyama son had held in his steady hands. Somehow, he couldn’t disobey them.

<<back next>>

#riko moriyama #tfc fanfic #rikev #night&day #kevin day #cval madness #aftg fanfic

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c-valentino · 7 years

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Concept: TFC AU

Silence - A TFC AU Tags & Warnings: Twinyards, Andreil, Kandreil tendencies, child abuse, psychological trauma, mute character, graphic depictions of violence, M/M relationships, homophobia, sexual content Rating: M

Story Outline Plot Summery: Neil Josten (16years old) is the new transfer student. His only remaining parent is his father who is serving a prison sentence and whom he hasn’t seen in two years. Now he’s on a sports scholarship, living on campus and joining the school’s Exy team under team captain Kevin Day, who he has a serious (Exy) crush on. Getting used to the new school and team presents some kind of a challenge. Kevin is the school’s troublemaker and a real beast on the court, needless to say not at all impressed by his new backliner’s skills. But problems really start to pile up when Neil meets his new roommates. The Minyard twins both seem to hate him. Aaron is outright hostile, while his brother, who’s never spoken a word in Neil’s presence, resorts to sudden unpredictable acts of violence. Neil isn’t so sure coming here was such a great idea after all.

Characters Neil Josten: son of a murderer, outspoken, unable to outrun his family’s background, has switched schools way too many times, Exy fanatic, K. Day fanboy, bisexual, no stranger to violence, backliner - goal: joining the national Exy team - brand mark: his father’s son

Andrew Minyard: orphan, brother, murderer, rape and abuse victim, mute, traumatized, trust issues, goalkeeper, survivor, violent, unpredictable, gay, highly gifted - goal: to live an uncompromising life - brand mark: psycho midget

Aaron Minyard: orphan, brother, victim, protector, translator, homophobe, backliner, straight, vigilant, pessimist - goal: to carve out a place for himself & Andrew - brand mark: the other one

Kevin Day: striker, troublemaker, angry, haunted by his past, crushing on Andrew, gifted, violent, arrogant, intoxicated, rich, obsessive, son of Exy, bad boy, fierce, protector of the twins, bisexual, fuck the consequences - goal: leading the national team to victory - brand mark: will break you(r heart)

#tfc fanfic #andrew minyard #neil josten #kevin day #aaron minyard #twinyards #potential Kandreil #cval madness #mute andrew #highschool au #sports fic #andreil #atfg fanfic #fic concept #WIP

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c-valentino · 7 years

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Clipped Wings III

Chapter Three - When it rains, it pours Just a few minutes ago he had welcomed the smell of rain after stepping outside. Kevin was having second thoughts now, while he half carried, half dragged a stumbling Riko Moriyama down the street, and a sudden downpour drenched them in mere seconds. It didn’t even help with cooling the stifling air down; it was just —wet, causing their clothes stick to their heated skin, and their hair dripping into their eyes, and their feet making those annoying squishy sounds inside their shoes. Kevin found an awning and dragged them both beneath it, shaking his dripping hair like a wet dog to get it out of his face; unwilling to let go of the smaller man beside him.

“You think it will stop soon?” It was a silly attempt at making conversation with the older man. He had barely gotten a single word out of Riko so far. “Hey, I’ll take you home.” As long as he found out where the ex-Raven was living now, he could find him again. Maybe while he was sober next time. Riko kept quiet though. “I won’t leave you here. So either you tell me, or I’m taking you with me back to the Fox Tower. And I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

Something he had just said appeared to be funny, because Riko was grinning crookedly. Kevin saw it, even though the older man’s head was still hanging low. His wet black hair looked like ink strokes on his pale skin.

“Or I can take you back to the Ravens,” Kevin mused aloud, just to provoke a reaction out of the ex-captain. The grin died on Riko’s lips, and Kevin felt him trying to pull his arm free. He only tightened his grip on the other’s wrist. “Your choice. Either way, I’m not leaving you here. You’ll just pass out on the streets somewhere in your expensive suit; and even your name won’t protect you then.”

“Want me to stab you, Kevin? …see who needs protecting then…” His words were slightly slurred, his voice almost too low for Kevin to hear. Thunder cracked above their heads and the wind picked up, blowing the rain below their little refuge.

“I want you to tell me where to go. Can you manage that, your Majesty?”

“Don’t call me that,” Riko hissed angrily.

“Tell me what happened, Riko,” Kevin asked him again, all humor gone from his voice.

“No. You don’t get to walk out on me and then demand information. You are no longer a part of my life, Kevin,” he said with the conviction of either a drunk or the delusion of someone who grew up like Riko Moriyama.

“I walked out on you? Listen now, I’m done with your psychotic mind games. You broke my fucking hand, Riko; and I still beat you on the court. Don’t blame me, you hear me? Don’t you dare,” Kevin shot back, his temper rising.

“Let go of me,” Riko growled.

“No.” The older man was in no position to give him orders, and Kevin was enjoying it for once.

“You know I can take you down,” the young Moriyama threatened and turned his head sideways until he could glare at the taller man.

“Sober, maybe, but the way you look, you’d just embarrass yourself right now. So stop being an ungrateful asshole and start talking.” Kevin wasn’t letting this go so easily.

The older man snorted. “Look at you,” he mocked. “Having your pet psycho and Nathaniel around you taught you how to talk back? Did they find your spine too?” The slur in his words was less pronounced now, the old sharpness creeping back in, the coldness.

“I found that myself, believe it or not.” Lightning illuminated the street and made their eyes flash as they stared at each other.

“Maybe you did,” Riko said after a moment. “Maybe you’ve made it out after all.” He chose his words carefully, and Kevin didn’t like it.

“What do you mean? I made it out. There is no maybe.” Two seconds and then another thunderclap above their heads; louder this time.

“No Raven leaves the nest unscathed,” Riko insisted. It was something they had heard back when they were old enough to understand what happened to the older Ravens who failed. Back when they had been just kids. It was something that had resonated deeply inside Riko. He still believed in it.

“I wouldn’t call a shattered hand unscathed, Riko,” Kevin replied coldly.

“I won’t apologize for it. I already paid the price.” The young Moriyama narrowed his eyes at his old roommate.

“They made you retire. They kicked you off the team…” Kevin wasn’t so sure that was a price Riko paid for breaking his hand, but he could get to terms with it. And anyway, he was here for other reasons.

“Yes and no. It doesn’t matter though,” The Asian rasped, voice suddenly thick with emotion.

“You will find a new team. Even if your uncle tells them not to, someone will sign you. There are better people out there, Riko.” He tried to be gentle with the older man. Exy was something they could agree on, could still connect through. Kevin thought it could be his way to get through to Riko again.

“My uncle? Oh, Kevin.” Riko shook his head amused. “People like your father, you mean,” he added before Kevin could speak again; and his tone switched back in that sudden, unpredictable way of his. One second the charming young man who could captivate the masses, the next the cold and calculating man, who’s mind was a weapon. He saw Kevin’s expression darken. “Yes, I knew. I’ve known for a while.”

“And should I be glad that you haven’t used it to your advantage, or pissed that you’ve kept it from me?” Games, it was always games with Riko; schemes.

“Should I be offended that you’d think I’d use your remaining family against you?” Riko challenged. Family, Kevin knew, was a complicated topic for the young Moriyama. He supposed he should count himself lucky that the older striker hadn’t pulled any strings to use his knowledge against him.

“My team became my new family; and you sure as hell had no problem taking it out on them to get to me. What were you thinking?” Seth had only been the first. Riko’s psychotic games could easily have broken the Foxes. Instead they had made them stronger. But what had been the odds, the price they had to pay?

“I was your family, Kevin,” Riko sneered. “For years I was the only one you had. Don’t you dare speak of me in the same breath as them.”

“No, Riko, we were all we had back then, remember? That makes us even. I owe you nothing. Maybe I’ve forgiven you. I don’t know. But my team hasn’t. They probably never will, and I don’t blame them.” The young Moriyama glared at him. He shifted his weight a little and winced. The awkward angle made his shoulder hurt.

“Let go,” he sighed. Slowly, Kevin did, and they both leaned back against the wall behind them, trying to stay out of the rain as much as possible. Kevin looked at his former captain again. While his own casual clothes would dry just fine, Riko’s suit and shoes were probably ruined. It didn’t look like it would let up soon, so they probably should get going. The sooner they both made it home, the sooner they could dry off and get changed.

“Let me take you home,” he asked Riko again.

“No.”

“Why not? We are done playing hide and seek.” You are not getting out of this, he thought.

“Who said I was playing? If I wanted to see you, Kevin, I’d have come to you.” Riko’s dark eyes observed their surroundings; but no one was on the streets out here.

“Yeah, well, I found you anyway. So forget about that. I won’t let you disappear again.”

“What does it matter?” Riko sighed. There was no avoiding it anymore, Kevin thought, he had to ask.

“Tell me what happened that night. Riko, just—“

“No,” the older man cut him short.

“There is no way you’d kill yourself,” Kevin went on louder this time. “What did they do to you? Just tell me, for fuck’s sake! Do you know how long I’ve been searching for you?”

“You’ve wasted your time. Don’t waste mine,” Riko answered uncaringly. It made Kevin grit his teeth and face the shorter man, grabbing him by the collar, pulling him closer and up until Riko made a stumbling step forward, standing on his tiptoes, glaring up at Kevin for manhandling him like this. They stared at each other for a long minute, both angry. It was Kevin who had enough first.

“Let’s go,” he snapped, and yanked the Asian forward as he turned around to leave.

“Where are you going?” Riko ducked his head as Kevin pulled him out into the rain again.

“Fox Tower,” the younger man replied tersely. He ignored Riko’s pathetic struggles and his curses, even the more colorful Japanese ones. He was done asking.

“Kevin!” Riko finally called out, something like desperation in his voice. It made the taller striker whirl around again furiously, and Riko stumble into his broad chest. The shorter man gritted his teeth but they both ignored that it had happened. Riko Moriyama did not stumble like a fool. If someone asked he would flat out deny that he had thrown up in the streets as well.

“I’m not leaving you!” Kevin told him again. “You either come with me, or I’ll take you back to the Ravens. Your choice.”

“I can’t go there and you know it!”

