Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Wh-what is going on?” Jean asked, voice cracking as he forced his eyes open.

The world around him spun, shapes swimming in and out of focus. His whole body ached with the familiar aftermath of another brutal practice — another punishment. He pushed himself upright in bed, a sharp sting tearing across his abdomen where Riko’s latest blade had kissed his skin. Jean winced but bit down the sound. Pain was expected. Pain was routine.

Standing in the dim light before him was Nathaniel Wesninski. But something about him was wrong. There was something in his face Jean had never seen before.
Fear. Real, bone-deep fear.

"Riko broke Kevin’s hand," Nathaniel whispered, stepping closer. His voice was shattered, frayed at the edges. "I'm going to help him get to the car. He... he can't stay here. Not anymore. He's as good as dead. We all are." Nathaniel’s hands shook violently as he raked his nails down his arms, a nervous habit he'd tried and failed to kill. His eyes darted around the cold stone room, the place they'd all been imprisoned for years under the illusion of training. "Pack your things, Jean," Nathaniel said, voice low and urgent. "We're leaving."

As if summoned by the words, the door creaked open.

Jean froze, blood pounding so loudly in his ears he almost didn’t register the figure standing there. But it wasn’t Riko as Jean feared.

Kevin.

Jean could barely process what he was seeing — Kevin’s left hand was mangled beyond recognition, fingers bent at grotesque angles, blood soaking through the torn fabric of his sleeve. His usually unshakeable face was contorted with agony, his green eyes red and swollen from crying.
Kevin Day had cried.
Jean would have sooner believed the walls bleeding than witnessing that.

Nathaniel spun around, scowling. "I told you to wait by the car. It’s not safe," he said in a flat voice, hiding the tremor underneath.

"I don't want to be there alone," Kevin murmured, voice so fragile it barely carried across the room. Even broken, Kevin’s tone still carried the echo of authority — of someone who expected the world to bend before him.

Nathaniel turned back to Jean, desperation darkening his features. "Grab your stuff."

"Where would we go?" Jean hissed in French, the words cutting sharper than intended. "Where can we run that they wouldn't hunt us down?"

Kevin answered without lifting his gaze. "My father. The Foxes. We can make them sign us." His breath hitched. "We'll make it work."

It was one thing for Kevin to dream.
It was another thing entirely that Nathaniel — reckless, impossible Nathaniel — was taking it seriously.
Jean’s stomach twisted with fury. He hadn't survived four years of Evermore’s cruelty to die chasing after fairy tales.

I am Jean Moreau. I know better than to hope. I know better than to run.

"My place is here," Jean said, the words heavy with finality. "At Evermore. Neil," he added sharply, voice cracking on the nickname only the three of them ever used in private, "tell me you're not actually considering this."

"It’s a chance out. A real one," Neil said, and for a second, Jean saw something frighteningly alive in his partner’s eyes — something bright and foolish; hope.

Le diable never knew when to quit.

Of course Neil would believe it. Neil, who dreamed of blue skies and open roads, of oceans and the wind on his face. Neil, who never knew when to stop hoping. "It’s a good chance," Neil repeated, almost to himself. "Kevin’s injured. They can’t cover it up. The Foxes love a sob story. We are more than good enough for their excuse of a team,” he said with a snort.
Kevin is injured. We are not. They’ll never let us leave. Jean wanted to say it, but he knew it was pointless. He saw it — in Neil’s face, in the trembling, reckless hope radiating off him — that it was already too late.

Neil had made up his mind.
There was nothing Jean could say to pull him back from that cliff.

"I’m not leaving," Jean said, cold and final.

It shattered something in Neil. "What?" he said, like he hadn’t heard right. Like Jean had slapped him across the face.

"I told you!" Kevin barked, voice hoarse, panic seeping in. "I told you he wouldn’t leave! Neil, listen to me. If you stay, they’ll kill you. Your father, Riko, Ichirou — they’ll destroy you."
Kevin's bloodshot gaze snapped to Jean. "Please, Jean. Please come with us. He won’t leave without you. We need you. I need you."

Jean shut his eyes against the desperation in Kevin's voice. Against the crushing weight in his chest.
"I am Jean Moreau," he whispered, forcing the words through a throat tight with something dangerously close to grief. "I will endure. My place is at Evermore."

He heard the soft hitch of breath, the heavy silence that followed.

And then — the door closing with a soft, merciless click.

They left me.

They left me here to rot.

Jean pressed his palms hard against his eyes, willing the tears back into the hollow pit of his stomach.

Running was never an option.

Freedom was not for the likes of him.

Kevin might have been his brother, but he would never understand — not really. Not what it meant to belong to someone else. To be owned.

The door opened again, and Jean's heart lurched painfully in his chest. Neil stood there, trembling, his whole body wound so tight he looked like he might snap. Without a word, he crossed the room and climbed back onto the bunk above Jean’s.

Jean stared at him in stunned silence, guilt pooling inside him like rot.

He had chained Neil here.

He had condemned him too.

Jean opened his mouth — but Neil beat him to it, voice barely a breath.

"Kevin got out," he said. "You were right. Where would we go? It was a stupid idea." He let out a short, bitter laugh that sounded like it hurt. "There’ll be another chance. Someday. It’s fine." They both knew it was a lie. Whether he was lying more to Jean or himself — neither of them could say. "We're partners," Neil said, voice steadier now, like he was stitching himself back together with sheer will. "We leave together or not at all, right?"

"Right," Jean echoed hollowly.

He closed his eyes, sinking back into the suffocating dark, and wished the guilt — the hope — would disappear.


**


Jean Moreau came back to himself in pieces.

The first thing he noticed was that his thoughts were heavier than usual, like dragging stones through mud — a sure sign he wasn’t on the normal dose of ibuprofen Josiah usually slipped him after a round with Riko.

His nose and cheekbones burned like fire under his skin. Jean lifted a hand that felt more like dead weight than flesh to check the damage; when he realized his nose was broken — again — a dull certainty settled in his gut: the next few weeks were going to be nothing but survival.

He and Neil—

The memory hit him like a blade to the ribs. Kengo’s death.

The hollow, unbearable waiting after he sent the text — only softened by the distant, fragile comfort that Neil wasn’t there, summoned to Ichirou the day before.

Then Riko’s hand, a crushing band around his throat, the sick, scrambling terror of trying to claw himself free, the knowledge that he was seconds from dying.

The rules shattered that day under Riko’s hands, no more lines, no more mercy, just violence.

And then — softer, more broken than Jean had ever heard him before — Neil's voice echoing in the ruins of his mind. keep him safe for me.

Neil. Neil. Neil. His mind screamed it.

He fought to open his eyes, already knowing — already fearing — that the injuries he could feel weren't the worst of it. His legs wouldn’t respond. His hands trembled with every heartbeat. None of it mattered, though. Not if he couldn’t figure out where he was, or where Neil was, or how much he'd already lost.

When he finally pried his eyes open, his stomach plummeted.

The room was too bright — a harsh, natural brightness, even with a blanket thrown desperately over the window. It was a far, brutal contrast to the dim hell he'd grown used to surviving in these last five years.

Panic surged like a living thing inside him. Jean tried to sit up fast, too fast.

He regretted it immediately.

Pain exploded through him, paralyzing and sharp enough to black out the edges of his vision.
He bit down on his lip hard enough to taste blood — though he wasn’t even sure if it was from now or from before, when Riko had kicked him like a broken doll until the world went black.

Breathe. Breathe.

He sucked in a breath, then another, fighting the rising wave of terror.

I am Jean Moreau. I will endure. I will endure. I will endure—

"I wouldn’t try that again if I were you," a voice said softly, close to him. "How are you feeling, Jean?"

He forced himself to open his eyes again, his heart pounding in his ears so loudly he could barely hear. Renee. Sitting by his side, too calm, too steady. He barely registered the room — some stranger’s bedroom — because it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Jean didn’t know what madness had made him text Renee, waste the only goodbye he might have given Neil or Kevin. No. Instead, he chose to waste it on a pretty face.

Teach me French, a whisper rose from the depths of his broken mind.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fingers hard against them.
He knew. He knew exactly where he was. He knew exactly how much he had fucked up. The guilt was a monstrous thing inside him, clawing its way through his ribs and stomach and throat until he thought he might choke on it.

He opened his eyes again, voice hoarse and broken."Where am I?"

Renee held his stare without flinching. "South California," she said.

The words meant nothing at first — just static rattling in his ears. He didn’t remember falling. He didn’t remember deciding to leave. All he could see was auburn hair, a crooked smile, ice-blue eyes burning with hope — hope that had no place inside a place like Evermore. 

There were hands on him. Jean flinched instinctively, a sharp jolt of panic, until he realized it was just Renee, gently pushing him back to the bed. He hadn’t even heard her move. All he could hear was the blood pounding in his skull, all he could feel was the hollow ache in his chest where something precious had been ripped away.

We leave together or not at all, right?

The nausea rose too fast to fight.

He turned his head and vomited onto the floor, bile and blood spilling out of him. Renee barely managed to avoid the splash.

Jean’s hands hit the cold floor, supporting himself as his body heaved once, twice. His ribs burned like they were being stabbed, his broken nose throbbed in time with his frantic heartbeat, his legs screamed at him with every tiny movement.

None of it mattered.

Nothing mattered.

Only one thing mattered.

Nathaniel Wesninski was alone in the Nest.
Nathaniel Wesninski was alone with Riko.
Jean Moreau — weak, broken Jean Moreau — had left Nathaniel Wesninski to die.

Keep him safe for me.

"Jean, I need you to let me pull you back to the bed," Renee said, her voice soft but firm.

He turned his head too fast, a violent, dizzy motion, and the black spots returned to dance before his eyes. He didn’t care.
"You left him there," Jean hissed.

Renee froze for half a heartbeat, but then she said, calm and steady, "Jean, you need to lie down."

He let her pull him back to bed because he had nothing left to fight with. But the rage was still there, smoldering, growing, eating him alive.
"You left him there," he said again, voice thick with hatred, "you left him there to die."

"Try to get some sleep, Jean," Renee whispered, something cracking in her voice, something softening. "We’ll talk when you’re stronger."

He wanted to argue. He wanted to scream and tear at the walls and demand they take him back. But sleep was dragging him under like a riptide, and he was too broken to fight it.

Jean closed his eyes and dreamed of blood, of broken things, and of icy blue eyes begging him to come back.

Chapter Text

Kevin Day was a coward. 

He’d heard it from his team, read it in some hard-core Raven fans headlines dressed up as analysis. He felt it in the way reporters angled their questions, like he was a soldier who walked off the battlefield too soon. Like he was a fallen hero.

Or not a hero at all. 

They didn’t understand. They never could.

Cowardice wasn’t walking away from the Raven’s court. It was surviving it. It was waking up the next day and still being able to fight. But nobody saw it that way. He knew what people thought of him — cold, arrogant, spineless. Words he’d grown used to. They didn’t know what it was like to be Riko’s first test subject. Didn’t know what it meant to be reduced to nothing, a doll built for someone else’s game. Or to watch it happen again, to someone else a — boy with fierce eyes and quieter screams — and realize you could do nothing to stop it.

“There’s always a choice,” Neil always told him.

“You think surviving is a choice? It’s not. It’s punishment,” Jean had said, the night Kevin almost lost him and were the source of most of his drinking. 

“You’ll always be number two,” Riko whispered in his thoughts like a curse, soft and invasive.
“Number two doesn’t matter. He holds the line until someone more important arrives.” That voice lingered in the back of Kevin’s mind, even when he was awake.

The world thought bravery was loud. Kevin knew better. Sometimes bravery was just breathing. Sometimes it was leaving. And sometimes—just sometimes—it was shutting the hell up before your voice got someone else hurt. That was a lesson Neil never learned.

Still, the word stuck.

It echoed loudest on nights when Jean didn’t answer his messages. When Neil disappeared off the grid and Kevin was left wondering if this was the moment his spinelessness would cost him. If this was what cowardice looked like, in the end; alone and broken. 

Kevin knew one thing for certain; cowards lived longer than the ones who fought back.

—

Three missed calls. Twelve messages from Neil.
That’s all it took to break Kevin into pieces.


3:54 Missed call from Neil

3:55 Kengo’s dead. Jean’s next
3:56 Kevin.
3:57 ???????

3:58 Missed call from Neil

3:58 Kevin answer the goddamn phone.
4:01 you have to get him out NOW.
4:05 please. i can’t do this alone.
4:06 Kevin, Riko wasn’t invited to the funeral
4:09 My uncle said to stay out of it, he won’t help. you know i can’t
4:10 I can’t do this

4:12 Missed call from Neil

4:15 please
4:20 please
4:21 please

Breathing felt like a cruel joke; his lungs had forgotten how to function. His hands trembled as he picked up the phone, eyes locked on the number flashing on the screen. He knew what would happen when he dialed it.

But it didn’t matter. He pressed the call button anyway.

Disconnected.

The world tilted. He needed something—anything. A drink, a sharp edge, a scream. His body was already screaming, but his mind was distant, detached—like it was standing just outside his skin, watching the wreckage of who he’d become.

If he could stop shaking... if he could just remember how to feel something that wasn’t panic. Remember the walls he’d spent years building for moments like this.

The phone slipped from his hand as if it burned him, landing with an empty thud on the bed.

Was Jean dead? Was Neil gone, too? 

Riko wasn’t invited to the funeral 

Kevin stumbled, his fingers brushing the doorframe as if he could steady himself on something, anything. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to feel this. He needed to be numb. He needed the liquid that would sink him into oblivion. To forget that he was somewhere he would never truly belong miles and miles away from the Nest. He needed to lock it all away, to vanish into the familiar silence and the cold. 

He walked toward the kitchen, chasing the sound of voices without meaning to. The monsters were already there — gathered like nothing in the world had changed. Kevin barely even noticed them through the haze, until Andrew’s voice was in his ears, sharp and almost mocking. "Kevin, Kev. Just in time. We were just about to wake you up."

Kevin’s body didn’t react. His legs kept moving like they were supposed to, but his brain was already halfway gone. Nick’s face, showing a bit of concern, was a distant blur. "You okay? You look like you got hit by a train."

Andrew’s laughter echoed around him. "Well, I guess he knows already. Renee told you?" The words were a blur, too. 

Aaron looked between them. “What is going on? What’s Renee have to do with anything?”

“Kengo—” Kevin began, but his voice died in his throat.

“Ding dong, the king is dead! Now, guess who’s out saving her broken bird from the Nest?”

“Renee went for Jean?” Kevin asked, his words feeling foreign, like someone else was speaking. The disbelief settled deep, and the guilt quickly followed, twisting in his stomach. He hadn’t even thought about getting Jean out. Not once.

And Kevin still let himself call Jean his brother.

“What?” Aaron frowned, “she can’t be serious.”

Kevin’s head spun, the room tilting unnervingly. But through it all, Andrew’s eyes never left him—steady, focused, studying him like some broken thing he was meant to fix. The empty amusement in Andrew’s gaze burned through him, and something darker lingered there. Only later would Kevin recognize it as rage.

“Day,” Andrew’s voice cut through the fog, slow and deliberate. “Got something to share with the class?”

The air felt too thick. Kevin’s chest felt too small for his lungs. His heartbeat pounded in his throat, but he couldn’t catch it. He couldn’t catch anything. You’re number two, Kevin. Riko used to tell him, You’re meant to lose.

Kevin shook his head, his vision fuzzing like he was underwater. “No.”

The cold press of the knife to his neck was something he should’ve expected, something he should’ve anticipated if he wasn’t so far gone, but he wasn’t in his right mind. His body was numb. A fractured mess. Aaron stiffened beside him, hands tightening into fists but staying at his sides and from the corner of his eye he could see Nicky taking a step forward, opening his mouth like he might say something—but then closing it thinking better of it. 

“Kev. Kev. Day.” Andrew’s voice was smooth, dripping with a kind of cold, unshakable confidence. "You know how I feel about lies, right?”

Kevin’s pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out everything else. His eyes flickered to Andrew, nodding numbly as the world around him blurred, voices shouting at Andrew, distant and muffled, fading like they were from another world. Kevin couldn’t hear them, couldn’t even feel his own heartbeat against the deafening silence.

Andrew tilted his head, the blade sinking just a little deeper, drawing a thin line of blood. The sting barely registered as his mind reeled in a haze. “Then why do you lie to me, Kevin?”

“I’m not—” Kevin tried to speak, but his throat clenched with the pressure of the knife, cutting off his words, choking on his own hesitation.

Andrew’s eyes gleamed with something darker, something more dangerous. The smile that tugged at his lips was a predatory thing—sharp and cold. “Let’s try this again. Which birdie told you about Kengo?” His body leaned in closer, and Kevin’s breath hitched, his vision narrowing. But the blade, that sharp edge, was nothing compared to the suffocating weight of Andrew’s gaze. “I’m trying to keep you alive, Kevin. Don’t make it harder for me.”

And then, as the words hung in the air, it hit Kevin with brutal clarity. He’d just given Neil away. Out in the open.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“I can’t—” His voice cracked, his chest tightening with fear, but he couldn’t break the promise. He couldn’t betray the last person who’d trusted him enough to keep their secret. Not even for Andrew. “I made a promise. I won’t break it.”

The laugh that came from Andrew was dark and mocking, a low, cruel sound that seemed to vibrate through Kevin’s bones. It cut through the tension like a blade, and Kevin winced as the knife dug in just a little deeper. “Day, Day Day. Now, you choose to grow a spine?” Andrew chuckled, “You know how much I hate surprises.”

The blade pressed harder, a warning, a threat of far worse things if Kevin didn’t comply. His breath caught, shallow and painful, but it was nothing compared to the storm churning in his gut; the fear, the guilt, the rage.

It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to break. Not now. He clenched his jaw, fighting the tremors that were threatening to take over his hands. He couldn’t let panic win. “I won’t tell you. I won’t—he’s the reason I’m here, Andrew. Just give me a little more time.”

Andrew’s eyes locked onto his, unwavering, unblinking. For a moment, time seemed to stretch, the air thick with tension. But for the first time, Kevin didn’t look away. He stood his ground, every ounce of strength focused on not breaking. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, heavy and unrelenting, but he refused to give in. For once, he would do something right. For once, he wouldn’t let Andrew win.

It must have been that flicker of defiance, that small ember of resolve in Kevin’s gaze, because Andrew seemed to notice it. With a final, mocking push, Andrew slowly eased the knife away from Kevin’s throat. His lips didn’t curve into a smile, but there was something in the way they twitched—a subtle satisfaction, like he’d just won some silent victory.

“I’ll let you keep this for now,” Andrew said, his voice cold, low, like a cruel favor. “A condolences treatment.”

He shoved the knife aside as though it were nothing, the motion casual, almost dismissive—like he hadn’t just held Kevin’s life in his hands.

“Run along with your booze, Kevin,” Andrew continued, the mockery clear in his voice, each word dripping with venom. “I know you’re dying to drown yourself in it.”

—

Renee showed up at their doorstep in the early morning on Sunday. 

Kevin wasn’t surprised to see Andrew trailing behind her. The smile Andrew usually wore was absent, which, in itself, was enough to unsettle Kevin, even if just a bit.

Before he could stop himself, he asked. "How is he?"

They all knew who he was talking about. Renee’s expression turned grim. "He’s not well," she said quietly, "but Abby is doing what she can for him."

Not well. Kevin's stomach turned. Not well was an understatement. He knew what Riko was capable of. He was his father's son in name only—His real goal had never been about anything but validation, to earn recognition from a father who never truly saw him. And now, it was too late for that. Far too late.

"Tell me the master wasn’t invited to the funeral either," Kevin whispered, his voice trembling. If he at least wasn’t invited either-

"He was invited." Renee’s tone was flat, detached, and Kevin could do nothing but stare at her blank face, already knowing where this was going. If Ichirou had skipped Riko, straight to his uncle… 

Jean. Oh, Jean.

"Mr. Andritch let me take Jean away when he saw the state he was in," Renee continued, her words dragging through the silence. Kevin barely registered the name of their campus president. "Jean is unwilling to name names or press charges."

"The petite bird is trying to fly, fly, fly back to the Nest," Andrew said cheerfully, though his voice lacked its usual sharp edge. "Makes you wonder why, don't you? Maybe something to do with that birdie of yours you insist on hiding away from me. Tell me, why is that? Is it because he’s too broken to fly, or is it because you don’t want anyone seeing the mess you’re trying to cover up?"

The words hit Kevin like a punch to the gut.

Renee’s jaw tightened, and she shot Andrew a sharp look before turning back to Kevin. "I need you to convince Jean to transfer."

He can’t, was the first thing Kevin thought. "Jean won’t agree.”

"Perhaps you can talk him into it," she insisted, though there was an edge to her voice. "It could help a lot."

"I won’t do it," Kevin said, his voice low. "He isn’t safe with us. I won’t give him false hope."

"Some hope is better than none at all," she replied.

Kevin wanted to laugh in her face, but the sound died in his throat. He had seen what hope did to Neil—what false hope could do to anyone. He would never wish that on Jean. He clenched his fists at his sides. "You don’t know what you’re talking about. I stayed because of Andrew, not because of some fragile hope. You don’t stay in this world just to hope. You stay because there is something solid enough to keep you from falling apart."

"And I’m done freeing birds out of their cage," Andrew said.

Renee glanced between them, then nodded toward the door. "Andrew, can you wait outside? I need to speak with Kevin. In private."

Andrew raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into that all-too-familiar smirk. "Renee, that’s bold—even for you. Is this about the mystery bird Kevin been hiding from me?"

Renee considered him for a long moment before answering, "Yes."

Andrew’s lips twitched, and for a second, there was a flash of something—amusement or understanding, Kevin wasn’t sure—but he didn’t press further. Instead, he gave Kevin a mock salute. "Keep me updated, would you, Day?" And with that, he turned on his heel, his footsteps echoing as he disappeared down the hall.

Renee stood there, waiting in silence, watching the door until she was sure Andrew was gone. Then, without wasting a moment, she turned to Kevin. "I need you to convince him. The Raven I saw there—number four—can he convince him?"

Kevin’s chest tightened at the mention of Neil. Neil—god, what had he gotten himself into? "You saw him? Was he… was he okay?" His voice cracked, and he hated himself for it, but it was there, raw and vulnerable, impossible to swallow.

Renee met his gaze, her expression unreadable. "He was there when we got to Jean. Checked his pulse. Then he turned around to find Riko and—" she paused, the words hanging in the air like a threat, "delay him. I don’t know what happened after that. I’m sorry."

Neil, you stupid idiot. What the hell were you doing?

"I can try," Kevin said, his voice tight with every word, "but I won’t promise anything. The Ravens—" Neil—"they’re all Jean has." The words slipped out before he could stop them, his mind racing with thoughts of Neil, but he wouldn’t let the rest of it slip—not yet. Not now.

Renee nodded, her eyes softening for just a brief moment before she spoke again. "Thank you," she said, her tone a little gentler now, like she was pulling back the walls she’d built. "And… he told me to tell you to keep Jean safe. And yourself. Your number four." She stopped at the door, then turned back to him, her gaze lingering, knowing but not asking. "I don’t know why you don’t want the others to know about him yet, but I won’t say anything. Not even to Andrew."

With that, she left, closing the door behind her softly, leaving Kevin alone with his thoughts—and a whole new set of fears gnawing at him from the inside out.

Chapter Text

It was black.

Everything was pitch black.

Then—

Drowning.

He was drowning.

No air. No light. Only pressure—suffocating, crushing, endless. It weighed on his chest like stone, dragged him downward as if the earth itself was trying to bury him alive.

Neil—

His limbs wouldn't move. His throat burned, full of water. No sound. No breath. Just—

Broken.

“Jean.”

A voice. Muffled. Distant. Soft.

He blinked—or thought he did. Light bled in through the cracks of his mind .Bright and sudden. Too much. His first instinct was to shield his eyes, but his arms were leaden, useless at his sides. Heavy. Painful.

“Jean.”

Brighter this time. Sharper.

He tried to speak, “Where—when…” he mumbled, but he was already slipping again, the black rushing up to reclaim him like it missed him.

“You’re going to be fine. Tu es en sécurité, rendors-toi*. ” The voice whispered close. He felt a hand—warm, careful—gently brushing his hair back behind his ear.

He let himself fade away.

—

Jean heard a woman’s voice, clinical and focused.

“The wounds are healing, but I need to check his throat…”

But he was already gone. 

—

The next time he opened his eyes, the world was clearer. Still blurred at the edges, still distant like he was seeing it from underwater—but this time, he recognized the shapes. Light. White light. The ceiling above him was sterile and too bright. Not black. His chest clenched. Not black.

His hands scrambled for something solid; sheets, maybe a blanket. Something real. He choked on a breath like it was the first he’d ever taken. The panic was instant, feral. He was not in the cage. He was not under the water. He was not—

“Jean.”

He turned toward the voice, too aware of every muscle that screamed in protest. Kevin’s face hovered close by, pale and tight with sleeplessness.

Jean tried to sit up, slower this time, his body still a battlefield of bruises and torn skin. He closed his eyes and counted under his breath in French—

zéro, un, deux, trois, quatre…

Hoping it might ground him, might slow the spiraling sense that something was wrong.

When he opened them again, Kevin Day was still there. Behind him stood someone else, hesitant, her posture wary. Jean’s eyes met hers, and whatever flicker of emotion had started to rise twisted into something sharp. She flinched when he looked at her, just slightly—but enough. He saw it.

He turned his gaze back to Kevin like she didn’t exist.

“When did I come here?” he asked in French, his voice rough. He tried not to focus on how wrong it sounded. He didn’t ask where he was, he already knew. The Nest was far behind him—too far. And so was Neil.

Kevin hesitated. “A day. You’ve been in and out for a couple of hours. Do you remember that?”

Jean ignored the question. It didn’t matter. “You know she shouldn’t have brought me here, Kevin. Take me back to Evermore.”

It had to be the damage to his head. His mind was foggy. Maybe it was the drugs. But all he could think was: Kevin will fix this. He’ll take him back. Jean will apologize to the Master. If he was lucky, they would only punish him lightly. Maybe he’d be forced to practice until he bled. Maybe Neil would patch him up again, quietly, like always.

Neil always—

“Jean,” Kevin said, quiet but steady, “you’re not going back there.”

Jean blinked.

His brain must be worse off than he thought. He stared like he didn’t understand the language anymore. “I’m thinking I am more hurt than I thought,” he muttered, glancing down. His arms trembled when he tried to move. His ribs screamed. Something in his legs felt wrong—like a fire barely tamped down. “I thought for a second you said no.”

“I did. Jean—”

He cut Kevin off.

Right. It was a nightmare. That had to be it. Kevin Day would never say that. He would understand.

He slid his legs toward the edge of the bed. From the corner of his eye, Renee moved. He tried to test his weight—

And pain exploded. It was like lightning. Acid in his lungs, fire in his gut.

He bit down on a scream.

“Jean,” Renee said, firm now, close, “I’d rather you stayed put.”

He didn’t look at her. Only Kevin. Always Kevin. He sat on the edge of the bed, glaring at him. “You couldn’t have become that stupid in just a year,” he said. “Take me back.”

“No.”

He clutched the edge of the bed, every inch of him shaking. Fine, he’d go alone. He’d been through worse—he knew pain. There was someone waiting in a place full of blood and silence, and he’d be damned if he left him there alone for more than a day. Even if Kevin had already forgotten.

They couldn’t stop him. He told them that.

“I promise, I can,” Renee said gently. “It’s for your own good. You’re in no shape to be moving.”

“Just give me money for a bus,” Jean said through gritted teeth. “I’ll get there on my own.”

“You can’t.” Kevin’s voice dropped. “The campus president banned you from coming back.”

Jean froze. “My—” He looked between them, and something like dread curled slow and acidic in his stomach. “What have you done?”

Renee opened her mouth, but Kevin spoke first. “She made sure you were out. For good, Jean.”

The words echoed like a blow to the gut. He should have felt gratitude. He should have understood how much Renee had risked. She barely knew him. But she’d seen something more than the shattered thing the Nest had created. She’d believed in the possibility of someone else, someone more .

But all Jean could feel at that moment was rage. Blazing, helpless, consuming rage.

Because there were only three people in the world Jean had ever truly loved.

One was across the sea, waiting for him in Marseille.

One was standing in front of him, looking at him with bright green eyes. 

And the last was waiting in a place that knew no mercy. It felt like something vital had been torn from him. Not pain—worse. Emptiness, the kind that echoed in the hollows of his ribs and made the room feel too bright, too loud. Like a limb cut clean, leaving behind a phantom that would never stop aching.

“Get out,” he said. His voice was cold, serrated with hate. “Both of you.”

“Jean—”

“Out!” he roared, the word breaking from him like a blade unsheathed.

They flinched. For a moment, no one moved.

Then Renee took Kevin’s arm and pulled him back. The door clicked shut behind them. Jean sat in the silence they left behind, heart hammering, breath ragged. His nails dug into the mattress.

It was black again.

—

“I am a Raven now and always,” Jean said stiffly, voice dry and hoarse to Coach Wymack who stood nearby, arms crossed tightly over his chest. The team nurse—Abby—hovered beside Jean, trying to examine him with the gentleness of someone who already knew they were tending to something broken.

Jean had been awake for hours now. At some point, someone had left food for him on the bedside tray. He hadn’t touched it.

Kevin and Renee were nowhere to be seen.

“Yeah, kid,” Wymack said with a sigh, “I heard you the first four times.” He glanced at Abby. “How bad is it?”

“He’s got a rasp in his voice,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear before moving her hands carefully toward Jean’s neck, “but it doesn’t seem like it’ll be permanent.” Jean stopped resisting her touch and simply gritted his teeth as she checked his neck, her hands not as soft as she probably thought they were.

Teeth, Jean thought bitterly.

Tastes like whey protein and oat milk.

He dug his nails into his thigh to stop his hands from going to his throat.

“Get away from me,” he muttered.

Abby blinked in surprise and stepped back, her hands falling to her sides.

“I want to go home,” he said, louder now, daring someone to argue.

Wymack did.

“After what they did to you?” the coach asked, brows raised. “You enjoy being a punching bag?”

Jean pressed his lips into a hard line. His jaw ached from clenching. He knew what he was supposed to say. Knew the script. So he said it. “No one did this to me. I was injured in scrimmages.”

They both stared at him like he was a malfunctioning machine spitting nonsense.

“Jean,” Abby said, exasperated, “I’m a nurse. This?” She gestured to the swelling around his throat, the bruising near his jaw, the dried blood behind his ear. “This is not from a scrimmage.”

“Do the Ravens usually scalp each other during drills?” Wymack added it with a dry scoff. “Even with helmets on?”

Jean flinched. Without thinking, his hand went to the back of his head where the skin had been torn and the hair ripped out. The area throbbed beneath his fingers. He bit down on a gasp that threatened to become a scream.

It was like stepping back into the Nest. Fourteen years old. On his knees. Trying not to cry. He lowered his gaze. His fingers curled, and he caught sight of the bite marks still raw on his hands. A wave of nausea hit him hard and fast. He swallowed it down, throat burning.

“You need to eat,” Wymack said, his voice softening just a bit. “You look like you crawled straight out of the cemetery.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Right.” The coach exchanged a glance with Abby. “You done?”

She gave a small nod. “He needs to take his pills. I’ll go get them.” The door clicked shut behind her.

Wymack turned toward him again, quieter now. “I spoke to Coach Moriyama last night.”

Jean didn’t mean to flinch, but he did. If he'd thought what they’d done to him already was punishment, this—this was worse. The Master would be grieving. Which meant he’d be furious. And Jean and Neil, always firsts in line, would pay the price for his anger.

Wymack must’ve taken his silence for curiosity.

“I told him we’d pay for everything,” he said. “Sounds like he’s in hot water with the board after what happened. Honestly? Serves him right.” He stepped closer. “Kevin thinks they’ll let you transfer. Same as he did. Said someone on the inside will confirm it soon.”

Neil.

Jean’s chest went tight. He didn’t think—he just said it: “Take me back. Take me back now.”

Wymack stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

“You don’t get it,” he said finally. “Kevin told us what happened. Not everything, maybe. But enough. Your ‘master’ and that psychopath nephew of his belong behind bars. But the world doesn’t work that way, does it?”

Jean kept his gaze on the floor.

“I know they convinced you Edgar Allan was the only place for you. That without them, you’d be worthless. But that’s a lie. And I swear to you—I will never let you go back. They won’t get another chance to break you. I will burn that place to the ground before I let that happen.”

Jean closed his eyes.

He already knew Kevin had talked. Renee’s messages in January made that clear. But Kevin hadn’t mentioned Neil to the Foxes, Jean realized. That part he had kept. Which meant Kevin had moved on.

Forgotten him. Them.

Just like that.

“You don’t understand,” Jean whispered. “Take me back. I’m not staying.”

“Too bad,” Wymack said. “We know what it might cost us. We’re still not sending you back.”

You don’t know what it’ll cost me, Jean thought. But he didn’t say it.

“Give me my phone.”

“No.” Wymack’s voice was sharp now. Unforgiving. “You’re not leaving. You’re going to stay here, focus on healing. And if I find you out of that bed again, I swear, I will tie you to it myself. Am I clear?”

“Yes,” Jean said, though it didn’t feel like his voice at all.

Just then, Abby came back, holding a bottle of pills. “This’ll help with the pain,” she said, carefully shaking two into her palm.

For the first time since he arrived, Jean obeyed without protest.

He took the pills and swallowed them dry.

—

Jean woke up looking for Zane’s bed.

Instead, he found green eyes and dark hair watching him from the chair across the room.

“I don’t want you here,” Jean rasped, his voice low and cracked. He closed his eyes again, already reaching for the nothingness that had swallowed him whole these last few days. If he just stayed still long enough, maybe sleep would come and take him again. It usually did.

“I think you do,” Kevin Day said quietly.

Jean let out a bitter snort. “Brave and honest. Is that the new Kevin Day? What were you thinking? March in and tell them everything?” He opened his eyes and forced himself to sit up, ignoring the tug of his healing ribs. “What was the plan, Kevin?”

Kevin’s hand hovered, then landed lightly on Jean’s arm, careful and trembling. “I was thinking I’m not going back there. No matter what it costs.”

Jean’s laugh was humorless. “Good for you. You really think it's the same for the rest of us? For Neil?” He shook his head, dark strands falling into his eyes. “A year with the Foxes softened your memory. We’re not people, Kevin. We’re property. I am Jean Moreau. My place is at Evermore.”

Kevin met his gaze. “Not anymore.”

Jean blinked, stunned by the certainty in Kevin’s voice. “You really have lost your mind.”

Kevin didn’t flinch. “Neil called.”

The world stopped. Jean’s breath caught painfully in his throat. He stared at Kevin like the words might unravel if he moved too fast.

“He was summoned by Ichirou,” Kevin said. “With the Master and Riko present. It... didn’t go well. Neil said Ichirou made a decision. He’s letting us go. Said it’d bring too much attention to drag us back now.”

Jean’s heart pounded in his ears. He didn’t want to believe him.

“We’ll pay,” Kevin continued, eyes drifting to his left hand. “Eighty percent of our earnings—now and forever. We’re assets to the main family. It’s not freedom, but it’s the closest thing we’ll ever get.”

Jean looked away. “What about Neil?”

Kevin was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, strained. “Do you remember when Neil first got to the Nest? You hated him—just like you hated me when you arrived. But something changed. After Neil... things shifted. You started to—”

“Don’t,” Jean said, the word sharp as glass. “Don’t rewrite history just because you feel guilty. Look how easily you left him behind.”

Kevin flinched. A real wound. Jean knew he was being cruel.

He didn’t care.

“I won’t agree to this.”

“It’s already done,” Kevin said, voice clipped. “We don’t get a say anymore.”

“You don’t understand,” Jean hissed. “You weren’t in the Nest after you left. You don’t know what it became. You don’t know how much worse it got, Kevin. Far worse.”

Kevin’s voice broke around the edges. “I’m sorry. I am. I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry you think I stopped caring. About you. About Neil. You think it was easy, Jean? You think I just walked away and forgot you?” He took a breath that shook. “Every damn day I wake up and wonder—did you sleep last night? Did Neil say something stupid enough again and got punished for it? Are you still driving around in that car we all loved so much?” His voice cracked. “You made me a promise to live, Jean.”

Jean’s face twisted. “You don’t have the right to hold that over me.”

“But I will,” Kevin said, rising to his feet. “Because I care. Because Neil cares. Fuck, Jean—what do you think Neil will feel if you go back? You think he’ll be relieved? Grateful?”

“It doesn’t matt—”

“It does matter!” Kevin exploded. “That’s the thing you keep refusing to see. Staying in that place, suffering together—it’ll break you. Both of you. And Neil—he’s strong, yeah. He’ll survive. But it’ll tear him in half to lose you.”

His fists were clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles were white.

Jean looked up at him. “Let me guess. He said he was ‘fine’.”

Kevin let out a hollow, broken laugh. “I swear I will die a happy man if I can go just one day without Nathaniel Wesninski telling people he’s ‘fine’.” He met Jean’s eyes. “Choose your team, Jean. This conversation’s over.”

Chapter Text

“I don’t want to leave you here.” Kevin Day had said to him right before getting in the car and driving away to a place Neil couldn’t follow. 

“You are whatever I want you to be, Four.” Riko said over and over again while he cut him open. Nathaniel fought hard not to believe it.

“I miss my sister.” Jean had whispered to him in French on the worst nights, when silence hurt more than words.

“Run. And don’t look back. You hear me?” His mother’s voice. The last thing she said before she was shot.

“Make the Wesninski name proud.” Cold eyes, sharp blades, and the voice that haunted most of his dreams. “Or I’ll remind you what we do to people who forget their place.”

“You’re a valuable asset, Nathaniel.” Ichirou told him at nights Nathaniel wanted to be anywhere but in his own body.

“You’re in too deep,”  his uncle had told him more than once. “Ichirou wants you here. Maybe in a few months—“

“In a few years—“

“When you turn eighteen—“

“When you go pro—“

“When he gets bored of you—“

Run.
Run and don’t look back.

I can’t do this anymore.
I can’t—
I can’t—
I—

“Enough.”

Lord Ichirou’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and cold in Japanese, silencing Riko mid-rant. Nathaniel stood silently beside him. “I’ve heard enough,” the lord said coldly. He turned to the master. “You told me what happened with Kevin Day was a one-time failure. Now the same thing happens with number three?”

“My lord—”

The slam of Ichirou’s whiskey glass on the table cut the master off immediately.

“My father gave you freedom. We gave you every resource you asked for.” He looked at both Riko and Nathaniel, his mouth curling in something that could’ve passed as amusement if it weren’t so sharp. Switching to English he said, “and then there were two.”

Riko tried to defend himself. “It’s not my fault number two’s a traitor and number three is an attention seeker—” Neil bit the inside of his cheek so hard he thought it might bleed. The same words Riko used after Jean’s suicide attempt. ‘Pathetic play for fan sympathy.’

Ichirou’s glare was enough to shut Riko up. “This attitude of yours is the reason we’ve lost two assets. Valuable. Profitable. Assets.”

He turned to the master. “My father is dead. I run the Moriyama empire now. Do you think I have time—or the patience—to deal with these childish things?”

The master bowed low. “No, my lord.”

“Put a leash on my brother,” Ichirou growled as if Riko wasn’t in the room, “or I’ll remove him myself. No more broken tools. No more assets slipping away like this is some common American daycare. I should’ve acted when Day got injured. I didn’t have the authority then. I do now.” He turned to Riko and spoke each word like a knife, “I do not care about your childish urges. Play with them all you want, but break another toy, and I will put a bullet in your head.”

“Brother—”

Snap.

A guard stepped forward without hesitation and slammed a kick into Riko’s gut. Not lethal — but painful enough to silence him. Neil barely held back a smile.

Ichirou took two calm steps forward, stopping above where Riko was coughing on the floor.

“Don’t mistake blood for immunity,” he said, voice like steel. “When I say bark—you bark. When I say don’t break my things—you don’t break my things. Understood?”

Riko rose slowly, face twisted with fury. “Yes, my lord.”

For a brief moment, Neil thought this might be the longest he had ever stood near Riko without wishing he’d never been born.

Of course, luck was never on his side.

“Nathaniel,” Ichirou turned to him now, and something sharp danced behind his eyes. Something Neil hadn’t seen since his earliest days in the Nest. “You helped Jean escape.”

I only stalled Riko, he wanted to say. But he didn’t. He already knew that was the same thing as helping. So instead, he bowed his head. “I did. I saw the condition he was in. He was hurt in a way that could threaten his value. I only acted in the interest of the business, my lord.”

Ichirou smiled. A cruel, twisted smile that didn’t belong on a face that beautiful. “Ah, Nathaniel,” He raised his hand, gripping Neil’s chin hard enough to bruise. “Such a pretty face. Such ugly lies. That mouth of yours is going to get you killed someday. Maybe I ought to cut out that tongue before it does.”

Neil stared him down, jaw clenched. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Riko smirking in smug satisfaction.

“You will be punished for aiding your partner,” Ichirou said.

Years in the Nest had taught him when not to argue. “I understand, my lord.”

Ichirou released his chin with a brush of fingers, then turned to pour himself another drink.

“Whore,” Riko hissed under his breath.

Neil bit down again. Hard.

Ichirou took a slow sip of his whiskey, eyes fixed on the fire crackling in the hearth. “Can we retrieve him?” he asked, voice calm, almost lazy. “Number three.”

No one answered right away.

Then the master shifted his weight, clearing his throat. “Not easily. It happened on campus. There are too many people who know this by now—administrators, presidents, even some of the board members. Faking an accident won’t be believable. Not this time.”

Ichirou hummed, swirling the glass in his hand. “So he’s gone.”

The master didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The fire popped. Somewhere behind them, a door clicked shut but all Neil could focus on was Jean.

Gone.

Escaped.

Free.

His brother was finally free, so why, instead of being happy, did it feel like his own stomach was collapsing in on itself?

Ichirou set his glass down and turned to Nathaniel. His stare was cold—flat in a way that made Neil feel like less than a person, like something that had moved wrong on a game board. A piece out of place. “There is no more buying out of this, Nathaniel,” he said, voice low but cutting, each word measured. “Jean and Kevin will give me eighty percent. A loss, yes, but manageable. That’s a shame, truly. We could’ve gotten more out of them.” He took a slow step forward, hands clasped behind his back like he was delivering a lesson. “You will have no contact with anyone outside the Nest. No friends. No distractions. No alliances. If it becomes necessary, not even Kevin or Jean. They’re a courtesy I allow you—for now. If they prove to be too disruptive, that will change.”

Neil’s breath caught in his throat.

Ichirou’s expression didn’t shift. “You are not leaving, even if your legs break, even if you never touch a racquet again. You belong to the Nest. You should’ve figured that out by now."

Neil didn’t flinch, but something twisted deep in his gut.

Of course he knew.

He’d always known. Every breath he took here was on borrowed time.

His ribs still throbbed from the night Jean slipped through their fingers. Two days had passed, and they hadn’t bothered with real medical care— just enough to patch him up, keep him on his feet, keep him useful . The bruises were turning a sickly yellow now, but every inhale still tore along the bone like glass.

Ichirou’s gaze dipped briefly, a flicker of recognition in his eyes—but no concern.

“I heard you were limping this morning,” he said with vague disinterest. “You’ll walk it off. If not… well, we’ll find another use for you. Maybe we start with media appearances. Publicity. You’ve always photographed well.”

Neil wanted to scream. He wanted to claw Ichirou’s eyes out, wanted to shatter the calm etched into his face. He wanted to break every bone in Riko’s body, grind them to dust, until there was nothing left but silence where that name used to be. The fury burned so hot it left him trembling, teeth clenched, fists curled so tight his nails cut into his palms. But he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Rage like this was dangerous—not because of what it made him want to do, but because of what it would cost if he gave in.

You're fine, he reminded himself. 

Ichirou tilted his head slightly, the gesture almost amused. “It’s a pity. You’re just smart enough to be dangerous… and just pretty enough to be worth the trouble.”

Behind him, Riko scoffed under his breath. “Slut’s been good at playing dress-up for years.”

Neil didn’t look at him. Ichirou didn’t either. “Riko,” Ichirou said sharply. “Out.”

Riko hesitated, looking like he wanted to stay and see how things played out, but the command in his brother’s voice left no room for negotiation. He left without another word. Once the door shut behind him, Ichirou turned back to Neil. “You chose loyalty to a boy who didn’t matter,” he said softly. He does matter, Neil thought in his head, he matters more than anything in this world. “But that’s fine. I can work with loyalty. It’s much easier to control than ambition.”

He stepped even closer, so close Neil could smell the whiskey on his breath.“Let me be clear, Nathaniel. You are not here because of your skills. Not anymore. You’re here because you’re mine. Body and bones. I own you; the sooner you remember that, the easier this will be.” Ichirou said, brushing his fingers over Neil’s cheek.

Neil didn’t blink. Didn’t speak. He just stared into the fire and kept his hands still at his sides.

You’re fine. You are still here, he told himself. Still breathing.

But it was getting harder to remember why.

—

He didn’t know why it hurt more this time.

Riko was vicious that night—but he was always like that when he was truly mad. It shouldn’t have felt any different from the last time he was waterboarded. It was the same ache, the same burn in his lungs, screaming for air, begging for the chance to breathe . The same choking panic, the same weight dragging him under. Like he was drowning. Like the surface was just out of reach— always just out of reach —and his lungs were seconds from giving out.

But he was used to that.

He was used to Riko leaving him like that—wide-eyed, shaking, pressed against the wall, still trying to convince his body that he could finally breathe. What he hated most was going back to the room after. He hated that it was their room now—his and Riko’s. Not Jean’s and his, like it had been before Kevin ran. But that didn’t matter, did it? Because no matter where they were, no matter what the lists said, Jean was still his partner. His brother.

So what if, sometimes, when his brain lagged behind the moment, he still glanced to his left out of habit—looking for safety—and found a sadistic smile waiting for him instead?
He sat on the cold floor of the showers, palms pressed to his knees, body trembling too slightly to see, but too violently to ignore. The silence was suffocating. Worse than the water. Worse than the pain. Because in silence, there were memories. And Neil couldn’t outrun those.

He could still hear the sound of the bucket being dragged across the tile. The sharp inhale before the first pour. Being chained to the wall. The way Riko always took his time—never angry at first, just methodical, like a scientist testing how long it took a body to break.

Neil had counted tiles again. It helped. A little. But when the water stopped and Riko left, the quiet was always the worst part. Because then it was his voice, taking the form of those who wanted to break him, whispering in Neil’s head.

You’re my greatest disappointment, junior.

Did you know? In Japanese, “four" sounds a lot like death. How fitting.

And then his own, quieter, crueler;

You don’t get to want things.

His fingers curled into fists, nails carving to the skin of his palms—something sharp, something real, something to hold onto-

He didn’t know how he got there. One minute he was on the cold floor, and the next—he was standing in the doorway of his old room, staring at the bed across from Zane’s.

Jean’s bed.

It was still perfectly made. Still untouched. Still his.

The sheets were taut, corners tucked with military precision, not a wrinkle out of place. Neil sat on the edge like the smallest shift might ruin it, like Jean might come back and notice. He leaned forward slowly, elbows on his knees. The scent was faint now—clean soap, something bitter and minty underneath—but it was still there if he breathed in deep enough.

Still Jean.

Barely.

Already fading.

It should have been a comfort.

It wasn’t.

It felt like standing in a burned house, pretending the foundation hadn’t already turned to ash. He was thankful Zane wasn’t there to see him fall apart.

Jean was gone. Kevin, too.

And Neil—Neil was still here. Still surviving. Still pretending that meant something. A week ago, he’d told himself he could take it. A week ago, he’d smiled like none of it mattered.

But tonight—

Tonight, his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

—

“You miss Johnny already, Nate?” Grayson said as he was slamming Neil into the wall in the middle of practice. He said it loud, making sure the others heard. The ridiculous nickname— Johnny —sounded wrong in his mouth. It belonged to Zane. No one else. “I know I do, umm,” Grayson added with a mock moan, rocking his hips against Neil’s in a disgusting rhythm.
Neil didn’t hesitate. His fist collided with Grayson’s face with enough force to send him stumbling backward.

Blood poured from Grayson’s nose, but instead of anger, a wide, twisted grin spread across his face. “You’re all alone now, Four ,” he said, voice dripping with satisfaction. “Won’t be long before Riko realizes I’m more than just another player. Just wait till he gives me Jean’s number. Then it’s me and you, huh? Roommates. Partners. Think of all the fun we’ll have together.”

Neil felt panic rise like bile in his throat. His stomach twisted, the thought of Grayson getting any closer to the place Jean once slept in made a shiver crawl down his spine—but he forced it down and slipped on the mask.

His father’s smile.

“Oh, Grayson…” he said, voice low and sharp as glass. “You’ve been crawling after a number for what— three years now?” Grayson’s smile faltered just a little. He tilted his head slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for Grayson. “I got mine the day I walked in.”

That hit. Neil saw it land—hard. The flicker in Grayson’s eyes, the briefest hesitation in his breath.

Neil leaned in just a fraction more, making sure only Grayson could hear the next line. “If Riko liked whining, you’d have Jean’s number already. If you were half as good as Jean, you’d be on Perfect Court by now.” Then, louder—so everyone could hear, “But sure,” Neil said with a shrug, like it meant nothing. “Keep begging. Maybe if you cry hard enough, Riko’ll let you wear Jean’s old jersey and sleep on the floor.”

The other players were watching now. A few snorted. Someone let out a low whistle.

Grayson took a step forward, but Neil didn’t flinch. “Go ahead,” he said, voice still light. “Try to hit me again. Maybe this time you’ll actually land one.”

“Enough.” The Master’s voice cracked through the court like a whip, cutting the air clean in half. The room froze. “Four,” he said, voice sharp and cold, “you’re already on thin ice. Keep that mouth of yours shut, or I’ll have you running laps until you collapse. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Master,” Neil replied, steady.

He didn’t get the punishment Ichirou had promised—not yet. But Neil had no illusions. They hadn’t forgotten. They were just waiting for the perfect moment to deliver it. To break him.
He did, however, catch wind of what Riko’s punishment was going to be. And oh, the thought of it... it almost made all the messed-up things he’d had to endure to sweeten Riko’s punishment worth it.

“Back in line. Both of you.”

“Yes, Master,” they said in sync.

Grayson hesitated, seething with rage. Blood still dripped from his nose as he turned, snarling under his breath. “You think you’re untouchable, don’t you, Four? Just wait. Riko’s going to see what a joke you are soon enough.”

Only once Grayson was gone did the smile fade from Neil’s face.

Let them think he was untouchable.

Let them wonder what it would take to break him.

Let them try.

He had nothing to lose.

Not anymore. 

******

Bonus: While writing this chapter, I was reminded of an old pens sketch I did a couple of years ago
Hope you'll like it! 

Chapter Text

When Jean closed his eyes, he usually dreamed of the Nest.

There were good days—fragile, fleeting dreams—memories, really— that didn’t leave him shaking. On those nights, he dreamed of a boy standing where Jean couldn’t, of someone daring to speak when silence had always been safer. He dreamed of Kevin sneaking into their room on Neil’s sixteenth birthday, juggling mismatched candles he’d picked up from roadside gift shops while traveling with Riko. Jean remembered the way Kevin handed Neil a cheap wallet, the kind you'd never expect to matter. They all knew Neil had no real money to put in it—but that wasn’t the point. It was about making him feel like he had something, like he deserved to have something of his own. Something more than just what was taken or given under threat.

He dreamed of Kevin saying, quieter than Jean had ever heard him, “Happy birthday, Neil,” before pulling him into a rare, crushing hug.

Jean remembered the quiet nights, too. The ones when Kevin stayed with him after the panic attacks, when his lungs wouldn't work and the walls felt too close and Neil was locked away in the tower. Kevin’s hands had been firm, but careful. His voice, steady. Reassurance came in small touches and smaller words. Jean used to think he couldn’t be reached, but Kevin tried anyway.

But then there were the other dreams. The ones that clawed their way in when the world was too quiet.

The bad days.

The days before Neil arrived, when Kevin and Jean were something unrecognizable. When the only bond they shared was survival. Jean dreamed of cold floors and colder faces, of Kevin looking anywhere but at him while Riko tore him apart in the name of discipline, of loyalty, of control. Kevin talking about Exy like it was holy while Jean bled into the silence.

He remembered a beautiful boy once asking him to teach him French—and then choosing someone else when it mattered. A sharp, subtle betrayal that didn’t bleed but still left a scar.

Sometimes there were hands. Too many. Coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. They pulled and pushed and broke. They followed him into waking life.

And sometimes—rarely, heartbreakingly—he dreamed of something even worse: gentleness.

He dreamed of smaller hands held in his own, trembling, warm. A girl’s quiet sobs muffled into his chest. Bright grey eyes that looked at him like he was the whole world, hanging on to every word he read aloud. Eyes that hadn’t yet learned fear. Love that hadn’t yet been twisted.

He tried hardest to forget those dreams.

Because they reminded him of who he used to be.

And who he never got to stay.

—-

If there was one team unworthy of being on an Exy court, it was the Bearcats.

Jean had played them last fall with the Ravens. The Master had made them study every team they faced—relentlessly, obsessively. They had to be prepared. Perfect.

Failure was not an option.

After facing the Bearcats himself, Jean knew: they were a disgrace to the sport. That fact became even clearer when they lost to the Foxes. But tonight, somehow, they had a stacked lineup.

They were going to eat the Foxes alive.

It was barely a game worth watching, but Jean was bored out of his mind, alone in his room. Neil had texted him earlier, promising he might call later. Other than that, Jean hadn't found anything remotely interesting in days.

So he watched. And he focused on Andrew Minyard. Watched him defend the goal again and again, giving his pathetic team a chance to win.

It was Kevin who noticed Andrew first. Kevin had wanted to make him number five. They all knew the Perfect Court needed a goalkeeper—and from the moment Kevin laid eyes on Andrew, he became obsessed with the idea.

Neil had agreed quickly. Jean had frowned at that.

Kevin was too blinded by his love for Exy to see what bringing Andrew to the Perfect Court would mean. It would be like caging him. But Neil wasn’t like Kevin. Neil would never let someone suffer as they had. Kevin had begged Riko, convincing him to go south for a meeting. Jean didn’t know what happened during that trip, only that Kevin returned in a foul mood. Riko laughed about it at first, saying they didn’t need a fifth player.

Then Neil got Ichirou interested. Interested enough that Riko suddenly changed his mind.

Jean didn’t understand either of them. Didn’t understand why Kevin tracked the Foxes’ games with such bitter anger. Didn’t understand why Neil was so desperate to complete the Court. Still, the Nest began buzzing with rumors about the new number.

It didn’t take long before the media caught wind of it. Suddenly, the whole world knew.

It was only when Zane came to him—offering protection from Grayson in exchange for Jean helping him become number five—that Jean realized what Neil had done.

“I wasn’t there when you were sixteen, Jean,” Neil had said quietly. “But I’ve been here for the last five times he hurt you. I’m not letting Grayson touch you again. Even if it means we’re no longer partners.”

At the time, Jean didn’t have a partner. He’d been separated from Neil after Kevin ran away. It was supposed to be a temporary punishment. After Zane’s offer, it meant Neil was stuck with Riko—for good. Because of Jean.

Jean turned back to the screen. Even with Andrew, the Foxes were losing. He nearly shut the game off at halftime, but stopped himself. He should try to analyze it, at the very least. Renee took her place on the backline, and Jean did his best not to stare.

Twenty minutes into the second half, the Foxes were still holding their ground.

Fifteen minutes before the end, they changed the score in their favor.

6–5.

Then, ten minutes later—7–5.

"I’m dreaming," Jean muttered to the empty room. Because really—in what sane world did the Foxes beat the Bearcats and were now headed to the championships against the Big Three?

USC. Evermore. The Foxes.

What was even real anymore?

He blinked and found himself watching Kevin Day, a microphone in his face, being interviewed post-game.

“Their season was nearly flawless,” Kevin said, speaking of USC. “There’s a lot we can learn from them. Their leadership is strong.”

“Still their biggest fan, I see,” the reporter teased. “What about Edgar Allan? Everyone’s excited to see the Perfect Court face off.”

“I’m not a Raven anymore,” Kevin replied, looking straight into the camera. It almost felt like he was saying it to Jean. “I’m grateful for my time with the Ravens, but I’ve moved on. I’m a Fox now—with a team I consider family. And with my father.”

“Your father?” the reporter asked, surprised.

“Coach Wymack is my father,” Kevin said simply. “I’m where I’m supposed to be.” He looked like he might say more, but stopped himself. “I’ll be going now. Thank you.” He pulled out his phone and walked off, as the reports ran after him, trying to get him to answer their questions. 

Jean considered it. All in all, it wasn’t as bad an interview as he’d expected. He’d been bracing for traps—questions that felt like blades, silence heavy with judgment. But it hadn’t come. The reporter had been polite, restrained, almost too careful. The questions stayed above water. No one said Riko’s name. 

His phone buzzed.

They’d let him keep it now—after Kevin had spent a solid hour wiping it clean. Every Raven contact erased. Blocked. Deleted. Kevin had handed it back with a look like he was giving Jean a loaded weapon.

“Only me and Neil,” he’d said. “And don’t make me regret it.”

Jean hadn’t replied. Just nodded.

He looked down at the screen. A message from Kevin.

23:50 p.m.
I was going to tell them I’ve never been skiing.

23:50 p.m.
I couldn’t do that to Neil.

Jean stared at the message and read it again.

And again, and again, and again.

—

The Foxes came to visit him in the morning.

Up until then, they’d kept their distance. He’d only seen Kevin, Andrew, and Renee—and that had been absolutely fine by him.

Apparently, the Foxes didn’t feel the same.

Jean knew every single one of them. Every stat. Every dirty secret. Every weakness. Riko had made sure of it. Back when Kevin left, Riko’s obsession with the Foxes had gone from passive disdain to a full-blown fixation, and Jean and Neil had been forced to memorize files on them like they were preparing for war.

He looked at them now.

On the far left, standing just slightly apart from the rest, was Aaron Minyard. Backliner. 5'0". Cold stare. The spitting image of Andrew, which was more than Jean could say about his cousin, Nicky Hemmick—Backliner, 5'11", dark skin, dark hair, built like someone who smiled too often and took too little seriously.

Jean’s gaze drifted quickly down the line.

Dan Wilds—offensive dealer, captain, 5'4", sharp eyes and sharper instincts.

Matt Boyd—backliner, 6'4", tank of a man, known soft spot for Dan.

Allison Reynolds—defensive dealer, 5'4", blunt and unapologetic.

Seth Gordon—defensive dealer, 6'2", temperamental.

Janie Smalls—striker, 5'4", quiet but fast.

“So, Jean,” said the blonde—Allison. Her tone was sugar, but her eyes were scalpel-sharp. “We hear you and Kevin are spending a lot of time together.”

Jean frowned.

“Allison,” Dan murmured beside her, a warning in her tone. She turned to Jean with something gentler. “We wanted to check in. How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Jean replied, clipped.

They stared at him, like they were waiting for more. He said nothing.

“We heard you’re thinking about switching teams,” Matt said, trying to sound casual.

“Yes.”

Silence.

“That’s it?” Nicky asked.

Jean’s eyes didn’t move. “Do you need more?”

From the corner, Aaron muttered, “This is a fucking waste of time. Kevin’s dating Thea. You all know that. This is dumb.”

But Allison didn’t blink. “Then why do you and Kevin spend so much time together, hmm?”

Nicky folded his arms. “We’ve had him for one year and he’s driving us crazy. You’ve had him for how long? And you still talk to him willingly ?”

No one stepped in to defend Kevin.

Jean looked at them for a beat. “I don’t mind him.”

“That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about Kevin,” Matt joked.

Allison leaned forward slightly, eyes glinting. “So you’re saying it’s not romantic?”

Jean blinked at her.

“We’re trying to figure out if you two are dating,” she went on. “There’s a pool going. Honestly, it’s the hottest bet we’ve had in months.”

Jean stared, expression unreadable. “What?”

His tone was pure disbelief.

Seth snorted. “See? Even he’s grossed out by your faggot drama.”

The word hit the air like a slap.

Nicky flinched, actually flinched. Dan’s head snapped toward Seth like she’d misheard him. Janie looked down.

“Apologize,” Dan said, voice low and hard.

Seth shrugged. “Whatever.”

“No,” Matt said, stepping forward. “Try again. We are all sick of it, Seth.”

Seth rolled his eyes but said nothing. Dan’s jaw was tight as she turned back to Jean.

“We came to talk. To welcome you,” she said. Her voice was strained now, honest.

“We even convinced the monsters to come,” Allison added dryly, gesturing at Aaron and Nicky.

Jean frowned. They didn’t look like monsters. Not like the ones back at the Nest.

“This isn’t how we wanted it to go,” Matt said, quieter. “Kevin said you might be looking for a new team. If that’s true—we wanted you to know the offer’s real. No strings.”

“You want me to join your pathetic team?” Jean asked.

That landed. Dan’s shoulders stiffened. Matt’s face shifted. Seth snorted. “Now I get it. You and Day, both walking egos. All the Ravens think they’re gods.”

Jean didn’t look at him. “The Ravens are number one. That’s all that matters.”

“What about the game?” Matt asked. “The fun?”

Jean didn’t blink. “Fun is a child’s dream. Exy isn’t about fun. It’s about winning.” Before anyone could argue, he added, “and nothing is going on between Kevin and me. I consider him my brother.”

Seth sneered. “I hope you’re a better brother than the psycho one.”

Jean bristled—rage sparked—but then it dimmed. He realized Seth didn’t mean Neil.

He meant Riko.

“Brother?” Nicky piped up, quick to shift the tone. “That’s great! That means you’ll stay, right?”

“I’m not joining the Foxes.”

“Why not?” Dan asked, genuinely confused.

Because you’re exhausting. He didn’t say that. Instead he said, “I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

Matt shifted beside her. “That’s what Day said when we asked him,” he muttered, like it meant something more.

Jean’s gaze sharpened. “Is Kevin in on this?” His voice was flat—careful.

Dan hesitated, then shook her head. “He didn’t tell us to come. But he wouldn’t have stopped us either.”

Jean exhaled, slow and worn thin. “You’re wasting your time.”

“Maybe,” Matt said, shrugging. “We’re used to long shots.”

“We’re the Foxes,” Nicky added with a tired grin. “Long shots are kind of our thing.”

Jean didn’t look at them when he said, “I need air.”

Dan nodded and turned to the others. “Come on.” One by one, the Foxes moved. Aaron first—wordless, arms crossed, unreadable. Then Nicky, still watching Jean like he was trying to figure something out. Matt followed, shoulders tight, and the door clicked shut behind them.

Jean stood in the quiet, surrounded by the Foxes’ voices still echoing faintly in the walls.

He would never be one of them. He knew that for sure. 

Not even if he played in their colors.

Not even if Kevin asked him to.

And that—

that was fine.

—

Jean stared up at the ceiling of his room, one arm flung over his eyes to block out the cursed orange curtains. He didn’t need to see them to know they were still there—loud, crooked, and offensive.

“I do not know how much longer I can stay in this hideous room,” he said viciously in French, not bothering to temper the venom in his voice.

There was a beat before Neil answered. His voice was rougher than usual—tight around the edges. “Still using the room’s curtain as a reason to leave the country?”

Jean’s mouth twitched. “It offends me,” he said. “ Orange . The color is an assault. And the curtains have no symmetry.”

A breath of laughter filtered through the speaker—shallow, stifled. Painful. Jean heard it. He heard everything in the way Neil spoke: the wince behind his breath, the lag in his timing, the quiet, calculated way he leaned away from the mic.

He didn’t mention it.

“Should I mail you a paint catalog?” Neil asked. “We’ve got black, black, black and… oh! Black.”

“Only if you include a passport and a hammer,” Jean replied.

Silence followed. Not long, but long enough to make Jean shift, rolling onto his side. Neil hadn’t hung up. He was still there. Just quiet.

Jean let the silence stretch before filling it again. “The Foxes have been getting on my nerves.”

He could almost hear Neil’s eyebrow go up. “How so?”

Jean sighed. “They asked me to consider joining the team again. Nicky cornered me with this ridiculous ‘we’re all one big family’ speech. It was unbearable.”

A pause, and then Neil, lightly, “That sounds nice.”

Jean scoffed. “Matt looked at me like I was something broken he could fix. Andrew looked like he wanted to set me on fire.”

He didn’t add the rest. He didn’t say he’d seen Kevin watching him, too—worried, silent. Like Jean might still vanish if they blinked.

“And they think I’m dating Kevin,” Jean added blandly.

He could feel Neil smile through the line. “Seriously?”

“They had a bet going on. I didn’t ask.”

Neil laughed again, shorter this time, sharper around the edges. Jean heard the stifled breath that followed—sharp and shaky. The kind you took when trying not to flinch.

Still, he didn’t ask.

Jean let the silence take over again. Let it sit heavy and real between them. He didn’t ask what happened. Didn’t ask where Neil was, or who hurt him this time. He just stayed on the line—steady, grounding. A voice in the dark that didn’t demand anything back.

Because that’s what Neil needed.

And Jean knew how to be there for him.

Or at least, he thought he did.

Chapter Text

“How about the Bearcats?” Neil asked over the phone, voice casual.

Too casual.

Jean didn’t even try to mask the sharp snort that escaped him. “I’m not joining a team that lost to the Foxes. Twice. ”

Kevin, standing across from Jean, phone gripped in one hand, frowned. “I’m standing right here, you know.”

Jean gave him a bored look. “All the more reason to say it out loud.”

“He’s not wrong,” Neil chimed in, smug even through the receiver.

For a heartbeat, it almost felt like the world hadn’t fallen apart. Like this was just another stupid conversation between people that were normal. Like Jean wasn’t spiraling with every breath.

Almost.

“I think Penn State makes the most sense,” Jean offered, keeping his tone neutral, casual—as if he hadn’t rehearsed this line in his head for hours before the call.

“No,” Neil and Kevin said at the same time.

It was so immediate, so final, that Jean blinked. Penn State had been Edgar Allan’s greatest rival—until the Ravens moved south last year and burned that bridge along with the rest of the map.

“Absolutely not,” Kevin added, firmer. “I don’t trust you that close to West Virginia.”

Jean’s mouth twisted. “Then what? The Jackals? Please. I need a real team, not a pack of amateurs.”

I don’t need a team at all , he almost said. I don’t want a team. I want the Nest. I want home. I want—

But the word caught in his throat. 

There was a pause—weighted, long. Jean could hear Neil breathing on the other side of the line. Could imagine him leaning back on a wall, frowning as he thought about a solution. Then he said, “What about the Trojans?”

Jean barked a laugh. Bitter, too loud. It cut through the air like a blade. “The Sunshine Court? Please. They smile too much and muzzle their players. The only team that’d be more inappropriate is here.”

But Kevin didn’t laugh. He was considering it. Seriously.

Jean narrowed his eyes. “You’re not serious.”

“I could talk to Knox,” Kevin said slowly. “It’ll take some convincing, but… I know he’d want a player like you.”

A player like you.

It was almost a compliment. Almost sweet. Coming from Kevin, it might’ve even meant something. But all Jean could feel was the tight pull in his chest, the sudden flare of something raw behind his eyes.

“Of course. Knox . Can’t forget about your man crush,” Neil drawled. Jean could practically hear the grin through the phone.

Kevin flushed. “For the last time, it’s not a man crush. I’m straight. I have a girlfriend.”

“‘Man crush’ has nothing to do with sexuality,” Neil replied, voice amused now. “And I quote: ‘There’s a lot we can learn from them. Their leadership is strong. ’”

Jean tuned them out. Their banter felt too sharp, too familiar. Too painful. “I’m not made for the Sunshine Court,” he said, voice low now. “My place is—”

“As far away from here as possible,” Neil interrupted, and this time his tone was cold, lethal.

Jean froze.

“Jean,” Neil continued, voice harder than it had any right to be, “if you set foot near this campus again, I will kill you myself.”

Something cracked in Jean’s chest. Not new, not clean—just one more fracture along a fault line that never healed.

There were muffled voices in the background—one of them sharp, fast, maybe Russian or something close. Jean didn’t catch a word. “I’ve got to go,” Neil said. “Talk to you later.”

The line went dead.

Kevin slowly lowered his phone.

They stood in silence for a few seconds. Jean didn’t know where to look—at the wall, the floor, Kevin’s face.

“I’ll talk to Jeremy,” Kevin said eventually. “We’ve got a game against them in a few days. I’ll try to catch him before the match. Just… promise me you’ll talk to him.”

“I’m not—” Jean started. But the words didn’t come. Not honestly, not fully.

He weighed his options like someone holding two knives and deciding which one to fall on.

Just the thought of leaving the Ravens made his stomach twist into knots. It meant leaving behind anything familiar, anything he knew.

It meant leaving Neil. 

Who am I if I’m not a Raven? If I’m not at Edgar Allan, who protects Neil from himself?

But it was already decided. The gate was closed. The Nest wasn’t home anymore. He had no place there—and no right to want one. 

It should’ve felt like freedom. 

It didn’t. 

It felt like drowning slowly, head barely above the water.

USC would be even farther. Another time zone. Another world. The Trojans were good. Maybe too good. Honest. Cheerful. Team-first. All the things Jean had never been, all the things he didn’t trust.

And Jeremy Knox—

There aren’t any faggots on the Perfect Court , Riko’s voice echoed like bile in his ears. 

Jean gritted his teeth. Pressed the heel of his hand against his eye until the sharp sting distracted him from the memory.

I am Jean Moreau. I am Perfect Court. I will endure.

Before he could stop himself, he said, “I’ll think about it.”

Kevin let out a breath. “Good.” He nodded, almost gentle. “Talk to Renee, too. She meant well. You’re not being fair to her.”

Jean looked away.

Kevin pocketed his phone, stepped toward the door.

When he opened it, Andrew Minyard was already leaning against the frame, that unsettling smile carved across his face.

“I’m getting tired of being left out, Kevin,” Andrew said, eyes flicking to Jean. “Smart of you to speak French. What, you think I won’t eavesdrop on your little Musketeer club?”

Kevin didn’t flinch. “Just a little more time.”

Andrew tilted his head, birdlike. Cold and curious. “Tick, tock. Hear that? That’s your clock running out. You’d better make sure you’re not wasting it.”