“Then lead the way,” Kevin offered. “Last chance.”

The young Moriyama didn’t say another word during their fifteen minute walk. He had sobered up a little —at least enough to walk on his own again. He was in no shape to fight or escape Kevin though; and they both knew it. Both had given up on escaping the rain after a few minutes. They were both soaked through. Kevin grew more and more suspicious with every step they took. He didn’t like the neighborhood; and when Riko finally pushed an unlocked door to one of the rundown apartment buildings open, he thought it was another of Riko’s schemes. If that was the case though, the Moriyama son wouldn’t tell him about it; so he kept his mouth shut and followed Riko in. Kevin expected a trap behind every corner or door; but in the end Riko simply unlocked one of the doors on the second floor and shoved it open. It took him a little effort, and Kevin’s eyes widened disbelievingly.

“Riko,” he began, words already forming on his tongue.

“Shut up,” Riko told him tiredly.

“You can’t be serious!” They both had lived most of their lives in a small dorm room and not given it much thought. The entire Castle Evermore had belonged to them. What had it mattered where they slept? That was all their room had been for. This place was not much bigger than their old room. It was older though, run down beyond believe, and almost empty. It didn’t even have a kitchen.

“You can go now,” the young Asian told Kevin coldly and produced a towel from a pile of clothes. He didn’t try to hide how furious he was that Kevin had insisted on coming here. The humiliation of it would have been enough to made the old Riko snap and lash out. But the old Riko wouldn’t have been out in a cheap bar like that, getting drunk. Kevin knew of a few reasons why someone would want to drink until they passed out. Trying to forget was on top of his list.

Kevin was still standing one step inside the single room, with the still open door right behind him. He looked around, taking it all in. A single bed was the only piece of furniture this room had to offer. There were a few clothes lying on the floor in piles —all of them workout clothes— and another suit draped over the end of the bed. A plastic bag full of empty takeout boxes and water bottles leaned against the wall, and a box with toiletries and some supplies taken from a first aid kit had been pushed into a corner. Two pairs of shoes stood carefully placed beside the door. That was it. Nothing that even remotely reminded him of Exy could be found in here. All of Riko’s gear was gone, every racquet he had owned. Kevin couldn’t believe it, couldn’t get to terms with what he saw, and it showed on his face.

Riko, halfheartedly drying his hair with the towel, had turned around to face him again and smirked. It was a cruel twist of his lips, half mocking, half sneering. “Go on,” he told Kevin, and the younger man blinked at him. “What? Nothing to say? The great Kevin Day —what are you calling yourself now? Queen of Exy? Half of your life, you’ve been nothing but a pawn. Go on, say what you have to say, laugh, and then get the fuck out.” He pronounced it very carefully, very sharply, and Kevin knew he was trying to provoke him. But how could he laugh it this? He shook his head sadly, and Riko threw the towel at him, intending to hit him in the face; but Kevin’s reflexes let him catch it easily enough.

<<back next>>

#tfc fanfic #clipped wings #riko moriyama #kevin day #cval madness #aftg fanfic #night&day #rikev

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c-valentino · 7 years

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Lighter Next To Your Coffee Mug XV.II

‘Are you in love with me?’ ‘Yes, I am.’ “Fuck,” Neil grumbled. He had been sitting on his windowsill absentmindedly biting on his thumbnail, going over and over his last meeting with Andrew in his head. Now he stood up, grabbed his wallet and keys, and left the apartment.

He should go, he told himself. He really, really should get all of his things and leave. He would have been gone if the German hadn’t suddenly called him and invited him for a last-minute scene. He’d accepted, but now Neil was facing another problem. He didn’t believe the German would be pleased to let him go. They hadn’t talked about it. He thought about saying something, but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. Hopefully the man wouldn’t try to find him. The thought of having yet another man on his heels gave Neil’s raw nerves all the wrong impulses.

Why did Andrew have to show up again? Everything was getting so complicated. Then leave. Starting over again for the nth time… Neil didn’t really want to. He had never wanted to. He had always been forced to do so. Nothing’s changed. “Fuck,” he mumbled again. He didn’t want to go.

Neil walked down the dark alley. It was getting late. He felt the urge to go for a run, but he knew he didn’t have the energy for it. The last days had wiped him out. Andrew had wiped him out. And now the goalkeeper had done it again. I don’t want this.

It wasn’t even like he was happy with his current lifestyle. Working as a hooker was easy money, but that was everything positive he could say about it. He didn’t like it. He didn’t really hate it either. He knew it was nothing he wanted to do forever; but he still hadn’t figured out what he wanted to do. Maybe he would end up in some low profile job, hiding for the rest of his life after all. Hiding. Alone. ‘Don’t get comfortable.’ ‘You could leave again tomorrow.’ Those thoughts had never left him. And now he was facing the same scenario again. He was so tired of this.

And for what? He had given up Exy in order to have a life he hadn’t actually managed to build for himself yet. He had given up his team, his education, and his dreams. Now he was about to give up his shitty studio apartment with the single bed, the old kitchen, and his makeshift furniture. Nothing to be proud of but it was his. You’ll find a new place. Maybe this time the bathroom faucet won’t leak, and the kitchen will actually be from this decade. And there he caught himself again. Hadn’t that been exactly his point back then? Hadn’t he chosen his apartment because it would never feel like a real home to him, so he could give it up more easily when he had to run again?

And really, it wasn’t the apartment he was going to miss. It was the taste of what could be his. Someone he had felt something for, who knew where he lived and had visited him when he had needed him, someone who had taken care of him, let alone someone who played his favorite sport for a living. Someone who claimed to be in love with him. Where had it all gone wrong?

Grudgingly, Neil turned his phone back on. He was going to ditch it but had kept it for now, telling himself he would get rid of it as soon as he left the city. The reasons why he kept it, though, were those messages he couldn’t bring himself to delete. He had read them again and again, everything Andrew had written him since the day they had met. He remembered the phone calls and what the man had sounded like. He remembered the first time Andrew had been high, sending him those demanding texts.

Neil gritted his teeth and made a frustrated sound. Do it. His thumb hovered over the screen. He closed his eyes and pressed delete, erasing all the messages. It should have felt liberating, but all he felt was anxiety for a moment. Walk it off. Like a minor injury that would be forgotten in a minute or two. So he walked. The streets were empty tonight. It was cold and the air was damp. Neil shoved his hands into his pockets, still gripping his phone. He kept walking.

<<Continue Reading On AO3>>

<<Ch 15.1 Ch 15.3>>

#lntycm #tfc fanfic #tfc #atfg fanfic #andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #kevin day #cval madness

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c-valentino · 7 years

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Splashes Of Paint

Chapter 2

Fandom: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic

Rating: T

Characters:

Kevin Day, Betsy Dobson, Riko Moriyama, Andrew Minyard, Aaron Minyard

Chapter Two - Brushstrokes

One by one they come, his new teammates. One by one they judge him. Only Andrew is a constant presence in the background, his second shadow. He is the smell of cigarette smoke, a mouth that twists from a bored line into a jackknife smile in a blink of an eye, hazel eyes that never seem to stop criticizing without the need of words. He is also a reassurance and he is the man that keeps Kevin’s demons at bay.

Today it’s his shadow’s twin who comes by to poke his head inside the door of the old, unused storage room with its single window. Aaron doesn’t knock, only pushes the door halfway open and leans in, keeping his balance with one hand gripping the doorframe.

“Andrew, coach is looking for you.” He finds his brother in his usual place, an old wooden chair in the corner next to the window from where he can keep an eye on Kevin, the door, and even half of the striker’s canvas at an odd angle. The goalkeeper is smoking yet another cigarette, even though Kevin wishes he would just quit. They had that argument, once today and at least a dozen other times before.

Andrew only acknowledges his twin brother with a slightly raised eyebrow. These two don’t talk much, Kevin has noticed. He shares a bedroom with them. They had been there first, and when Kevin came under the protection of the goalkeeper, his cousin Nicky had moved out without a word of protest. Andrew’s doing, Kevin supposes.

Aaron lets go of the door and comes in, shoes noisily scuffling over the plastic covers that keep the floor from getting stained with paint. He steers clear of Kevin, giving him as much space as the room allows him to do and leans against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest to have a look at the canvas. By the look on his face Aaron isn’t impressed. And why should he be?

“Uuwaah… that’s rough. Like a toddler bringing pictures home from Kindergarten.” He pronounces the last word in his second language. They do that sometimes, talk German when they want to exclude Kevin from whatever is being said. Aaron does it out of spite, being not too happy about their new sleeping arrangements and Kevin taking on the position as assistant coach, ordering them around, thinking himself their superior. Andrew does it to strategically keep information from Kevin. If the goalkeeper has to say something hurtful or provocative, he will do so to Kevin’s face. He plays a different kind of mind game than his twin. Kevin likes him better for it. He is also the better player, even if he does his utmost best to hide it. Kevin knows it. He has seen what Andrew is capable of before he has joined the Foxes.

“Yeah?” Kevin asks evenly. Falling for Aaron’s baits is the wrong thing to do. He has learned his lesson by now. Still, it stings. Kevin and criticism don’t get along well. Kevin knowing that he sucks at something either leads to instant abandonment of the task or to a quest of fanatical practice and improvement. He is past the point of abandonment by now. What keeps eluding him though is improvement of his painting skills. “Guess you are right,” he says and rips down the canvas. Aaron watches him but keeps his mouth shut for once.

The striker turns to his goalkeeper, wipes his hand on the stained, old jeans he is wearing. “Coach is looking for you,” he repeats Aaron’s words to Andrew. The blonde leans back, balancing his chair on two legs in a lazy demonstration of his uncaring attitude. Kevin rolls his eyes at him. This is a game they have played before. It’s also one of the few he can win. All he has to do is walk out that door and go to see their coach. Andrew will follow to keep an eye on him. They both know it. He gives Andrew ten more seconds to find the less childish way out of this situation. It takes the young man six to paint a wide grin on his face that tells the story of how amused he gets by their little games —thanks to his drugs, most likely— stand up and walk out of the room as if it had been his idea in the first place. Aaron watches them both, not moving from his spot, and then shrugs. Kevin gives him a sideway glance and follows Andrew out.

The other Foxes get curious too. Renee is the first of them, always the first to bridge the gap, to reach out, and tries to talk to him about his paintings. He doesn’t want to talk about them. They are clumsy and he gets annoyed by them. He cannot figure out what he wants to do. Sketching is impossible. His right hand won’t cooperate. So he reaches straight for the brushes. But then he faces the problem of not knowing what he is supposed to paint in the first place. It doesn’t matter, Bee tells him. Whatever comes to your mind, she tries to encourage him. And he has to admit, the feeling of a wet brush touching the canvas and leaving marks of paint on it is strangely satisfying. Only the results in the end are the complete opposite.

Nicky comes by to chat and to check on his cousin, Kevin thinks, but mostly to chat, and Kevin is not in the mood. Andrew isn’t either, and so it takes only minutes until the friendly backliner with the number eight on his new team leaves them again.

Dan comes by to discuss the new exercise regiment he has created for the Foxes. She only glances at his empty canvas before she tells him what she thinks of his (adapted Raven’s) trainings plan. Long story short: she hates it and he doesn’t care what she thinks. He has seen the —as he calls it— sorry state the team is in, and he thinks the team is in desperate need of some discipline and hard work. They argue for twenty minutes straight, until Renee comes to get Dan with an apologetic smile flashing in Kevin’s direction. It’s his therapeutic painting time, is probably what she thinks and Exy can wait. Exy can never wait, is what he thinks, and so he follows them to argue some more.

The others come by once or twice, not really interested, but at least showing some effort to get to know the newest addition to the team. He doesn’t get it though. The only version of him he cares to show them is the one on the court. They don’t need to get along, let alone become friends. All they have to do is listen to him and improve their gameplay.

His canvases meanwhile are covered in vague ideas of landscapes, of shapes even he has no clue what they are supposed to be. It’s just not right yet. He gets more and more frustrated with them, while Andrew keeps watching him.

The goalkeeper is mostly silent in this room. Sometimes Kevin forces some conversation out of him, but a drugged Andrew Minyard isn’t the best choice to have a pleasant conversation with. Smalltalk bores him and deeper topics usually lead straight to mocking because, even though Kevin knows it isn’t true, Andrew seems to take nothing seriously.

This morning the X-ray of his hand has shown that the healing process will take longer than expected. It has been grave news, and Kevin’s mood has suffered more than just a little. He has been agitated all week, looking forward to promising results, to hope of a near comeback, just to have his dreams crushed once again.

Right now he is throwing an Exy ball into the air with his right hand to improve his dexterity, a half finished painting in front of him. He hates it already, hates everything at the moment. Andrew humors him by tossing the ball back and forth once in a while, but when he keeps it and raises his chin at the canvas to tell Kevin that he should finish what they are here for, the striker suddenly loses it. Something in Kevin snaps. There is no other way to describe it, really. His temperament flares and his aggression needs an outlet. He takes the palette knife, grips it like a weapon, and attacks the canvas like he means to murder it. The knife pierces right through, once, twice, three times, and then he rips it downwards, opening a gaping tear in the still wet paint, twists the knife and slices it upwards diagonally. The easel is the next to break. Kevin’s long legs kick it over, send it flying into the wall, and then he comes after it, like a predator coming for its pray. His foot stomps down on it and he hears the wood crack and splinter. He kicks it again, so that it leans pathetically against the wall in the corner, and has another go at it, snapping one of its legs in two. It takes more force than he thought, takes him three kicks and he puts his weight behind them.

Andrew watches him silently but with a grotesquely wide grin on his face, his eyes gleaming with delight over the sudden outburst of Kevin’s aggression. And really, it’s a thing of beauty, watching this pathetic excuse of a man finally showing some teeth and claws. He has been wondering just how fucked up Evermore could have been to turn a young man like Kevin into a covering, sobbing child; still angry, still hurting, but never violent in his anger. And oh, it looks good on him. He wants to congratulate him on finding the first few vertebras of his missing spine, wants to watch him collect them all, and wants to help him threading them back together. He wants to clap and cheer Kevin on, but Kevin is not done yet, and Andrew doesn’t dare to interfere and risk to snap him out of this spell.

Next are the paint pots and brushes. Two pots he kicks over, they are too heavy to be thrown one-handed. The smaller ones he picks up and throws them against the wall, leaving huge splashes of paint in their wake, all the way over the floor and up the wall. The brushes hit the wall next, creating colorful arcs of paint across the whole room when Kevin demonstrates how powerful even his right arm is. Some of the blue paint hits Andrew in his seat, up from his right boot, over both pant legs, his shirt, his chin, ear and hair. He doesn’t even flinch when the cold mess hits his skin and he becomes part of Kevin’s newest creation. What a mess he is creating.

—And then one of the teachers storms in and ruins everything, comes in barking loudly, voice full of authority and Andrew watches as Kevin regresses into the scared child again, whirls around to face the man and takes a step back, holds his broken hand protectively against his chest and starts to realize what he has done. Before the whole apologizing bullshit can even start, Andrew is up on his feet, steps in front of Kevin and faces the teacher. The man’s eyes switch to him in bewilderment. He hasn’t noticed the short goalkeeper sitting motionlessly in the corner before. Now Andrew comes straight at him and doesn’t stop until the teacher takes a step back and stands in the hallway again. Andrew follows him out and shuts the door behind them, leaving Kevin alone in the room.

<<back next>>

#tfc fanfic #aftg fanfic #kevin day #andrew minyard #riko moriyama #artistic Kevin #cval madness

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c-valentino · 7 years

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Splashes Of Paint

Fandom: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic

Rating: T

Characters:

Kevin Day, Betsy Dobson, Riko Moriyama, Andrew Minyard, Aaron Minyard

Warnings:

past abuse, anxiety

Summery:

After joining the Foxes Kevin has a hard time to adapt. Bee suggest painting as an creative outlet for his restless energy. Reluctantly, Kevin picks up the brush to fill the gap until he can join his new team. His paintings get a little more attention than he had intended...

A three part story about Kevin as an artist, Andrew as his keeper, and Riko as an unexpected visitor and shadow from the past...

Chapter One - Old Sheets of Paper

“Do you like History, Kevin?” The striker looks up, pulled out of his memories, back into reality. He is sitting in Bee’s office. It��s their third session together. In front of her lie his old school records, provided by Edgar Allan for his transfer. History? Oh… academics.

“I suppose.” He can’t find the energy to get enthusiastic these days, though his resources of nervous, restless energy seems to be endless, his anxiety levels rising, and his frustration limitless. His left hand is trapped in a cast, has become a useless, foreign thing attached to his body. My body is a temple, my body an instrument, my body is a weapon… —well, not anymore.

“I read your essay on the great conquerors and their desire to leave their mark humanities collective memory. Quite inspiring, well written too, but your teacher… a Mr. Collin? Dr. Collins —he didn’t share my opinion, it seems.” Dr. Collins has been his History teacher at Edgar Allan. Kevin believes Collins hates everyone among the living, but is wildly fascinated by old, dusty tomes and artifacts. How annoyed he had been when a young, bright-eyed student came into his office one day to get some advise on his new assignment. Outside his teacher’s office hours —the audacity of the young man! A B minus had been no reason to file a complaint, even though his essay deserved better.

“He and I didn’t have a great start,” Kevin shrugs. Subjects like History never had great importance at Edgar Allan. He fidgets in his seat, his right leg bouncing up and down in an endless rhythm. He notices but can’t help it. He wants to go out and play Exy. Kevin misses the feeling of his racquet in his hands, the familiar weight of it. Will I even be able to hold it again, he wonders, a shadow falling over his pale features.

“Well, maybe you will get along better with your new teacher,” Bee says and smiles kindly.

“Maybe,” he replies vaguely. Doesn’t matter, he thinks. How long has it been since his last time on the court? He can’t bear to think about it, but he needs to know. His skills are getting dull. All those endless hours of drills and training —all going to waste. How many hours will he need to put in to catch up again? Could he cut back on studying and sleep to get some extra hours of practice in each day? Eight hours of sleep had been mandatory at Edgar Allan, even though reality always looked a little differently. He can survive on less sleep, Kevin supposes. In the beginning, he could cut back to four hours of sleep each night; at least until he gets back into shape and can hold his own against the new team again. The Foxes… what a bunch of misfits. One problem kid after another. No, not kids… not anymore.

“I like these,” Bee pulls him back up again, and Kevin blinks a few times, frowns at the pictures she is holding in her hands. He cringes. Why did they include these? His old drawings. Why would his old Art classes matter?

“Yeah? Thanks.” He means it in a ‘oh thank you, can you put these away now?’ kind of way, forces a smile.

“They are good. You have an eye for detail.” She looks at another one, a pencil sketch, and then another —a still life of an Exy ball and a glove of all things. Kevin feels the embarrassment, but it’s not enough to make him blush, it only makes him stiffen and fidget some more. “Have you thought about what you want to do in the meantime until you are cleared for practice again?” She meets his eyes, still smiling her kind smile. He sighs and looks away first, out of the window. His mind comes up blank.

“Study, I suppose,” he answers lamely. “Catch up with some school stuff.”

“Do you need to catch up in any of your subjects? Edgar Allan provides a solid education, does it not?” Yes, it does. It forces all required skills and every bit of relevant knowledge onto its students in a very harsh, uncompromising, yet dull form of education. Repetition, repetition, repetition… Repetitio est mater studiorum, is written on the wall of the main entrance hall. Repetita iuvant has been one of his Math teacher’s favorite lines. Kevin just shrugs again. He will watch the team train and act as their assistant coach, torturing himself in the process. He won’t need to supervise them off the court though. They sure as hell won’t let him.

“I believe you need some kind of creative outlet for all that energy,” she says and looks pointedly at his bouncing leg. He sits up straighter and forces himself to stop. “Have you thought about painting?” Painting? Is this a joke? He can’t even hold a pencil right now. It has taken him way too long to convince his right hand to produce a legible version of his hasty handwriting. He still can’t reproduce his own signature. Although the experience of writing with his right instead of his left hand has been a little eye-opening, in a somewhat of an ‘oh, I never thought about that’ kind of way. It is somehow strange to be able to rest his hand or wrist on the paper without smudging the letters, to be able to see what he is writing without obscuring it with his own hand. He can’t share these thoughts though, they are so obvious and mundane.