“Just a couple more weeks. They’ll announce him soon.”

Andrew’s gaze narrowed. He studied Kevin like he was weighing his soul.

“We’re going to Columbia tonight,” he finally said, turning away. “Come on. We’re done here.”

Kevin followed without another word.

And just like that, Jean was alone.

—

True to his word, Kevin talked to Jeremy.

The call came two days later. An unknown number lit up Jean’s screen, and there was only one person it could be. His thumb hovered over the answer button. For a second, he considered letting it ring out. Or picking up and hanging up just as fast.

But he’d promised.

Try, he told himself. At least try. He answered with a sigh.

“Hey, Jean! It’s Jeremy. Jeremy Knox. Kevin gave me your number—I hope that’s okay. Is now a good time to talk?”

“It’s barely morning on the West Coast,” Jean said flatly. “Isn’t it too early for you to be this cheerful?”

Jeremy chuckled, warm and easy. “I’m a morning person. Guilty as charged.”

Of course you are, Jean thought bitterly. That tone—it was irritatingly sincere.

“I heard from Kevin you’re looking for a new team,” Jeremy continued. “I’ll admit I wasn’t sure if it’d be possible, but… our coaches took a vote. We’d love to offer you a spot on our lineup.”

Jean closed his eyes. His jaw clenched, tongue pressing into the inside of his cheek before he said something he couldn’t take back. “I come with a different set of values,” he said slowly. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“We know enough,” Jeremy said gently. “But we’re willing to take a chance. That’s kind of our whole deal, isn’t it?”

Jean stared at the ceiling, searching for cracks. “I’m not sure I can be—” He paused. Good? Normal? Safe? “—enough for your Sunshine Court.”

“It’s the Gold Court,” Jeremy corrected with a laugh. “But we’ll take whatever version of you walks through our door. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to try.”

Jean bit his lip. He hated this—being reassured. Being spoken to like he wasn’t a walking landmine. “The Ravens trained me a certain way,” he said. “It wasn’t just drills or strategy. It was a lifestyle. I need structure. I need a partner for classes. I need to stay in shape. I need—” Control. Familiarity. A reason to wake up without spiraling. “Don’t expect me to sit around braiding friendship bracelets with your Trojans.”

“How about we just start with… keeping your media presence clean?” Jeremy offered. “No friendship bracelets required. Kevin told me there’d be some challenges. That’s fine. We’re not looking for a poster boy—we’re looking for someone who’s willing to grow.”

Jean exhaled through his nose. He didn’t believe in growth. Not for people like him. But there was something in Jeremy’s voice—hopeful, stubborn—that made it hard to hang up. “You’re making a mistake,” Jean muttered.

“I don’t think so,” Jeremy said without missing a beat. “We’re not the Ravens, Jean. But we will make space for you. You don’t have to earn it with blood.”

He said it so simply, like it was a fact. Like space, safety, and acceptance were things Jean could just be handed instead of bleeding out to reach. He didn’t believe him.

“You’re still staying with Coach Wymack, right?” Jeremy added. “I’ll have our coach send the contract over Monday.”

“I’ll read it,” Jean said. “But I’m not promising anything.”

“Fair enough. Call me if you’ve got questions—you’ve got my number now. It was really good talking to you, Jean.”

Jean didn’t say it back. He ended the call in silence. If Jeremy was soft enough to be offended by that, then Jean really didn’t belong on the Gold Court.

The Sunshine Court. He’d mocked it. Still did. But here he was—actually considering them. Freely.

How far has he fallen?

—--

Jean stared at the contract like it might bite him.

It sat on his desk—neatly stacked pages, crisp and white, perfectly printed. The Torjens logo stared up at him like it expected gratitude. Like he should feel honored.

He didn’t.

The words swam the longer he looked. It wasn’t the content—he could follow short blurbs, snippets, Exy stats—but long blocks of text in English still made his brain lock up. He had learned to speak it long before he ever properly read it. Not in school, not from books, but through orders. Instructions. Shouted phrases. Whispers behind closed doors.

He rubbed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

Kevin had read things for him before. Always with a sigh, always a bit too fast, but he’d done it. And Jean had let him. Trusted him.

Could he ask again?

He clenched his jaw.

No. Not this time. Kevin had already done enough. And besides, what did it matter what he was signing? 

Jean couldn’t help wondering how a team so clean, so rule-bound, ended up as one of the Big Three. Where were the bruises? The broken knuckles? The mind games? Everything about them felt… off. Alien.

Wrong. Just like him.

He flipped to the last page. There it was: the list. Jersey numbers. His number—three—wasn’t there.

He blinked. Checked again.

Still missing.

He skimmed the footnote. The Torjens reserved numbers 1 through 19 for strikers and midfielders. Defensive positions started at 20 and went up. Jean was a backliner. Which meant he would lose the number he’d worn since he was fifteen. The number they branded on his face.

His fingers drifted up instinctively, brushing the tattoo beneath his eye. It didn’t ache, but it might as well have. Phantom pain. The kind that never quite faded, no matter how far you ran.

Kevin was number two. Still two. Always two. Neil would officially be number four this season. Edgar Allan saved the number years ago when they announced a new member of the Perfect Court.

He was left staring at 25, 29, 30—numbers that felt meaningless. Empty. Like strangers.

Two digits. Impersonal. Disposable.

Worthless, whispered a voice that sounded too much like Riko. Undeserving.

A lump formed in his throat. He shoved back from the desk so fast the chair legs screeched. The papers slid sideways and fanned across the floor like spilled guts.

He couldn’t breathe.

The kitchen. He needed water. Something to cool the burning in his chest.

He padded down the hallway barefoot, pulse pounding. His fingers still twitched from the phantom contact with his face. Still felt branded. Still felt owned.

He didn’t expect anyone to be there, but Renee was.

She stood at the counter with a chipped mug in her hands, haloed in the soft light over the sink. She turned slowly when he entered, eyes catching on the tremor in his fingers and the ghost-shock in his expression.

“I take it,” she said gently, “you’re still thinking about it?”

Jean blinked. His mouth was dry. “What are you doing here?” His voice was too even. Wrong, like everything else.

“I’ve come by a few times,” she admitted, setting down her mug. “Trying to decide whether to talk to you.” She watched him a moment. Then added softly, “I can go. If that’s what you want. Or… we can talk.”

Jean didn’t move.

Jean didn’t answer right away. He looked at her and still felt the ache—still felt the betrayal—but the days apart had softened the edge. Made it harder to hold onto his anger.

“I don’t belong here,” he said eventually. “Or there.”

“Then where do you belong, Jean?”

The answer rose before he could stop it. “I’m Jean Moreau,” he said stiffly. “My place is in Evermore—”

“No,” she cut in, firm but not unkind. “It’s not , Jean. It never was.”

He blinked.

“You are not what they made you,” she said. “You are not a product of the Nest. You’re a good person—even if you can’t see that yet. The Torjens will see it. They want you there.”

Jean gave a hollow laugh. “I don’t feel like a person.” The confession cut through him like glass. “I existed in the Nest, but I wasn’t real. We only left for games. For school. Everything I know—everything I am—is Exy. And the only times I ever felt more than that were with—” He couldn’t finish the sentence. “They won’t understand me. I’ll always be too much. Too broken.”

“Maybe,” Renee said. “But they’re willing to try. Isn’t that worth something?”

He didn’t answer.

“You said once that trust is built through pain,” she said quietly.

“It is.” His voice was bitter. “It has to be.”

“No,” she said. “You survived through pain. That’s not the same as trust. Trust comes from actions. From choices. And from people who show you—again and again—that they’re not going to hurt you.” 

Jean looked away.

“I know Evermore still has a hold on you,” she continued. “And I know someone you care about is still trapped there. But Jean… you have a chance now to live. To make something of your life that isn’t just endurance. Something real. Something more.”

That word again. More.

“The world isn’t just black or white,” Renee said. “It’s sunlit fields and new grass. It’s warm light on your skin. It’s late-night kitchens and second chances. You need to find the little things. The things that remind you the world doesn’t always hurt.”

He stared at her, overwhelmed.

“If you can’t believe in yourself yet,” she added, “then believe in the people who believe in you.”

“I…” he started, but her phone buzzed.

She pulled it out, scanned the message, and sighed. “Dan needs me. Something’s happening—I have to go.”

Jean nodded numbly.

She hesitated, gave him a small smile, then turned.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

But she was already gone.

—-

He stared at the place where his name was signed.

Jean Moreau.

The pen snapped in his hand—clean in half.

We’re partners. We leave together or not at all, right?

The words slammed into him like a wave, knocking the air out of his lungs. He pushed back from the desk, stumbling until his back hit the farthest wall of the room. The silence rang in his ears as he pulled out his phone with shaking hands.

Kevin picked up on the first ring. “Jean? Everything okay?”

“I need you,” Jean said.

“You at Coach’s?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be there in ten.” There was a pause, muffled movement. “Andrew—” he added to someone else, definitely Andrew, “—stay tight. Bye.”

Jean let the phone drop to the floor beside him, his fingers curling loosely on the tiles.

He glanced back at the contract. He could tear it up right now. Destroy it. Pretend it never happened.

I am Jean Moreau. I am a Raven. My place is at Evermore.

But then he tried it again, without the last part.

I am Jean Moreau. I am a Raven.

And again.

I am Jean Moreau.

That one stopped him.

Because—who was he without being a Raven? Who was he outside of the Nest, the pain, the structure, the rules?

When Kevin arrived, he didn’t say anything. Just took one look at Jean slumped by the wall, eyes red, hands clenched in his lap. “Take it before I change my mind.” Jean said as he stared up at him. 

Kevin didn’t waver. “It’s a good thing,” he said softly. “It’s for the best.”

Then he turned and left, leaving Jean in the stillness once more.

I’m not a Raven anymore, Jean thought, stomach twisting.

Then what was he?

Much later, long after sleep had taken him and the world quieted—

4:50 a.m.
Neil: I’m proud of you.

---

~Just some personal note~

Thinking of Jean always makes me think of France.

The last time I visited was with a friend—we mostly stayed in Paris, and we both love art. It was my first time at the Louvre (the previous time I was in Paris was with family, and they don’t really share my love for it), and we also visited the Musée d'Orsay for the first time

I’ve always loved La Petite Danseuse de quatorze ans by Degas, and seeing it in person was incredible. I immediately took a picture of it, and once I got home from the trip, I had to sketch it.
It’s not my finest work—it was a very quick sketch—but I still wanted to share it with you :)

Until next time!

Chapter Text

“Morning, Four,” a voice sneered in Japanese from somewhere above him.

Neil opened his eyes, slowly, only to find Riko smiling down at him.

The worst way to wake up.

Riko didn’t take Jermey’s statement about Jean moving to the USC well. Neil knew from the second he saw the sadistic smile and the cup waiting for him on the table that it waa going to be a bad night. 

He tried to sit up fast, instinct overriding pain, but his ribs screamed in protest. Fire shot through his side, and he bit down a cry, teeth grinding. He wouldn’t give Riko the satisfaction. Not again. Not after last night. His shoulder was still burning. His head pounded like a drum. He was sluggish—numb. Still drugged from whatever Riko had given him the night before, when Neil refused to stay down.

“Three never needed the drugs, Nate,” Riko said with mock sweetness as he carved him open, “don’t you want to be obedient like him?”

Neil stayed silent. Breathing through his teeth.

“We’re running late, Four,” Riko added with a wider grin. “Wouldn’t want you to miss practice .” Then, adopting a fake, sympathetic tone: “Oh, but Nate—you look awful. So stressed.” Riko placed a hand on Neil’s shoulder, almost gently.  Pretending it was a gesture of comfort.

Then he pressed down. Right on the raw, bleeding spot—the one split open by his blade just the day before.

Neil screamed. Riko chuckled. He leaned in, grabbed a handful of Neil’s hair, and yanked his head back so their eyes locked. “Who owns you, Four?”

“Ichirou,” Neil spat.

Wrong answer.

Riko's fingers dug into the wound again. “Who’s your King?” Neil clenched his jaw, refusing. The pressure increased again. 

And again.

“You! You,” Neil finally cried. He hated how wrecked he sounded.

Riko smiled, pleased. “Better. Let’s go. I wouldn’t want you to miss today’s practice for the world.”

Neil frowned.

It was a school day. They weren’t supposed to have practice until evening. But there was no point arguing with Riko. He was clearly scheming something, and it wasn’t like Neil had a choice.

When he reached the court, his frown deepened. Riko was behind him—Neil could feel his stare, waiting for his reaction.

But Neil didn’t understand what he was seeing.

The court was mostly empty when they arrived. Just four players sitting on the floor in full gear. But they weren’t practicing. They were sitting on the court, writing on something Neil couldn’t quite make out from this distance.

He turned to Riko, confused. Riko just smiled. “Go ahead.”

Was this some publicity stunt Neil had missed? Had Edgar Allan turned into a poets’ club overnight? The name was already close enough to the famous poet—but this was ridiculous.

Only when he got closer did he realize what they were writing on.

Jean’s class notebooks. Neil recognized them instantly. The black covers. The careful, slanted handwriting. He’d seen them enough times in Jean’s hands, balancing school with Exy. He couldn’t read the smaller scribbles from afar, but the large block letters—WHORE, TRAITOR, COWARD—were more than enough.

Neil surged forward. “Give me that!” he snapped, trying to snatch the books away.

A hand caught his wrist. One of the freshmen. Neil hated that smug grin. “I don’t think so. We’re having fun.”

“So much fun,” another Raven echoed with a snort.

Then Riko stepped closer, calm as ever. “Isn’t it nice? We’re writing love letters to your lost puppy. He ran off to the team of rainbows and sunshine. We just want to remind him what he is.” He paused, then added with a smirk: “Why don’t you join us, Four?”

Neil turned, disgust burning in his gut. “That’s pathetic. Even for you. I’m not doing this. Give me back Jean’s books.”

Someone shoved him to the floor before he could move. Grayson. Smiling. Likes to bite, Jean used to say. Dread sank deep into Neil’s stomach.

“Come on, Natey. Don’t you want to write Johnny a love letter?” Grayson taunted, twirling a pen between his fingers. “Something sweet like, ‘You left me alone to suffer. I fucking hate you.’ Real romantic.”

Neil felt sick.

Logically, he knew he should just do it. Write the sentence. Pretend. Tell Jean later they made him.

But the thought of Jean seeing it—before Neil could warn him, before he could explain—sent something cold slicing through his chest. The idea of Jean’s hands trembling as he read it, wondering if Neil had meant it… wondering if this was how it ended—

“How about, ‘Fuck you, Grayson, you piece of shit,’” Neil spat back. 

The Ravens circled tighter, boxing Neil in. All of them wore the same expression—gleeful cruelty barely held in check.

"Five or six should do." was something Jean had told him once in a whisper like a warning.

“Oh, Four,” King said, voice silk over broken glass. “We weren’t asking. Pick up the fucking pen and write what we tell you.”

“No.”

Grayson lunged at him first, aiming a punch at his jaw. Neil managed to duck, but the world was still blurred and too slow, the drugs from the night before making his limbs heavy and his reactions half a second too late.

He stumbled backward—right into the fist of another Raven.

Then another.

Then another.

He hit the floor hard, arms trying to shield his head, ribs screaming as boots found him over and over. A haze of pain swallowed time. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been down before he heard Riko’s voice cut through the blood and noise.

“Dear brother wouldn’t want me breaking his toy,” Riko said calmly, amusement dripping from each word, “not right before the big shoot.”

Eventually, they left.

Neil lay there alone, wrecked and bleeding, the pen still untouched on the floor beside him.He stayed on the floor for a moment longer, catching his breath and swallowing down the nausea rising in his throat. He pressed careful fingers to his ribs—bruised, not broken—and exhaled shakily. That was something.

He tried to stand, legs trembling under him, and stumbled back down. His lip split further under the force of his bite, but he pushed himself up again. There wasn’t time to sit in pain. He had a few hours before practice, and he was never as good at stitches as Jean.

He limped his way down the hall, steps slow but determined, praying no one crossed his path, leaving a trail of blood behind him he knew he’d have to clean up later. For once, he was grateful to find his room empty. 

He pulled it from its hiding spot, hands steady, relieved that at least his fingers still worked. Neil didn’t know if Riko had never found the first aid kit or had simply deemed it unimportant enough to leave behind. Maybe it amused him, knowing Neil would be forced to clean up his own blood. Neil never asked. 

He stripped off his shirt, grimacing as the fabric pulled against torn skin, and looked down.

The bruises weren’t as bad as they felt—purple and black like ink spills across his ribs, but no jagged swelling. Just angry colors. The reopened gash on his shoulder bled sluggishly. Another, low on his side, would need a few stitches to hold it together and stop the bleeding.

Neil worked in silence, jaw clenched as he cleaned the cuts, threaded the needle, and started stitching. The tug of thread through skin sent sparks up his spine, but he kept going. This was normal now. This was normal for years. 

He thought, briefly, about calling Jean. About hearing his voice tell that story again—the one about the little house by the sea, and the girl who asked for the same ending every night. He could almost hear it in Jean’s careful voice, quiet and tired and safe.

But Jean was free. Jean had clawed his way out and gotten something that looked like peace.

Jean wasn’t a Raven anymore.

Jean had already suffered enough.

Neil kept sewing in silence.

—----

He caught Zane between lunch and practice—just as he was throwing out his tray and turning toward the court.

“What do you want, Wesninski?” Zane asked, not bothering to stop walking.

Neil fell into step beside him. He didn’t have much time.

“I want you to be my partner,” Neil said, arms crossed.

Zane snorted. “I like having my own room, thanks. What, getting desperate for that it again?”

“Riko won’t let you keep that room for long. We both know that.”

“So?”

“So,” Neil said carefully, “I’d be a better roommate than Grayson. Don’t you think?”

Zane slowed just enough to give Neil a look. Then he laughed under his breath. “That’s what this is about. You want me to babysit you, like I did Johnny. Let me guess—Grayson already bored with his own hand?”

Neil clenched his jaw, fighting back the urge to punch him. “This has something in it for you.”

“Spare me,” Zane said. “Johnny already promised me five before he bailed. And what did that get me? A permanent seat in Riko’s shitlist. You really think I’m dumb enough to fall for that again? Your little Perfect Court disappears one by one, and the rest of us get stuck with the fallout. Funny how that works.”

“I can get you three,” Neil said. “Jean’s number.”

Zane stopped walking. He stared at Neil for a long second. Then laughed again—sharp and humorless. “Sure you can.”

He turned to leave, but Neil grabbed his arm. “Riko’s afraid of me,” Neil said, voice low. Depends on the day, depends on the room he didn’t say. “You know I’m good for my word. Be my partner, and you’ll get the number.”

Zane shook him off roughly. “Then bring me proof. And while you’re at it, tell your boyfriend he fucked me over worse than anyone. Do you know what it cost me to back him? What I still get for it? The looks? The silence? I didn’t make enemies just to be left behind with nothing. And I’m sure as hell not doing it again for you.” He smiled then, cold and deliberate. “I see how Grayson touches you under the table at lunch. Doesn’t matter how many Ravens he plants to block the view.”

Neil froze.

“Yeah. Makes you wonder how long until he moves with you to the next big thing. If you’re serious about giving me the number, Wesninski, you’d better move. Fast.”

—---

“Smile just a bit—oh, perfect!” the cameraman chirped.

Neil obeyed with his most practiced expression, an Exy racket slung over his shoulder. Riko’s arm was draped around him in a way that looked friendly to the untrained eye—but the grip was too tight, too possessive. A claim disguised as camaraderie.

The crew didn’t seem to notice. “Oh, look at the two of you! One and Four! The fans are going to eat this up.”

Riko flashed a smile at the director, all sharp edges and showmanship. “It comes naturally to us. We have a strong bond, don’t we, Nate?” He leaned in, lips brushing Neil’s ear. “You look like a slut,” he whispered. “No wonder Daddy came to see you.”

Neil’s eyes scanned the room—and found him. Ichirou Moriyama had entered, flanked by guards, expression blank and unreadable as he surveyed the shoot. A production assistant had already flitted to his side, all smiles and nervous energy, explaining something about the shoot.

Riko’s fingers dug deeper into Neil’s shoulder, right into the healing skin beneath his jersey, torn from a few nights ago.

Neil didn’t scream. He didn’t dare to move.

“Now, let’s get a few solo shots,” the director said. “It’s only right to start with the Perfect Court’s newest member.”

Neil could feel Riko’s fury vibrate in the silence behind him. But Riko only smiled, dazzling and fake. “Of course,” he said. “Let the star have his moment.”

Neil stepped into the center of the set, adjusting his grip on the racket. Lights shifted. Crew murmured. Someone dabbed at a smear of blood he hadn’t realized was on his lip.

“Look this way—yes. Over the shoulder—perfect! Serious but focused.”

He braced himself. Each breath tugged against bruised ribs. Every shutter click felt like a spotlight on his pain.

“Now crouch. Like you’re ready to strike.”

Neil dropped low, weight coiled in a position that felt more like a warning than a pose. This time, he didn’t smile.

Click.

Another flash.

And then, from the edge of the set, a movement. One of Ichirou’s guards tilted their head—just a fraction. A signal. Neil handed the racket off to a crew member as the guard approached. “Lord Moriyama would like a word. Come.”

The camera team barely noticed as Neil was led away. But Riko did. His gaze followed Neil like a brand—cold, calculating, possessive.

Neil didn’t look back.

He was guided through a side curtain into a back hallway, quieter and colder than the set. Concrete walls. Buzzing lights. A place meant for crew, not guests. The backstage bones of the building.

Ichirou stood in the shadow of an open door. He didn’t speak until the guard behind Neil had disappeared, leaving them alone.

The room beyond was a makeshift lounge: two chairs, a table, untouched refreshments. Ichirou remained standing.

“Nathaniel,” he said calmly. “You’re still breathing. That’s a good start.”

Neil swallowed. “If this is about the photos—”

“It’s not.”

Ichirou’s eyes dropped to the spreading stain under Neil’s jersey. The blood was mostly hidden by the dark fabric, but not from him. “Riko is testing you,” he said. “They all are. They want to see how far they can go before I consider it a problem. Before it’s officially breaking you rather than toying.”

Neil’s voice was dry. “And how far is that?”

“That depends,” Ichirou said, stepping closer. “On whether you plan to disappoint me again.” The silence between them pressed in like a weight. Neil’s heart pounded too loudly in the stillness. Ichirou continued. “We’ve already briefed the press. The photos. The interviews. The announcement. It’s all been arranged.”

His tone sharpened. “You will smile. You will repeat every word we gave you. No improvising. No surprises. No stray glances or off-script movements.”

Neil flinched, just slightly.

“You will not run. You will not hesitate. And you will not, under any circumstances, reveal who you are. Not to the media. Not to your teammates. Not to anyone . Is that clear?”

Because if he did, they’d recognize him. The press. The FBI. The world.

The Butcher’s son.

They’d see the resemblance. The scars. The history etched into his face. And if he gave them anything—just one slip—

He was finished. Whether by Ichirou’s hand or the chaos that followed, it wouldn’t matter. He’d be gone.

So Neil nodded.

He swallowed.

And he lied.

“Yes, my lord.”

Ichirou studied him for a moment, then leaned in slightly, his breath cool against Neil’s cheek.

“Don’t make my trip here a waste,” he said, voice soft as silk, sharp as a blade. “It’s so much more enjoyable when you remember your place.”

_____

He was sleeping, for once, when Riko stormed into the room like a hurricane.

He sat bolt upright, muscles already tensed, breath caught halfway between sleep and survival. The Nest didn’t let him rest often. The fact that he’d slipped under at all was proof of how exhausted he was. That, or the eye of the storm had finally dulled him.

But no. The storm had just walked in.

Riko.

His expression alight with a predator’s joy. Neil barely had time to swing his legs over the edge of the bed before Riko was in the center of the room, sharp and smug like a knife that had drawn blood and wanted more. He had been quiet since the last photoshoot. Four full days of an uneasy silence. A couple of slaps, a shallow cut here and there when frustration boiled over—but nothing worse. Not from Riko, at least.

Zane kept watching him from the side, calculating. If Neil wanted to win him over, he’d need to act fast. Last night, when he and Ichirou had been tangled in bed, he’d tried to say something—plant a seed—but he wasn’t sure it had stuck. The lord had been too busy with his empire to care about something as petty as Exy.

Which, all in all, explained the edge Neil was on now, standing in front of a wide-smiling Riko.

“Good news, Four,” he said, voice lilting mockingly as he tossed something in his hand—a Raven's jersey with Number 4. His jersey. “We’re going to see my dear brother.” Riko’s grin widened. “Isn’t that nice?”

Kevin, Neil thought, his heartbeat quickening. Stay calm. Don’t let him see anything. Don’t give him anything.

Riko only smirked at the silence. “We’re going to convince him to come back.”

Neil didn’t say anything right away. He didn’t trust himself to. His mind screamed a thousand things at once—Please. Don't. Yes. No. Run. Yes, yes, yes. And, finally. And, Please bring him back to me— “Delusional again, King?”

Four years in the Nest—five, nearly—and Neil still hadn’t learned how to keep quiet. It wasn’t bravery, just stubborn reflex—Riko always asked for it too much.

Riko’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it sharpened. “You’re going to behave,” he said, stepping forward. “Your handler told you already—no speaking out of turn. No looking where you shouldn’t.” He leaned in, voice low and syrupy with venom. “And especially no eye contact with my brother. You wouldn’t want to see what I’ve planned for you if you forget that, Four.”

The smile on his face sent a chill through Neil’s bones. Neil’s fingers curled around the jersey.

“You’re there to sit in the crowd,” Riko finished, straightening. “Be quiet. Be obident. And watch us win.” His eyes gleamed. “Let’s go remind Kevin who he belongs to.”

Chapter Text

Andrew was smoking on the rooftop two nights before their match against the Ravens.

The cigarette in his fingers was burning fast, smoke curling around his face like a ghost trying to get in. He didn’t even like smoking - he just liked the quiet that came with it. The pause.

Four more months.

Four more months and he’d be off the meds. Four more months and Kevin Day would have to give him a reason—something to build his life around.
So far, Kevin hadn’t managed shit. Not even close.

Andrew exhaled, letting the smoke drift lazily into the night air. He tilted his head just enough to glance at the drop below. The vertigo that followed was the only familiar feeling left—something real in the blur of chemicals still dulling his senses.

What would be left when that haze was gone? What if there was nothing underneath?

He flicked the cigarette off the edge. Watched the ember tumble and vanish into the dark like it never existed. Then he turned and went downstairs.

Kevin was sitting in the living room like he’d been carved there—elbows on knees, eyes locked on the television like it was speaking directly to him. The glow from the screen washed his face in cold colors. He looked pale, tense, like a wire stretched too tight.

The others were gone—probably asleep. Aaron was likely with his cheerleader again, thinking he was being clever. Andrew let him think that, for now. But he’d cut her off eventually. Cleanly. Quietly. She wouldn’t even know what hit her.

“Day,” Andrew said, eyeing the tight set of Kevin’s jaw. “Game’s in two days. Bit early for your press-induced panic attack, don’t you think?”

Kevin didn’t blink. “There’s breaking news. They’re about to show it.”

Andrew arched an eyebrow but moved to stand beside him. “Breaking news about Exy?” He huffed a dry laugh. “Junkies.”

But Kevin didn’t even acknowledge the jab. And something in his stare—too focused, too hollow—made Andrew stay.

Two minutes passed. Two overly polished reporters filled the screen, voices full of manufactured excitement.

“We’ve got breaking news in the world of Exy!” one of them chirped. “Joining us to discuss this explosive reveal are Denise and Joe—our top Exy analysts!”

“Thanks, Erica,” Joe said, grinning like he’d been waiting all week to spill the secret. “SportsX is thrilled to be the first to break this story. After fans mourned the end of the Perfect Court—with both Jean and Kevin leaving the Ravens—”

The crowd booed at Kevin’s name. Andrew saw the flinch.

“—we’re excited to reveal photos of the new members of the Perfect Court. And yes, the long-awaited 'missing brother’ has finally arrived.”

The crowd erupted in cheers. Kevin went statue-still.

The screen cut to a photo.

Andrew blinked.

There, next to Riko—Riko, in full king-of-the-world posture—stood someone new. Bright, icy blue eyes. A shock of red hair that looked like it had been dipped in fire. The number four inked on his face. And a smile.

Not a grin. Not a fake charm.

A real smile. One that split his face in a way that was both dangerous and magnetic, like he knew exactly how much damage he could do and had already decided you weren’t worth warning. It was the smile of someone who would carve you open and kiss you like an apology.

Andrew’s stomach twisted. There was something new about him.

Something interesting .

He was happy he wasn’t fully medicated to see that. 

Kevin hadn’t moved. Hadn’t breathed.

“Nathaniel Wesninski, everyone!” the woman said, almost giddy. “And looking sharp next to the King of Exy himself! The Perfect Court rises again.”

Andrew’s mouth curved into a slow, sharp smile. “Your mystery birdie, I presume?”

Kevin dragged his gaze away from the screen. “Yeah.”

From the television, one of the hosts jumped in, all teeth and enthusiasm. “So what do we know about our mysterious number Four?”

“Well,” the co-host said, flipping through a notepad, “he’s been training with the Ravens since he was about fifteen. From what we’ve heard, he was especially close to Kevin Day and Jean Moreau during their time at Evermore. That is before they left him behind.” The edge in their voice was impossible to miss. “But Riko stayed,” she added, almost sweetly. “We’re told Nathaniel sees him as an inspiration. Isn’t that beautiful?”

Andrew’s gaze flicked back to Kevin, who had gone pale. “Does he?” Andrew asked, mild. If he was going to have another psycho on his hands, he wanted the warning early.

Kevin’s jaw tightened. “No. Nothing like that.”

On the screen, the picture lingered—Nathaniel in sleek black, expression calm, eyes cutting through the lens like they saw too much. Andrew studied him, something prickling at the back of his neck.

“There’s more to him than this, what is it Day? I already told  you —I don’t like surprises.” Andrew said.

Kevin didn’t answer.

Andrew tilted his head, bored of the silence. “Is he an enemy or a friend, Kevin?”

It took far too long for Kevin to respond. “Ne-Nate would never hurt me. Or Jean.”

“And the rest of us?”

Kevin hesitated. “He’s not a threat. Not really. Not… most of the time.”

“Comforting,” Andrew muttered.

“It’s complicated,” Kevin admitted, rubbing his temples. “Riko’s been trying to break him for years. When I left… Nate was still okay. Or at least, he was pretending to be.”

Andrew watched him closely. “Is he going to be a problem, Day?”

“Off the court?” Kevin shook his head. “No. He’s not a bad person. He’s—” He stopped, then said more quietly, “I owe him everything.”

Andrew raised a brow.

Kevin didn’t look up. “I grew up in the Nest. It’s all I knew. When Jean came, I didn’t trust him. I didn’t want to trust him. Getting attached in there is dangerous. But Nathaniel—he walked in and it was like… I don’t know. Like something shifted.” His voice went quieter as he exhaled shakily. “He’s my little brother.”

The words hung in the air like a loaded weapon.

Andrew blinked. Kevin barely used that kind of language about Jean , let alone someone the rest of them hadn’t met.

“You said he’s not a problem off the court,” Andrew said. “What about on it?”

Kevin hesitated again. Then, “on the court… he’s a Raven. One hundred percent. A loss is not an option. He’s fast. Dangerous. Focused. He doesn’t miss, and no one could keep up with him—not even in the Nest.”

Andrew’s expression darkened. “So another junkie for Riko’s war.”

Kevin didn’t answer that.

But the silence was enough.

—--

The night before the big game, Kevin and the French birdie had a fight.

Andrew didn’t care. Not really. As long as it didn’t turn physical—and by now he knew that with Jean, the chances of that happening were close to zero—it didn’t bother him. Jean fought with words, and Kevin had always been fragile when it came to words.

What did bother Andrew, however, was that he couldn’t stop thinking about those bright, ice-blue eyes.

Too many holes in Kevin’s story. Too many pauses, too many puzzle pieces that didn’t fit together the way they should have. He was going to solve it.

Him.

“Little brother,” Kevin had called him. And yet—where had he been? All this time? Kevin had never mentioned him. Not once. Not a name, not a hint. And now suddenly, just days before the most important match of their season, the name Nathaniel dropped into their lives like a blade.

That alone rang every warning bell Andrew had.

He knew how he could have solved it easily—if Nathaniel had been here. Columbia.

A couple of drinks. A couple of questions. The right smile. The right pressure. Andrew could get what he wanted out of anyone. But the mystery birdie wasn’t here. He was locked away in the Nest—miles and miles of distance and silence. Trapped in a cage made of comfort and cruelty.

Kevin seemed so sure. So sure his little brother wouldn’t hurt him. So sure Nathaniel was still the boy he remembered. But Andrew knew better. He knew what loneliness did to people. What violence could carve into someone if left long enough in the dark. So for now, Nathaniel Wesninski was a red flag. A threat. A quiet question with no safe answer.

“I expect all of you to behave,” Coach said, snapping Andrew out of his thoughts. He was looking straight at him when he said it.

Andrew didn’t have enough drugs in his system to smile. Didn’t have enough energy to pretend to care. So he just stared back. Blank. Unbothered. And if Coach didn’t like what he saw, that was his problem. Andrew had bigger things to worry about. Like what would happen when Nathaniel is finally free from the cage.

—--

Walking onto the court, Andrew could feel eyes on him.

Not the crowd—never the crowd. They didn’t make his skin prickle like this, like he was being dissected by something colder, sharper.

He lifted his head to scan the stands—not really expecting to find anything.

Then freeze.

Blue. Ice-blue. Cold and focused, locked onto him with the kind of stillness that made your pulse stutter. Staring directly at him from across the arena, unmoving.

Nathaniel Wesninski.

Beside him, Kevin halted mid-step. The rest of the team came to a confused stop behind him, Matt nearly crashing into his back.

“Hey, man, you good?” Matt asked, frowning as he stepped beside Kevin.

Kevin didn’t answer. Didn’t blink. He looked like he’d seen a ghost—and maybe he had. Andrew watched the way Kevin’s hands curled into fists at his sides, the way his shoulders rose like he was trying to pull himself together piece by piece. Then, low and unsteady, Kevin leaned toward him and whispered, “He looks so much thinner than before.”

Oh, so Riko was going to play dirty. How boring.

Andrew didn’t reply. He just turned back to the boy sitting high in the VIP box, black-clad and still. Nathaniel didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But his eyes—those sharp, frozen things—were fixed on Andrew, for reasons he didn’t know.

“That’s him, huh?” Seth muttered behind them, his voice low. “Wesninski.”

“He looks like a problem,” Aaron muttered.

Nicky smiled wide, “looks kinda cute.”

Aaron wrinkled his nose at it. 

“He’s not here for us,” Andrew said, cutting them all up. 

Kevin finally exhaled like he’d been holding his breath underwater. His voice, when it came, was rough and tight. “Play your game. Eyes forward.”

But he didn’t move.

Andrew took the first step instead, breaking the hold the moment had on them. He walked across the court without another glance toward the box—at least not one anyone could see. And still, Nathaniel’s stare burned between his shoulder blades the whole way to the goal.

The game hadn’t started yet.