But painting? He is not an artist. He is an athlete. They have told him to take it easy for a while. Some words like trauma and abuse and PTSD have been mentioned and made his skin crawl. The last thing Kevin wants is to drag all his years at Edgar Allan into the open and talk about them. I played Exy for the best team in Class I Exy in the US. End of story. —‘My something-like-a-brother broke my hand and I ran away’ doesn’t fit into that story. If Bee had told him to write a book or something, he could understand her intentions. A neat little insight into his past. But painting…

“I’m not a painter.”

“You don’t need to be. There is no pressure, maybe you’ll like it. Why don’t you give it a try. I can get you all you need to get started,” she encourages.

“Yeah? Like —is this some sort of therapeutic —stuff,” he almost said bullshit, “to get over trauma or something? Because I don’t need that.”

“I think you do though.” His anxiety attacks. She knows about them. Maybe even Andrew tells her about them. The goalkeeper sees the team’s therapist on a regular basis and he has seen Kevin at his worst. “Just give it a try. That’s all I’m asking. Can it hurt? We can always look for an alternative.” He just wants to get out of here.

“Fine,” he agrees. And that is that.

next>>

#tfc fanfic #kevin day #riko moriyama #andrew minyard #cval madness #aftg fanfic #artistic Kevin

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c-valentino · 7 years

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Have a Kevin of the Day - Day Four

– The Day Kevin brought Caesar along Day 4

Kevin: I’ll be there in 10! Neil: okay

Neil tied his running shoes and grabbed his keys. “Andrew, I’m going for a run!” From his boyfriend came only a short, noncommittal reply. He had been busy with a new video game recently. This morning however, they both had read a post about Kevin that had gone viral on social media. ‘Kevin Day found his rebound!’ — Awfully soon after he had just broken up with Thea two weeks ago. Last night someone from his team had tweeted that single line and people went crazy about it. Kevin himself had not commented on it yet and Neil was more than a little curious. He went outside to wait for his friend.

Kevin, as usual, showed up on time for their run. What caught Neil’s eye though was the new furry companion at his side. Black and white with blue eyes, a husky stayed close on Kevin’s heels.

“Hey,” Kevin greeted cheerfully, no post-breakup depression detectable.

“Hey,” echoed Neil. The dog sat down right beside Kevin and looked up at them. Young, Neil thought, still almost a puppy. “You got yourself a dog?” He bent down and reached his hand out for the husky to sniff but found a still too big looking paw on top of his hand instead. He grinned and shook it a little.

“I did,” Kevin replied, smiling down on his new companion who was on his best behavior, making friends with Neil already. “You know, thought it might be good.”

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t know yet,” Kevin said and scratched the back of his head. “He’s a rescue but they didn’t know his name, so they called him Kujo.” It was obvious that Kevin didn’t agree with that name for his dog. Neil thought his friend was already going over all those historical figures in his head. “They said he caused trouble with the previous owners, but you know… people get dogs for Christmas or something and then have no clue how to deal with them. He needs a crazy amount of exercise, it’s great!” The puppy was jumping up Kevin’s leg now, impatient to move on, tongue lolling to one side, right paw stretched up in the air. Kevin reached his hand down for a human to dog fist bump.

“I see.” Neil tried to imagine a little guy like Kujo here causing enough trouble or harm to justify someone getting rid of him. He couldn’t. But then he was a sucker for rescues himself and would never understand why people would treat their pets badly.

“Let’s go,” Kevin said and they made their way down the street. The husky was on a bright neon green leash but never left Kevin’s side, staying right in the middle of the two men, keeping pace with them.

“So… any ideas for names yet?” Neil had long ago gotten used to running with Kevin. The taller man’s long legs were eating up the distance effortlessly, but Neil’s pride wouldn’t take a blow by making him slow down to compensate for their difference in height. He just ran a little faster and his stamina allowed him to keep the conversation between them going.

“Some,” Kevin nodded. “Alexander, maybe, or Hannibal.”

“Wait, what? Like Hannibal the cannibal?” Neil was frowning down at the dog and Kevin looked at his friend in disbelieve. And people always accused him of having no general knowledge.

“No, like Hannibal the Carthaginian general who marched an army following war elephants from Iberia over the Pyrenees and the Alps into Italy during the Second Punic War.”

“Ah, that one,” Neil nodded, as if he had known all along. “Nerd,” he then muttered under his breath and Kevin rolled his eyes. “People would still think of Anthony Hopkins,” Neil insisted and Kevin thought he might have a point there.

“Napoleon?”

“He doesn’t look French or short.” Neil eyed the dog again.

“Napoleon’s height was average,” Kevin corrected him.

“Still, doesn’t look French to me,” Neil nitpicked and Kevin sighed.

“What about Caesar, then?” They rounded a corner and crossed the street to enter the park, picking up the pace a little now that there were no cars or other obstacles in their way anymore.

“I like that one actually.”

“Oh, I have the approval of the great Neil Josten whose cats are named Fluffkins and Sir Fat Cat Mc… whatever it’s name is.”

“King Fluffkins and Sir Fat Cat McCatterson.” Kevin still thought those names more than a little ridiculous.

“Yeah… that.”

“Jealous?” Neil chuckled a little, then shook his head. “So, Caesar then? —By the way, when Noah posted that about your rebound…”

“Yeah, he meant the dog. I brought him along yesterday, let him meet the team. They love him already.” Kevin grinned down at Caesar who seemed happy to run with them, bright eyed, vigilant but always attentive to his new master. “Why?”

“Had me worried there for a second. You just broke up with Thea after all.”

“Isn’t that the point of a rebound, though?” Kevin seemed entirely unconcerned, which gave Neil the feeling the perfect Exy couple had not been as perfect as they had wanted them to believe.

“Maybe? I wouldn’t know. Seems like you found your perfect match though. Who’s taking care of him when you are playing away matches?”

“Private dog sitter. Great guy, brother of one of my teammates. He’s studying identifiable behavior patterns in aggressive dogs. It’s the same guy who told me about Caesar here.” Kevin tested his dog’s new name and was pleased. They ran up the hill and as usual sprinted the last stretch towards the lake, where they slowed down and took a break at the patio. Usually this was their place if there were matters to discuss that took a little too much attention to talk them over during a run. They had come here many times, talking about problems with their teams, the unwanted attention of the media, rarely about private matters or their pasts.

“He doesn’t tire, does he?” Neil observed amazed. Caesar sat down next to him, panting a little to cool down, but didn’t seem tired yet. His attention was on the swans and ducks on the lake. Neil thought about having a dog who could run with him everyday. He met Kevin only twice a week and Andrew usually declined his invitations to come along.

“Eventually. I’ve been working on his stamina. He likes to run but he’s also pretty clever when it comes to tricks. He learnt giving fist bumps on our first evening together. We are working on ‘speak’ right now.” Caesar turned his head towards Kevin when he heard him say ‘speak’, knowing the command even though he hadn’t figured out what it meant yet, it still got his attention. Clever little guy, Neil thought. Yeah, a perfect match for Kevin. His friend always stroke him as a dog person, valuing unconditional loyalty, and a breed like this one would surely be able to keep up with Kevin’s endless energy.

“If the cats like him you can bring him over when you are busy,” he offered.

“If the cats like him? Don’t you mean Andrew?” Kevin laughed and petted his new companion’s head affectionately.

“Andrew? He’ll love him. He might not tell you that though.” They thought about the goalkeeper. Andrew liked animals in general, even though he didn’t talk about it. They liked him too, which lead to those unexpected cute little moments Andrew would straight out deny had ever happened afterwards.

“Yeah, sounds like him.” Caesar was rubbing his head against Kevin’s leg and the striker bent down and humored him by petting him some more, rubbing his ears. “Caesar,” he called, starting to familiarize his dog with his new name. He had never called him Kujo, knowing he wouldn’t keep the name. Caesar looked up at him, waiting for a command. “Caesar, speak.” Authority came naturally to Kevin and the dog would easily accept his leadership. Caesar fidgeted a little, unsure what Kevin wanted of him. “Speak,” Kevin repeated and when the tension got too high Caesar let out a little whine. “Close enough,” Kevin chuckled and petted his companion some more.

“I’ve never seen you so kind while teaching,” Neil teased and Kevin shrugged.

“He’s young,” he made excuses. “He wants to learn and I need to figure out how to teach him right.”

“So there is hope for your future history students after all,” Neil grinned. “They might not hate Mr. Day and his notorious teaching methods.”

“Kids love me,” Kevin frowned.

“Kids love Kevin Day the unbeaten Exy striker. People get fooled by your media acts. You are still an asshole on the court.”

“And look how that turned out for you, Josten.” Now it was Neil’s turn to shrug.

“Yeah, I’m not complaining. I can deal with it. I’m not a kid though.” He crouched down and the husky turned towards him, rightfully expecting more attention and affection. When he got both from the young backliner he nearly pushed him over while jumping up with his front paws onto Neil’s knees and licking his face. Neil laughed and turned his head away.

“Caesar,” Kevin rebuked his dog. “Down.”

“It’s fine,” Neil chuckled while Caesar let himself be pushed back to the ground into a sitting position.

“No, it’s not. He’s going to get bigger.” Kevin gave a short, low whistle. “Down.” And Caesar lay down at his feet. “Good boy.”

Later that night Neil sat on the couch next to Andrew and watched his boyfriend’s digital avatar run through an amazing looking fantasy world. While Andrew entered another dungeon Neil checked his phone. Matt had forwarded him some pictures from Kevin’s Intagram account. ‘True Love’ The striker had commented below, a nasty hit in Thea’s direction. He had uploaded a series of pictures of him playing with Caesar, and the combination of Kevin Day showing affection in the cutest of ways, cuddling a young husky with strikingly beautiful blue eyes in front of the camera made the fans go crazy and the comment section explode. Neil smirked and handed the phone to Andrew who thumbed through the pictures. The goalkeeper scoffed and wrote a comment below the last one where Kevin was playfully biting Caesar while they were both on the young man’s bed. Andrew tossed the phone back into Neil’s lap and resumed his game.