But it had already begun.

—

They were three points ahead.

Three points over the Ravens. And it felt good .

Not that Andrew cared about the game itself. He’d never cared enough about it. But this? Watching Riko twist in frustration? Watching him shout orders that got sloppier and louder the more the Foxes pulled ahead? Watching him lose even with the dirty trick of bringing the blue-eyed birdie here? 

That was worth it. That was better than the pills.

He was playing a full game. No half-switches. No hiding. He was going to guard the goal and block every shot and make sure the Foxes rubbed this win into the Ravens’ faces , Riko’s especially.

And maybe, maybe , it would be enough to shut Kevin up for just one night about stupid Exy. 

Right now Kevin Day was destroying the Ravens' defense like they were standing still. Andrew didn’t care. But if he did , he’d say it was satisfying.

He watched as Kevin cut through another line, dead-eyed and dangerous. The Ravens got more reckless with every missed point. Zane—Riko’s favorite little wrecking ball, according to Kevin—finally snapped. He lunged at Kevin without warning, swinging wildly.

Andrew didn’t move to help. He’d seen it coming. He just leaned against the goalpost, watching both teams explode onto the court. Zane’s teammates barely tried to stop him. If anything, they seemed pleased. Kevin shook him off. He didn’t even look surprised. Just winded. He brushed off Abby’s protests with a grunt and turned toward the sideline.

Then Grayson muttered something under his breath as he passed Kevin. Whatever it was hit Kevin like a punch to the gut.

He froze in place, spine locked, jaw clenched.

Then he kept walking. Slower this time. Shakier. Andrew watched him go. He didn’t ask. And, after a minute, the game resumed.

By halftime, they were up 4-0.

Matt was practically vibrating with excitement. “This is awesome!” he shouted, nearly knocking Seth off-balance with a slap to the back.

But Kevin wasn’t celebrating. Kevin was silent. Pale. He looked like he wanted to throw up.

Andrew noticed. He opened his mouth to say something—maybe to ask if Nathaniel was still watching, if that was what had Kevin unraveling. But his mind was starting to blur at the edges.

Withdrawal.

Playing the full game might’ve been a mistake.

Oops , well, there was no turning back now. Not with the Ravens watching. Not with Riko watching. Not with Kevin’s dear little brother watching.

“Be careful,” Kevin warned before the second half began. “They’re getting desperate.”

And oh, they were. Ten minutes in and the Ravens had stopped playing a game. They crashed into bodies with no regard for the ball. They aimed for ribs, not racquets. Andrew held the net, watched them come, and blocked every single attempt. He wasn’t going to let them have the satisfaction.

Kevin scored again, shoving through two defenders like they were paper.

Then Brayden, one of the biggest Ravens, shifted direction. Hard and fast—straight toward Andrew. He saw it too late, too focused on the blue eyes at the stand and Kevin. Matt and Janie both pushed off to intercept, but they were too far. Andrew’s hands tightened around the racquet, legs braced, but—

If he wasn’t in withdrawal, If his vision wasn’t swimming, If the armor didn’t feel like concrete and his limbs didn’t shake—

He could’ve moved. He was sure of it. Could’ve even gotten out a knife. 

But he didn’t. Couldn’t.

Brayden slammed into him like a train. Andrew hit the ground so hard the breath was knocked from his chest. The court spun, tilted, vanished. He gagged. Bile clawed at the back of his throat, pain crackled across his spine. He tried to push himself up, his fingers barely responded.

Matt was shouting. He heard scuffling. Brayden being pulled back. But it was distant, muffled. 

His helmet—he needed it off. His hands trembled too much to manage the strap. Useless. Shaking.

Then Kevin was there. He crouched down, voice low but edged with panic. “We need to get you off the court before you take the helmet off, Andrew.” 

Andrew didn’t respond. Couldn't.

He hated this. Hated the pills and how much he needed them—like air to his lungs. Hated the withdrawal. The crash after being sky-high, slammed back to earth. In this case, quite literally.

“Wouldn’t want the medic to find out I haven’t been a good little boy,” he muttered through gritted teeth once they were off-court, Kevin and Nicky at his sides. They were trying not to touch him, keeping their hands light, like he might shatter. He should’ve been grateful.

But between the tremors in his limbs, the echo of another body slamming into his, and the eyes—those eyes—still tracking him from the court and the crowd, he nearly pulled a knife on Nicky just for breathing too close.

“We’re just a minute from the changing room,” Nicky said gently, like coaxing a child on a long car ride. Andrew hissed—low, warning. Enough.

He knew Abby was trailing behind them, probably preparing to check him over. But all he could think about was the bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue waiting for him. The pills.

His so-called “prize” for the night.

By the time they got there, Andrew managed—barely—to peel off his helmet and gloves. 

Then he vomited. Hard. The force of it bent him double, stole the air from his lungs again. He clung to the wall, waiting for the blur to stop spinning just enough to breathe.

There it was. Near the entrance.

 The bottle of pills. The whiskey. Waiting for him like old friends.

He practically crawled to them, grateful there was no one around him, for once. Alone now in the tiny bathroom, he grabbed the pill bottle with shaking fingers. It took three tries to open the cap, and when he did, some of the pills spilled to the floor. He didn’t even blink. Kevin had already unscrewed the bottle of whiskey—smart. Andrew downed the pills, swallowing them with the fire of alcohol scraping down his throat.

The world tilted. Just for a moment.

Then came the familiar emptiness. Hollow and bone-deep. A void carved out long ago.

And after that—warmth.

Not enough for the manic grin yet, the one he wore against his will like an armor, or a curse. Not yet. But it was coming. It always did. That smile that said I’m feeling something when he wasn’t. That mask that would carry him through the next four months before it all came crashing down.

“Andrew? I need to check you. May I come in?” Abby’s voice. Soft. Careful. Just outside the door.

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, took another swig from the bottle. The floor shifted again as he tried to stand.

Oh yeah. He probably had a concussion. “I’m not decent!” he called, laughing—or maybe it was choking. The pills were starting to work, smoothing the edges, making everything seem almost nice . “Oh Abby,” he said, voice slurring just enough to sting, “you wouldn’t like what you find.”

But even as he said it, he knew she wouldn’t let him go without checking him.

Sure enough, a few seconds passed, then the soft click of the door opening. Abby didn’t speak right away. She just stood there, taking it all in—his trembling hands, the pills scattered like fallen teeth, the bottle of alcohol tipped on its side like a quiet confession.

For once, she didn’t say anything about that.

“I’ll be quick,” she said softly, stepping inside.

He didn’t move as she knelt beside him—her touch clinical, practiced, but not unkind. She checked the back of his head, made him track her finger, shone a light in his eyes. He let her. Mostly.

Finally, she sighed—quiet, tired. “You need to rest. I’ll tell Coach you’re benched.”

“I’ll need to go back,” Andrew muttered, his voice dry. “There’s a little idiot who might crawl back to the Nest if I’m not staring him down.”

Abby blinked. “You can barely stand.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He pushed himself upright, the room tilting violently around him. He laughed as he staggered. “See, Abby? Good as new.”

She didn’t argue. Just helped him up, even when he jerked away from the contact. Even when it cost her.

And when he stepped into the tunnel again, the roar of the game hitting him like another blow to the skull, Andrew knew one thing for sure—

He fucking hated Exy.

—

He did, in fact, have a mild concussion.

“Emphasis on mild , Coach,” Andrew said as he stepped back onto the court, ten minutes left on the clock and that familiar hysterical smile stretched across his face.

Coach gave him a hard look. “You better not be downplaying it just to protect Kevin.”

“Me? Lie?” Andrew laughed. “Scout’s honor, Coach.”

Coach exhaled like it physically pained him. In the background, the Ravens scored again—7–6, Ravens’ favor. “Every time I see you, I lose three years off my life,” he muttered. “Go sit down.”

Andrew gave him a mock salute and headed for the bench. Brayden, already seated with a red card and no regret, flashed him a knowing smile.

The fucker knew he’d done his job. He’ll deal with him later. 

Andrew’s gaze moved to the court. Renee was guarding the goal—sharp, steady, unshakable. No one could doubt her skill.

Still, the Foxes were struggling. Seth and Janie had speed, but not enough to match the Ravens’ fluid precision. Kevin was pushing hard, managing a goal to tie it up. 7–7.

Matt was trying to hold the defense together, but Riko slipped past him like it was nothing and scored. The Ravens’ crowd erupted, chanting “King! King! King!” over and over, drunk on their own arrogance.

Boring.

Even the faint satisfaction he’d felt earlier—the sharp, bitter pleasure of winning the battle—was gone now.

Boring, boring, boring. 

The game ended 9–7, Ravens’ favor.

The Foxes collapsed where they stood, exhausted but proud, clapping each other on the back like they’d just won gold.

The Ravens, by contrast, stood frozen. Silent. Staring at the scoreboard like it had betrayed them.

Like they’d lost.

Andrew didn’t move from the bench.

He watched the way Riko didn’t celebrate—just turned, jaw tight, like even winning by two wasn’t enough. Like the very act of playing against them had dirtied him.

Then he turned to Kevin, and oh, how Andrew was itching for a fight.

Riko didn’t make it one step before Andrew was in front of him. “Riko,” he said, that maniac smile cutting across his face, “I told you before—don’t touch my things.”

Riko stopped in his tracks, something smug curling at the edge of his mouth. “I see the lesson we gave you on the court didn’t quite sink in,” he said coolly. “We’ll need to think of something... else.”

Andrew’s smile widened. “Oh, Riko. Go lick your wounds somewhere else.”

Riko stared back, challenging. But Andrew knew better—Riko was a coward underneath all that polish. Eventually, he snorted and looked over Andrew’s shoulder, clearly aiming his words at someone else—Kevin, no doubt—before spitting out something in Japanese and gesturing toward the blue-eyed Raven still lingering in the stands. Then he turned and walked away.

“What did he say, Day?” Andrew asked as he turned back.

Kevin looked paler than usual. “I—he said the same thing Grayson said to me. That if I’m not careful, they’ll give Nate the same treatment they gave Jean." He paused before he added, "I don’t know what that means.”

But from the sound of it, Andrew knew it couldn’t mean anything good.

He still didn’t like the Frenchman—not because he’d done anything, not because he was particularly unpleasant (he was, but given the company Andrew kept he was used to that).
It was the hollow look in his eyes. That haunted, fractured quiet that said more than words ever could.

Jean carried the weight of someone who knew what it meant to say no and be ignored. Someone who knew what it was like to be broken down until there was nothing left. And sometimes, it was too damn hard for Andrew to look at him and not see himself.

He didn’t say anything to Kevin. The question— Did Kevin know? —had lingered in the back of Andrew’s mind for weeks. This pretty much confirmed what he already suspected.

He watched as the rest of the Ravens followed Riko’s lead. No victory lap. No gloating. Just silence—sharp and dangerous. They filed off the court like shadows slipping into darker places, heads high, mouths shut.

Then he saw the blue-eyed Raven start descending the stands, fire in his steps, clearly saying something heated to Riko, who gave him a sharp, mocking smile in return.

Even if Andrew hadn’t been watching Nathaniel directly, Kevin’s focus—intense, fixed, a step forward like a man possessed—would’ve told him all he needed to know.

“No way you’re going over there,” Andrew muttered, stepping between Kevin and whatever dumb idea was brewing in his head.

Kevin blinked down at him like he’d just come out of a trance. “I—I hadn’t seen him in so long—”

“No,” Andrew said flatly. And whatever tone he used must’ve cut through, because Kevin’s jaw clenched. He cast one last look Nathaniel’s way before turning angrily and storming toward the locker room.

Andrew didn’t bother looking again.

_____

Kevin gathered them in the locker room after the game and post-match interviews.

And oh, that already smelled like trouble to Andrew.

“Is this really necessary, Day?” Aaron muttered, folding his arms. “The game just ended. Whatever bullshit you want to say about how we played can wait.”

“Can’t believe I’m saying this,” Seth grumbled, looking like he was ready to kill Kevin with his bare hands, “but I agree with the monster. Can you keep your fucking speeches to yourself for one day?”

Andrew leaned against the lockers, arms folded loosely, watching Kevin with detached curiosity. Kevin stood rigid in front of them, shoulders squared like he was about to walk into a firing squad. Coach Wymack stepped up beside him, hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

“We’re not here to discuss the game,” Coach said, calm but firm. “Kevin?”

Kevin hesitated. For a second, Andrew thought he might back down. Then he exhaled, slow and deep, and said, “Kathy asked me and Jean to do an interview.”

The room went dead silent.

Then Andrew laughed. Loud, sudden, unkind. “And when exactly did she ask you, Day?”

Kevin’s eyes didn’t move from the floor. “Three days ago.”

Andrew’s laughter cut short. Three days. Not months, like last time. Still— three days. He hadn’t told Andrew. He hadn’t told anyone . Déjà vu . But worse, somehow. Because Kevin knew better by now.

Aaron scoffed. “What’s the big drama? We all know you’re not going. We all remember what happened the last time you tried.”

Yeah, last time when Riko had shown up in person like some twisted magician pulling trauma out of a hat. Oh, how much Andrew hated surprises. Right. He still remembered the look in Kevin’s eyes when that happened—hollow, frozen, humiliated.

“Jean’s not going,” Renee said softly, her voice full of hope she didn’t dare express outright.

Andrew turned his head toward Kevin, watching him through narrowed eyes. “Oh, Day,” he said, voice like a knife sliding into silk, “tell me you didn’t say yes.”

Kevin finally looked up, face pale but steady. “She already told me Riko would be there,” he said. “They want to do a full feature on the whole Perfect Court.”

And there it was. The real reason. Andrew's expression curled into something bitter. “Miss your little brother that much?”

The others glanced between them, confused. But Andrew didn’t care. Kevin had taken the right to privacy the moment he decided to play secret-keeper.

Again.

Kevin didn’t answer immediately. His jaw tensed, the muscle twitching like he was holding back teeth and blood. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, but steady. “I didn’t know he’d be there when Kathy first reached out. But I know now. And I’m not going to sit back while Riko gets to stand beside him and pretend it’s all just—” He stopped, closed his eyes like the words tasted bad. “It doesn’t concern the team. I only told you because Coach asked me to.”

Andrew stared at him for a long moment, face unreadable.

“Not because you thought we deserved to know?” Alison asked. Kevin didn’t deny it.

And that said more than anything else he could have.

Andrew’s gaze cut to Coach, who stood off to the side like a monument—arms crossed, face unreadable. Typical. Nothing happened on this team without his silent signature. The man didn’t breathe unless it served a purpose.

“Great,” Aaron muttered. “So we’re getting dragged into another one of Kevin’s trauma-themed field trips.”

Renee shot him a sharp look but didn’t speak. Seth scoffed and leaned back against the lockers with a sigh, like the drama was more exhausting than the game.

Andrew didn’t take his eyes off Kevin. “Let me guess,” he said, voice smooth and cruel. “You want to march into Kathy’s circus and what? Save him? Rescue the little lost bird from the monster’s cage?”

Kevin didn’t flinch, but something in his face cracked at the edges. “He’s not lost,” he said, low and fierce. “He knows exactly where he is.”

Andrew’s mouth curled into something too thin to be called a smile. “Worse.”

“I just want to see for myself if he’s okay.”

Andrew stepped forward, “you mean, if Riko’s done breaking him yet.”

That one landed. Kevin jerked back like the words were a punch to the gut.

Andrew moved with lazy precision, rising to his feet and closing the distance until they were chest to chest. His voice dipped, colder than ice, sharper than steel. “You walk into that room, Day, and you’d better be ready. Riko will twist the knife right in front of you, and he’ll smile while he does it. You think he won’t cut deeper just because it’s you ? You think your presence makes him safer?” He leaned in, tone dark and final. “You don’t get to be surprised when your little bird bleeds.”

Kevin held his ground, but his eyes were hollow and burning. “I already know he bleeds,” he said, voice shaking with something too raw to name. “I just need to know if he’s still fighting.”

Andrew stared at him for one long second. Then, suddenly bored, he stepped back and turned away. “Don’t come crying to me when your toy breaks in front of you,” he said over his shoulder, tone flat as concrete. “I am going to the bus.”

He left without another word. 

Four more months, he thought, four more months and he’d be done with it all.

Chapter Text

“No,” Jean said immediately.

Andrew let out a laugh, sharp and delighted. “Look, Day! Franchie’s grown a spine. Maybe you should take notes.”

Jean frowned, not at Andrew’s words—he never cared much for Andrew’s mouth—but because he had bigger problems in front of him.

Kevin was spiraling. Anyone else might have missed it, fooled by the calm, clipped sentences he’d recited in the post-game interview: “It was a good game. I believe in the Foxes.” Jean had watched it live from the hotel room and hadn’t bought a word of it. Kevin might have tricked the press. He might have even convinced Andrew.

But he hadn’t convinced Jean.

And worse, Riko’s own interview had made things even more unbearable. Jean had sat in silence, alone in his room, while Riko’s voice crackled through the television, “Kevin should be used to losing by now, especially with a second-tier team. He should come back to his proper place.”

The words had sunk into Jean like rot in bone.

“Jean,” Kevin tried again, too gently. “Don’t you want to see Nate? It’s an opportunity—”

Rage hit Jean so fast it startled even him. It sat raw and hot in his throat.

“Don’t,” he said, voice low and dangerous.

Kevin’s jaw tightened. He looked like he was about to argue, but Andrew stepped in, suddenly and deliberately, like a blade drawn between them.

“Touching,” Andrew said, tone flat. “But Kevin and I have something to discuss.”

“No,” Kevin cut in again, eyes still on Jean. “Jean is leaving soon. There are things we have to talk about.”

Jean gave Andrew a look—half-wary, half-warning—before switching to French. “Il n’y a rien à dire*.”

Kevin didn’t flinch. “Did something happen at the Nest that I don’t know about?”

Teeth . His hand twitched toward his throat, nails dragging against skin before he caught himself.

“No.”

“Then what does ‘special Jean treatment’ mean?”

Jean went still.

Silence pressed in around them like snow. Did Riko—did Grayson —say something?

Andrew moved, stepping directly into Kevin’s line of sight, blocking his view with a force that was more presence than size. His eyes didn’t leave Jean.

“Day,” he said, warning laced into every syllable. “Don’t.”

But Kevin didn’t back down. “Jean, I need—”

Andrew’s hand moved fast—one hand closing around Kevin’s throat with unnerving calm.

Jean startled. It wasn’t the violence itself—he had seen far worse—but that it came from Andrew , and that it was for him .

“I thought I was clear the first time,” Andrew said, low and level, voice like a trigger cocking. “We’re leaving.”

“But—”

Andrew’s grip tightened, not enough to choke but enough to warn. His body language didn’t change. He didn’t even blink.

Jean stayed frozen. And for the first time in too long, someone saw he didn’t want to speak and respected the silence.

Kevin stared, fury burning behind his eyes, but he knew better than to push. He clenched his fists at his sides, looking at Andrew with something that almost resembled hurt. “You can’t just keep doing this,” Kevin said bitterly, voice low, “Every time it doesn’t go your way.”

Andrew didn’t even look back. “Kevin.”

That was all.

Kevin sneered, the fight in him curling inward. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, shoulders tight with all the words he didn’t say.

Andrew followed without another glance.

Jean was left in the quiet that remained. The echo of their footsteps faded. Still, it took him a moment to breathe.

I am Jean Moreau, he told himself. I am Perfect Court.

But that wasn’t true anymore, was it?

The lie cracked under its own weight, and Jean felt the ground shift. He was not Perfect Court. He was not anything.

Endure, he told himself instead. Endure. Endure. Endure.

His hand drifted up to the base of his throat. He shut his eyes and tried to force the thoughts away—to shove them into the deepest, coldest corner of his mind.

But all he could see was the box. The one that had arrived days ago. His notebooks inside with page after page of bold black ink with words he tried to forget. The note Grayson wrote still so clear in his mind—

“Jean?” a voice called.

He blinked, looking around. The room was empty.

His eyes lowered—

And that’s when he saw it. His phone, lying face-up on the floor. The screen still lit. A call.

Neil 00:00:27 . The screen read. Jean stared.

He didn’t remember unlocking his phone. Didn’t remember finding Neil’s contact. Didn’t remember hitting call. And yet here it was. The soft, distant sound of Neil’s breathing came through the line, steady and quiet, like he hadn’t said a word. Like he was just… waiting.

Jean’s fingers trembled as he reached for the phone. He lifted it slowly, heart pounding in a rhythm too close to panic. He pressed it to his ear. “…Neil?” His voice came out strained and uneven, raw around the edges.

A pause. Then, “I’m here,” Neil said softly. “Didn’t know if you meant to call.”

Jean’s throat closed. His eyes burned. “I didn’t,” he whispered.

Or did he? He wasn’t sure anymore. It was hard to grasp what he was feeling when he felt like the world was turning black around him.

“Okay.” Neil said in a whisper. He didn’t sound hurt; just there , calm and unshaken, like the world could come down around them and he would still be standing. Jean nearly hung up right then. He didn’t deserve this voice. This patience. This quiet kind of care.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“I heard,” Neil said eventually. “About the interview. About Riko.”

Of course he had. Everyone had. Jean’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak. The words had twisted too tightly inside him to come out clean.

“Do you want me to say something?” Neil asked. “Or just listen?”

Jean swallowed. That was the thing about Neil. He never offered comfort in the way others did—never too soft, never too pitying. Just honest . Steady. Unflinching.

Like someone who had learned how to survive a storm by walking through it.

“Just listen,” Jean said, barely audible.

Neil said nothing. The silence grew softer around the edges. Jean sat down slowly, phone still pressed to his ear, like it was the only thing tethering him to the present moment. Outside, the hallway had gone quiet. No Kevin. No Andrew. No Perfect Court.

Only him and Neil’s breathing, steady on the line.

Almost like he was back in the Nest.

Like nothing changed. 

—

Jeremy Knox smiled and waved as he spotted Jean in the crowd.

Jean regretted his decision to come almost immediately.

Every step closer made the feeling worse—like something pressing against his chest, wrong and out of place. He dug his nails into his palms as he walked, trying to focus on anything but the way his skin still itched from the flight or how he hadn’t realized airports could feel so suffocating. Kevin’s last, annoyingly smug advice, “Maybe leave a little earlier next time״, had been more useful than Jean wanted to admit.

Kevin. He shoved the name to the back of his mind. Because if he thought of Kevin, he’d think of their last conversation. The one from over a week ago. The one that still made him feel like he was bleeding on the inside.

“Waiting for more baggage?” Jeremy asked cheerfully.

Jean looked at him. Jeremy Knox was... objectively good-looking. Not that Jean noticed. He'd learned not to look a long time ago. "No."

“Mailing the rest?”

“No.”

When Jean offered nothing more, Jeremy shrugged. “All right. My car’s just over there—”

Turns out ‘just over there’ meant three floors up in the parking garage. They walked in silence, which suited Jean just fine. He didn’t want to talk. He wanted structure. Routine. Something sharp and clean to fall into.

Jean didn’t know anything about cars, but he knew money when he saw it. The car was sleek. Fancy.

"So," Jeremy said as they pulled onto the road. "How was the flight?"

Jean had learned long ago it was safer to let others speak for him—Neil, Kevin, even Riko when it served a purpose. Speaking was dangerous. Costly. Jean was a tool, not a person. A debt paid in flesh. Something broken beyond repair.  He was used to being silent. Used to being useful. Riko had made sure of that.

Jean answered automatically. "Terrible."

He left it at that.

They drove on, passing sign after sun-drenched sign. Each mile took Jean farther from the Nest, from the only world he'd known.

From Neil.

Endure. Endure. Endure.

“Are you hungry? We can stop and grab something.”

Jean blinked. The car smelled like leftover junk food. His stomach turned. “No.” A beat passed. Then, before he could stop himself, “you’re straying from your nutrition plan.”

“What?” Jeremy blinked, thrown.

Jean turned, frustrated. "The one the Trojans gave you."

Jeremy glanced at him. “We don’t have one.”

Jean’s spine went rigid. “What?”

“We get a lecture once a semester. Coaches mostly trust us to know what’s good for us.” Jeremy tilted his head. “Is this a joke? Because it kind of sounds like the Ravens had... a strict one?”

Jean opened his mouth. Closed it again.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew the Nest was different. But this? This was something else entirely. No diet? No enforced regimen? “Never talk to the press,” Riko’s voice whispered in his memory. “Or the psychiatrist. They can’t fix what’s already broken. Right, Three?”

"Forget I said anything," Jean muttered.

“Jean—”

He tuned him out. Jeremy rambled on about majors. Jean stared out the window, heart thudding, wondering how this team wasn’t a disaster if they let players choose their own courses, their own food, their own... lives.

Endure. Behave.

“Kevin told me you’ll need a partner,” Jeremy said, still upbeat. “We’re working on it—especially with your major.”

Jean finally had to answer. “Business.”

He didn’t elaborate—about how every Raven took the same major, about how everything had been streamlined, no time to waste on meaningless things. 

“Impressive,” Jeremy said. “You enjoy it?”

“No.”

Jeremy seemed to want to ask more, but backed off. “So you and Kevin are close?”

Jean stared at the window.

How do you answer that? Kevin was never his friend. He was a brother—but not always. Their bond had been forged out of desperation, not affection. Complicated. Ugly.

So he said nothing.

Jeremy finally got the hint. Silence fell, and Jean let it wrap around him like armor.

When the USC sign finally appeared by the road, Jean could breathe again. He was awake now. Alert. The idea of routine—of distraction—snapped him into focus. He could do this.

Then the car pulled up to a pale yellow house in a quiet residential street.

Jean frowned. There was already a car parked out front. Why had they stopped? The house looked... wrong. Plain. Forgettable. Even as they stood on the porch, Jean couldn’t understand what they were doing here—or why Jeremy had a key.

The idea that Jeremy might live here, instead of in the dorms, made his stomach churn.

Endure. Endure. Endure. They wouldn’t actually make him live here. Right?

“We’re here!” Jeremy called as he stepped inside and kicked off his shoes. Jean followed, mimicking him automatically.

A girl with dark curls popped out from a hallway. “Hey! You just missed Laila.”

“Cat, Jean. Jean, Cat,” Jeremy introduced with a grin. “This is where you’ll be staying. Cat—can you give him the tour?”

The words didn’t register at first. Staying? Here? The idea of living there—off-campus, off-court—made Jean’s stomach twist. 

He didn’t hear what Catalina said. He followed her through the house on autopilot. Something about a marker and putting it back in place. His fingers twitched.

“I’m not staying here,” he said sharply.

“Excuse me?” Jeremy blinked. Catalina froze beside him.

“I’m not living away from the court. Find me a dorm room.”

Jeremy frowned. “I can’t. We don’t really do that here. Based on what Kevin told me, the only person who could possibly be your partner is me. And I live here. I’m only on campus during the school year.”

Something darkened in Jeremy’s face at the word home. Jean recognized the flicker. He knows. He gets it.

Still.

“You don’t live on campus.”

“Nope!” Jeremy replied brightly.

“Let’s get back to the tour!” Catalina tried.

Jean could barely hear her. The Trojans were... wrong. So much wrong, he didn’t know where to start. Everything here felt like chaos wrapped in sunshine.

When Jeremy proudly pointed at a cardboard standee of a dog and declared it “Barkbark von Barkenstein,” Jean nearly snapped it in half.

This is your captain, he thought numbly. This is who I’m supposed to follow.

“What’s the purpose of this thing?” he asked, voice flat.

Jeremy blinked. “What?”

Jean spoke slower, more firmly. “What. Purpose. Does. It. Serve?”

“It makes us happy?”

Jean wanted to scream. But this was his captain. “Where is my room?” he said instead, teeth grinding.

They showed him a few more things, but he didn’t register any of it. All he could think about was calling Kevin. Was this a joke? A punishment? Maybe Kevin blamed him—for leaving Neil behind.

“I’ll let you settle in,” Jeremy offered.

“That’s all I need.”

At least the curtains aren’t orange.

“What? You can’t be serious—what about—” Cat started.

Jean ignored her.

This team was wrong. Talking to them was a waste of time.

He turned to Jeremy. “Take me to court.”

Jeremy blinked, confused. “Jean, I was just—”

Cat huffed. “Hello? I was talking to you. Don’t just ignore me—”

Jean bit his tongue. "Sorry." Neither of them looked convinced.

"I know we’re not the Ravens, but you don’t have to be a dick," she said, turning back to the stove. "I’m cooking."

Jean glanced at Jeremy. "Take me to court."

Jeremy opened his mouth, then closed it. "Alright. Just don’t kill anyone on the way."

As they approached the door, another person walked in. She looked at Jean, then at the number on his face.

"You must be Jean," she said. "I’m Laila."

"Goalkeeper," he said. "You’re good."

"You didn’t say I was good," Catalina muttered.

Jean looked at her. Neil had told him people outside the Nest appreciated honesty. Not brutal honesty. But he never knew how to separate the two.

“You are good,” he said at last, because it was true. “But you’re weaker on your left side. Why your coaches didn’t correct that years ago is beyond me. A lot of what you Trojans do is beyond me.”

“We Trojans do, Jean,” Jeremy corrected, arms crossed.

Laila smirked. "Mmm, I like him. Rude as hell, but honest. Maybe we’ll be friends."

Jean wrinkled his nose. He wasn’t here to make friends. He had made that clear before he ever signed.

Jeremy, who must have remembered that conversation, turned to the girls and said, “I’m showing Jean the route to campus. We’ll be back before dinner.”

Outside, as he shut the door behind them, Jeremy glanced at him. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

Jeremy nodded and launched into a running monologue like nothing awkward had happened at all. He pointed out landmarks along the walk: which houses hosted the loudest parties (irrelevant), the best corner store (Jean didn’t cook or shop for himself), and then—oddly—bubble tea.

“Bubble tea?” Jean asked, frowning.

“Flavored tea with tapioca balls,” Jeremy explained.

Jean’s frown deepened. Those words didn’t clarify anything.

Jeremy stopped walking. “I’m guessing it wasn’t part of the Ravens nutrition plan. Can you tell me more about it?” His tone was easy, too easy—Jean had spent the last few years around manipulators to know when a question was bait.

“No.”

The rest of the walk passed in silence.

—-

Jean stared at the number 29 printed on the back of his jersey.

“This isn’t what I asked for,” he said quietly, fingers drifting to the tattoo on his cheek like a reflex.

“Thirty looks too much like three at an angle,” Jeremy replied, far too cheerfully. “Fresh start, right?”

Jean counted to ten. He didn’t want to strangle his new captain. Not yet.

When they found Jeffery Davis, Jean was almost relieved to be passed off for his medical check. The man looked him over quickly, turning to Jeremy.

“He’ll be back shortly,” Davis said, leading Jean into the exam room. “I hear we’re looking at a couple of fractures.”

“Yes.”

“Do they hurt?”

All the time, Jean thought. Instead, he said, “Not as much as before.”

Davis studied him for a beat, then nodded. “May I?” he asked, fingers hovering near Jean’s legs.

Jean swallowed. It’s fine, he told himself. Just a checkup. He nodded.

The exam was over before the panic had time to settle in. Davis straightened up and made a few notes.

“You can do light stretching— light , Jean. No weights until I say so. You need more time. Am I clear?”

Jean nodded again.

“Good. Anything else bothering you?” Jean stayed silent. Davis opened his mouth, hesitated, then sighed. “Alright. Get out of here. And be careful, Jean.”

Jean didn’t know what be careful meant exactly, but he didn’t like how it sounded. He nodded anyway and stepped out, spotting Jeremy waiting down the hall.

“How’d it go?” Jeremy asked.

“Fine. No weights for now.”

“Oh,” Jeremy said. “Then I want to buy you a couple of shirts. Housewarming gift.”

“No,” Jean replied immediately, already turning.

“Jean,” Jeremy said firmly.

Jean stopped.

“I understand things aren’t what you’re used to,” Jeremy continued. “But what you’re doing right now? It’s called being rude.”

Jean froze.

We just need to teach him some manners, Kevin, don’t we? Riko’s voice echoed at the back of his mind like a bruise that never healed.

Cuts. Teeth.

Drowning, drowning, I'm drowning—

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, panic starting to settle in. 

Jeremy must have caught something in his expression. “Jean—”

Jean closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. Can we please talk about something else?”

Jeremy didn’t respond right away. His face stayed still, unreadable for a beat too long. Then his gaze softened. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Then he said, “alright,” he clapped. “Something else. I don’t want you walking around in the same three shirts you had at Edgar Allen. Let’s go shopping.”

Jean looked away. “They are fine.”

Jeremy huffed a soft laugh. “No, they aren’t. One of them has a bloodstain on the collar.”

Jean frowned. “It isn’t mine.”

Jeremy blinked. “Not the defense I expected. Or wanted, for that matter.”

“I don’t want to waste money.” Jean said, shifting his weight. 

Jeremy tilted his head. “Then let me waste mine. Come on—just one shirt. Or I’ll pick out something orange and glittery and hang it in your closet.”

Jean gave him a flat look.

“I’m serious. I have no shame.”

There was a pause.

“Fine,” Jean said, reluctantly.

Jeremy raised his brows. “This is the part where you say, ‘thank you, Jeremy.’ Can you say it with me?”

Jean nearly rolled his eyes but caught himself—he was still talking to his captain, ridiculous or not. “Thank you, Jeremy.”

He wasn’t sure what just happened, but he caught the shiver that ran through Jeremy at the words. It threw him off—almost as much as the way Jeremy just stood there, staring at him.

Jean raised an eyebrow. A silent question.

“Nothing,” Jeremy said quickly, face red, blinking like he’d just come out of a daze. “Shall we go?”

—

“And they have a dog made out of cardboard,” Jean said in French, phone pressed to his ear.

On the other end, Neil sounded like he was frowning. “Why?”

“They said it makes them happy.” He hesitated, then added, “There was a Raven fan on the street today. He said I abandoned my team. That you won anyway because I never mattered.”

“Jean—”

“I wish you were here. None of this makes sense anymore.”

There was a pause, then Neil said quietly, “It hasn’t made sense since you left either.”

Jean opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I’m not coming to the interview.”

He didn’t explain. He didn’t need to. Neil would understand—how the thought of sitting across from Riko made his stomach twist. How he was still afraid, even now, that he was too small to protect the people he cared about.

A child’s voice echoed in his head, soft and wistful, Maybe a dragon will save us. He would help us be safe.

“I know,” Neil said. His tone gave nothing away. “You need to stay as far from Riko as you can, Jean.”

You too, Jean thought.

“Also,” Neil added, “talk to Kevin. He’s been calling me nonstop. Drunk . Even his guard dog gave me a call.”

Jean let out a dry laugh. “Drunk?” he repeated, then added, “I don’t have anything to say to him.”

“Perfect. Call him and say that, then hang up. I don’t care.”

Jean frowned. “But—”

“Listen to me. The both of you need to take a step down. I know that in the Nest, I was the one who made you two idiots look each other in the eye, but now you have to do it yourselves. I—I don’t know if I’ll always be here to do it.” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “Please. I just… I need to know you’re both okay.”

Jean swallowed against the lump rising in his throat. “Neil…”

“I’ve got to go. Bye.”

The line went dead.

Jean stared down at the phone. He replayed Neil’s words again and again. None of it made sense. Neil was the hopeful one. The one who believed in open roads and impossible things like hugs and healing and home. Jean had never even let himself dream of those.