‘Always knew you were gay’ The auburn-haired young man frowned down at his phone. “You know that’s my account.” A smirk tore at the corners of Andrew’s mouth. Already the fans were commenting on his —well Andrew’s post. Even Matt sent him another text.

Matt: omg Neil!

Followed by an emoji that was crying tears of laughter.

“You know, half the time it isn’t even my fault people call me savage.” It was true. Half of the posts on his social media accounts that got the most attention were written by Andrew. The goalkeeper’s own accounts were almost dead because he almost never bothered to post something there.

“And half of it is,” was Andrew’s only reply.

<<<Day 3 Day 5>>>

#have a Kevin #kevin of the day #tfc fanfic #kevin day #andrew minyard #neil josten #aftg #cval madness

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c-valentino · 7 years

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Clipped Wings II

Chapter Two - The Bottom Of Your Glass

“You are a hard man to find.” The line lacked all the style and flare it usually conveyed in books and movies, and Kevin cringed inwardly at his flat and lifeless delivery. Nice, the first words out of his mouth and they already sounded all wrong. What a fuck up. The man in front of him didn’t even look up. Kevin was sure he was just being ignored. There was no way he hadn’t been noticed. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. After more than two months he had finally found Riko and things were already going downhill.

The young man he had been looking for was sitting at a table in one of the darkest corners of a little bar. The only reason Kevin had found him here were his improving social media stalking skills. For weeks he had gone through every post that had Riko’s name in it, every picture of him. An hour ago, someone had finally tagged him and the location of this bar. Never before had Kevin made the trip off campus and downtown as fast as tonight. His eyes had frantically scanned the shady bar. Every empty table, every face that wasn’t Riko’s had made his heart whisper ‘too late’ in a pounding rhythm in his chest. It had skipped a beat when he finally spotted him.

“Hey,” he tried again, softly this time, and sat across the table in front of the young Moriyama. Riko looked awful. There was no sugar-coating it. In front of him sat a sad afterimage of the young man he had faced on the court only months ago. But it was undoubtedly Riko Moriyama. He didn’t need the tattooed number on his cheek to prove it. Then he froze. Someone had cut a diagonal line through the roman numeral, scarring that smooth cheek. It must have been a deep cut. It was still angry red and Kevin was sure that it would never fade completely. Unconsciously the taller striker hissed and touched his own tattoo with his fingertips. “Who did that,” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

The man across the table kept staring fixedly past him. Riko didn’t as much as blink in response. His glass was almost empty, Kevin noticed. Something alcoholic, straight. He reached for it and even that got him no reaction. First he thought it to be vodka, maybe because it had been his personal choice back then, but his nose told him otherwise; gin. The place didn’t even serve it right. In the bottom of the long drink glass it could have been water. Maybe that was the point though; less questions. Still, Kevin found it distasteful to see Riko, of all people, the young man who had been groomed in all matters, drinking room temperature gin from a long drink glass in a shady low class bar in this part of the city. He pushed the glass aside.

“Where have you been?” Vanished, he thought, Riko had vanished for weeks after his supposed suicide attempt. Drug overdose and then— what, exactly? Easthaven, they had said during the interviews with the new, temporary Raven coach. But Riko had never gotten there, and then the news about him had stopped. His brother hadn’t lost a single word about the whole affair; and even Tetsuji, who had retired, would not set foot in front of a microphone or camera. Riko had been lost to the world. Life hadn’t treated him well, it seemed. The young Asian looked beyond tired, pale, and his hair —and probably the rest of him as well— was in need of a nice, hot shower and some soap. It was such a foreign concept to Kevin, seeing Riko like this. He was wearing one of his suits; the same he had announced his retirement in, Kevin noticed.

A waitress came to their table, picking up Riko’s old glass, then looking from the gloomy young man to the newcomer. “What can I get you?” She gave him a nervous smile. Why would she be nervous though? She must have recognized them. His supposed to be arch-rival was sitting at the same table with him, and maybe she thought he was here to pick a fight with Riko. Or maybe it wasn’t Riko’s first time here and his temper had scared her… but no, Riko wouldn’t lose his composure in public in front of strangers. While Kevin was getting distracted by those thoughts and blatantly realized that he hadn’t answered yet, Riko suddenly pushed his chair back noisily, and using the table for balance, got to his feet. Both Kevin and the waitress looked at him, but the young Moriyama didn’t grace them with as much as a good bye or look. He swayed a little, Kevin noticed. Riko is drunk, he realized. It should have been obvious, really.

“Nothing,” he finally answered her. “We were just leaving.” She nodded at him and left them alone. Riko was already on his way out, one gloved hand outstretched and touching the wall every second swaying step. “Geez,” Kevin sighed and followed him. He caught up to him at the door, which he helpfully pushed open for the intoxicated young man in front of him. Outside it smelled pleasantly like rain. The last two weeks had been too warm, too dry, too stifling.

With a sigh, Riko stepped out onto the sidewalk and managed a few straight steps before he needed the support of the wall again, his left foot awkwardly crossing his right in the typical gate of a man who had attempted to drink himself into a stupor. Something told Kevin Riko would regret being seen like this when he was sober again. It had been the same for him the first few times after all, and Riko had always been the more self-conscious one of them both. Unwilling to lose track of the young Moriyama again so soon, Kevin followed him.

“Riko.” He fell instep beside the older man. “Are you mad at me? Then say so. Ignoring me like this…” Alarmed, he watched Riko stumble over his own feet, saw him catching himself at the last moment, before hitting the wall face first. “Fuck, be careful,” Kevin sighed and lowered his outstretched hand that would have been too late to catch the other man. The sudden jolt must have upset the raven-haired man’s stomach though, for Riko bent over, one arm wrapped around his midsection, the other braced against the wall to keep his balance, and started to heave. Kevin grimaced in sympathy and placed both hands from behind on Riko’s shoulders to keep him steady. What hit the floor splattering was only liquid though, and the smell and sound of it dislodged more than a few unpleasant memories in Kevin’s brain. Riko bent lower, nearly toppling over, if it hadn’t been for Kevin’s firm hands holding him. He ruined his shoes and the smell kept him dry-heaving long after nothing but bile had left his mouth.

Kevin pulled him upright again, causing Riko to fall backwards against him. Having an advantage in hight though, the younger striker caught him effortlessly. “Better?” Riko just leaned there for a moment, forcing oxygen in and out of his lungs, his eyelids fluttering and his head swimming with vertigo. “You are not going to pass out, are you?” And then the older man jolted forward again, his arms unable to brace himself this time, his head and shoulder painfully colliding with the wall. He retched again, but there was only saliva pooling in his mouth now, no matter how much his stomach wanted to convince him otherwise by cramping up. “Did you even eat anything?” Kevin asked, tiring of the one-sided conversation and being ignored. “You are not that stupid, are you? Drinking on an empty stomach…”

“黙れ…” It was just an angry wheeze but to Kevin it felt like victory.

“はいはい…” Kevin sighed, but a smile was tugging at the corners of his lips. “陛下.” Riko growled something unintelligible, while Kevin bent down to tug his arm over his shoulder and pulled him upright again. It was a little uncomfortable due to their difference in hight, but Riko would better not complain when it was clear that he couldn’t even walk straight on his own. Looping his free arm around the smaller man, Kevin frowned and looked down at Riko. The raven-haired man’s head hung low and Kevin couldn’t see his face. “You’ve lost weight,” he said. It scared him a little how thin the older man felt below that suit. All Riko answered with was a derisive snort.

<<back next>>

#tfc fanfic #riko moriyama #kevin day #cval madness #aftg fanfic #clipped wings #night&day

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c-valentino · 7 years

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“Fuck Kevin Day...”

to quote whixky:

“Fuck Kevin Day… But also like fuck Kevin Day. — Neil Josten at some point probably”

http://whixky.tumblr.com/post/156983095705/fuck-kevin-day-but-also-like-fuck-kevin-day

If Kevin had been a young female instead of his six feet, all toned muscle and powerful male Exy grace, Neil would have joined in the Foxes custom and bet twenty bucks that the striker was on his period. The bright orange number two flashed angrily in his direction, as the striker had another face-off pissing contest with Dan –the third during this practice.

“There they go again,” Nicky said in a sing-song voice. Matt was jogging across the court to lend moral support to his girlfriend. Neil guessed the man would have liked to add a different kind of support at this point.

“What’s his fucking problem,” Allison grumbled. Kevin’s ‘fucking problem’ was another surge in his superiority complex. It wasn’t the Foxes day to be honest. All of them were a little less energetic than usual –all but Kevin, who seemed to have made it his purpose in life to rub it in their faces just how far below his standards they were right now.

At first it had been Allison, who had first failed to stop Kevin on the court and then aimed a pass way too high. She had ignored half of this comments, and rolled her eyes at the other half. Next came Matt, who also failed to stop Kevin twice in a row, leaving the goal wide open for the striker to take his shot. The only reason Matt had backed down was that he had to admit that he hadn’t tried hard enough. It hadn’t helped that Andrew hadn’t cared at all if he stopped Kevin’s shot or not. The upperclassmen were grumbling that Kevin didn’t show enough backbone to throw one of his hissy-fits at the short goalkeeper. Deep down they all knew that it would have been a lost cause anyway. Dan was trying her best to defend the team against Kevin’s arrogant outrage, but Neil knew she was done with him for today.

“Kevin!”, he called, and the Striker turned towards him, Dan still arguing at his back.

“What?”, he shouted back. Neil gave him an upward nod.

“My turn! You going to argue all day, or are you taking your shot some time during the last fifteen minutes?” He crossed his arms, racquet caught between them and his chest.

“Just wait!”, Kevin told him, turning back to Dan.

“I’ve been waiting all day, Day,” Neil called back and looked over his shoulder at Andrew who still didn’t seem too motivated –even less so now that he had to wait for all those arguments to end. “Kevin!”

“Got dammit, Neil,” Kevin growled at him and finally picked up the ball. “You ready?”

“Since yesterday!” Neil took his racquet in both hands and leaned a bit forward. He would stop the guy, and hopefully that would shut him up. Maybe Dan would call it quits a bit earlier today, and they would all get out of here. If he could take Kevin down a notch, maybe the striker wouldn’t grumble too loudly about it.

Kevin came at him at full speed, and Neil ran to meet him halfway. A backliner like Matt could tackle his opponent to the ground, Neil wasn’t always that lucky. What he lacked in size, he made up for in speed and tenacity. What he hadn’t expected at all was for Kevin to take him down instead. Six feet collided with 5’3 at full speed. Kevin hadn’t even tried to outmaneuver him like Neil had expected him to. He got knocked flat on his back, and his teammates proclaimed their outrage at the sound of Neil crashing down and getting the wind knocked out of him. Even Aaron, who had turned around to watch them, added a little bemused, “Ouch.”

Kevin didn’t even stop to make sure Neil was okay. Taking down Neil had woken Andrew from his passive state, and that was all he had wanted to begin with. Taking shots at an undefended goal was pointless. He aimed at the upper left corner and took his shot. There were cheers from Matt and Dan when Andrew not only caught the ball, but threw it right back at Kevin, forcing the striker to duck or be struck on the helmet.

Neil refused a helping hand offered by Nicky and got back on his feet, grumbling. Kevin didn’t even look at him, eyes fixed on Andrew who stared right back.

As soon as Neil had gotten his breath back he pointed his racquet at Kevin and snarled, “Again!” Fuck Kevin Day, he thought. The striker looked over his shoulder then, jogged back to scoop up the ball and then all the way to the middle.

“Come on, Neil,” Dan cheered at the backliner, and Allison and Renee followed her example. Suddenly, practice didn’t seem so dull anymore.

“You got this, buddy!” Matt added encouragingly.

“Ten on him going down again,” Aaron told Nicky.

“I say he got this this time,” his cousin said, and they both clacked their racquets together to finalize the bet.

This time Neil didn’t wait, but came at Kevin first, dodging the striker’s first shove, then coming at him from behind. He lunged at Kevin, knocking him off balance. The taller man went down on one knee but took it in stride, getting up again, only to have Neil coming at him again from the side this time, hitting his racquet with his own to knock the ball out of the net. Kevin went with it, twisting his racquet and caught the ball even before it hit the ground. They both ran towards the goal where Andrew waited for them, shoving at each other, neither giving an inch, until Kevin used his hight to force Neil down again. The backliner hit the ground in front of Kevin, but his racquet got stuck in between Kevin’s legs, taking the striker down with him.

They both came down hard, Kevin on top of Neil, who cursed colorfully when Kevin’s knees crashed into his hipbone.

“Dammit, get off, Day,” he grunted, and Kevin complied rolling off to the side. Andrew had scooped up the now harmlessly rolling ball, and cleared it all the way across the court. Both men lay panting next to each other, heads turned, grinning like fools because this was actually the most fun they had all day. “Asshole,” Neil laughed.

“You tripped me,” Kevin accused him.

“Jump higher next time,” Neil complained. Meanwhile Nicky and Aaron were bickering at each other, each refusing to pay up because technically, they both had won.

“Alright, guys! That’s it for today!”, Dan called it. “Kevin! Gather the balls and lock up,” she told him, making him clean up the court for being such a pain in the ass earlier. He didn’t say anything. More often times than not he preferred to stay a bit longer anyway, getting a few last drills in while everyone else was already hitting the showers.

“I’ll help you,” Neil told him.

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do. Andrew will complain if you make him wait.”

“He’ll wait,” Kevin waved him off.

“I said he’ll complain.”

“As long as he does it while I’m not around,” Kevin shrugged. And he was right, Andrew wouldn’t care as long as someone was listening. They both got back on their feet, and Neil started to pick up a few balls from the side, making his round to get all the way to the other goal.

Kevin, ignoring him again, picked up another ball with his racquet and made a half-circle, dodging imaginary defense players, performing twists and turns and bounced the ball of the plexiglass wall for passes. Neil stopped beside Andrew who had left the goal on his way out to the door. He put a hand on the goalkeeper’s shoulder to tell him something, but it was wiped from his mind when he saw Kevin dashing towards the empty goal, bouncing the ball off the ground hard enough to make it fly up into the air, before jumping over an imaginary Neil Josten lying on the ground, catching the ball midair and slamming it home. The scoreboard lit up. Neil groaned low in his throat and pushed at Andrew’s shoulder, because that was had been fucking amazing and so hot. Andrew raised an eyebrow at him, as usual unimpressed by those two Exy fanatics, but liking that Neil could get so easily excited by their boyfriend. But also like fuck Kevin Day, Neil thought admiringly, already thinking of tonight.

#andreil #tfc fanfic #kandreil #atfg fanfic #whixky quote #kevin day #neil josten #andrew minyard #the perfect quote #cval madness #exy #because kevin is awesome #5am story

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c-valentino · 7 years

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Lighter Next To Your Coffee Mug XV.I

A/N: This chapter is a little heavier on Andrew's side, including the requested insight into his last encounter with Neil in front of the apartment building. Enjoy the ride.

The lyrics are from one of my favorite songs. Ella Walker's voice is simply beautiful! Go check her out ;)

I’ve spent too long lying, And now I’m trying to hurt you. But you’ve seen me bare, You’ve seen me covered up Maybe I’m not scared What you’re thinking of You’ve seen me here And held me miles away, Underneath my skin Is all you’ll see today.

Wildes - Bare

15.1

He was in every sense undeniably, irrevocably and thoroughly fucked. Andrew took a moment to admit the fact to himself, inhaling it with the smoke of yet another cigarette before watching it drift lazily towards the ceiling. He sat on his sofa, head and upper arms resting on the back, legs comfortably spread, thoughts sharp but skipping through all his options. It was way past midnight. Neil left hours ago, had escaped, had run away –from him, again. He could have kept him here, of course, but he had decided to let him run. It had been a gut decision, and so far it seemed the right choice. Neil wasn’t out of his reach and he had things to consider, new information to process and moves to plan.

‘You got it backwards… Kevin knows me… I can’t let him find me.’ Everything about that had screamed truth at him at that moment. The moment he had mentioned Riko Moriyama he had seen the recognition on Neil’s face, the fear, so much like the way the name made Kevin flinch. Not his, then, not Riko’s. He had been wrong. Who are you? Where have you been? How are you involved? What do you want from me? Questions with no answers. So intriguing.

He could ask Kevin. Simple as that. Dig up a past Neil wanted to bury. The man obviously hadn’t dug deep enough, was still trying to throw more dirt on top. You could see it under his fingernails if you looked closely enough. Maybe he would have to ask Kevin. Andrew didn’t particularly want to though. This was his puzzle. Now that he was reasonably sure that Neil was no threat to Kevin he could take his time with the whole matter and take it apart piece by piece.

These were the facts: Neil’s name wasn’t Neil Josten. He was the same young man they had wanted to meet back in Millport; an Exy player who had gotten the attention of none other than Kevin Day with his undeniable ability to spot raw talent from a mile away. Neil was working as a prostitute and had given up his Exy career. Someone was searching for him.

Things that were almost certain at this point: Neil’s obsession with Exy was real, probably to the same degree as Kevin’s. Kevin had known Neil Josten before they had flown out to Millport but hadn’t recognized the young man. Which made it likely that they had met as kids –which meant Evermore, which would explain why Riko Moriyama had left an impression.

So… a raven fledgling that had fled the nest? How likely was that? The Moriyamas guarded their secrets well; he would need insider information to confirm that idea –Kevin, maybe Moreau.

Andrew accepted it as his working theory for the time being. But that only took care of Neil’s past. He could entertain that thought and bring it to the present: Neil had fled the raven’s nest, but had continued to play Exy during school until they had spotted him at Millport High. He ran away again, from Kevin that time, and quit Exy. For whatever reason, he ended up as a prostitute and was pursuing that trade for over a year now in this city. Roland had introduced Neil to him because they had briefly talked about him looking for a suitable partner to confront his issues with. But that was such a huge fucking coincidence that Andrew couldn’t really wrap his mind around it.

And there was another problem, maybe the biggest of all. Somewhere along the way he had developed feelings for Neil. He needed to accept that and add it to his fact list. Reading the file he had gotten from Allison, noticing the discrepancies in Neil’s past, the lack of information, the secrets, his connection to Millport, and his false assumption that Riko had his hands in the whole matter to get back at Kevin had clouded his judgment. He had felt betrayed, had feared being the instrument of his friend’s downfall, the friend whom he promised to protect. It had turned his feelings for Neil into something twisted and ugly, had made him lash out and attack the man. And now, it turned out, at least part of it had been a misunderstanding. Oh, how he hated that word but here it was. A real, fucking undeniable misunderstanding.

Say it, Minyard, he told himself. You’ve made a mistake. You’ve managed to push away the only guy who got remotely close to you in years.

And why? Because he wouldn’t accept the fact that he could find someone to get close to. That maybe he wasn’t too damaged after all. Neil had been willing; there was no denying it. He wasn’t blind. He had wanted to see it as part of an act though, a scheme. But maybe it wasn’t. And truth be told he didn’t fool himself. He didn’t think of it as true love. But it had been something –on both sides. Exy fanboyism or simple physical attraction –or not? What about the whole asexual thing? Maybe another lie…– But there had been something on Neil’s side. Phone calls, texting, an unexpected visit in the middle of the night… Neil had been reaching out to him. It could have been a trap. Could have. Probability: 40:60 –not good enough. He needed to know. Fucking Neil Josten or whatever his name really was and his obnoxious habit of lying. How could he be interested in a pathological liar of all people?

And now he had ruined it. How beautiful it had been though… Revealing Neil’s true colors, his rage, his violent streak, his simmering temper that could conflagrate in seconds… it had been captivating. Very much like Kevin, there was an entirely different man hidden below a layer of choking fear, and Andrew wanted to see everything part of him. Worth it, he decided, pushing Neil had been worth it. To see that, he could not bring himself to regret it. He couldn’t let him go. Maybe he would not be able to repair the damage that had been done between them, but Andrew needed to see Neil again at least one more time.

Outside the window of his living room the sky shifted colors. The city was about to wake. Time to go.