So why was Neil talking like this? Like—

“I don’t know, Cat. He talked about nutrient plans—”

“You think he’s dangerous, Jeremy? Maybe it was a bad idea—”

Jean could hear the voices downstairs more clearly now that the call had ended. He stood still, counted to ten, then walked to the door and shut it with deliberate force.

The room fell silent.

He clenched his fists.

It didn’t sound like this week had gone well.

But that was fine. He wasn’t here to make friends anyway.

He didn’t deserve love.

Endure, endure, endure.

-------

* Il n’y a rien à dire - ( There’s nothing to say. )

Chapter Text

The weeks after the game against the Ravens were some of the worst Andrew had lived through. That said a lot, considering most of his life had been a waking nightmare.

His hope for some peace and quiet from Exy junkies turned quickly into a carousel of late practices, early practices, and Kevin’s voice echoing through every hallway. Even though Andrew did his best to piss him off and skip as many drills as possible, Kevin’s obsession had escalated into dragging him to the court at ungodly hours. Eventually, even Andrew began to feel the ache in his limbs settle in like a second skin.

And then there were the freshmen.

Two of them had at least the survival instinct to stay out of Andrew's way — quiet, observant, nearly invisible. But the third one? He was something else.

Jack. A Ravens fan. 

He had the exact kind of face Andrew liked to punch.Smug, too pretty for his attitude, and reeking of that particular Raven arrogance that Kevin used to wear before the Foxes ground it out of him. Jack had that same glint in his eyes — like he thought he was above this place, like he had been sent here as a punishment and couldn't wait to claw his way back into his rightful kingdom.

He also had a mouth that needed stitching.

“Freak,” Jack muttered as he passed Andrew on the way to the water table one afternoon.

Andrew didn’t react. Not immediately. Jack was still too new to know just how short the rope was. But he wasn’t stupid. He must have figured out Kevin and Andrew were friends — or as close as someone like Andrew could get to friendship — and that Kevin didn’t approve of his passive-aggressive antics.

It didn’t stop him.

He tried to aim a ball at Andrew’s head during a fast-paced drill. It came in like a bullet. Too fast to be an accident.

Andrew didn’t flinch. He caught it cleanly and threw it back just as hard.

The ball slammed into Jack’s stomach with a satisfying thwack, knocking the air out of him and dropping him to his knees.

“Jack!” a couple of the Foxes yelled.

Kevin was already striding toward them. “That’s enough.” He was already treating the captain title like a crooked crown.

Andrew didn’t turn to look at him. His attention was on Jack — wheezing, red-faced, one hand clutching his gut, the other digging into the court floor.

“Jesus,” Sheena muttered from the sidelines. The other freshman hovered, wide-eyed. He looked like he might have clapped if he thought he’d get away with it.

Kevin’s voice cut through the tension. “Andrew.”

Andrew tilted his head, slowly, a manic smile blooming like a threat. “What? I was just giving Jack a lesson in aiming. He seemed to slip as he aimed for my head, and I seemed to need a few lessons myself. Whoops.”

Jack coughed and forced himself upright, breathing heavily. His face flushed a deep red, but he looked like he might try to speak.

Andrew met his gaze — and smiled. That manic smile; all teeth, no warmth.

Jack wisely said nothing.

“Water break. Five minutes,” Kevin barked, already turning away.

The court scattered. No one said a word to Andrew, but they all moved around him like he was on fire. That quiet, humming tension stayed thick in the air — the kind of silence Andrew liked. It meant they were being careful.

It meant they understood.

Good.

Kevin didn’t move. He just stood there, still watching him with that exhausting disappointment.

Andrew bent to grab his water bottle, brushing his racket on the way up.

“You’re not helping,” Kevin muttered.

“I’m not trying to,” Andrew replied, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip like they were discussing the weather.

“He’s one of us.”

“No,” Andrew said coldly. “He’s yours . I told you, I am not taking any more strays.”

Kevin’s expression tightened. 

“He has potential.”

“I don’t care.”

“Andrew—”

“You might be a junkie, but I’m not. I’m done here.” Andrew started to walk away.

Kevin moved fast — too fast — cutting him off. “You made me a promise.”

Andrew stopped, tilted his head with curiosity. “A promise?” he repeated, smiling. Kevin didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Andrew remembered — the deadline. Four months. No, three and a week now. “You have that long to give me something worthwhile. And no, it’s not going to be Exy,” Andrew said, stepping in just enough to make Kevin flinch. “If I were you, I’d worry less about your new Raven groupie and more about how empty your hands still are.”

Kevin clenched his fists at his sides, jaw tight, face flushed with frustration. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Andrew turned to leave, but not before catching the faintest whisper from Jack. “Jealous little freak…”

Andrew stopped. He didn’t turn. Didn’t speak.

Just smiled.

Let it go.

For now.

Timing was everything — and he had mastered the art of waiting for the perfect moment to strike a long time ago. 

—

Eden’s Twilight felt different tonight. Or maybe Andrew was just getting bored of it—like he did with most things.

They moved as a group through the haze of lights and body heat, Kevin leading the way, pushing past the pulsing crowd like he might escape recognition if he just ducked his head low enough. 

Ronald was in his usual place behind the bar, wiping glasses like he hadn’t just been watching them from the moment they walked in. “Thought I’d never see you again,” he said. His voice was cheerful but his eyes zeroed in on Andrew. “It’s been too long.” he said, giving Andrew that look.

Andrew held his gaze for a second, weighing the idea of slipping into the back for a few minutes before dismissing it completely. “The usual.”

He caught the flicker of disappointment in Ronald’s face before the mask snapped back into place and he turned away to make their drinks.

A round of shots first. They threw them back in unison. Then Ronald lined up the tray—liquid golds and oranges and reds, glowing like potions in the dim bar light. Their table opened up at the far end and Nicky and Kevin cleared a path through the crowd, while Andrew carried the tray behind them, trying to avoid the bodies moving next to him.

They dug in faster than usual.

Aaron was still radiating that sharp, clipped energy he always had when he was pissed—what about this time, Andrew couldn’t tell.

Didn’t help that Kevin was still spiraling since French birdie flew off to the Trojans. Ever since Jean had made his way out of the Foxes, Kevin had turned that old desperation inward again, doubling down like Exy, of all thing, would save him if he just bled enough. When Kevin reached for his third packet of cracker dust, Andrew didn’t hesitate. He reached over the table and yanked it out of his hand.

“Give me that.” Kevin said. He looked half-crossed already, eyes slightly red and pupils far too big.

“No.” Andrew’s voice was flat. “This pity show has been dragging on long enough, Day.”

Kevin clenched his hands. “Someone hurt Jean and I didn’t even know. You don’t get it.”

Andrew studied him for a beat, then leaned in slightly. “Give me your brother’s number.”

The music was slamming harder now, like the beat had turned violent. Kevin blinked, confused. “Jean? What do you have to talk about—”

“The other one.”

Kevin went dead still, halfway to lifting another shot. “No.”

Andrew tilted his head, just a fraction. This was the second time Kevin Day showed him some shred of spine. It was dumb. Still—interesting. “That wasn’t a suggestion, Day.”

Kevin shook his head slowly, like each movement hurt. “Ne-Nathaniel won’t like giving you his number.”

Across the table, Aaron was watching. Andrew could feel his stare, sharp and suspicious.

“Why don’t you take Nicky to the dance floor?” he said without looking away from Kevin.

His jaw clenched like he wanted to punch someone—preferably Andrew—but instead he knocked back another shot and stood. “Come on,” he muttered, dragging Nicky up by the wrist.

“Whoa, slow down—” Nicky shouted, nearly tripping as Aaron pulled him into the crowd.

Andrew waited until they disappeared into the swirl of colored lights before turning back to Kevin. “You want to protect your dear brothers, don’t you?”

Kevin was quieter now. The drugs had softened his sharp edges, made his eyes glassy and unreadable. “Yes.”

“The French birdie is with the Trojans. The only thing you need to worry about is him overdosing on whatever joy juice the Sunshine Court pump into their veins.”

Kevin didn’t answer for a moment. “But Riko—”

“Won’t move against Jean unless we hand him a reason on a silver platter,” Andrew said, slowly and clearly, like he was explaining something to a particularly stubborn child. “You warned Knox. That’s all you could do.”

Kevin’s fingers curled around the edge of the table again. His knuckles were bone white. “Nate’s not allowed to talk to the others,” he said eventually. “He doesn’t live like us. He’s not free.”

“You don’t say,” Andrew replied, unimpressed.

“You won’t get anything out of him,” Kevin continued, voice starting to crack. “He doesn’t trust anyone. And especially not someone like you.”

Andrew leaned back in his chair. “Someone like me?”

Kevin didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

“Mmm,” Andrew hummed. “I think I can convince him otherwise.”

“Andrew.” Kevin shook his head again, more desperate this time. “If he gets hurt—”

“Then it’s on me,” Andrew said flatly. “Not on you.”

“Just like whatever happened with Jean?” 

Oh. That was a low blow, even for drunk Kevin. 

“I made you a promise to protect you. And that includes knowing what Riko is planning before he touches anyone else. Jean. You. Even Nate.”

Kevin looked down at his hands. His knuckles were still white, but now they were trembling.

“He won’t answer,” Kevin whispered.

“He will,” Andrew said, rising from his seat. “Because you gave me the number. And whether you admit it or not, you’re counting on me to do the things you can’t.”

——

The house in Columbia was quiet as Andrew flipped the phone in his hand, the faint creak of the old wooden floor beneath him the only sound. He paused, considering the call for a long moment before finally pressing the button.

“Uncle?” a voice called out from the other end. Interesting since Kevin had told Andrew that Nathaniel had no family.

“Not quite, birdie.”

The call disconnected immediately. Andrew’s lip twitched into a small, sharp smile before he called back again.

It took a few more rings before Nathaniel finally answered, voice low and clipped. “What do you want, Doe?”

How Nathaniel knew it was him, Andrew didn’t know—and that only made his smile twitch wider.

“Shh… birdie. You’re too loud. Can’t you chipper quietly like the other birds?”Andrew said, dragging a cigarette to his lips with a lazy flick at the open window. “There are too many of you birds to keep track of the metaphors. I heard you used to be a runway.”

“What are you even—”

“A rabbit, perhaps. That fits, don’t you think?”

“Doe, I have no idea what high trip you’re on, but whatever it is—I don’t want to be part of it.”

“Relax, rabbit. I’m calling about your dear old brother.”

That caught the rabbit’s attention. “Kevin?” Nathaniel asked finally. “Where is he?”

Andrew glanced toward the entrance of the living room. “Passed out on the sofa after drinking and dusting.”

Nathaniel huffed, skeptical. “Kevin doesn’t drink.”

Was the rabbit playing himself drunk, or just stupid? “You didn’t notice the alcoholism while he was in the Nest, birdie?”

Nathaniel went quiet for a moment, then said, “I thought I was a rabbit. Can’t keep up with your own metaphors, Doe?”

“Oh.” Andrew inhaled deeply, the smoke curling around him. “You might turn out to be interesting. For a little while, at least.”

“Couldn’t find anyone to keep up with your psychosis for long?”

Andrew took another slow drag of his cigarette. “They tend to break around me.”

“Mm. What a shame. Was there a purpose to this call? Some of us have places to be. I’m not supposed to be talking to a Fox. Especially not someone as unstable as you.”

“That desperate to go back to your court?”

He could almost hear Nathaniel’s smirk through the line. “Some of us are actually trying to win.”

Andrew ignored the jab; he had no defense for that kind of truth. “I want to talk about the interview.”

He caught Nathaniel’s breath hitch, subtle but unmistakable. “What about it?”

“What’s Riko planning, little rabbit?”

“I don’t know.” Nathaniel’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“Don’t love your brother that much?”

Hatred poured from Nathaniel’s voice like a dark wave. “I don’t know. You think Riko tells me anything? If you called for me to spill his evil plans, I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

Andrew didn’t buy it. “You’ve been his shadow for a long time, rabbit. You must know something.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Nathaniel said dryly. “King doesn’t care about his minions. Says they’re just there to hold the line until someone more important comes.”

Andrew took the last drag of his cigarette, eyes narrowing. “You’re more useless than I thought.”

“Now you sound like him.” The rabbit was playing dirty. Andrew opened his mouth to snap back, but Nathaniel beat him to it. “There is one thing.”

A pause stretched. “Oh? Do tell.”

“I think—I think the goal is to discard Kevin’s talent. Not just to the fans, but to the Moriyamas.”

“You know how to keep a girl waiting.”

Nathaniel muttered something in what sounded like French before adding, “I don’t trust you. Or like you, for that matter.”

“Ouch.”

Nathaniel paused again, thoughtful. “Riko made us rehearse the interview over and over. How we stood, how we answered, even what we wore. I wouldn’t think it was all for nothing.”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what you said in those rehearsals?”

“Tell Kevin to call me if he wants to hear it himself. Don’t call this number again, Doe.”

Andrew stared at the night sky from the window. “I’ll see you soon, rabbit.” He hung up with a sharp click before Neil could, his mind itching with something interesting—something new—for once. He turned his head toward the door, planning to leave, then paused.

Aaron stood in the threshold — arms crossed, jaw clenched — a mirror image, but meaner in the edges, his eyes burned beneath the weight of unsaid things.

“Who the fuck were you talking to?” Aaron asked. His voice was low and clipped, already bracing for a lie — as if lies were the only language they knew how to speak to each other anymore.

Andrew didn’t flinch. He never did. Guilt wasn’t in his vocabulary. Neither was regret.

Not anymore.

“No one,” he said. “A pipe dream.”

Aaron’s eyes flicked to the open window, jaw tightening further. “Don’t play games with me.”

“I’m not. That requires interest.” He tapped ash off his cigarette, the ember flaring briefly before he let it drop into the dark. “It’s late. Go back to pretending you don’t care.”

Aaron stepped into the room, shoulders drawn tight like a string pulled to the edge of snapping. “You mean pretending I don’t give a shit every time you pull something reckless and drag us down with you?”

Andrew didn’t answer. His expression remained flat, unreadable. He was already bored. He stood, smooth and slow, and turned toward the door.

“Don’t,” Aaron said sharply. “Don’t walk away like this doesn’t matter. You’re making calls behind everyone’s back again. You don’t get to keep deciding everything on your own.”

“I do,” Andrew said flatly, pausing inches from him. “Because the rest of you keep proving you can’t.”

“You’re not invincible,” Aaron snapped, heat rising behind every word. “Even if you act like it. You keep making these reckless, arrogant calls, and one day it’s going to catch up to you. To all of us. Then what happens to our deal?”

Andrew’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of something too amused, too sharp, crossing his face. There was no medication dulling the edges tonight — just the familiar burn of vodka and spite keeping him upright.

“Oh, brother dear,” he said, with a voice that gave no emotion at all. “Worried about the deal now? Tell me — how’s your little tumor of a cheerleader doing?”

Aaron’s face went white. “I don’t know what you—”

“Aaron, Aaron,” Andrew interrupted, mocking, “didn’t you hear me tell Day that I hate liars?”

Silence cracked between them. Then Aaron spoke — quieter now, but dead serious. The heat had cooled into something more dangerous. “You don’t get to self-destruct and call it strategy,” he said. “You think I don’t care? Fine. Keep telling yourself that. But you go down alone, Andrew, and you’ll take us with you. You never think things through. Just like—”

He cut himself off, jaw clenched too tight to finish the thought.

“Just like what?”

Aaron’s voice was raw. “Just like with Mom. If it wasn’t for Nicky, we'd have been in the system. Or worse.”

Just not the system, Andrew thought. It wasn't like he was in the system all his life, a fact that his double seemed to keep forgetting. Andrew tilted his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “Don't you know? Tilda died in a car accident. Tragic.”

“She was my mom!” Aaron snapped, voice cracking. “She was our mom, and you fucking killed her!”

“I cut out a problem,” Andrew said coldly. “Just like I promised you I would. Don’t blame me for following through on our deal.”

Aaron clenched his fists, knuckles white, then forced them open. His whole body vibrated with anger. “One day you’re going to look back and understand you fucking destroyed everything good that came your way.” His voice was steel wrapped in pain. “I fucking hate you.”

He turned and left, slamming the door hard behind him.

Andrew didn’t move. He isn’t wrong, the words echoed in his skull like a sentence already handed down, final and deserved.

He’d come to that conclusion himself after Cas. After Drake. After every person who had tried to step close enough to matter. Because the truth was this: Andrew Minyard was a black hole, a quiet, relentless thing that swallowed everything it touched. Not out of crulty—no, never that—but because some people weren’t made to hold light. Some people only knew how to consume it.

He’d learned the rules early. Love was a lie people told themselves to feel less alone. Safety was temporary. Good things were time bombs disguised as gifts. So when they exploded, when they turned to ash in his hands, he didn’t get to be surprised.

He’d burned bridges without ever crossing them. Built walls so high no one could scale them—no one should. Not when the other side was lined with tripwires and quiet rage and the kind of emptiness that frightened even him, on the rare nights he let himself feel anything at all.

And yet—and yet—he’d already set his sights on his next target. His next stupid mistake. No, Andrew couldn’t have something good. Couldn’t keep it. He wasn’t made for warmth or soft endings.

But that didn’t stop him from wanting, quietly, desperately, in the dark corners he never let anyone see.

And that was the most dangerous part of all.

Chapter Text

The Nest had never been a kind place, but Neil couldn’t remember the last time he’d rather throw himself off a rooftop than stay within its walls.

It started with Jeremy—relentlessly optimistic, infuriatingly cheerful Jeremy Knox—announcing during his post-game interview that Jean Moreau was transferring to USC. Just like that. Like it was good news. Like it wouldn’t upend everything.

The fallout was instant. That night, Riko’s rage descended like a storm, and Neil bore the brunt of it. The screams Riko dragged from his throat were worse than anything Neil had endured in years. Pain was expected. Pain was routine. But the venom of that night left something hollow and aching in his chest.

Still, Neil endured. He always did. He could take the shouting, the fists, the spitting. He could take the weight of cruelty pressed into bruises, the slashing grins that cut deeper than any blade, the suffocating knowledge that they all wanted him to break. He could live with that.

What he couldn’t live with were the touches.

They came after. Quietly. Deliberately.

There were five of them, and there was no doubt in Neil’s mind that Riko had given the order. The King didn’t need to say it aloud. He never did.

It started with meals. When Kevin and Jean were still at the Nest, the three of them would usually sit together—tight, cautious, a shield in the middle of a warzone. When Kevin fled, it was just Jean and Neil. And when Jean was pulled from the Nest, Neil was left alone.

He preferred it that way. Neil had no desire to make friends in the Nest. The others were cruel, cold-blooded things with sharp eyes and sharper tongues. He didn’t trust any of them.

Especially not the four new freshmen—bottom-tier talent, top-tier sadists. He barely knew their names, and he didn’t care to. The feeling was mutual. They hated him, and he loathed them in return.

And then there was Grayson.

Grayson, who slid in next to Neil at breakfast like they were old friends. Grayson, who smiled with teeth and made sure the others formed a circle around them, hiding their hands under the table. Always shielding just enough to stay out of sight. Just enough to make Neil feel trapped and unseen all at once.

Grayson was the worst.

Neil tried to fight. He always did. He jabbed a fork into Grayson’s hand once, deep enough to leave a mark. He got his head slammed into the table for it. He kicked. He scratched. He dug his nails in hard enough to bleed.

Nothing worked.

Their hands stayed hidden, their laughs quiet and cruel, their satisfaction unmistakable.

And Neil, for the first time in a long time, felt truly powerless.

****

He hadn’t been outside the Nest in nearly five years.

Before they caught him—before they dragged him into this wretched place—life on the run with his mother had seemed like the worst kind of existence. They were always hungry, always moving, always afraid. Friendships were forbidden, and romance was a foreign language—but at fourteen, that part hadn’t really mattered yet.

Now, looking back, he would’ve taken the road a thousand times over.

At least the road never pretended to own him. At least he could breathe. His mother had been cold, calculating, distant—but her wrath had never burned like this. Not like the Nest. Not like him .

He missed the sky. The scent of rain before a storm. The wind through an open window on the highway. The way freedom used to feel—raw and dangerous and his .

“You’re going to see the outside world, Four,” Riko said in Japanese as he tossed a bundle of dark clothes onto the bed. “Say thank you, King .”

Neil’s fingers tightened around the fabric, his knuckles pale. He clenched his jaw until it ached and bit the inside of his cheek to keep his voice steady. he said through gritted teeth, “thank you Ki-”

“On your knees, Four. I want to see your gratitude.” Riko’s lips twitched. 

Neil didn’t move. The silence stretched.

“I said—” Riko stepped closer, his shadow swallowing the light between them— “on your knees.”

Neil raised his eyes. “No.”

The word wasn’t loud, but it hit the floor like a dropped blade. For a heartbeat, neither of them breathed. Riko’s expression barely flickered, but Neil saw the tension coil in his jaw, the subtle shift in his stance. It was dangerous. It was stupid. Neil knew that. But even after five years he refused to kneel down to King. 

“I will say the words,” Neil said, “but that’s all you get.”

Riko stared at him—watching, calculating, furious. He knew he couldn't hurt him; not with the interview in a few hours. And then, without a word, he turned on his heel and walked out, the door slamming shut behind him with a sound that echoed through Neil’s ribs.

Neil let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His heart was pounding. He hadn't won. Not really. But he hadn’t knelt either. And that had to count to something. 

Right?

****

Neil’s heart pounded as they climbed the stairs toward the court. And then—

Outside .

He was really going outside. Somewhere beyond the court, beyond the Nest, beyond the suffocating routine of dorm-room classes and late-night Tower practices.

The light poured through the open doorway like something out of a dream.

One more step, and the heat hit his face—hotter than the Nest, dry and full of noise. Another step, and the sunlight struck his foot.

The step after, he felt it fully on his face. The sun. The sky.

He had forgotten how blinding it was.

Neil blinked rapidly, fighting against the sting in his eyes. He tilted his head, slowly, and stared up.

Blue. So blue. He had nearly forgotten there were colours other than black.

“Behave,” Riko whispered beside him.

And then Neil was shoved forward, down the stairs and into the sleek, black car waiting at the curb. The sun vanished behind tinted glass. The door shut. The air inside was cool and dead. Freedom gone, like a hallucination.

The seats faced one another. Riko sat directly across from him. “When we reach Kathy,” Riko said, crossing his legs, “you let me do the talking. You remember what we practiced, Four, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Neil said, and when he glanced toward the window—

A sharp kick to the legs. “Yes, King,” he said, too focused on looking at the outside world.

The blow to his pride didn’t sting as much as the next one—Riko’s fingers wrenching into his hair and yanking his head forward, close enough that Neil could feel his breath. “Listen carefully,” Riko said in Japanese, venom curling through each word. “Kevin and I may not always see eye to eye, but he is my brother. Not yours. Never yours. Property and royalty don’t form bonds. Pets don’t play equals with their masters.” He shoved Neil back into the seat, as if disgusted by the contact, then handed him a glass. “Drink. I don’t want to look at you for the next two hours.”

Neil didn’t resist—there was no point. He took the glass, the liquid burning a swift path down his throat, and turned for one final glimpse of the world beyond. He fixed it in his mind: the restless sway of the trees, the endless stretch of sky, the golden warmth of the sun. Then, like a curtain falling, the blackness swept in and took him.

—-

The building that housed Kathy’s morning show looked like every other production studio, or at least, what Neil imagined every studio to look like—two floors of makeup, light, and manufactured smiles.

He was still dragging himself out of the drug’s haze when he spotted Kathy waiting in the lot, all teeth and angles, too awake, too polished. It was the fake cheerfulness that gave her away—people like Riko didn’t attract sincerity.

“Riko!” she exclaimed with a flourish of her arms. “So glad to see you! It’s been too long since our last interview.” Her attention shifted past him. “Nathaniel! So good to finally meet you. Did you see the latest news? You’re the second-highest search result for Exy players. Right behind Kevin. Jean’s third, like his number. Riko’s fourth.”

Neil could feel Riko tense with anger beside him. “That’s nice to hear,” Neil said carefully, choosing each word like stepping around glass. “Though it doesn’t matter to me. Search rankings are just noise. We all know who’s first where it counts.”

He hoped it would be enough. Enough to pull attention off Kevin. Off Jean. Off anyone but himself.

Kathy grinned wider. “Well, let’s save it for the cameras. Shame about Jean not being here. He would’ve added some spice, don’t you think?”

“Nate and I miss Jean dearly,” Riko said smoothly, fingers curling possessively over Neil’s shoulder. “Maybe I should pay him a visit. Or maybe Grayson—weren’t they always close, Natey?”

Neil fought the nausea crawling up his throat. He gave a polite smile as Kathy’s eyes sparkled with glee. “Oh, the crowd’s going to love you two.”

She turned and motioned them toward the building. As they walked, Riko pushed Neil forward by the shoulder. Neil hated turning his back to him—but it wasn’t like he had a choice.

Inside, they were handed over to staff who walked them through studio protocol, then ushered them to a dressing room. Their handlers vanished backstage, and the moment the door clicked shut, Riko’s mask fell.

“I don’t like the look you have on your face, Four.”

Neil blinked. “What look?” His Japanese was better now—five years of it—but he still understood more than he could speak.

“That one you make when you think, ” Riko said. “But you’re not here to think, are you?” He stepped even closer. “That’s your flaw. You always think there’s an angle I haven’t seen. A way out I haven’t accounted for. But here you are. Standing in a room I chose, walking into a show I approved, wearing clothes I paid for.” He leaned in. “Where does all that thinking lead you, Four?”

Nowhere, Neil wanted to say. Or worse— here.

Neil’s mouth was dry. “Nowhere.”

“Good.” Riko adjusted his shirt in the mirror, then turned back. “You’ll sit to my left. Say only what we practiced. Smile.” He stepped forward again, brushing Neil’s collar with a single finger. “Your comment about the rankings was clever. I’ll give you that. But if you try to be clever again—I’ll take you apart so thoroughly, even Jean won’t recognize you in a body bag.”

Neil didn’t flinch. He nodded.

“Good boy.”

Just then, the makeup crew returned. 

“Five minutes!” someone called from behind the door as the artists gave their final touches.

“There, all set. Both of you look great!” one of them said, cheery and oblivious.

An aide came to collect them just as the lights dimmed for showtime.

—

At nine, the show’s opening music started, and Kathy appeared on stage. Apparently, after her last interview, they’d given her that slot. She waved to the morning crowd, full of staged energy. “Ladies and gentlemen, good morning! Now, what a fantastic show we’ve got for you today. Any Exy fans in the crowd?” she asked.

From Neil’s place off-stage, he could see most of the crowd raise their hands.

“What a great game that was for our college teams! The Ravens against the Foxes—it had us all on edge, didn’t it?” she said.

Neil’s eyes scanned the audience—and then landed on a flash of blond hair.

Kevin’s guard dog was there. Andrew .

It hit Neil like a punch to the ribs. This was really happening. Today would be the day he’d finally be with Kevin again. If only for a little while.

It was real .

“Now,” Kathy continued, her voice rising with excitement, “I am happy to present our current stars of the Edgar Allen Ravens, and half of the Perfect Court—give it up for Riko Moriyama and Nathaniel Wesninski, in his first interview!”

The crowd went wild before she’d even finished. The Raven anthem blared through the speakers.

Neil followed Riko to the stage, careful with how he smiled and stood. Riko turned toward Kathy and kissed her hand, flashing the crowd his signature fake smile. The set had two couches and a desk. Kathy sat on the right, and Neil and Riko sat on the left.

Riko’s hand looked casually draped over the back of the couch—but Neil knew better. It was there to reach his neck if he disobeyed, away from the cameras.

“Riko,” Kathy began, “it’s only been a couple of months since we last sat down to talk about the upcoming season. And what a season it’s been! You led the Ravens—single-handedly, some say—into another flawless victory. Even without our beloved Jean at your side.”

The crowd gave a mixed reaction—murmurs, scattered applause, a few stray boos.

Neil did his best not to flinch at the sound.

His eyes locked on Andrew, watching him from the crowd. It was the first time he’d seen him up close in real life. And there it was: that infamous, manic smile that sent a chill through his spine.

“Victory always comes to those who earn it,” Riko said, every syllable measured. “Jean’s absence only reminded the team of what I’ve always said—we don’t build a dynasty on one man. We build it on loyalty. On unity. On control.”

Control.

Neil knew that word. He was dressed in it. Rehearsed in it. Drugged with it.

“Still,” Kathy pressed, “what happened? First Kevin, then Jean. We all expected Kevin to return to Edgar Allen this fall.”

The crowd responded with an eager murmur.

Neil felt the muscle in Riko’s arm tighten beside him. Not much. But enough. Enough to say this line of questioning was not appreciated.

“And then Jean leaves, in the middle of the season. But then again, we’ve gained someone, haven’t we?” she said, turning to Neil. “Nathaniel Wesninski. Can I call you Nate?”

Neil wanted to claw her eyes out for saying it, but instead, he smiled. “Of course.”

“You’ve become quite the rising star, haven’t you?” Kathy said. “Even without seeing you play. People can’t stop talking about you, speculating about your mysterious background. I hear you even take your classes from the dorms.”

Neil gave her a rehearsed smile, teeth barely showing. “I’m not much for crowds,” he joked.

Kathy laughed like it was charming. “Shy, are we?”

Riko’s hand twitched at Neil’s neck—a subtle reminder. Neil straightened slightly. “I prefer to focus on training,” he said, more carefully now. “The court is loud enough.”

“That’s such a Raven answer,” she said, another fake laugh spilling out before she turned to Riko. “Still, isn’t it unusual for a player of his caliber to be so… isolated?”

Neil kept still, but he saw it. The tick in Riko’s jaw. The shift in his hand. Not a squeeze, but a threat. “I believe in isolating the best from distractions,” Riko said smoothly. “At Edgar Allen, we take those who are already great and turn them into more. That’s why we’re at the top.”

He didn’t need to add, and the Foxes are second.

“Strong words,” Kathy said, clearly eating it up. “But I have to ask, Nathaniel—sorry, Nate—what was it like? Coming from nowhere, no public record, no team history… and now sitting here, with the King himself?”

Neil swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

Say what you rehearsed. Stick to the script. Stay alive.

Protect Kevin. Protect Jean.

“It’s an honor,” Neil said, voice steady. “I was given a chance to prove myself, and I took it. The King saw potential where no one else would.”

He could practically feel Andrew’s gaze burning into him now.

Kathy’s face lit up like she’d just uncovered a headline. “That almost sounds like a fairytale! The lost boy, found by the King, turned into a star overnight. Is that how you see it, Riko?”

Riko’s smile didn’t falter, but Neil felt the shift—like a blade turning just beneath the surface. “I don’t believe in fairytales,” Riko said. “I believe in obedience. In order. Nathaniel was raw when I found him. We helped him reach his true potential.”

Neil sat still. His pulse thudded in his throat. Riko’s hand remained in place. Still and coiled.

Kathy, still smiling too brightly, misread the tension. “Well,” she said, trying to steer forward, “however you label it, the numbers don’t lie. You two are dominating the fanbase charts. Nathaniel’s already more searched than half the starting Foxes lineup. And speaking of Foxes—Jean moved into the team Kevin has always been vocally fond of. What about you, Nate? Is there a team out there with a special place in your heart?”

Don’t say anything stupid.

Don’t say anything stupid.

Don’t—

“I do like orange,” Neil said, going off script. Riko’s hand clamped so hard Neil thought it might leave a bruise. “But my loyalty will always be in black. To the Ravens.”

Kathy laughed, delighted even though she didn’t seem to catch the shift in air. “Orange! Well, a fan of Kevin, are we? But I’m glad to hear your loyalty lies where it should. And speaking of loyalty—let’s talk about the Perfect Court.”

Neil didn’t move, but the mood in the room shifted again. He could feel it. This was sacred territory. Riko’s territory. 

Kathy, still either oblivious or bold, pushed ahead.

“With Jean gone, and Kevin… well, still unavailable, people have been asking—who’s next? Is the Perfect Court ending?”

The grip on Neil’s neck tightened. Not enough for cameras. Just enough to break skin. Riko responded with that same measured cruelty he always wore like perfume. “The Perfect Court isn’t about individuals. It’s about vision. Discipline. Anyone can be replaced if they fall out of line. Jean. Kevin.”

Neil didn’t let his smile falter. He turned slightly toward Kathy, just enough. “There’s a lot of talent rising in the Ravens’ ranks. Zane’s been putting in the hours. He’s smart, fast, ruthless. He could make a good Number Two.”

Riko didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

But Neil felt it—heat, fury, silence stretched so tight it could snap.

That hadn’t been rehearsed. That hadn’t been allowed.

But Neil didn’t have a choice. If he wanted to survive the Nest, he needed Zane. And Zane wouldn’t lift a finger without a promise.

Neil tried not to panic at the thought about the punishment waiting for him back at the Nest.

Kathy, ever cheerful, leaned forward. “Zane Reacher? Really? His name has been circling lately. That’s quite the endorsement, especially coming from someone who shares the court.”

Neil nodded once. He felt Riko’s nails dig into his neck. “He’s earned it.”

The grip turned icy. 

He would pay for that, he knew. But under the lights, in front of the cameras, Riko couldn’t do more than seethe.

“Well,” Kathy said brightly, “Zane will be thrilled to hear that. I’m sure the fans will start watching him more closely. Now, The Perfect Court may be changing—but I imagine the bonds forged there are never really broken.” She turned to Riko, all smiles, even though he looked on the edge of something dangerous. “When was the last time you talked to Kevin?”

“After our last game,” Riko said with fake warmth. “Unfortunately, we’re all far too busy to stay in touch.”

“Well then—” Kathy beamed. “I have a surprise for you!”

As if they hadn’t already been told Kevin would appear.

But none of that mattered.

The Foxes’ horrible melody began to play—

—and Kevin Day walked out, the crowd roaring, chanting:

“Day! Day! Day!”

Chapter Text

“Kevin Day, everyone!” Kathy announced, her voice bright as the crowd erupted into applause and cheers.

Neil’s breath caught in his throat, even though he knew Kevin was coming.

Aside from the fleeting eye contact they’d shared during the game, Neil hadn’t seen Kevin in over a year. And now, here he was—standing in front of him like some kind of fever dream. His face was a little leaner and he had a beard now, and his dark hair had grown long enough to brush the tops of his eyes. But his eyes—those same fierce, familiar green eyes—were unchanged, and they hit Neil like a punch to the chest.

A warmth spread through Neil’s stomach. Not the comforting kind, the dangerous kind. The kind that made him forget everything he’d been told to fear.

“Behave,” Riko muttered in Japanese beside him, his voice sharp and low. The hand pressed flat against Neil’s back was a warning; stay still, stay obedient, stay mine. The weight of it made Neil’s skin crawl.

Neil didn’t look at him.

He knew exactly what Riko wanted—loyalty. Deference. Submission. He wanted Neil to stand there like a trained dog and let the world see him as Riko’s trophy, not Kevin’s brother, or Jean’s, or anyone else’s.

But it had been too long.

Too many nights replaying memories, too many mornings waking up in a place that didn’t feel like his. Too much silence.

Too much emptiness that spread inside of him.

Fuck Riko.

If there were consequences for this, then so be it. Let him pay. Let him burn. Just for this—for one second of something real.

Before he could stop himself, Neil surged forward. He rose to his feet, ignoring Riko’s sharp intake of breath and the hiss of his name. His eyes locked on Kevin’s, and then he was moving—across the stage, across the space between them—and crashed into him with a hug so fierce it knocked the breath out of both of them, raw and desperate.

Neil buried his face in the crook of Kevin’s neck, holding on like the world might end if he let go. The scent of Kevin’s shampoo, the familiar trace of his cologne—it flooded Neil’s senses. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed in deep, committing every detail to memory.

“I missed you,” Neil whispered, voice barely audible over the sound of the audience.

A collective aww rippled through the audience, followed by a few scattered laughs. Neil didn’t care. Let them record it. Let the Nest punish him later. 

Right now, Kevin was real. Solid. Alive. And Neil would carve this moment into himself if it meant surviving the rest of the season.

Kathy’s voice rang out again, amused and bright. “Well, I think it’s safe to say the rumors of the fourth brother were true.”

The crowd laughed again.

Reality began to creep back in, cold and creeping at the edges. Neil pulled back, just enough to look at Kevin’s face—tired, strained, but softer than he remembered.

Neil took one reluctant step back, releasing Kevin with hands that didn’t want to let go. Kevin gave him a look—complicated and quiet—but didn’t say anything. His hand, though, brushed Neil’s arm as if to say me too without the risk of speaking it aloud.

Riko’s silence was louder than the crowd. Kevin turned toward him, embracing him tightly for the cameras. But Neil saw the way Riko leaned in, whispering something that made Kevin pale. Neil shifted on the sofa subtly to put himself between Kevin and Riko—just enough space to breathe.

And oh, Riko noticed.

If looks could kill, Neil would’ve been dead on the spot.

Kathy, ever the professional, didn’t miss a beat.

“Well, that was touching,” she said, gesturing to the audience. “Now let’s get to why we’re really here. Kevin, everyone wants to know - how did it feel playing your former team in the finals?”

Kevin smiled, his interview mask slipping into place. “It was something I’d been looking forward to. Though… it was challenging being back on the same court.”

“In our last interview, you said you still believed in the Foxes. Has that changed after your loss?” Kathy asked sharply.

Kevin shook his head. “The Foxes have a long way to go, but I still believe in them. We were ahead of the Ravens for most of the game. I’ve no doubt that next season, we might even win.”

“It’s not like you to settle for second place, Kev,” Riko said, his smile all ice. “As your brother—and your friend—I worry this team is… dragging you down.”

From the corner of his eye, Neil saw Andrew shift, ready to pounce. Doe had called before the game—’ keep Kevin safe on stage and in the back. Just don’t get yourself killed.’

The last part was going to be tricky. 

“I think,” Neil said before he could stop himself, “considering Kevin broke his hand in December and is already back on top, he’s doing great. I’ve seen him firsthand. We haven’t seen anything yet.”

The crowd cooed, misreading the intensity as brotherly affection. Some whistled.

Riko’s smile never faltered. “There’s a difference between practice and a real game, Nate. You’ll find out soon enough.”

Kathy cut in smoothly, “Speaking of—let’s talk about Edgar Allen practices. Riko, Kevin—you both played with him. Do you think Nate can handle the pressure?”

Neil’s jaw clenched. He hated her, despised her for speaking like he wasn’t in the room.

“He’s one of the best players I’ve seen,” Kevin said without hesitation. “And I know he’ll do great.”

“Oh?” Kathy tilted her head, smile sharp. “So no concerns at all?”

“Not about him,” Kevin said flatly.

Riko clicked his tongue. “It’s not his talent I’m worried about. It’s the attitude.” He smiled as his hand came to rest on Neil’s shoulder, the picture of camaraderie for the cameras. “But that’s nothing we can’t fix.”

Neil didn’t move, didn’t give him the satisfaction of flinching. “Guess I didn’t know I was broken,” he said mildly.

Riko’s grip tightened a fraction. “Everyone’s a work in progress, Nathaniel.”

Kevin’s fists were clenching so hard his knuckles went pale.

“Well,” Kathy said brightly, “we all love a bit of a troublemaker, don’t we?”

Kevin and Riko locked eyes. For the first time, Neil saw Kevin challenge Riko openly, the edge in his stare saying what his words didn’t.

“And where does Jean fit into your little routine?” Kathy asked suddenly, swiveling toward them with her predator’s smile. “It’s clear Nate’s close to Kevin, but to some fans Jean’s always felt like the spare wheel. Not that I agree—we all love him, don’t we?” She turned to the crowd. They cheered on cue, like trained seals. “But Jean always seemed… outside your bond,” she said, eyes flicking between Riko and Kevin.

“You have to understand,” Riko began, voice smooth, “Kevin and I are brothers. That’s unchangeable. We may have drifted after his injury, but I will always care for Kevin. We both will. Right, Kev? Isn’t family about sticking together?”

“Yes,” Kevin said quietly, his eyes fixed on Neil instead of Riko. “Family always protects each other.”

Riko noticed. The crowd didn’t.

“That’s touching!” Kathy trilled. “But back to the question—what does that make Nathaniel and Jean?”

Guard dogs. Property. Toys. Neil thought. Out loud, he started, “I can answer that—”

“Friends,” Kevin cut in, voice sharp enough to slice the air. “We’re all friends.”

“Just friends?” Kathy prodded. “No special order? No alliances?”

Kevin didn’t blink. “No one’s on the outside.”

Kathy’s smile widened. “Well, Nate, we’ve heard you consider Riko a mentor. Is that true?”

Neil hated her.

“Nate,” Kevin hissed under his breath, low enough for only him and Riko to hear.

Neil gave Kathy his most harmless, fabricated smile. “Sure.”

Riko’s fingers drummed against Neil’s shoulder in approval, but his eyes glittered with challenge.

Her eyes lit with satisfaction. She turned back to Riko. “In your last interview, you said you were worried about Kevin’s injury, about him returning to play. Do you still feel that way?”

“I said it then, and I’ll say it again,” Riko replied smoothly. “Kevin’s performance with the Foxes proves we could find him a place on our staff back home, where he belongs.” His gaze softened artificially, dripping false sorrow. “Kevin, it breaks my heart to see you so far from home. Why wouldn’t you come back?”

Kevin gave a short, humorless laugh. “I think you already know the answer.”

Neil’s pulse spiked. He opened his mouth—ready to burn the whole conversation to the ground—but Kevin’s hand twitched in warning.

“There were only ten Foxes this year, and we still made it to second place,” Kevin said, his voice steady but his fingers trembling. “I appreciate the offer, Riko, but I’m exactly where I belong—spreading my wings and making my own path. Isn’t that something you’d want for me?”

For a heartbeat, Riko said nothing. “Of course,” he said finally, "dear brother.”

From the corner of his eye, Neil saw Andrew lean forward just enough to be noticed. Riko’s gaze flicked to him and back to Kevin, something dangerous curling at the edges of his smile.

“Well, that’s all the Exy time we have today!” Kathy chirped, clapping her hands. “Join us after the commercials for more sports news. Don’t go anywhere!”

Neil barely heard the rest. His eyes were on Andrew, now practically vibrating in his chair. The second the stage lights dimmed, signaling they were off air, Kathy pulled her mic away and grinned. “What an interview! I must say, Nathaniel, you might be my lucky star.” She winked. “There are refreshments in the back. You can watch the rest of the show there—someone will be with you soon.”

“Thank you,” Kevin said as Neil subtly reached for his arm, the gesture casual to others—but it meant we need to go. Now.

Andrew needed 30 seconds.

The hallway was empty.

Neil barely had time to turn and block Kevin before Riko was on him. Fingers twisted in Neil’s hair, yanking his head back. The next moment, Neil was slammed into the wall, shoulder-first — pain flared bright and hot, but he didn’t cry out.

Riko’s breath was at his ear. “Stupid little traitor—”

But Neil wasn’t just fighting for himself now, and that had made all the difference in the world.

He slammed his elbow back into Riko’s ribs — not enough to drop him, but enough to make him flinch. Then Neil twisted, throwing his weight sideways, not away — into Riko. Letting the force rebound between them, he used the momentum to push off the wall, breaking Riko’s hold and shoving him back two full steps.

Riko staggered. His hand came up, not to strike, but to grab again — to reclaim what he thought was his.

Neil didn’t give him the chance.

He swung low, fast — a gut punch, sharp and practiced. He’d learned from Jean, in the quiet of their room. He’d learned from survival. His fist landed just under Riko’s ribs — not enough to break anything, but enough to hurt . Enough to say; I’m not yours. Not now. Not ever again.

Riko snarled and lunged, but Neil was already moving, backing just enough to keep out of reach.

His voice came sharp and cold. “Try it again.” 

“Oh, Four,” he growled. “You’re going to regret that. Pets don’t bark when their master is about to speak.”

Neil wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smirking. His father’s smile, cruel and cold. “Luckily, I’m not a pet.”

“No,” Riko snarled. “You’re a pest . A cockroach.” His gaze shifted to Kevin. “And you—what you said on stage? I didn’t approve.”

It took every bit of Kevin’s strength to answer, voice flat. “I don’t care.”

Riko smiled wider. “You know what I think? I think you forgot that I don’t need knives to break you, Kevin. Just a little… special treatment for Nate, and you’ll come crawling back home.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Neil said, glancing at Kevin who turned pale. “Go. Find the others.”

“I don’t want to go without you,” Kevin said quietly, not looking at Riko. “I shouldn’t have left you there.”

Neil’s breath caught. Riko’s face twisted with fury.

“Go!” Neil barked.

Kevin hesitated, stunned—but he moved.

“We’re not done,” Riko said, red with rage, pulling a knife. “We’re not—”

“Riko,” Andrew said, stepping into the hallway, arms spread. “Been a while. Getting déjà vu, or is that just me?”

Riko scoffed. “You again.”

“Oh, I missed you,” Andrew drawled, stepping forward, arms still wide.

Riko sneered. “You and Four should both be reminded what you are. Dirt.” His eyes flicked to Kevin. “Keep playing with filth, and it’ll stick to you.”

“Kevin,” Andrew said, firmer now. “Move.”

Kevin did.

He passed Riko without a word. Riko let him.

But as they walked, Riko called after them, “Oh and tell Three that Four might be… unavailable for a while.”

Andrew grabbed Kevin’s arm and made him walk forward, dragging him away before the damage could spread. It took less than a second for them to disappear from the hallway.

It took half a millisecond for Riko to lock eyes on Neil.

“You have no idea what fate you set for yourself, Four,” Riko said, laughing—actually laughing.

And just like that, the weight dropped. The fight was over. Kevin was gone. Andrew too. And now it was just Neil.

The adrenaline that had carried him through—the heat, the rage, the defiance—it drained out of him like water from a cracked glass. His hands were still curled into fists, but his arms felt heavier now. Too heavy.

He was still standing. But he was standing alone.

The air in the hallway turned thinner, colder. His chest tightened, not from fear of pain—he could survive pain—but from the silence that came after. The kind of silence that let monsters step closer.

For the first time since stepping onto that stage, Neil felt something sharp twist in his gut.

Panic.

“King—“

“Oh, it’s King now?” Riko’s smile widened, sharp as a blade. He stepped closer. “That’s right. I am your king. And I’ll make sure you remember it.”

Before Neil could answer, an aide appeared, all smiles and polite efficiency, ushering them toward the back. “Let’s get you both settled with the other guests,” they said, oblivious to the venom in the air.

The next two hours were a slow, grinding torture—sitting next to Riko, knowing every laugh, every meaningless line of small talk, was just a mask stretched over whatever was waiting later. Neil didn’t have to guess if it would be bad. He knew.

*****

“Wake up, Four. We came to see your daddy.”

Neil’s skull hit cold metal hard enough to rattle his teeth. The hollow clang ricocheted through his head, each throb syncing with his pulse. An elevator. A soft chime announced their arrival, the doors sliding open with a hiss.

He knew where they were before stepping out. The knowledge clawed at his throat, screamed at him to turn, to run—anything but move forward.

“I thought you liked coming to my brother,” Riko murmured, every syllable dripping with flase sympathy. His fist tangled in Neil’s hair, yanking him upright. “Or coming for him.”

The shove forward sent a jolt through already-bruised ribs.

Everything between leaving the show and now was a blur—flashes of motion, car doors slamming, the stale leather reek of the backseat. His last solid memory: one final, steadying breath. Then-

Pain. Panic. Sadistic smiles. Sadistic promises.

The main hall was deadly quiet, their footsteps the only sound. Guards stood like statues, not even glancing their way.

Ichirou was waiting, glass in hand, gaze locked on Neil with a fury that he hadn't seen in years. 

But it was the man beside him who froze Neil mid-step.

“Hello, junior,” his father said, smiling.

Everything Neil had built—layer by layer, brick by brick—collapsed in an instant. Instinct screamed: turn, get away, run.

He’d barely shifted when Ichirou’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “Nathaniel.”

Panic surged, sharp and hot, but he forced it down. Slowly, he turned back—first meeting his father’s eyes, then locking on Ichirou’s. He bowed slightly.

“My lord.”

Even that small movement tugged at torn stitches, sending a sting through his side.

His father’s smile didn’t waver, but it was carved from ice. “It’s been too long, son. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me.”

Neil said nothing. Silence was safer.

The air pressed heavy on his lungs. Ichirou’s gaze wasn’t just watching—it was measuring, calculating exactly where to cut.

“Bring him here,” Ichirou said, voice like glass cracking under pressure.

Riko shoved him forward until his knees bumped the low table.

Up close, his father was exactly as Neil remembered—sharp lines, perfect posture, eyes honed like a blade.

“I’ve been trying to protect you,” Ichirou said, the words ringing in the stillness. “I always treated you fairly, didn’t I? Perhaps that was my mistake.”

“My lord—”

The slap came before he saw it coming. Metal rings split skin; the impact spun him to the floor. Warm blood slid down his cheek.

“You’ve always played your own game,” Ichirou said. “But I thought you knew where the line was. I see now I was wrong.” His gaze iced over. “My uncle says one visit from the Butcher will hardly be punishment for helping Three escape. I think he’s right.” He turned to Nathan. “You’ll begin your weekly sessions in a month. Any objections?”

His father’s wide smile answered before he spoke. “Not at all.”

Neil wanted to scream.

“Good,” Ichirou said. “That will be all. You may go.”

Nathan’s smile lingered. “I’ll see you soon, Junior.” Then he was gone.

Ichirou’s gaze shifted to Riko. “I’ll allow it this once,” he said in Japanese. “Normally, I don’t approve of such things—and the fact it happened to Jean without my father’s knowledge disturbed me deeply.” His eyes flicked back to Neil. “But you’ve managed to fuck up badly enough even I have to agree. Haven’t you, Nathaniel?”

“I—”

The elbow to his ribs drove the air from his lungs. He hit the floor before he realized he was falling.

“No speaking tonight, Four,” Riko said. “Not until you, me and Grayson have some alone time.”

Riko fisted Neil’s hair again, dragging him toward the elevator.

“Just this once, Riko,” Ichirou called after them. “If I find out it happened again without my permission, you might join the Butcher’s lessons yourself. Am I clear?”

Riko bowed slightly. “Yes, my lord.”

From the floor, Neil caught the sharp blend of fury and cold disappointment in Ichirou’s expression. “You should’ve stuck to the script, Nathaniel,” Ichirou said, stepping closer. “Now look at what you’ve done.”

Chapter Text

Sometimes, Neil wondered if he’d made Jean and Kevin up.

When he couldn’t sleep. When he couldn’t eat.

When the nights stretched endlessly and the days blurred into gray.

When dreams bled into waking, when he couldn’t tell where the screams in his head ended and the silence around him began, he wondered.

Maybe he had never had brothers. Perhaps they were just delusions of a desperate mind, fabricated safety nets his brain clung to when it couldn’t bear the truth. Hallucinations—fragile, fever-warm visions of a boy who sat beside him in the dark and whispered in French, of another who brought candles and a wallet with no money in it, just to make him feel human.

Maybe there were no green eyes that ever softened when they looked at him. No gentle hands that had ever held his shaking ones steady. No whispered, “happy birthday, Neil.”

Maybe none of it was real.

Because if they were real—if Jean and Kevin had truly existed in this place with him—how could they have left him behind?

And yet, in his lowest moments, he held to those fragments like lifelines. Memory or fantasy—it didn’t matter.

They were all he had.

He’d catch glimpses of them in the shape of shadows, hear them in the echo of a laugh that sounded almost like Jean’s, almost like Kevin’s. He’d close his eyes and imagine them at his side again. Imagine Jean’s shoulder pressed against his in silent solidarity, Kevin’s irritated but fond voice snapping at him to eat something, to sleep, to fight back.

But when he opened his eyes, he was still alone. Still in the Nest.

Still surrounded by the wolves, and no brothers left to protect him.

And sometimes, in that unbearable loneliness, Neil wasn’t sure what hurt more—the bruises on his skin, or the absence of the people who were supposed to love him.

And that, more than anything, was what broke him.

The fear that he had never been someone worth loving in the first place.

The kind of fear that felt too much like truth.

Chapter Text

Jeremy Knox had been through what most people would call a lot. 

Sometimes he was surprised by how people still stuck with him; the Sunshine Captain, the good boy with the puppy eyes, the one who would never do any harm. People wanted to believe that was all there was to him. But Jeremy knew better. He’d made his mistakes, carried his shame, lived as the failure of his parents’ careful legacy. Any warmth he got from others still felt like borrowed light.

He was a fuck-up, and he will always know it. 

What he did have was the team. Being captain was the one thing he knew he could do right—lifting others up, helping them be the best version of themselves, even if he never could be.

Which was why he kept watching Jean.

Three weeks under the same roof. Three weeks of small victories: breakfast with the group, the rare occasion where Jean cooked along with the girls, the rare slip where Jeremy swore he almost looked content. And then last week it all slid backwards—Jean cagey, sharp, clutching his phone like it was a lifeline. Jeremy had wanted to talk to him, but Cat and Laila had gotten there first at breakfast. It turned out it was something about the interview. Jeremy hadn’t pressed, only tucked the worry away.

Now, at the beach, the sun glaring bright on the water, Jean froze halfway down the sand.

Jeremy slowed, careful. “Everything all right?”

Jean’s eyes cut toward him. For a second, Jeremy swore he saw the storm raging behind them, but the walls slammed down fast. “Fine,” Jean said, voice stiff. He started moving again.

Jeremy matched his pace, giving him space. He’d learned that much. Then, abruptly, Jean stopped again, gaze fixed on the waves. “Marseille was on the coast,” he said at last. “It just brings back a lot of memories. Memories I no longer trust.”

Jeremy’s chest tightened. He wanted to reach out, to ask more, but Jean’s voice was already closing off. “Would you like to tell me about it?”

“No.”

Jeremy nodded, and that was that. They caught up with Cat and Laila, who had declared their chosen spot. Towels, sunscreen, the usual. Jeremy noticed the way Jean kept his gaze away, like just being near them in swimsuits was too much. He stiffened when the lotion of sunscreen was dropped into his hands, holding it like it was foreign.

Jeremy tried not to overthink about his behavior. He knew the rumors, of course he did—how Jean had supposedly slept his way to the top, into the Perfect Court. Jeremy had heard it enough times. And even if it were true, Jean had been sixteen. Sixteen .

Jeremy would never hold it against him when others had clearly taken advantage.

“You should apply it to your neck too,” Jeremy said gently.

Jean’s eyes flicked to him, then immediately higher, fixing on the space just above Jeremy’s shoulder. He frowned but obeyed. Jeremy watched the small motion, his heart aching at how even this seemed to cost Jean something.

“You missed a couple spots. Mind if I help?”

Jean flushed instantly. “I—”

“Jeremy! It’s hot as fuck, let’s get to the water before the others get here!” Cat yelled, dragging Laila along.

Jeremy grinned, easing the moment. “You coming?” he asked Jean. “Or are you going to sit here with your shirt on all day?”

“I am fine. I do not need any of this silly activity,” Jean muttered.

“Okay,” Jeremy said, tone light. “I’ll just be in for a bit—it’s too hot not to. But I’ll be back soon, okay?”

Jean frowned. “I’m not a child. I do not need you to hold my hand all the time.”

Jeremy couldn’t help it—he smiled. “But what if I want to?” he teased, and headed into the water. He didn’t need to look back to know Jean’s face had gone red again.

From the water, he risked a glance back. Jean sat stiff at first, but then—slowly—his shoulders loosened. The breeze ruffled his hair, the sun caught his face, and for just a second Jeremy thought he saw him breathe lighter, like the beach had snuck some freedom into him.

“Having fun?” Jeremy asked when he came back dripping.

“This is… bearable.”

“Bearable, he says!” Cat laughed, toweling herself off. “That’s the highest compliment I’ve ever heard you give anything.”

Jeremy chuckled as Laila offered, “We brought melons and watermelons. Want some?”

Jean hesitated, then nodded, taking a cautious piece of each. He examined them like they might bite him first.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never had one,” Cat teased.

“It’s just been a very long time,” Jean muttered, eating quickly. Jeremy saw it though—the way Jean’s eyes widened just slightly, the way he went back for another piece despite himself. “It’s good,” Jean admitted at last.

Jeremy’s chest warmed at that. Cat and Laila exchanged secret smiles, and Jeremy had to bite back his own grin when Jean, frowning at their looks, still reached for a second piece.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” Laila said.

Jeremy was still smiling when Cody’s voice called his name. He stood to greet them, half-distracted—until he noticed Jean.

It happened in an instant.

Jean’s body went rigid, like every muscle locked at once. His eyes fixed on Lucas, and Jeremy watched the color drain from his face so fast it was frightening. Jean’s hands dug into the sand, knuckles white, like he needed the ground to anchor him. His chest heaved shallow, ragged.

Jeremy froze. He’d seen Jean tense before, but this was different. This was terror. His breathing went sharp, shallow. His gaze darted wildly, unfocused, like he wasn’t seeing the beach at all.

“Jean?” Jeremy kept his voice careful, soft.

No reaction. Jean’s gaze darted, wild and unfocused, like he wasn’t seeing the beach at all. Then—before Jeremy could move—Jean bolted. He lurched to his feet, stumbling through the sand, half-running, half-falling toward the far side of the beach.

“Jean!” voices shouted behind him, but Jeremy was already moving. He spotted him collapsed against a low wall, curled in on himself, chest heaving like he couldn’t get air.

“I got it,” Jeremy said quickly over his shoulder. Laila and Cat gave him nods of encouragement. Cody looked baffled, and Lucas… Lucas’s eyes were harder to read, suspicion maybe, or just indecision. Jeremy didn’t have time for either.

He approached slowly, step by step, hands open like he could somehow show he wasn’t a threat. Even from a few feet away, he could hear the ragged drag of Jean’s breathing, like he was drowning on dry land.

“Jean?” Jeremy whispered, voice careful, almost like talking to a wild animal.

Jean didn’t seem to hear him. His nails were clawing at his scalp, head bowed, body tight as a bowstring. Jeremy’s stomach twisted. He moved closer, crouching a little to soften his presence.

“Jean?” he tried again.

Jean’s head snapped up so fast Jeremy flinched. His eyes were wide, wild, unseeing—terror carved deep into his face. For a moment, Jeremy wasn’t sure Jean even knew who he was.

“Please,” Jean rasped, stumbling back a little.

Jeremy’s chest ached. He wanted to reach for him, but forced himself to stay steady, calm. “Jean, I can leave if you want. Do you want me to? Do you remember where you are?”

“I—” The sound was raw, breaking. Jean squeezed his eyes shut, one hand clamping around his own throat so tight Jeremy almost surged forward in panic. For a split second he thought Jean would strangle the air out of himself.

“I’m sorry,” Jean choked out, eyes still closed.

Jeremy shook his head, firm but gentle. “No. You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing. Do you want to talk about it? Or… do you want me to go?”

For a long moment, all Jeremy could hear was Jean’s breathing and the crash of the waves, before Jean whispered, “Stay.”

Jeremy felt something in his chest loosen and ache all at once. Jean could have pushed him away, could have told him to leave like he did everyone else—but instead, he asked him to stay. Jeremy lowered himself into the sand beside him without a second thought, close enough for Jean to feel his presence, not close enough to crowd.

They sat there for a moment, the waves crashing faintly behind them, before Jean spoke again. His voice was quiet, raw. “What is Grayson doing here?”

Jeremy blinked. Grayson? For a second, he almost asked what Jean meant—then it clicked. His stomach turned cold. Lucas has a brother. A Raven brother.

He swallowed, keeping his voice steady. “It’s… that’s not Grayson. It’s his brother. Lucas.”

Jean’s head shook faintly, like he couldn’t quite believe him. His nails were still digging into his scalp, leaving angry crescents in his skin.

Jeremy wanted to reach out, wanted to pry his hands away before he hurt himself, but he held back. Too fast, too forceful, and Jean would bolt again.

“Hey,” Jeremy said softly, tilting his head, keeping his voice calm. “You’re not in South Carolina. You’re not with the Ravens. You’re here, with us. You’re safe.”

“Safe.” Jean said bitterly. 

“That’s Lucas,” Jeremy continued carefully. “Different person. Different life. He’s not Grayson.”

A long, jagged breath shuddered out of Jean. His grip on his scalp loosened just enough for Jeremy to see his hands trembling.

Jeremy took that as a sign. Slowly, cautiously, he lowered himself all the way down to sit cross-legged in the sand, close but not touching. He angled his body slightly toward Jean so that if Jean wanted to look at him, he could—without having to feel trapped.

“Can you breathe with me?” Jeremy asked gently after a moment. He exaggerated the rise and fall of his chest, slow and steady. “In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Doesn’t have to be perfect. Just… with me.”

Jean’s eyes flicked to him again, guarded, like he was waiting for a trick. But Jeremy just breathed. Once. Twice. Three times. Until— finally —Jean’s chest started to follow, uneven but trying.

“There you go,” Jeremy murmured, relief slipping into his tone. “That’s it. You’re doing great.”

Jean pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, shoulders curling forward. His voice was so small Jeremy almost missed it. “I hate this.”

“Jean—”

“I’m fine.” The words were clipped, almost bitten off. Jean pushed to his feet like he could leave the moment behind if he just stood fast enough. His shoulders were tight, his jaw set, his whole body screaming don’t look at me. “Let’s go back,” he said, already turning.

Jeremy rose more slowly, brushing sand from his palms. “Jean, you don’t have to—”

“I said I’m fine.” Jean’s voice cracked on the last word, but he didn’t stop moving.

Jeremy’s chest twisted. He wanted to grab his arm, make him stay, tell him it was okay not to be fine. But he didn’t. Jean had asked him to stay, and Jeremy wasn’t about to betray that fragile trust now by cornering him.

Instead, he matched Jean’s pace a few steps behind, steady but not crowding. “Okay,” Jeremy said quietly. “We’ll go back.”

Jean’s hands were still shaking as they walked back toward the others. Jeremy matched his pace, steady but not crowding. He could feel the eyes waiting for them. Cat, Laila—concern written plain. Cody, open and curious. And Lucas, whose gaze never left Jean, sharp and assessing.

Jean looked at him like he was staring at a ghost. Or a monster. Jeremy wasn’t sure which.

“Hey Jean!” Cody called brightly as they closed the distance. “You’re tall as hell!”

Jean’s shoulders tightened further.

Cat laughed, trying to ease the tension. “That’s what I said. Someone’s gotta balance you out.”

“It is what it is,” Cody grinned, turning to Jeremy. “The hair, man—looks good!”

Jeremy forced warmth into his voice. “Thanks.” He was grateful, at least, that Cody wasn’t making a big deal out of what had just happened.

But Lucas was. Lucas’s eyes didn’t leave Jean. His voice cut through the moment, “what the fuck was that?”

“Lucas,” Jeremy and Cat snapped at the same time.

“What?” Lucas’s tone was defensive. “We show up and he bolts in the other direction. That’s not normal. We all know what the other Ravens are like.”

“I am, for one, excited to see what you can bring to the table,” Cody jumped in quickly, smiling at Jean. “That is, if you can behave at all.”

Jeremy’s gut twisted. This wasn’t going to end well. He could feel it unraveling already. “Okay,” he said firmly, trying to cut it off, “why don’t we just move on—”

Lucas kept going. “My brother told me you were a freak.” His eyes were locked on Jean, hard and unrelenting. “And a whore .”

Jeremy froze. The words landed like a slap, white-hot fury burning in his chest.

“Lucas!” Cody snapped, grimacing.

“We agreed we’d take the rumors with a grain of salt,” Lucas said, unbothered. “But I got a call from a certain Raven last night—first time in years. My big brother. And he says he knows you intimately. That you fucked your way up the line.”

“That’s enough, Lucas.” Jeremy’s voice was sharp this time, leaving no room.

But Lucas didn’t back down. His frown deepened. “We don’t need this kind of drama in the lineup right now. People already hate us for taking him in the middle of championships. We can’t afford this—especially after the last—” He stopped himself, eyes flicking away.

“Especially after the last what, Lucas?” Jeremy pressed, voice low, dangerous. Lucas didn’t answer.

“I asked you a question.”

Lucas’s jaw tightened. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

Jeremy was still deciding how to handle it when Jean spoke, his voice cool and sharp as a blade.

“I had my number before I joined the lineup because my position was always guaranteed. Your wretched brother spent three years trying and failing to keep up with me.”

Lucas sneered. “He said you’d say that. He knew you would.”

Their eyes locked, tension snapping tight, before Cody dragged Lucas away with forced cheer. “Alright, enough, let’s go chill.” Laila followed, shaking her head.

That left Jeremy and Jean in the sand, the air between them heavy. Jeremy rubbed sunscreen into his arm, needing the motion to keep his hands busy.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last, voice low. “He’s usually a good guy. I don’t know what that was. And I’m sorry we didn’t warn you—Lucas never talks about Grayson. I honestly forgot he even existed.”

“It’s fine.” Jean’s voice was flat. He stared at the sand. “Lucas is just a child spitting smoke. It doesn’t matter.”

Jeremy shook his head. “It does matter. He shouldn’t have said it.”

“It’s fine. It’s half true anyway.” Jean still wouldn’t look at him.

Jeremy’s heart lurched. “Jean.” His voice came sharper than he meant. “Jean, look at me.”

Jean’s eyes lifted at last, and the storm there nearly knocked Jeremy back.

“You were sixteen when you joined the lineup,” Jeremy said, forcing each word out steady. “That’s statutory rape, no matter how you look at it. You must understand that.”

Jean’s voice dropped, cold. “You cannot understand it was inevitable.”

Jeremy blinked. “Jean, what are you—”

“All you need to know about me are two things.” Jean’s tone was cold. “First, I don’t need to sleep around to prove I’m better than your entire lineup. Second, if any of the Trojans ever touch me, I will cut their throat on the spot.” His eyes burned into Jeremy’s. “Don’t try to understand me. Don’t try to get into my personal life. It doesn’t affect the way I play, and it shouldn’t affect you.”

—

Later, after Jean had gone upstairs and slammed his door shut, Jeremy finally dared to join Cat and Laila in the living room.

Cat didn’t waste time. “What the fuck was that today?” she asked, eyes narrowing at him.

Jeremy ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “I don’t know. He just—he said Grayson shouldn’t be here.”

“Grayson?” Laila blinked. “Lucas’s older brother? He is a Raven, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Cat said slowly, frowning. “Shit. I didn’t even think about that. They must look a lot alike if Jean mistook Lucas for him.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy said, crossing his arms. His chest still felt heavy from the scene earlier. “So what are we going to do?”

Cat leaned forward, unrelenting. “Before that—what do you think this was all about?”

“Cat—”

“No, Jeremy.” Her voice was sharp, frustration seeping through. “Have you seen him? I want to trust him, I really do, but how can we when he acts like a loner all the time? He barely talks to us, he’s glued to his phone, and it’s clear he didn’t exactly have a good time with the Ravens so it can’t be any of them. None of this makes sense.”

“Maybe he’s talking to Kevin,” Laila offered carefully.

Cat shook her head. “It’s the middle of the night back there. Look, all I’m saying is this—everything today, combined with the way he is? It doesn’t make me want to trust him.”

Jeremy’s stomach twisted. He hated this. Hated that she wasn’t entirely wrong, hated more that Jean’s silence was driving a wedge before they’d even begun.

“So what do you suggest?” he asked quietly, not sure he wanted the answer.

“It’s obvious he wants to be on the court,” Laila said. “What if we set up a small training session with the team tomorrow? Cody, Xavier… probably Lucas too. We can start building trust there.”

Cat nodded quickly. “That actually sounds like a good idea. What do you think, Captain?”

Jeremy hesitated. His first instinct was to shield Jean, to give him more time before throwing him into another spotlight. But he also knew the team needed this—Cat and Laila needed it. If he said no, their doubts would only fester.

“Davis will probably agree,” Jeremy said at last. “As long as it’s not too hard. Some pool warm-up, a bit of Exy after. I’ll call him and ask.”

“Great!” Cat clapped her hands, satisfied. “Now, which movie are we picking? Because I was thinking…”

Jeremy let her voice fade into the background as she and Laila argued cheerfully over titles. He sat down with them, forcing a smile, trying to push away the gnawing feeling in his chest.

That he had just made a very big mistake.

***

Jean practically vibrated in his chair the next morning when Jeremy told him he’d be joining some of the team for their first group exercise.

“When are we going?” Jean asked, already more awake and alert than Jeremy had seen him in days.

“Slow down, cowboy. We’ll go soon,” Cat said, clearly pleased with his mood.

When they finally left, Jean was pacing, restless, anticipation written in every twitch of his body. He was the first out of the car, the first through the doors of the fitness center.

“Guys! Missed you all,” Xavier said, grinning as they arrived.

“Xavier! How are you feeling?” Jeremy asked, clapping his shoulder.

“Never better,” Xavier said with a smile. “I should be good to go for full contact soon, but for now it’s light exercise.”

“You hear that, Moreau? Light.” Coach Linsinski said. 

Jeremy nodded—grateful for Xavier’s easy presence. Coach Linsinski herded them forward, past familiar equipment. Jeremy kept an eye on Jean, planning to give him a proper tour later when it was quieter.

All in all, it looked like it might be a success—until they reached the aquatics room.

Jean, who’d been a step ahead of Jeremy the whole way, went rigid. He froze mid-stride while the others kept moving, oblivious.

Jeremy nearly put a hand on his shoulder, thought better of it at the last second. “Hey. You good?”

“Yes.” The word was flat, toneless. Unconvincing. He forced himself forward to catch up.

Coach launched into instructions by the poolside, but Jean wasn’t listening. Jeremy could see it—the vacant stare, locked on the water like it was alive. The way his body coiled tighter with each passing second. The whispers starting up from the others didn’t help.

“Am I boring you, Moreau?” Coach snapped.

Lucas snickered. Cody elbowed him.

Jean jerked like he’d been struck. “No, Coach.”

Jeremy winced. He didn’t want to expose Jean in front of everyone, but he also couldn’t stand there and say nothing. “I don’t think Jean can swim.”

“It’s not the only thing he can’t seem to do,” Lucas muttered under his breath.

Coach shot him a glare before turning back. “A little old to not know.”