The streets were pleasantly empty this early. The black car took him once more into that godforsaken neighborhood Neil had chosen to live in. He parked the car across the street and leaned back in his seat. This wouldn’t go down easy; there was no way it would. He needed to decide how to play this. He could admit that he had been wrong –at least partially. Apologies were not his thing. Or he could deflect the blame and turn it back on Neil and make him swallow the guilt. That one would be easier, he thought, but it was also the cowardly way out.

While he was still thinking about it Andrew saw a shadow crossing the street, a fast one. He turned his head and realized it was Neil, but it was already too late. The man raised his racquet and smashed in the window between them. The pieces scattered, raining down on him inside the car, on to the street around Neil’s feet.

“Stay away from me! Or the next time, it will be you I break!” Oh, he was furious and it looked good on him. Neil reached into his pocket and threw the money Andrew had given him back into the car. How amusing. Neil might not know it, but it was the fact that it always came down to money that had reminded Andrew that he was dealing with a hooker when he was with Neil. It hadn’t been a gentle reminder; it had been a warning sign. ‘Yours, as long as you pay for it’ and ‘someone else’s every other night’. He had accepted it most of the time. There had been moments when he had pushed against those boundaries, the times when he had asked Neil to stop seeing other clients. His refusal had always been as much relief as a sore spot. He had chosen a hooker because he couldn’t imagine having a normal relationship. He had asked his hooker to step outside of that role because he wanted more anyway. Not the whole thing, he still would have been paying for Neil after all, but something more. And Neil had hated every single moment he had been reminded of their standings. Hilarious.

“Now fuck off!” He turned around, thinking that his little outrage had scared his pursuer enough. Why he would think that was beyond Andrew. Neil hadn’t even touched him, hadn’t even used that racquet –interesting choice of a weapon really– to hurt him, after he had drawn a knife during their last encounter. Disappointing. Truth be told, he had expected a little more from the man. After all, they were past drawing first blood by now. The rules had changed. But still, he liked that wild fury on Neil’s face. Don’t tell me you are holding back for my sake, he scoffed inwardly. Oh, Neil. Don’t make that mistake. Maybe the guy needed a reminder of whom he was playing with.

Andrew got out of his car, left the door open and reached Neil before the man could vanish back inside. All the guy managed was to turn around and face him, racquet raised to defend himself, eyes widening, ready to fight. Better. Dammit, he would regret losing this one. It would cost him. Andrew grabbed the racquet with both hands and shoved Neil back against the wall, knocked the wind out of him and used his chance to kiss him, hard. He knew better than to expect Neil’s lips yielding to his right now. This was a little too close to crossing the line. Forcing himself onto someone in this way wasn’t his thing. It left a sour taste in his mouth that had nothing to do with the man in front of him. It stung. The heat died, the thrill vanished and Andrew swallowed anger –directed at himself most of all. Neil was beyond furious by now, ready to fight back, and he would have gladly obliged him in any other situation but that ill-advised kiss had hit home. What are you doing?

Realization hit hard and Andrew shut his excitement down, closed the door on it and threw the key away. I’m not going to be like them. He shoved Neil again, harder than he had intended to, saw the pain register on that face he liked to watch more closely than any other. He let go and turned around, took three long steps back to his car, got in, started the engine, and stepped onto the gas until the Maserati roared angrily and sped down the alley.

The day after the whole team flew out to Las Vegas for another big event. The timing was less than ideal, but he had no way of getting out of it this time. One night gambling and celebrating at the casino and then they’d catch the next flight back home the following evening. He hated flying. It wasn’t just his fear of heights; it was the buzzing airports, the never-ending standing in line, the endless security checks. Leaving his knives behind always felt like a mistake. Having people in such close proximity for the better part of the day, maybe even having them patting him down because something –he couldn’t tell what, he had made sure not to carry anything made of metal on his body– had set the scanners off and his eye had twitched in annoyance. The security guy had him marked the moment it had happened. And then rinse and repeat on the way back. A nightmare.

His team had been there, of course, loud and full of energy, excited for the trip. ‘Vegas Baby!’ they had hooted more than once on their way to the airport. Andrew didn’t care about Vegas. Kevin and Allison took turns watching him, pretending otherwise and then pretending not to notice that he had caught on to their little ploy. All in all it had been two needlessly exhausting days. His mind had been preoccupied but there was a good chance no one had noticed. His team was used to his silent treatment, even more so when they were flying somewhere. Kevin might have noticed but hadn’t commented on it. He had been busy with the press most of all.

His duffle bag made it onto his bed, thrown with more force than strictly necessary, a meager outlet for his growing frustration. His apartment felt cold somehow, even though the temperature was regulated constantly. Andrew undressed on his way into the bathroom, his clothes leaving a trail in his wake, and took a shower. He had plans tonight. They couldn’t wait any longer. Neil had his respite and it was about time to remind him that the hunt was coming to an end. Andrew had used the last two days to evaluate the situation again and again. His conclusion: he couldn’t just let the man go. He wanted to solve this puzzle and catch the rabbit. Letting Neil simply vanish again was out of the question.

The water was too hot but he ignored it. At least it dealt with the unpleasant feeling of cold and lingering exhaustion in his limbs. Andrew imagined how Neil had always taken showers before he went out to meet with someone, remembered the smell of the man’s body wash and shampoo, the taste of his clean skin, the feeling of his soft yet unruly hair.

‘It’s just daydreaming. I’m sure you do it too.’ Of course he did. Having a close to perfect memory had its advantages and this was one of them.

‘You have to promise me to delete the file afterwards.’ Sure thing. He had committed it to memory the moment he saw it. Agreeing to Neil’s terms had been easy. His internal replay count was getting worryingly high.

‘What are you really thinking of?’ ‘You.’ Followed by a gasp as Neil had come undone, looking straight into the camera, at him. Andrew’s breath hitched. He leaned his forearm against the cool tiles, supporting his head as he shifted his weight forward, letting the water soak his hair and hit his shoulders.

‘Andrew, I’m so close.’ His moan echoed inside the bathroom with no one but him to hear it. ‘Andrew? Andrew. Andrew! Andrew.’ He let the shiver run down through his body, let the feeling of his knees going weak pass over him and let it all be washed away by the hot spray of the shower, before he turned around and leaned back against the wall, eyes closed.

His plans had gone astray when he had driven by Neil’s apartment twice that night. The place had been dark, leading to the conclusion that Neil was out, possibly with another client. Being not too worried about it, Andrew had decided to kill some time at Eden’s. Maybe asking Roland a few questions would be a good idea. But their conversation took a different turn as Roland looked at him knowingly from behind the bar and greeted him with one of his specials and a disappointed: “I had really hoped it would work out between you two.” There had been no doubt whatsoever who they were talking about, and Andrew switched gears and leaned lazily against the bar.

“Oh?” He feigned disinterest.

“Well, yeah, why wouldn’t I? You think I’d begrudge you any kind of pleasure? You wound me, Andrew.” Andrew just waved him off, not in the mood for theatrics at the moment.

“He’s been here, then?” Facts, that’s what he’d come for.

“Came to say goodbye,” Roland nodded. “You know, I really liked that kid. He was a good customer too.”

“I’m sure,” Andrew agreed. Gone, Neil was gone. “Did he tell you where he went?”

“No. Just told me it was his last night in town and he wouldn’t spend it at home. Thought you might know the details.”

“‘fraid not,” he mumbled into his drink and took a sip. Roland looked disappointed again.

“Sorry to hear that,” the bartender told him, and Andrew had the feeling he meant the whole situation, not just Neil’s sudden goodbye. The older man mixed them two shooters and placed them onto the polished bar between them. “On the house. To the kid, wherever he might be.” The Exy player took one and huffed in wry humor. It was the first of many shots that night and definitely not his last spiked drink either.

Good thing he had left the Maserati at home before he came to Eden’s. Andrew could barely remember talking to the cabby and giving him his address, paying him (he made sure that had happened and wasn’t just some memory from another night… some drugs and him didn’t mix well, and he didn’t need more trouble), and finally stumbling into his dark, empty apartment. The sofa was closer than the bed, so that was where he ended up, asking himself when had been the last time he was so intoxicated that he surely would regret it the next morning. I’m acting like Kevin, he thought and found his morbid sense of humor, starting to laugh. Even in his own ears it sounded wrong. He’s gone. You let him get away. Neil had managed to hide for years. How likely was it to find him again now?

Morning practice was a physical impossibility and for someone like him that meant something. His coach wasn’t amused of course, but Andrew sounded wrecked enough on the phone to make a sick call believable. Maybe Mathews wouldn’t buy it completely, but he would give him the benefit of the doubt. Kevin wouldn’t. He’d show up sooner or later, making accusations, bringing their supposed-to-be unspoken agreement up, wanting to know why Andrew hadn’t come over instead. He would have to dodge Kevin for a little while. His first step was to turn his phone off. That was an easy task again, now that he knew he couldn’t expect unforeseeable calls and texts from Neil. His next step was his search for some painkillers and downing them with two tall glasses of water. What followed were three more hours of much needed sleep.

He woke up hungover afterwards, still on his sofa, still in his disgusting smelling club outfit, groaning and rolling onto his back, one hand covering his eyes. He felt like shit, there was no other way to describe it, through and through, wrecked to the core. In addition to his physical discomforts came the aftermath of overloaded neurotransmitters, which in his case was a little different from a normal functioning brain. You couldn’t get much lower than his continuous state of apathy, but ‘not much’ was still an unpleasant experience.

It took him most of the day to resemble a normally functioning human being again, even though his brain wasn’t quite up to speed yet. What drove him to get into his car and make the trip across town to Neil’s old apartment again, Andrew couldn’t really say. What induced him to actually get out of his car and break into the young man’s apartment however, was purely his notorious Andrew Minyard curiosity. It seldom knew moral standards or limits. It was like an itch inside his skull that he couldn’t scratch any other way. The need to make sure, to maybe look for clues, to see what was left, couldn’t be ignored any longer.

The lock didn’t even pretend to present much of a challenge, reminding Andrew of the almost bare apartment Neil had called his home. With so little of value inside, why bother? If you had to be ready to run at any given moment and give everything up, why bother? The door opened almost silently. The moment he sat foot into the dark apartment, Andrew knew something was off. The place wasn’t empty. That alone he could have excused. Neil could have run, leaving everything behind except of his most important possessions. It would have made sense. What didn’t though were the boxes that greeted Andrew in the dark. Someone, most likely Neil, had made an effort and packed up all of the young man’s belongings. Granted, that couldn’t have taken long. There were only four of them, neatly stacked against the wall. He paused and took it all in.