Jean’s hand twitched upward toward his throat, like yesterday, before he stopped himself. “No. I—I can swim, Coach. It’s been many years, but I should remember.”

Jeremy’s stomach sank.

“I can be his partner,” Xavier offered quickly. “I’ll remind him of the basics. He’ll pick it up.”

Coach studied Jean, unconvinced. “That sound good to you, Moreau? Because you look ready to bolt.”

“Not for the first time,” Lucas said, loud enough for everyone.

“Lucas, that’s enough.” Jeremy’s voice cracked sharp across the tiles. He stepped forward. “If you can’t act like part of this team, you won’t be on it. You know that.”

Lucas bristled. “You can’t bench me.” But there was a flicker of doubt in his face.

Jeremy folded his arms. “I don’t want to. But if you keep making yourself the problem, I won’t have a choice.”

Lucas looked to the coach for support.

“Don’t look at me,” Linsinski said dryly. “I’m with Jeremy. Jean is team. You need to remember that.” She turned back to the group. “All right—pairs. We’ll go one by one. Cat, Laila, you’re up.”

Jeremy forced himself to focus as they swam their sets. He even let Cody push him through a round. But his eyes kept darting back to Jean, pale and silent, Xavier murmuring reassurance at his side.

When their turn came, Jean’s feet stayed planted. His gaze never left the water.

“The first step is getting in,” Coach said, then softened. “You sure you’re up for this?”

“Yes.” His voice trembled. His legs shook as he edged forward, Xavier a steadying presence at his side. Step by step, closer to the edge.

“Coach, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Xavier said quietly.

“Second that,” Cat added. Laila nodded.

Jeremy stepped forward. “We can find him something else. Warm-ups, cardio—”

Coach sighed, already relenting. “I agree. Moreau, get your ass back.”

“No. I—I can swim, I just need a minute—”

“Oh, fuck that. You all acted like he was made of sugar. There.” Lucas said, and before anyone could process what was happening he moved fast, taking a couple of steps forwards, pushing Jean to the pool.

The splash echoed off the tiles, violent and wrong.

For a heartbeat, the surface broke with flailing arms, water thrashing. Jean’s eyes were wide, mouth open, but no sound came out—only the desperate gulp of someone who couldn’t get air.

He was drowning.

“Shit—” Xavier surged forward, but Jeremy was already moving. He didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. He tore off his shirt and hit the water in one motion, the cold biting his skin.

The world muffled instantly, sound swallowed by chlorine and chaos. He saw Jean below the surface, limbs jerking wild and uncoordinated, bubbles streaming from his mouth. His hands clawed at the water as if it were a wall he couldn’t climb.

Jeremy kicked hard, driving himself down, reaching. Jean’s fingers slipped past his once, twice—slippery, frantic. Jeremy cursed into the water, pushed harder, and finally caught hold of his arm.

Jean thrashed like a trapped animal. His nails raked Jeremy’s shoulder, his knee jerked dangerously close to his ribs, but Jeremy held on. He hooked an arm around Jean’s chest, pinning him against his side.

“Got you,” he gasped as they broke the surface. “I’ve got you!”

Jean choked, coughing and sputtering, water spilling from his lips. His hands still flailed, blind panic refusing to let go. Jeremy tightened his grip, keeping his head above water no matter how hard Jean fought.

“Jean! Look at me!” Jeremy shouted over the splashing. “You’re okay—you’re out, I’ve got you!”

Jean’s eyes were wide, unfocused, terror drowning out reason. Jeremy kicked them toward the edge, muscles burning with the weight. Xavier was already in the water to meet them, guiding as Jeremy hauled Jean forward.

“Easy—easy—” Jeremy panted, pushing Jean up onto the pool deck with Xavier’s help. Jean collapsed onto the tiles, coughing hard, water streaming from his hair and clothes. His body trembled violently, chest heaving like each breath was a battle.

Jeremy pulled himself out beside him, dripping, heart hammering. He reached out, careful, setting a steadying hand on Jean’s back. “You’re okay,” he murmured, low enough only Jean could hear. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Jean didn’t answer, just curled tighter on himself, coughing raggedly into his fist. The sound tore through the air, wet and desperate, like he was still drowning even though he was out of the water. Each rasp made Jeremy’s stomach twist tighter, because it sounded like there wasn’t enough air in the world to fill his lungs.

Jeremy’s eyes lifted, blazing. Lucas was still frozen at the pool’s edge, face pale now that the weight of what he’d done was finally sinking in.

Jeremy pushed to his feet, water streaming off him, fury burning through every vein. For the first time in a long while, the Sunshine Court captain was nowhere to be found. He wanted to tear into Lucas, wanted him to feel even a fraction of what Jean had just gone through—

But before he could take a step, Coach Lisinski slid in front of him, solid as a wall. Her eyes were on Lucas.

“You are benched for the first three games,” she said, her voice cutting like steel. “You’re staying after every practice to help clean the stadium. And you will be the one helping Jean settle in—whatever he needs. If I hear you didn’t do it, or that you made things harder for him, you’re permanently off this team. Am I making myself clear?”

Lucas flinched like he’d been slapped. “Coach—”

“I asked—am I clear?”

A long beat. Then, small, “Y-yes, Coach.”

Jeremy’s fists clenched at his sides. It was a punishment, sure, but part of him still wanted more—wanted something that could undo the sight of Jean choking on water, clawing for air that wouldn’t come. He looked down at Jean now, still trembling, still sounding like he was half-drowning, and it didn’t feel like justice. Not nearly.

Lisinski held Lucas in her glare a moment longer before turning away, signaling the discussion was over. The rest of the team had gone quiet, uneasy shadows lingering around the pool.

Jeremy’s jaw ached from how hard he was clenching it. Every part of him wanted to go through Lisinski, to get his hands on Lucas, to make him understand just how close he’d come to killing someone. 

But he knew better. 

Jeremy dropped to his knees beside Jean, the fight draining from his body as he focused on what mattered. “Hey,” he said softly, hand hovering before settling gently on Jean’s back. “You’re okay. You’re out. Just keep breathing with me, yeah? Nice and slow.”

Jean shuddered under his touch but didn’t pull away. His hands were still shaking, pressed tight against his chest as if to hold himself together.

“Coach,” Xavier said quietly from where he crouched nearby, “maybe we should call it for today.”

Lisinski hesitated, then gave a sharp nod. “That’s enough. Shower, change, go home. We’ll regroup tomorrow.”

The others filed out, subdued. Even Lucas kept his head down, though Jeremy caught the flicker of shame—or was it defiance?—in his face as Cody nudged him away.

When the room had emptied, Jeremy stayed where he was, kneeling on wet tiles beside Jean. The chlorine stung his eyes, or maybe that was just everything catching up with him.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he admitted quietly.

Jean’s answer came ragged, muffled into his knees. “I told you I could swim.”

Jeremy let out a shaky breath, half laugh, half disbelief. “Yeah. Sure you can.” He didn’t argue, didn’t press. He just stayed there, steady, until Jean’s breathing finally eased enough that it no longer sounded like he was still drowning.

Then Jean spoke again, voice low and bitter. “I thought it might be different here. But I should have known better. Better than to hope.”

Jeremy’s chest tightened. He wanted to shake him, wanted to make him see he was wrong, that it could be different here—if he’d only let it.

“What do you mean?” Jeremy asked carefully.

Jean’s gaze stayed fixed on the floor. “I am a Moreau, and my place is to endure.” Jeremy’s chest tightened. The words were bitter, resigned, like a sentence he’d long ago accepted. Then, after a beat, Jean’s voice dropped even softer, almost like he was speaking to himself. “I just wish he was here.”

Jeremy stilled.

For a second, he thought he must have misheard. But Jean didn’t seem to notice he’d spoken at all. He didn’t flinch, didn’t cover, didn’t even look up — just sat there trembling, breathing raggedly against his knees.

Jeremy swallowed hard. He wanted to ask who. He wanted to press, to reach for the name Jean had let slip through his armor. But that would be taking advantage of him in this state. It would be cruel. Selfish.

So Jeremy didn’t ask.

For the rest of the day, he kept his questions to himself. He just stayed close, steady in the background, even when Jean pretended not to notice.

And he hoped—God, he hoped—that even a fuck-up like him could still be enough for someone else.

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, Andrew dreamed of a family.

A mom and dad who cared. A sibling—maybe two. A dog, even. The American dream. He dreamed of waking up to love, of knowing he mattered, of not just wasting air.

In his first three foster homes, he still clung to that dream. He was too young to understand that kids like him—foster kids—rarely found real love. Still, he held on. Through the bad houses, the greedy ones that took him for the money, the ones where he was just another name, another face. He endured the beatings, the cold stares, waiting for the moment they might change their minds. Waiting for the moment they might choose him.

He used to be a happy boy.

But at eight, when the worst finally happened, something inside him snapped. Hope fractured, leaving only survival. Survival meant making it to the next day. Survival meant no more fantasies about sunshine and rainbows. No more playing the good boy. No more wagging his tail like a lost dog at the shelter, begging for scraps of affection.

It only got worse. Each house carved another piece out of him, left behind another scar.

Then came Cass.

Cass was a light in the storm. She smelled like cookies and safety. She was warmth and promises—the closest thing to a mother he’d ever known.

Andrew would have done anything for her. Anything to keep her love. Anything to protect that fragile hope of family.

Then came Drake. And still, Andrew dared to dream.

And then came family. Real family. Not the kind he had once imagined, but something else entirely. When Drake decided to try and bind them together, Andrew wanted to run. To leave it all behind and let them face the music. 

But Aaron was there—Aaron, who mirrored him in ways Andrew didn’t want to see.

It only seemed right that Aaron was broken too. That Tilda was a monster. Because wasn’t Andrew one as well?

He learned that family came with bargains, with promises, with hate and blame. Losing Cass had gutted him, but when Aaron and Nicky became more than names on paper, Andrew thought—maybe—this was it. The family he had managed to claim for himself.

Kevin Day hadn’t been part of the plan.

Andrew remembered their first meeting too well: Kevin’s desperation, his hunger to drag Andrew into the Nest. By rights, Andrew should have hated him for it. The Ravens were cruel—Kevin knew it—and still he tried to recruit him. But Andrew didn’t hate him. He couldn’t. Not when Kevin struck a deal. Not when Kevin was the first to look at him and say he was worth something.

More than his real family ever said to him.

Kevin Day forced his way into the monster’s circle. Maybe Kevin didn’t know what family was either—raised as he had been beside monsters—but Kevin had Jean, had Neil, had others who tethered him. That made him like Andrew. That made him family.

And sometimes, Andrew still dreamed of warm cookies. Of safety. Of being seen as more than a weapon. Of being whole—or close enough. On those mornings, when he woke from the dream, a single tear slipped down his cheek.

***

Andrew was trying to remember why he shouldn’t kill Kevin Day. 

Kevin Day, who was currently on his last rope with Andrew. Kevin who was barking at Jack again, voice raw from the fifth threat in ten minutes. “If you want to be on the team move your legs!”

“What the fuck is up with him?” Sheena groaned, breathing hard next to him, “shit, I can’t handle this. If he is so angry he can always go boxing or something, not taking it out on us.” She said to Noah who was trying to catch his breath next to her, both of them standing with their hands on their legs.

Andrew, who usually couldn’t stand the lot had to agree. Apparently his twin was having enough of that as well, “the fuck crawled up Day’s ass? He had been like this since the interview.”

Andrew didn’t bother to answer.  He knew that Aaron knew the answer to this already and he didn’t waste his breath to say the obvious.

Besides, he was itching for another dose. He was still high high high, but he could feel the crash coming just around the edge. 

“Why are you all stopping? Jack, you want to be vice-captain? Then start working for it!” Kevin screamed at them. 

Well, Andrew had enough. “Day.” He said, coming to stand next to him. Kevin had that angry frown on his face, the one he held the first few days he was with them after he left the Ravens. “You are getting on my nerves.”

 He gave him a half look. “If we don't get better by next season we have no chance of beating the Raven.”

“Oh Day. Why do you think I care?” He said, taking a step forward, “you brought us all here before we were supposed to be back and you still can’t handle the heat? I’ll only tolerate it for so long.”

“You know why I have too.” Kevin’s voice cracked just slightly at the end.

Aaron picked up on it too, of course. He always did. “Don’t tell me this is about that interview,” he said, straightening up from where he leaned on the wall. “Because if it is, you’re not dragging us into your personal grudge match. I’m not running my lungs out just to soothe your ego.”

“The rabbit is not going anywhere. Even if we win. You are not going to be his savior, Day.” Andrew added before Kevin could answer. 

“That’s enough. Take a break. Ten minutes.” Wymack said. 

The new recruits looked at them funny before walking away with some of the older team. Nicky came running their way, “man! I am too old for this.”

“Want to tell me what this is all about?” Coach said. “We’ve called coach Moriyama. You heard what he said - Nathaniel is pulling the hours to be the best he could be after the promise of the interview. Which we all know is bullshit, but it means that he is fine. As much as he could be.”

“You don’t know that.” Kevin said, voice breaking.

“If they would have done something to him they would have released something to the media by now. Their friendly match against the Wolves is in a few days and the media is all over your number Four. They won’t do anything.”

“You don’t understand.” Kevin said.

“Kid, why don’t you take a break?” The coach said, as Kevin was shaking his head, “it wasn’t a suggestion.”

Andrew lit a cigarette as he walked off the court, ignoring them. He’d seen what he needed to. Kevin Day was breaking, and Exy was the only thing keeping him from the bottle.

So when Matt and Nicky suggested a mountain trip, Andrew didn’t fight it. Not this time. Kevin’s furious frown was proof enough—it might be the only way to shut him up.

Which is how Andrew ended up barging into Kevin’s room one afternoon, questioning his life choices.

And he wasn’t one for regret.

Kevin glanced up from a history book, an Exy game playing in the background.

Nerd.

“What are you doing?”

“Pack.” Andrew dropped the bag down on Kevin's bed.

Kevin frowned.

“We’re going to the mountains for the week.”

“We,” Kevin echoed. A beat later, his face tightened. “No. We’re in the middle of training—”

“Day.”

Kevin’s expression twisted, almost desperate. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

“Killing yourself won’t save him.”

“I am not—”

“Move it, Day. Fifteen minutes. Be ready.”

Andrew left him to stew.

Downstairs, Aaron and Nicky were waiting with matching frowns.

“You sure that was the best way to tell him?” Nicky asked. “We could’ve eased him into it.”

Andrew lit a cigarette and ignored him.

By the time he was halfway through, the others appeared with their bags. Kevin looked like he wanted to murder every last one of them. He refused to meet Andrew’s eyes, climbing into the passenger seat before anyone else could claim it.

Andrew didn’t realize he was laughing until his ribs hurt. What unsettled him more was that no one else even flinched, like they heard it all the time.

He tapped his legs in rhythm, buzzing with the thought of two hours trapped in the car.

***

The pills weren’t something Andrew ever expected.

He’d always been in control—always on edge, always measuring limits. Drinking, dusting—he knew when to stop. Survival depended on it.

Then came the pills. And every time he looked in the mirror now, a stranger stared back. A demon, maybe. The wide smile that didn’t belong to him. The mask that grinned when inside he wanted to scream.

It was Aaron’s worst habit, reflected back at him. Only Andrew’s came with a court order and too many memories he’d rather forget.

And it meant he couldn’t drive. He obeyed that rule.

Mostly.

Nicky drove more often now. Andrew let him. Didn’t mean he liked it. Sometimes, when Andrew wasn't high he drove. But ‘Not high’ will never be the same as clean.

When Nicky detoured to the ABC store on their way out, Andrew went in too. It was freezing outside, and he wanted something that burned. They stocked up—whiskey, beer, enough to drown the weekend.

Halfway to the register, Andrew’s phone buzzed. Nicky arched a brow, mouth already opening before Andrew’s look shut him up. 

No one ever called Andrew. Everyone worth his time was already here.

He pulled out the phone.

Pig Higgins, the display read.

He let it ring.

At the counter he tossed in a bottle of vodka and a candy bar. The cashier glanced between his too-wide smile and Nicky’s warmer one, and wisely didn’t comment.

By the time the mountains rose ahead, Andrew was buzzing. Live wire. Ready to snap. He was out of the car first, pacing the lot to bleed off the edge. Kevin climbed out stiffly, muttering something under his breath that Nicky and Aaron ignored.

Matt Boyd was waiting. Golden retriever smile intact. Still convinced he could glue a broken team back together. No wonder Wymack wanted him as vice captain.

“You made it!” Matt said, too bright for the room.

“Unfortunately. Wish we died in a car crash,” Kevin muttered.

Matt didn’t falter. “Come on, we never hang out. Wouldn’t it be nice to just be together for once?”

Aaron glared. Nicky chimed in, “That’s what I’ve been saying for years. But do the boys listen to me? No.”

Andrew counted to ten. Too many witnesses for stabbing his cousin here. Kevin’s eyeroll from the corner almost made it worth it.

“What a waste of time,” Jack told the other freshmen. They trailed behind, more than happy for the break.

Matt clapped his hands. “To the cabins!”

Inside, Renee and Alison were already settled. Renee stood when they entered. “One king bed. Alison and I will take it. Everyone else, figure it out.”

Andrew didn’t much care; a lock on a door was enough, and his room had one. At least he didn't care until. Aaron and Nicky drifted together, leaving him to be rooming up with Kevin. “If you keep that fucked-up look all weekend, I’ll pull a knife,” Andrew told him flatly as he sat on his bed. “Doesn’t Frenchie call you every day now?”

Kevin glared, folding his clothes into neat stacks. “The game’s tonight.”

Andrew stretched across the mattress, silent. Hard not to know about the game—Kevin hadn’t shut up about it.

The soft bed didn’t settle him. Nothing did. Not with Pig’s call lingering, not with the memory of last year still raw. He wasn’t going to testify. Not again. Not just to hear another person call it a misunderstanding.

He had done enough. Cass wouldn’t take anyone else. He made sure it happened, this time. 

He tried to believe it was enough. Tried hard to believe it was the right choice, the only choice.

“Fine, don’t listen to me,” Kevin snapped. “I’m going to see if we can get the game on TV.” He left, muttering.

Andrew opened the vodka he bought. The dark room was quiet, soothing. Almost enough to drown the thoughts of Pig’s call today.

Twenty minutes later he wandered downstairs. Matt lit up.

“Oh, there you are! We’re outside making a bonfire. Anyone who wants can watch the game here.” He nodded toward Kevin, curled on the sofa with a drink clenched tight. Then whispering he said, “he won’t budge. Maybe you can talk to him?”

Andrew wanted to punch Matt for smiling when he agreed.

He dropped onto the couch beside Kevin. The Ravens already had a point. Nathaniel filled the screen. So the he really was alive at least. “It’s a friendly against the Wolves, Day,” Andrew said.

“He’s moving slower than he can,” Kevin murmured.

Andrew studied the footage. Nathaniel stumbled—awkward, sluggish, wrong. Like someone playing through a haze. Andrew knew that feeling too well. “Did Riko usually drug him before practice?”

Kevin made a sound—half laugh, half broken noise. “Only to punish him. They wouldn’t— Not in his first game.” He drained his glass. “Riko’s making him look bad. He—” Kevin dropped his head, words cutting off.

“Outside,” Andrew said.

This time Kevin didn’t fight the pull. Andrew kept his distance; after Pig’s call, touch was a landmine.

The fire cracked in the mountain dark, sparks rising like stars. Nicky leaned too close to Aaron, already drunk. Aaron shoved him off without pausing his argument with Noah, Sheena and Janie.

Jack sat glued to Kevin, talking about Exy while Kevin drowned him out with liquor.

Andrew let him. Jack wasn’t his problem.

Smoke curled skyward. The tension buzzed under the chatter. Nicky clapped too loudly, grinning crooked. “Okay, team-building time! Everyone confesses the worst mistake you’ve ever made.”

“Shut up, Nicky,” Aaron said.

Nicky ignored him. “Worst mistake? Dating that guy in Berlin before Eric. Oh my god.”

The circle groaned. Alison rolled her eyes. Renee smiled like she was too good to laugh but she was still laughing anyway.

“Great,” Matt said, too cheerful for the mood. “Worst mistake I ever made? Trusting Seth with my car keys.” That got a round of laughter. Even Aaron cracked a smile.

Kevin didn’t. He stared into the fire like he could burn himself out with it.

“Day,” Andrew said.

Kevin blinked, like he forgot Andrew existed.

“Your turn.”

“No.”

“Yes,” Nicky said, waving his bottle. “Come on, Kevin. Worst mistake?”

Kevin’s jaw tightened. Andrew thought he’d shut down, same as always. But then he said, quiet enough half of them leaned in to hear, “thinking I could survive without the Nest.”

The circle went dead quiet.

Nicky clapped too loud. “Okay, my turn again. Worst mistake? Not bringing marshmallows. We are literally failing at this.”

More groans. Renee stood, muttering something about saving them from themselves, and came back with a bag from the kitchen.

Somehow Kevin ended up with a marshmallow on a stick. He roasted it like he was at practice, serious face, eyes locked on the fire.

Aaron frowned at him. “You training that marshmallow for Exy tryouts?”

Kevin didn’t look up. “It’s already doing better than you.”

“Holy shit,” Nicky gasped. “Kevin Day made a joke. Did anyone get it on video?”

“Shut up,” Kevin muttered, chewing. His ears went red.

Andrew flicked his cigarette, smoke curling into the air. “Careful, Day. People might think you’re human.”

Kevin glared at him, sugar stuck to his lip. He looked ridiculous. And for once, he didn’t care. He leaned back, bottle in his hand, legs stretched to the fire. The most relaxed Andrew had seen him in days. “Thank you.” He said to Andrew under his breath. 

Maybe dragging Day out here wasn’t a waste of time after all.

***

Andrew woke in the dark.

The room was quiet, too quiet. Kevin was already at the door, shoes in hand, moving careful like he thought he could sneak past.

Andrew didn’t move until the door clicked shut. Then he got up, slid his knives on his armbands, and followed.

The night air bit cold against his skin. He stayed back, letting Kevin’s shape slip between the trees and down the gravel path. The crunch of shoes stopped at the car. Door creaked open, then silence.

Andrew leaned against the shadows and waited.

If Kevin was going to run back to the Nest, this would be the moment. Put the key in, drive, never look back.

But he didn’t. Andrew already knew he wouldn’t. 

Kevin just sat there with a bottle in his hand, shoulders hunched, taking swallows too big, too desperate.

Coward.

Andrew walked up to the driver’s side and leaned down, smoke curling from the cigarette he lit on the way. Kevin startled, then glared, but his hand tightened on the bottle instead of the wheel.

“Running away fixes nothing,” Andrew said.

Kevin’s jaw worked. “I wasn’t—”

“You can’t even drive there,” Andrew cut him off. Voice flat, sharp. “You’re too much of a coward.”

Kevin’s breath hitched. He tried to cover it with a laugh, but it came out jagged. “He’s not safe. They won’t touch him yet, but they could. And if they do, it’s on me. I should have—” He slammed the bottle against the dash, liquid sloshing. His eyes burned when he turned on Andrew. “You don’t get it. Renee got Jean out. She did it. I never even thought about it. And two nights ago, I got in this car, keys in my hand, ready to drive to him. To drag him out myself. But I knew—” his breath hitched again, raw, “—I wouldn’t make it. I’d turn back. Because I value my own skin too much to give it away.”

Kevin’s voice dropped, hoarse. “He would’ve done it for me. Neil-Nate would’ve torn the Nest apart with his bare hands if it meant saving me. And me—” his hands trembled around the bottle, “—I can’t even cross the line for him.” He stopped and said, “maybe Riko was right.”

Andrew lit another cigarette, ember flaring in the dark. He inhaled slowly, then let the smoke slip through his teeth.

“Riko was never right.”

Kevin laughed, jagged and ugly. “He made me. Without him, I—” His hands pressed into his eyes, grinding down the thought like he could erase it. “I don’t know who I am without the Nest. Without them.”

Andrew studied him. The cracks in the posture, the hollow carved out of him.

“You’re Kevin Day,” Andrew said finally. “Pathetic. Arrogant. A fucking pain in my ass.” He flicked ash to the ground. “And you’re still standing. That’s who you are.”

Kevin sagged forward, bottle dangling between his knees. Shoulders shaking.

“They’ll break him,” he whispered. “Nathaniel can’t survive them.”

“He already has,” Andrew said. “That’s why he’s still there. And why you’re here.”

Silence pressed heavy. Finally Kevin lifted the bottle, took another swallow, and breathed out, shaky but quieter.

Andrew straightened, turned back toward the cabin. He didn’t look over his shoulder. Didn’t need to.

Kevin always followed.

That’s what family did.

Chapter Text

Important: Read the chapter’s note before starting.

---



Neil’s mind was static. Complete static. Even his throat burning barely registered—though he was almost sure he’d torn one of his vocal cords. He wasn’t even aware he was still in bed.

The Nest had its punishments. Neil never knew what Jean had done to 'earn' Riko’s cruelty, why it always circled back to him and him alone. This time, apparently, the interview had been worth the same sentence.

“You cost me two toys, Four,” Riko had said, stripping him to the bed while Neil’s body was too bloody and weak to resist. “You took Kevin from me twice. He chose property over king. This should never have happened.”

He was faintly aware of weight shifting the mattress. Fingers tugging at his pants.

By the time Neil realized what was happening, he was already begging. Begging for it to stop, begging for Grayson to stop. But Grayson only leaned in, breath hot in his ear: So good. You feel so good. I’m going to find Jean and fuck his skull. You’ll like it, Nate. Wouldn’t you?

“Keep your eyes on the screen,” Riko ordered. An old camera played a video of Kevin—bloodied, subbing, broken hand. His cries blended with Neil’s. “No closing your eyes, Nathaniel.” the devil said.

The demon pushed harder.

Neil screamed and screamed, and-

“Wake up, princess.”  The voice that haunted most of his waking dreams roared above him. “Wouldn’t want you to miss practice.”

“No,” Neil answered. Flat. Automatic. Not even aware he was speaking.

The devil smiled. “No, what?”

“No, King.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this obedient. Maybe he never had.

He didn’t notice the other Ravens as he entered the court—not their voices, not their faces. His body moved on muscle memory alone, his mind gone.

Gear on. Court. Drills. Routine.

The same as a hundred times before.

They were halfway through practice when a whisper brushed past him. “I had fun last night, Nate.”

Neil’s head snapped around to Grayson, the words yanking him back into his body. The old instincts lit in his chest—the ones he’d thought long burned out, but they had flared twice already this week. 

Run.

Don’t look back.

Don’t stop.

 Run.

 Run.

 Run—

He vomited in the locker room as soon as his helmet came off. Didn’t hear the footsteps until it was too late.

A blow to the cheek. Another to his already-bruised ribs. “Leaving in the middle of practice, Four? Where are your manners?” The Master’s voice rang. The hits kept coming, another one, then another.

Then—

“Rabbit?”

Neil blinked. The court was gone. He was in his room—showered, phone in hand.

“Nathaniel,” the voice repeated, cheerful yet empty, tinged with a manic smile. “If this is a booty call—”

Neil’s heart pounded in his chest. “I just—I needed someone to talk to. Don’t… don’t tell Jean or Kevin.”

Panic choked him as his eyes swept the room, searching shadows for Riko. Jean and Kevin would’ve been the natural ones to call, but he couldn’t put that weight on them. He was their anchor. Their shield. They leaned on him. Not the other way around.

But where did Andrew fit into this? He couldn’t even remember deciding to call—least of all Andrew. It made no sense. He shouldn’t have. He didn’t trust Andrew, not really. He didn’t trust anyone.

Trust got you killed, or worse. His mother had taught him that—drilled it into him until it lived in his bones. He’d believed it, carried it, let it shape every choice he made. And yet his memory had found Andrew’s number anyway. His thumb had moved before his mind could catch up. Maybe it wasn’t trust. Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was weakness. Or maybe it was madness finally catching up to him, the cracks widening until this was all that was left—

“Neil.” How Andrew knew that name, Neil couldn’t guess. “Truth for truth?”

“I can’t. I—forget I called. It was a misunder—”

“Don’t,” Andrew cut in. “I don’t like that word. Don’t use it.”

“Okay.”

Silence stretched, thick and endless. Neil forced air in and out until his breathing steadied, but the panic clung stubbornly, prickling at his skin like static. Every nerve felt exposed, raw. Vulnerable. Too vulnerable. 

“Rabbit. Talk to me.”

“I can’t—”

“You want to know how your brothers are doing, right? Truth for truth. That’s the deal.” Andrew’s voice was steady, sharper than usual, maybe thanks to those court ordered pills Neil had heard so much about.

“I don’t trust you.”

“Then don’t. I’m not offering this deal again.”

Neil hesitated. He shouldn’t even have called. It was reckless, stupid. Dangerous. He hated Doe. But he couldn’t talk to anyone else. “Do I get to decide what to share?” he asked quietly, still scanning the room like Riko might appear at any moment.

“Yes.”

“And when to share?”

“Yes.”

It was madness. But what choice did he have? Trapped in the Nest, no one to trust, no one to lean on. He’d already been punished for breaking the rules. If he shattered completely, they’d just break him down for parts.

He never felt more like a puppet.

“I need to think about it,” he said at last.

Silence before Andrew laughed. “I’m not going to be that generous forever, rabbit. Tick tock.”

The call disconnected. 

Neil sat curled in the corner of the room, shaking, every breath a fight against the panic clawing at his chest. It took everything in him to stand, his legs unsteady, and he collapsed onto the bed as though gravity had claimed him whole. The ceiling swam above him, shapes blurring until it melted into an open sky he couldn’t reach.

He imagined Jean asleep in the empty bed beside him, steady in a way Neil could never be. He imagined freedom—real freedom, unchained and untouchable—before letting himself drift, further and further, until the Nest was nothing but a memory fading into the dark.

**

Somehow, practices got worse. Neil didn’t know how that was possible, but each one dragged heavier, every drill stretching longer than the last. He could have sworn they’d added another hour, though he knew the Ravens hadn’t changed a thing. Sixteen-hour days—an endless truth carved into him.

“Four, stay. The rest of you barely scraped by. Is that what you want to be? Failures? Has the standard dropped so low? I expect better by tomorrow—or there will be consequences. Dismissed.”

Grayson smirked at him on the way out, flanked by his pack of freshmen. Neil hated the way it still made his chest tighten, his pulse spike.

Riko was nowhere to be seen. A blessing, if you ask him. Neil could live a lifetime without seeing him again.

When the others left, Neil stepped forward and bowed slightly, racquet still in his hand.

“That was far below expectations, Four. You’re getting worse,” the coach said.

Neil bit his lip. Sleep-starved, half-starved, bleeding inside and out—none of it mattered. He was doing his best, and they both knew his worst days were still better than theirs. This wasn’t about performance. This was punishment.

“I’m sorry, coach,” Neil said, and offered up the racquet.

The coach weighed it in his hands while Neil braced himself. The first strike landed on his shoulder. The next two slammed into his stomach. He stayed upright until his knees gave out. The floor was colder, harder than he remembered. He raised his arms to shield his face—waiting for another hit. Nothing came.

“Get up.”

Neil obeyed, lungs still fighting for air.

“You think I should stop?”

Yes. The word burned in his throat. But Frederico was a sadist. Always had been. He wanted Neil to beg.

“No, sir. I don’t think two blows are enough.” The words tasted like ash.

The racquet cracked against his head. He hit the floor again. Then his hand. His leg. His ribs. Again. And again. And again.

His ears rang. His legs screamed. He would have given anything for it to stop.

“-I said, up!” the coach roared.

Neil blinked. The blows had stopped. He didn’t know when.  It took everything he had to rise. Frederico tossed the racquet back at him and walked away without another word.

It was a long limp back to his room. He passed a few Ravens, their stares crawled over his skin. He ignored them. If Riko wasn’t at practice, he’d be waiting elsewhere. Probably in their room.

When Neil reached his door, he froze. It stood open. Inside, the room was stripped bare. His few belongings—gone. Sheets torn from the bed. Nothing left but the frame.

“Hello, roomie.” A voice came from his side.

Neil turned. Zane stood there, smiling.

“What?”

“Your little stunt paid off. I’ll admit, I doubted you. But credit where it’s due.” He gestured for Neil to follow.

Neil’s stomach dropped. “Where’s my stuff?”

“Already moved. Don’t worry—nothing’s missing. Thought you’d like the new place.” Zane tilted his head down the hall. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

Neil hesitated. But then again, trap or not, what choice did he have? The halls stretched longer than he remembered, darker. He’d lived here for years, and he hated how it started to feel like home. By now, in the dark of the Nest, he almost forgot what sunlight felt like.

Zane’s new room mirrored the last—same bedframe, same bleak walls. Except… someone had hung the picture of Kevin and Jean exactly where Neil had placed it before. The few things Kevin had bought him sat carefully on the bed. Like nothing had changed.

“See?” Zane spread his arms, smug. “Home sweet home.”

Neil stared at the picture, at the precise angle it had been hung. A chill ran down his spine.

Someone had touched everything, moved everything, and then put it back—too precise.

The thought of someone studying those few photos he had twisted his stomach, but he tried to choke back the bile rising in his throat.

“What do you want?” Neil asked.

“Here’s the deal,” Zane said. “You get me my number by year’s end, and I’ll make sure Grayson—and anyone else but the King—keeps their hands off you. Deal?”

Year’s end. Too far. Too close. “Yes.”

Zane stepped closer, grin twisting. “Johnny fucked me over. I should’ve let Grayson have him, but I protected him. You pull something like that? I’ll make sure the whole lineup takes their turn. Understand?”

Neil swallowed the urge to spit in his face. “Yes.”

That seemed to satisfy him. Zane left, door clicking shut.

Neil waited. Counted breaths. When he was sure Zane wasn’t coming back, he pulled out his phone. His thumb hovered over the number he should have deleted.

He called anyway.

Three rings.

“Want to read me a bedtime story?” Doe’s voice was smug, lazy.

Neil swallowed his retort. “Do you know another language?”

A pause. Then, “We haven’t made a deal yet, rabbit.”

“I need to know I can talk to you. I’m not exactly… free.”

“German.”

Neil’s pulse jumped. Of all the options, fate had chosen one he could risk. He hesitated anyway, balancing the words on the edge of his tongue. Every language he gave away was another crack in the armor he’d built, another truth Andrew could pocket and use. But German was the only thing safe enough—for now. He switched, the words sharp in his mouth; “deal. How are Kevin and Jean?”

There was movement on the other end, a shift of weight, the faint sound of fabric. Andrew’s voice came back level. “Kevin snuck off to drink in the car. Said he wasn’t brave enough to drive to the Nest. Your French bird’s fine, far as I know. Day thinks something’s off, but he doesn’t know what.”

“Did you tell them—”

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

Neil frowned but didn’t flinch. “Do I have to spill my heart right now?”

“I don’t have to take my turn.”

Neil hated that. “Then can I take another one?”

“I’m not your mother, Nathaniel. I don’t hand out gold stars.”

The words scraped at him, but he shoved the thought of his mother down where it belonged. “What do you want?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s a lie. Everyone wants something.”

Andrew didn’t dignify it with much. Neil could hear the shrug in his silence, the faint edge of boredom. “Then rephrase the question if you want a different answer.” Andrew said.

Neil let it slide—for now. “I can’t always answer when you call. Text first. And it should be me calling more than you.”