Andrew had to admit he hadn't seen the attack from behind that swept the feet from under him, tripping him backwards, coming. He hit the floor back first, and felt the air rushing from his lungs. About to roll to the side to get back onto his feet, a racquet above his head made him pause. Getting slow, Minyard, he mocked himself.

“Give me one good reason not to bash your brains out,” Neil growled. There he was, standing behind him, in nothing but his underwear, aiming his Exy racquet at Andrew’s head. The predator was back again, and Andrew felt another shiver running down his spine. Neil’s bare feet had made no sound when snuck up behind him. He probably had heard him tempering with the lock and hid in the dark bathroom with his racquet. Never before had Andrew Minyard been so pleasantly surprised by being attacked from behind.

“I’m not here to fight,” the goalkeeper replied, staying down for now, leaning on one elbow.

“I don’t care. I’m done with you. I should have never agreed to this in the first place.” The man above him was more than a little annoyed by his uninvited guest.

“I want the truth,” Andrew said and slowly sat up, pushing the racquet aside with his shoulder when Neil refused to move it out of the way. He needed to know. It had been all he could think of those last few days.

“Too bad we are not playing anymore.” Too bad, he had to agree. “Now get out,” Neil hissed.

“How can I put this? How about… –No.” Neil had made the mistake not to withdraw his weapon of choice, leaving the racquet in Andrew’s reach. So he used it, grabbed it and pulled himself back onto his feet with its help when Neil wouldn’t let go. The scuffle that followed only showed how outmatched Neil was in close combat against the Exy star. He threw some punches, some of which Andrew blocked, some of which he simply took and ignored. He hit back only twice, and both hits were more precisely aimed and had enough force behind them to make them count. The first was aimed at Neil’s gut, the second at his face, knocking his head sideways, splitting his lower lip. Everything else was just holds and shoves, making clear who had the upper hand in this fight. Neil was a sore loser though. When he couldn’t get his racquet back, he aimed a knee at the goalkeeper’s groin, which Andrew saw coming and blocked, but wasn’t amused by. It was a cheap shot. It did, however, give Neil the opportunity he had needed to get free and back onto his feet. He took three steps backwards and swept a hand at his bleeding lower lip, keeping his eyes on the goalkeeper. But where did he think he was going in just his underwear in the middle of the night?

Andrew stayed where he was. The fight had gotten his blood flowing, but there was no euphoria in his system. He was still suffering the aftermath of the drugs, leaving him feeling strangely hollow and dissatisfied inside. It wasn’t a good mix. It was a dangerous combination for him.

“Just wait,” he sighed. He was tired of this. He wouldn’t get another chance though. Too bad he had imagined their next encounter differently and now had only himself to blame.

“Fuck off!” Neil was breathing hard, feeling all the rage Andrew couldn’t find inside himself right now.

“Ask me,” Andrew told him.

“Shut up!”

“Ask me anything,” he raised his voice to meet Neil’s. It felt strange. He rarely got loud. He didn’t need to. People took him seriously from his presence alone.

“I don’t care!” Neil was so furious by now, he didn't know what he was doing. The old rage was boiling in him, taking him over. Andrew clearly underestimated him. It was a dangerous game for both of them, and the goalkeeper kept pushing him, wouldn’t leave him alone.

His adrenalin was still high. He had been napping after another sleepless night when he had heard someone stopping in front of his apartment door, followed by the sound of someone messing with his lock. It had taken Neil three seconds to jump off the bed, grab his racquet and hide behind the half open bathroom door in the dark, watching Andrew fucking Minyard breaking into his apartment through the gap between the door and wall.

“Liar! I know you do!” Why did he have to show his emotions now? Why? For fuck’s sake, why couldn't Andrew stay the fuck away from him? What was he doing looking at him like that, as if this meant something? Was he that crazy? Now of all times, after it was already too late. It was not fair.

“Why are you doing this?” Neil raged. Tomorrow morning he would have been gone from this city. It had been a mistake to plan this through this time after all. Pack your things, rent a car, arrive somewhere with more than a duffle bag for once… Yeah, right… Because it had only been Minyard who had found out? Only? Because he had thought he could handle the man? Because somewhere below all this crazy bullshit he still cared for this asshole and couldn’t figure out why.

“Because I want you.” There was anger in Andrew’s voice and something else. Pain? Want me? I know you want me, you idiot, you’ve been paying for me. Captain obvious…

“Why me? For fucks sake!” Neil kicked one of the boxes, leaving a hole in its side. Don’t look at me like that.

“Because you are a nightmare I cannot wake up from.” What a line… Back to the theatrics already, Andrew mocked himself.

“What the fuck does that even mean,” Neil asked, incomprehension written all over his face. “Are you serious?”

“I know you don’t get it,” Andrew spat. Because he wouldn’t. How could he? Andrew himself didn't get to terms with it. He wanted this man. There was so precious little in his life he really wanted. It made him so angry, this… obsession with Neil. It went way beyond sex, way beyond his issues. He knew it was already too late for both of them.

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. Who the fuck knows what’s going through your brain.” Well, that stung. It shouldn’t, but it did. And it must have shown on his face because Neil’s expression shifted, and then he said, “Are you in love with me?” and there couldn't have been more disbelief in his tone if he had tried.

“Yes, I am.” There it was. And saying it made him feel like crap, sitting here on the dusty floor. He hated it. Neil blinked and Andrew waited for him to laugh, to be disgusted, to be creeped out. He knew what he looked like; a crazy stalker who came after his prostitute. Who wouldn't be thrilled by that?

“You can’t be serious.” Still disbelieve. Nothing else.

“I’m not the liar here,” he snapped. This was so fucked up. He knew it. This was a disaster. And the worst part was, he had fucked it up. He had known all along what a stupid idea this was.

The young man frowned down at him. “No, you are not,” he admitted. Neil’s anger was slowly subsiding again, leaving something like cool detachment in its wake. “You can’t blame me for not realizing it. You have a strange way of showing it.” He crossed his arms over his chest. Andrew said nothing. What could say? It was true. “Is that why you keep following me? Did Roland tell you I was leaving?”

“He said you were gone.” That man had caused him so much unexpected trouble recently.

“And you had to make sure?” He didn’t answer but Neil nodded. “Something came up. I was going to leave yesterday. I can’t have you following me around, Andrew. It’s dangerous.”

“Who are you running from?” Why wouldn’t he just answer him? It was so annoying.

“Don’t you know?” Confusion again. Neil was so wide open right now, Andrew wondered if he even realized it.

“I wouldn’t have to ask then, would I?”

“You didn’t ask Kevin?” Maybe he should have. It was always better to have all the cards in one’s hands, but it also made for a terribly boring game.

“I’m still not sure he needs to know.” Depending on what they were dealing with here, it could freak Kevin out and that could get ugly. Andrew didn’t particularly feel like playing babysitter for his friend right now. Not more than usual at least. Neil sighed, looked miserable for a moment and leaned back against the wall. He muttered something under his breath Andrew couldn’t quite catch, then raked a hand through his messy hair.

“You say you like me, but you don’t even know me,” he said then, sighing and sounding more exhausted than anything else. Andrew didn’t miss how ‘love’ had turned into ‘like’ all of the sudden. “Same goes for me. I don’t know you at all, and I thought we agreed on that at the beginning. Now, I know things got messy along the way, and yes, part of it was my fault, I won’t deny that. It was. I got carried away. But pulling that surveillance shit on me went too far. I’m not even talking about what happened back at your apartment. That’s just fucked up. This is stalker material and you now it.”

Yes, he did know it, and it didn’t even matter that it hadn’t been him who had sent those men after Neil. He had taken that file as soon as it had been in his reach. Allison would come up with some excuses about celebrities having to watch their backs. It was bullshit. Fact was he didn’t even feel particularly guilty about the whole thing. Not enough to apologize at least. He knew it had been wrong, morally, legally, but his moral standards were pretty much chthonic to begin with. Flexible, one might say giving him too much credit, nonexistent others might say. The truth lay somewhere in-between but clearly in the lower spectrum.

“You like to push my boundaries.” It wasn't a question but Andrew nodded because Neil knew it already. “And you like it when I break my rules for you. You like the advantage it gives you over me.” Power, Neil had wanted to say, Andrew could hear it in his voice, knew exactly what it would sound like.

“Yes,” he admitted flatly. He needed a cigarette.

“Do you know it makes me feel like crap? That it makes me hate myself every time I let you,” Neil muttered. No, he hadn’t known. How could he have? Empathy wasn’t exactly his forte. He had gotten better at guessing other people’s feelings over the years. He still didn't much care for them. “Geez.” Neil raked his fingers through his hair again and then turned his head to look at Andrew. “Have you been raped?” He had known it already, Andrew was sure.

“Yes.” No use denying it, nothing to gain from it. Open cards, Minyard.

“Fuck,” Neil cursed and Andrew could hear that he had hoped to be wrong about that. “When?” When what? When had been the first time? Or the last? Bee would be so proud, he mocked himself. Spilling everything as if someone had cut him open, as if he was bleeding out.

“I was seven.” He felt raw and strangely numb at the same time, his apathy mixing with old memories and those feelings everyone always told him he was missing. Maybe feelings were overrated after all. Or maybe this was still the drugs’ aftermath. “Then again, when I was twenty.”

“Jesus, Andrew,” Neil cursed. If he coughed up any sign of pity now, he might hit him. Andrew didn't know if he would be able to help himself. This was exactly what he hadn't wanted.

“That’s an interesting choice of words,” he said monotonously. He got up, looked at Neil. “Are we done?” He needed to get out of here. It took Neil a moment to find his voice again.

“Yes,” he said, frowning and watching him warily. And Andrew left, without another word.

<<Ch14 Ch15.2>>

#lntycm #tfc fanfic #atfg fanfic #andreil #andrew minyard #kevin day #neil josten #cval madness #angst #violence #hurt/comfort #anxiety

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