“Careful, rabbit. I don’t do leashes.”

“You put it on when you answered,” Neil said. His voice was flat, but his pulse wasn’t. “Don’t choke on it.”

The pause stretched long enough Neil almost wondered if Andrew hung up. Then Andrew’s voice cut through, smooth and sharp. “You give yourself too much credit. Didn’t know you could match Day’s ego. He’s at least entertaining.”

“Brothers,” Neil reminded him.

A low hum, amused but dismissive. Then. “Look at that –my patience is gone. Try not to die, rabbit. That kind of mess isn’t worth the effort..”

The line snapped dead.

Neil stared at the phone a moment longer, then let it fall against his chest. The ceiling swam above him. He should turn the phone off. Instead, the screen lit with a new message from Jean.

His chest tightened. Too long without him. Too long since Jean’s voice steadied him, since sharp edges had felt like home instead of loss. But the silence between them was his fault—his choice. He wasn’t ready, not for Jean, not for what they could be. He told himself distance was safer, that if he kept quiet he couldn’t ruin it. Still, the silence felt like a wound, pulling wider every day. Like losing Jean all over again—like losing a limb he could still feel.

Neil’s thumb hovered, then betrayed him. He opened it.

Message after message in French, his mind stumbling over the words in his head. The last one hit clean and hard.

Il n’y a que toi.*

The breath punched out of him. His chest clenched, tight and aching. He shut the phone off, because there was nothing left to do. Nothing left to say.

Only silence. And in that silence, Neil heard the words again. Il n’y a que toi. He whispered them once. Then again. Louder in his head, sharper each time. Il n’y a que toi. Il n’y a que toi.

Until it was all that remained.

*There is only you.

Chapter Text

There were days Jean almost regretted leaving the Nest.

Some days he wondered if the routine — the one he used to hate — had been the only thing holding him together. Out here, everything was supposed to mean freedom. Choice.

But now that he had both, he wasn’t sure he could live with them.

To the way people didn’t look at him like he was a burden. To the way Jeremy, Laila, and Cat moved around him like he belonged. Like they wanted him to belong.

All of that — and yet, no Neil. Neil, who had chosen to talk to Doe instead of him.

Jean tried not to let it burn more than it should. Tried to give Neil the space he said he needed.

It was harder than he thought. 

To distract himself, Cat had been teaching him how to cook.

“You need to cut the potatoes like this,” she said, taking the knife from his hand.

She sliced them into neat, even pieces, and Jean watched closely, determined to copy her technique. When she handed the knife back, he imitated her movements as best he could.

“That’s so much better!” Cat exclaimed. He felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward before he could stop it.

He didn’t even notice Laila entering until she leaned beside Cat. “Did I just see Jean smile? Like, for real?”

“Who smiled?” Jeremy’s voice came from the doorway. He was leaning against the frame, arms folded — and Jean definitely wasn’t looking at the way his shirt fit or the clean line of his new haircut.

“Mr. Grumpy here just expressed human emotion,” Cat announced.

Jean rolled his eyes.

“I take it your cooking’s improving?” Jeremy asked.

“I don’t know if cutting potatoes counts as cooking,” Cat said, glancing at her phone. “But sure, he is improving.”

Jeremy stepped closer to look. “Looks good to me. Better than I could do.”

“Oh, no one doubted that, love,” Cat said.

Jean’s lips twitched again before he could stop them — almost, almost a smile.

--

The food turned out better than he expected. Better than anything he’d had in the Nest — richer, real.

He measured what he ate all the same, numbers and notes still running through his head.

If anyone had noticed, they hadn’t said so.

“I should go,” Jean said as he finished washing his plate.

Three pairs of eyes turned to him, which made him more uncomfortable than he already was. Even after a week of letting himself accept a fraction of the others' warmth, he still wasn’t exactly popular. 

He got along with Cody, but the others mostly looked at him with pity after what happened at the pool — and that made him angrier than anything.

He didn’t need pity.

 He was Jean Moreau. He endured.

Pity was for animals and children.

Jean waited for someone to ask where he was going. Jeremy would have to know — Ravens didn’t go anywhere alone and Jeremy knew that by now. Knew what it meant for Jean to go out, what it meant to be a partner.

“I’ll be back before dinner.”

He made it to the front door before Jeremy’s voice caught him.

“Everything okay?”

Jean didn’t want to turn around. He didn’t want to explain, didn’t want Jeremy’s concern. He’d rather Jeremy just follow, like he always did. But that wasn’t an option, it seemed.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” he said, facing him.

Jeremy frowned. “I don’t know. It’s not like you to just leave in the middle of the day.” Without telling me where we’re going, Jeremy didn’t say — but it hung there, clear between them.

Jean knew Jeremy meant well. He’d learned that by now — their kindness wasn’t an act. It was genuine. Raw.

That didn’t mean he wanted it.

“Out,” Jean said flatly. “Is that not allowed?”

Jeremy looked like the words stung. “No, I just— I want you to be safe. Is that so terrible?”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Jean.”

He exhaled slowly. “I’m going to get some information about my academic year.”

“But the office doesn’t open for another week—” Jeremy stopped himself. “Please don’t tell me you’re meeting with Lucas.”

Jean didn’t answer. Just stared.

Jeremy’s face tightened. “No.”

“Your coach seemed to think differently.”

“Our coach,” Jeremy said softly. “Just—are you sure?”

Are you safe? was what he really meant.

“There aren’t any pools in the library,” Jean said. “I’ll be fine.”

It didn’t reassure him.

“Promise me you’ll call if anything happens.”

“Fine.” There was no point in arguing.

He turned toward the door before anyone else could say anything more, and Jeremy followed — just like Jean knew he would.

***

Jean had been at the library for half an hour before Lucas showed up.

Most of that time passed with Jeremy sitting beside him, refusing to leave no matter how many times Jean said he didn’t have to stay.

When Lucas finally appeared, Jean held his breath. His eyes swept across the rows of tables before locking on Jean — the same eyes that had once followed him down every hallway. Grayson’s eyes, looking back at him.

Only Lucas didn’t have the same cruelty behind them.

Lucas hesitated when he noticed Jeremy at Jean’s side, then started forward.

“Jeremy.”

“Lucas,” Jeremy said evenly. “You two okay to talk?”

Lucas gave Jean a brief look. “Yeah.”

Jeremy didn’t seem convinced, but one glance from Jean told him not to interfere. “Alright,” he said finally. “Call me if you need me.” He said before he left.

Jean forced his heartbeat to slow as Lucas sat down across from him, arms folded tight. He looked too much like Grayson — same sharp jaw, same restless energy. It made Jean’s stomach twist.

“Wasn’t sure you’d show up,” Lucas said.

“I wasn’t the one who was late,” Jean replied, proud that his voice didn’t shake.

Lucas gave a short, humorless laugh. He glanced around, checking that Jeremy was gone before leaning back in his chair. “Be glad I came at all. Let’s get one thing straight — I fucking hate you. Grayson told me how you always thought you were better than everyone else just because you—” his mouth curled, “—slept your way through. And now you’re doing the same thing with Jeremy—”

Jean’s hands curled into fists before he realized it. “Don’t ever say that again.”

Lucas rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’m only here because otherwise I’ll be off the team. Kevin practically sabotaged us bringing you in, not to mention the new guy showing up with the Ravens—”

“Don’t talk about them,” Jean said sharply. His pulse was too loud in his ears. He shouldn’t have let that show.

Lucas mistook his tone for arrogance. “You people think you’re better than everyone. Grayson told me that — how you act like you’re above the rest of us just because you speak two languages—”

“Four,” Jean said, crossing his arms.

“What?”

“I speak four languages.”

Lucas blinked, thrown off for a second. “Couldn’t care less. Look, I’ll help you, but stay the fuck out of my way — so what happened at the pool doesn’t happen again.”

Jean bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. “Fine.”

“Good.” Lucas leaned back, tapping his fingers against the table. “What’s your major?”

“Business.”

“I’m in finance,” Lucas said. “Our schedules will overlap. But, we’ll meet as little as possible.”

“Once a week,” Jean said.

“Twice. Coach said I’m supposed to help you ‘adjust.’ One won’t cut it. And coach will check for sure.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

They sat in uneasy silence. Lucas’s knee bounced under the table; his mouth opened, then closed again.

The third time he did it, Jean finally asked, “What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“No, but you want to.”

Lucas hesitated. “What’s Grayson’s major?”

Jean blinked. “What?”

“Forget it.”

Jean tilted his head. “I thought you two were close. He seemed to have plenty to say about me.”

Lucas’s jaw tightened. “He only started talking to me again after you showed up. Before that, he disappeared. For four years.”

“I already told you, you lost your brother when he joined the Ravens,” Jean said quietly.

Lucas’s eyes went flat. “Don’t ever fucking say that again.”

Jean didn’t flinch. “Business.”

“What?”

“His major. Business. All the Ravens take it—it’s more efficient that way.”

“Oh.” Lucas’s anger faded, replaced by something else Jean couldn’t name. “Almost the same as me.”

Jean didn’t answer.

They finished the rest of the meeting mostly in silence.

—

Lucas gave him a tour afterward.

Well, tour was a generous word. Lucas looked half bored as he lazily pointed out landmarks — the Horseshoe, which was admittedly pretty; the Leavey Library, where they’d met, and which, apparently, was open twenty-four hours; the Village; and the buildings where Jean’s lectures would be held.

It didn’t surprise Jean that Lucas wasn’t exactly popular. Most of the students he assumed were from finance only gave him a nod or a curious glance as they passed — eyes flicking over Jean, weighing him, recognizing him.

He understood that kind of reputation.

It was towards the end of the tour when a student stopped them near the business building.

“Gene Moore,” the boy said, butchering the name so horribly Jean almost flinched. He stepped forward, his friend following. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

Not with that pronunciation, Jean thought. “Yes,” he said simply.

“That’s so cool! I thought I might see you around — Dani here’s a huge Ravens fan.”

Dani didn’t look like it.  “You shouldn’t have sabotaged the team,” he said coolly. “Not that it mattered — they won without you.” He turned to Lucas. “Your brother did a fair job too. Shame to see you on the same team as this traitor.”

Lucas smiled thinly. “Thanks for the team spirit.” He kept walking.

Jean followed. Neither of them said anything.

Good. 

“That’s it,” Lucas said finally, stopping near the campus entrance.

Jean nodded, overwhelmed. USC felt too wide, too bright. He’d never had the freedom to explore Edgar Allan’s campus like this.

“Any questions?” Lucas asked.

“No.”

“Good. I’m leaving. If you need something, think three times before calling me.”

Jean almost called after him as he walked away. Ravens weren’t supposed to move alone, and the empty space beside him felt too much like a missing limb.

He took out his phone and texted Jeremy: Done. Waiting in the library.

Now that he knew his way back, it gave him time to deal with the second annoying thing his coach had told him to do.

The thought of dialing the number made bile rise in his throat. His grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles went white. He scrolled down to the contact saved under Ignore.

He wished she wouldn’t answer, but Betsy Dobson picked up on the second ring.

“Hello, Jean,” her calm voice came through. “Your coach said you might need to talk.”

Jean said nothing for a moment. “I’m only calling because my coach insisted.”

“I understand,” she said evenly. “Given your circumstances, Kevin’s given me permission to share information that might help you open up. He thought it might make things easier.”

Typical Kevin. Always making decisions for others. “I’m not going to talk.”

“I understand,” Betsy said. “Then how about listening?”

He hesitated. He didn’t have much choice; he wasn’t allowed near training until he spoke with her. “Fine.”

“Amazing. Would this time tomorrow work?”

No. He paused. “Fine.”

He hung up and exhaled, ignoring the alarms going off in his head.

They can’t fix what’s too broken, Riko’s voice whispered somewhere in the back of his mind. Therapists are dangerous.

Jean knew most of what Riko said had been lies. But what if he was right about that one? What if he really was too broken to fix? What if—

“Hey,” Jeremy’s voice broke through his thoughts. “You okay?”

Jean hadn’t heard Jeremy walk up. “I’m fine,” he said automatically. He really was becoming like Neil. 

“Didn’t look like it.” Jeremy leaned against the table. “You got any plans for the rest of the day?”

“No.”

“Good,” Jeremy said, smiling. “Let’s do something.”

“I don’t think—”

“Jean, do you trust me?”

Jean looked up, startled by the question. They locked eyes for a long moment, and to his own surprise, the answer came easily.

“Yes.”

Jeremy’s grin spread wide — bright enough to burn through the fog in Jean’s head. “Then it’s settled. We’ll stop by the house, grab the girls, and go. Sound good?”

Jean nodded, falling into step beside him. The sun was already starting to sink, not yet turning the air gold but close to it.

It was strange, Jean thought when they reached the house, looking at the small thing and thinking of it as home. He almost wanted to be angry at himself for it — for how fast he’d let himself fall — but with Jeremy smiling so wide beside him, he couldn’t.

“We’re home!” Jeremy called as they stepped inside.

The girls looked up from the couch where they’d been watching a movie.

“What’s up?” Laila asked.

“How do you feel about going for a little ride?” Jeremy said, grinning, then turned to Jean. “You know how to ride a bike?”

Jean shook his head. “No.”

Growing up in France, with parents who cared more about grades than his existence, he’d never learned. Fun wasn’t something his sister or he had been allowed to have.

The Nest wasn't a place for it either.

“No problem,” Jeremy said. “We’ll figure something out. I’m gonna change into something long and fitted — you should too.”

Jean did as told, changing before sitting on his bed for a moment. His phone buzzed.

Kevin: 07:30: Anything?

07:40: He’s talking to Andrew again. I don’t get why he won’t talk to us.

07:45: I miss him.

“All set?” Jeremy’s voice came from the door.

Jean pocketed his phone. “Let’s go.”

***

When they reached the street, Jeremy said, “We’ll walk a bit to where we can rent bikes. Sound good?”

“Yes.”

“Sweet! Can’t believe you actually agreed to have some fun,” Cat said, while Laila laughed. Both wore long pants and light shirts, ready for the evening air.

Jean just hummed.

Jeremy had also changed — long pants, tight shirt, the fabric stretching slightly when he lifted his arms. Jean looked away every time he did, cheeks burning.

It was a nice walk — quiet, warm, slow — but it gave them too much time for conversation.

“So,” Laila said lightly, “how was your mysterious afternoon meeting?”

Jean glanced at Jeremy, surprised. He hadn’t told them where he went than.

“Fine,” Jean said.

Cat rolled her eyes. “Come on, Moreau. Details.”

“There’s nothing to tell. I met with Lucas. He gave me a tour.”

“Wait—Lucas?” Cat said, stopping short. Laila looked equally horrified. "Our Lucas? Exy Lucas?"

“Yes,” Jean said flatly. “You-our coach thought it was a good idea, in case you forgot. It was fine. He was… even a little helpful.”

“Do you have to meet with him, though?” Jeremy asked quietly like they hadn’t talked about this before.

“Yes. Lucas seems to think he’ll be checked about it.”

“He’s not wrong,” Laila said. “Still doesn’t make it right.”

“It’s fine,” Jean said. “I’m Jean Moreau. It’s what I deserve.”

The silence stretched. It took him a moment to realize he’d said it aloud.

Cat frowned. “That’s a screwed-up thing to say.”

Laila shot her a look, but Cat didn’t back down. “I’m serious. You act like you’re still stuck over there. You’re not. None of us are going to treat you like that.”

Jean didn’t answer. He didn’t trust his voice not to give him away.

There was no way to explain what together or not at all had meant — or how breaking that promise had already split something in him that would never knit clean again.

—-

The sky was painted gold by the time they reached the rental stand. Cat and Laila each grabbed a bike, while Jeremy led Jean toward something else entirely.

It wasn’t a bike.

“Since you don’t know how to ride,” Jeremy said, smiling, “I borrowed this.”

Jean stared at the motorcycle. He’d never been on one before — never wanted to. He’d learned to drive a car because his brother forced him to, but this? This was worse.

“I asked a friend to bring it,” Jeremy continued. “Safety first.” He handed Jean a helmet. “Put it on.”

Jean stared at the machine like it might bite. “How do we both fit on that?”

“You sit behind me and hold tight,” Jeremy said, grinning infuriatingly. He was swinging one leg over and starting the engine. The sound made Jean flinch, his face drained of color. 

He wasn’t sure if it was the thought of holding on to Jeremy for that long or the ride itself that scared him more.

Jeremy looked back. “I promise I won’t let you die. We’ll stay slow — next to Cat and Laila.”

Jean hesitated, then took one step, then another, heart pounding. Then he took a breath, put on the helmet, the weight pressing against his temples, and climbed on. His arms circled Jeremy’s waist, tentative and unsure.

“Ready?”

“No.”

Jeremy chuckled. “Hold on.”

The engine roared to life. Jean’s pulse did too. But true to his word, Jeremy drove slow, keeping pace with the pair.

It was terrifying at first — the noise, the speed, the wind pulling at his clothes.

He closed his eyes, leaning forward until his helmet almost brushed Jeremy’s.

The wind tugged at Jean’s sleeves, cool and freeing.

“Look left, Jean,” Jeremy said softly. He somehow knew Jean hadn’t opened his eyes once.

It took a moment — then another — before Jean did.

The sun was sinking into the sea. The water caught the light like glass, glowing gold and orange. He had never seen anything so beautiful before — or if he had, he’d forgotten it somewhere inside the Nest in favor to survive.

The world stretched wide and endless, and for the first time in a long time, Jean let himself look. Watched the world open wide around him.

He looked at Jeremy. At Cat and Laila just ahead. And he thought,

Friends.

Open roads.

Home.

Home.

Home.

Chapter Text

Practice, work, eat, sleep.

Practice, practice, work, eat, practice, sleep.

Practice, work, work, sleep.

Practice, sleep, eat, practice—

“You aren’t going to eat that?” Zane asked beside him.

Neil blinked, surfacing from the haze, eyes landing on the plate in front of him. It had the regular Nest meal — the usual dry chicken breast gone rubbery around the edges, a clump of overcooked rice, limp green beans, and a slice of bread gone faintly stale. Not terrible. Not good. Just fuel. Enough to keep them moving. Never enough to feel full.

He couldn’t remember what real food was supposed to taste like anymore.

He looked at Zane, then back to the plate, and lifted the bread.

One small bite was enough to make his stomach growl and the nausea twist deeper. “You can have it if you want,” he said, pushing the plate away.

He still wasn’t used to Zane sitting next to him. That seat belonged to Kevin. To Jean. When Zane was Jean’s partner, they’d never sat together at meals. Zane might’ve protected Jean when it suited him, but he carried the Raven’s reputation like a bruise — kept his distance where it counted.

“You haven’t eaten in like, three days,” Zane said flatly.

Neil frowned. “Why the fuck would you care?”

“Because we’re partners now, Nat.”

Neil’s face twisted at the nickname. Worse than the ones Zane had for Jean.

Worse than the idea itself. He only had one partner. Even if that partner was miles away.

“Your success is my success. Your failure—”

“—is your failure, I remember,” Neil cut in. “I’m playing, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but—”

“You done with the food?”

Zane sighed, like he was long-suffering. “Yeah.”

“Then let’s go.”

Neil couldn’t sit still lately — his skin felt too tight, like he might combust if he stayed in one place too long. When he wasn’t pacing, he was blinking through missing time — minutes, hours, sometimes days disappearing in blurs he couldn’t track. Dangerous habit. He hadn’t figured out how to beat it out of himself yet.

He hadn’t seen Ichirou in days, either. Longer than ever before. It wasn’t like him to vanish without a word, orr without inviting Neil back to the tower. He’d have to make it up to him somehow.

Neil already knew it wouldn’t be pretty.

They were first in the locker room, which suited Neil fine. The others hated him. Ever since what happened with Grayson, his little pack of minions had made it their mission to ruin Neil’s every day; hard checks, deliberate collisions. 

More than once, Grayson had pinned him against the wall during practice, testing how far he could push before Neil snapped.

He got a knee to the balls for that. Neil refused to give him the satisfaction of fear without a fight. Not again, not ever. 

Talking with Andrew helped. Zane gave him a weird look every time Neil answered the phone in German, but had the sense not to ask.

Doe was easier than he expected. Their calls left him lighter, steadier — even happy, sometimes. His uncle had started calling too, maybe out of guilt. Neil tried to be civil. 

He knew Stuart cared, in his own way. But guilt wasn’t love, and he knew his uncle’s conscience wouldn’t pit the British mob against the Yakuza for him.

Practice itself went as brutal as expected, though lately it became easier with Zane by his side. They were both backliners, and while Neil had gotten used to having Jean there, he was slowly adapting to Zane’s style of play. Zane wasn’t as fast as Jean, but he was solid — grounded in a way that made the backline feel safer. With Neil’s speed and Zane’s strength, they started to move in sync, covering for each other’s weaknesses, shutting down passing lanes before the others even realized what happened.

It was almost nice.

He hadn’t thought he could enjoy the game again, not after Jean left. But with someone who actually tried to stick by him — who didn’t flinch away when things got rough — the court started to feel a little less like punishment.

Not safe. Never safe.

But almost something he could breathe in again.

It didn’t mean the others stopped sabotaging them, but true to his word, Zane held his ground. Protected him. And Neil, in turn, needed to make sure Zane climbed up the ranks. Fast.

***

It was the next day, a few hours before their friendly match with the Wolves, that Grayson chose to approach their table, his pack trailing behind him like shadows. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

Neil looked up at that smug face. Bile burned his throat, but he managed a smile — the kind that had gotten him through far worse. “The new Perfect Court,” he said evenly.

It hit where it should. Grayson’s smirk faltered into a frown. He stepped closer, but Zane was already on his feet. “I don’t think so, Johnson,” Zane said. “You know I’ve got the same deal with Nat as I did with Johnny.”

“Being a bitch for them?” one of Grayson’s guys snickered.

Grayson’s fists clenched, slamming the table next to him. “You think I can’t take you?”

Zane stepped forward, unflinching. “Want to test that theory?”

“Enough.”

The single word cut through the room like a blade. 

Neil froze where he stood, his body snapping into obedience before his head could even process it. The air went still. No one moved. Then, almost in unison, they bowed — because that was what you did when The Master spoke. You didn’t think. You didn’t breathe. You obeyed.

“We have a game today,” the Master said, voice cold and clean. “What is the meaning of this?”

His eyes landed on Neil.

Neil’s heart slammed once, hard. “An argument that got out of hand, Master.”

“I should have known you’d be in the middle of it.” The words switched to Japanese — for Neil’s ears alone. “Wasn’t your punishment enough to teach you restraint?”

Neil’s nails bit into his palm behind his back. “It was, Master. I learned my lesson.”

“Clearly not enough.”

Then, back to English, “run along.”

Grayson hesitated, then nodded and left.

The Master’s gaze fell to Neil’s half-eaten plate. “Four, your plate is still full. If it’s too much food, you must not be practicing enough.”

He walked away without another glance.

Neil waited until he was gone before sinking into his chair, grabbing the bread and forcing himself to chew. The Nest’s version of stew sloshed in his stomach — foul, salty, but at least it stayed down.

More than he’d managed in weeks.

Zane didn’t say a word. Smart of him.

“…I don’t need to remind you what it takes to win this game. You’re all here because you’re the best, and—”

Neil tried to keep listening to the coach’s motivational speech. He really did. But his head started pounding, a dull, echoing pulse behind his eyes.

A minute later, everyone around him was on their feet, already in uniform.

He blinked, swaying, then pushed himself up too fast.

The floor tilted. 

He steadied himself, forcing a breath in. Must’ve been all those weeks of barely eating, catching up to him now. On his way to grab his uniform, someone slammed into him, hard. 

“Watch where you’re going, Four.” Riko’s voice, low and amused. He leaned in close enough for Neil to feel the words against his ear. “Good luck today, Natty. Make them proud.”

Then a shove — sharp, deliberate — and Neil nearly stumbled again, teeth grinding to hold back the reaction.

“Hey, you okay?” Zane asked beside him, brows drawn.

“Fine.” He pulled the uniform on, hands trembling just enough that he hoped no one noticed. “Let’s go.”

They walked the corridor to the stadium. The lights hit him like a wall — too bright, too sharp — and he had to keep his eyes on the floor just to move forward.

When he finally looked up, he felt the Lord’s eyes on him from the stands. Neil hoped it was hunger he saw there — hunger was safer than disappointment. He dropped his gaze before it could turn into something else.

They made it to the bench. The coach went over strategy again, as if there was ever a question of losing. They’d crush the Wolves. The only question was by how much.

Neil took a step forward, then another. His legs felt wrong; too light, too heavy, too not his. He tried to shake it off. The world pulsed once, twice, and then everything tilted again.

Something was very wrong.

“Why are you smiling?” Zane’s voice cut in. 

Neil blinked, confused, then lifted a hand to his face.

He was smiling. Couldn’t stop. Couldn’t even feel his mouth right.

Fuck.

His gaze snapped to Riko. The bastard leaned against his stick, watching him with that bright, satisfied grin. Then he tipped his head toward Grayson.

Neil’s stomach dropped.

They’d done it during lunch. It was the only time it could’ve been. Dragged him and dosed him before the game.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Drugged,” he said flatly, because lying didn’t seem worth the effort. Or maybe it was the drugs fogging his judgment. “Lunch break.”

Zane went rigid, jaw locking as he took a step toward Grayson, but Neil’s arm shot out, stopping him.

“It won’t help,” he said. “We’ll work through it. I can manage.”

Zane gave him a hard look. “How the fuck would you do that?”

Neil laughed — a sharp, broken sound that didn’t feel like his own. The drugs, definitely the drugs.

“Because I’ve done it before.”

16–4.

Neil had been slower than usual. He hadn’t blocked as many players as he could. They were supposed to break twenty points, and he knew his performance hadn’t been his best.

Not his worst either. Not bad enough to warrant punishment. Not bad enough for them to take it out on his partner.

Riko had expected him to crumble under the drugs, but Neil had skin in the game.

He had Ichirou watching.

Everything became instinct—block, run, move before they got close to scoring. Run, run, run until the field blurred. Pass to Zane. Keep going. Fly without knowing where, just forward.

By the time the whistle blew, his stomach lurched. He was close to puking, and some part of him wondered if this was what Andrew felt after a match—when the noise vanished and the only thing left was blood in the ears and bile in the throat.

“Not good enough, Natey,” Grayson muttered to his left. The roar of the crowd swallowed the words.

Zane appeared, steady as ever, a hand at Neil’s back to guide him toward the exit without drawing attention. Other Ravens followed, silent, trained to let The King face the press.

“Nathaniel.” The Master’s voice stopped him as they entered the locker room. “You’re talking to the press today,” he said, like the words tasted foul. Then, switching to Japanese. “The little Lord’s request. He thinks you may have learned your lesson. I’ll be happy to prove him wrong.”

“Four,” Riko called from behind. “Let’s not keep them waiting.” Neil fell into step beside him. He had no choice. “I heard Three had an unfortunate encounter with water,” Riko said. “Did he tell you about it?”

Neil forced his face still. Ichirou is giving me another chance, he reminded himself. Keep it together.

“I asked you a question, Four.”

“I didn’t hear about it, King.” He kept his eyes forward, voice even.

They reached the press line, microphones thrust toward them. Neil pulled on the smile, wide and polished. The drugs made it easier—his face felt detached from the rest of him anyway.

Riko handled most of the questions. Neil nodded at the right moments, pretended interest, kept the smile fixed.

“Excited to start the season, Nathaniel?” one reporter asked brightly. “After today, there’s no doubt about your talent!”

Neil nodded. “I’m thrilled to officially be part of the Ravens’ lineup. Exy’s my passion, and I’m lucky to have the chance to prove myself.”

“We’re all excited to see the Perfect Court rise again! Any chance of a reunion with Jean soon? Your interview with Kevin is still being talked about—we’d love to see the whole Court together again.”

Riko’s smile tightened, but his voice stayed smooth. “We’ll see. I only hope, come the new season, that they can still keep up. I fear Jean—like Kevin—might be dragged down by their new teams.”

“You don’t think the other teams are a good fit?” the reporter pressed.

Riko tilted his head, polite and venomous. “Have the Ravens lost a championship yet? You saw today’s game. I told Kevin before, and I’ll say it again so Jean might hear it: come home. You’re wasted anywhere else.”

His eyes flicked past the reporters. Neil followed the glance—and saw Lord Ichirou watching from the corridor.

“We have to run,” Riko said smoothly. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, and good luck on the new season! Seeing a team this synchronized is always a pleasure!”

By the time the microphones lowered, Ichirou was gone.

“Don’t slow us down, Four,” Riko muttered as they headed back to the lockers. Most players were gone now; only the Master, the Lord, and his bodyguard remained.

Neil swallowed and bowed his head. “My Lord.”

“Ah, Nathaniel,” Ichirou said. “I see you’ve regained some sense.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Neil’s voice was careful. “I apologize for any inconvenience caused by my lapse in judgment.”

“Your game today was a lapse in judgment?”

Neil could’ve told him about the drugs — about how every second on the court had felt like clawing his way through tar. But he was too tired, too hollow. “I’m sorry, my lord. I know I wasn’t up to standard today.”

“I wonder why.” Ichirou’s gaze shifted to Riko. “I thought I made it clear it was a one-time thing.”

Riko didn’t flinch. “It’s not my fault Four can’t play.”

Ichirou’s expression hardened. "Drugging him to make him play worse? That’s not clever, Riko—it’s wasteful. I told you not to damage my investments.

“Brother—”

“Both of you may go.” Ichirou’s tone turned final. “I imagine you’ll need rest.”

The bodyguards moved to escort them. Neil hesitated, then turned back, risking it. “When will we see you again, my Lord?”

Ichirou’s gaze met his, steady and unreadable. The fluorescent light above caught in the metal clasp of his tie, in the calm edges of his expression, in the kind of stillness that made people forget to breathe. “Soon enough, Nathaniel,” he said, his tone as smooth. “I’m looking forward to it.”

He didn’t trust himself to speak.

It was enough, for now.

***

“If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?” Andrew asked him over the phone. Neil could hear the now-familiar wind in the background.

Neil closed his eyes on the bed and tried to imagine he was with him on the roof Doe went to for his smoke breaks — imagined sitting beside him, the smell of cigarettes in the air, the open sky above, the wind on his face.

“The pro-champions,” Neil said. It was an easy answer.

“Junky,” Andrew said. “You and Kevin. I don’t know how I ended up surrounded by addicts."

“I still don’t understand how you can hate the game.”

Andrew exhaled smoke. Neil could almost feel it through the phone. “Ask me that again and I’ll hang up. Or I’ll drive down there and shut you up myself. Don’t test me, Wesninski.”

Neil’s lips curved into a small smile. “But then who would keep you company when you go up to smoke?”

“The birds were better company than you,” Andrew said, though there was no real heat to it. Neil had learned to hear the difference — to recognize what Andrew really meant, even over the phone. “At least they knew when to stay quiet.”

“Is it my turn today?” Neil asked.

“Unfortunately. Time for your next stupid question of the day. What’s it going to be this time, Nathaniel?”

Andrew hadn’t called him Neil again — not since their first conversation when he’d agreed to this game. The name had become unspoken territory, something they both pretended not to notice.

“What are you afraid of?” Neil asked.

He knew it was a risk, but he needed to know where the edges were.

“Heights,” came Andrew’s reply, and Neil frowned.

“Great joke.”

“Wasn’t."

Neil blinked, staring at the caller ID as if maybe the wrong twin had picked up the call. “I thought you’d didn't lie,” Neil said eventually.

“I don't.”

“Then you can’t be afraid of heights. Why go up to the roof—”

“That’s for your next turn, rabbit. This one’s mine.”

Neil blinked. “Okay.”

“What are you running from?”

The question hit like a punch to the gut.

Lying wasn’t an option, but Andrew never asked for more than Neil gave.

“My father,” Neil said quietly. “He’s… not a good person. As long as I’m in the Nest, I’m supposed to be safe.”

Supposed to be. Neil knew Andrew didn’t miss the emphasis, but he let it pass.

“Same time tomorrow. Don’t die,” Andrew said before hanging up. No goodbye, just the soft click of the line going dead.

Neil stared at the ceiling. Andrew had gotten what he wanted for the day. Maybe that was enough.

It was almost a good day—until his phone buzzed on the bed as soon as he got out of the shower.

‘9,’ the text read.

Neil didn’t know what to make of it. He knew what it meant, and seeing the two digits turn into a single one didn’t help.

Was it Lola taunting him? His father? Romero? He didn’t know, and he didn’t care.

Enough.

He typed it back, hands trembling.

****

“Would you stay still for one fucking minute? You’ve been like this for a week.” Zane’s voice came from his bed, where he sat with his legs hanging off the side, facing Neil.

Neil hadn’t even realized he was pacing again—and there was no way he could stop. The text that morning had read '6', and he’d nearly had a panic attack reading it in the locker room.

Moving was good. Moving meant he didn’t have to think. He’d pushed himself harder than ever, convincing Ichirou to let him practice extra hours. Anything was better than stopping. Anything was better than thinking about what was coming.

Zane didn’t comment on the cloth covering the mirror in their bathroom. Neil knew Zane must pull it down every morning when he got ready, but it was always back in place when Neil came in. That was good. He didn’t want to see his father’s eyes staring back at him.

“I’m letting the blood flow,” Neil said.

“Well, let it flow slower. You’re driving me insane.” Zane groaned. “And the rest of the team, too. You practically jumped out of your seat when the coach was talking about our stats. Someone might think four hours of running would fix that. Especially me, since I know how little you sleep—or eat.”

It was the same argument Zane had been trying to have with him all week. He took the “partner” thing too seriously. Neil hadn’t expected him to do much more than keep Grayson off his back—and to his credit, Zane did that.

“I’m fine.”

Zane muttered under his breath, “Now I’m starting to understand why Kevin and Johnny used to sigh every time you said that. You’re more trouble than you’re worth. If I’d known that before, I’d have thought twice about being your partner.”

“Well, a bit too late for that.” Neil kept pacing. Maybe if he did some pushups. Maybe if he ran again. Maybe if he took another cold shower. Maybe then the noise in his chest would quiet down, the itch under his skin would fade. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so dirty, so used. Maybe he could stop feeling like he was about to come apart.

“Here.”

Neil stopped when Zane spoke again. “You owe me one, Johnny,” Zane muttered before holding out a phone.

Neil blinked. There was blood on his inner arm; he hadn’t even noticed he’d scratched himself raw. He took the phone, hesitated, then lifted it to his ear. “Jean?”

“Neil,” came the soft reply, a familiar French lilt curling around the word. “Mon diable rouge.”

Neil’s throat closed. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“I missed you.”

There was a small, sharp inhale on the other end — barely audible. “I missed you too, mon cœur.”

“I’m not going to do it again,” Neil said. The tears came before he could stop them. He looked around, embarrassed — but Zane was gone. “It was just so hard.”

“Neil,” Jean said gently, “we need to talk about it. Did Grayson—”

“Don’t.” Neil’s voice cracked, too harsh. He forced himself to breathe. “It’s just you. I’m sorry. It’s just you.”

Jean was quiet for a long moment before answering, “I’m sorry. It was careless of me. I only meant—you didn’t have to disappear. Kevin nearly drank himself to death after you went quite.” A pause. “A blessing, if you ask me.”

Neil let out a shaky laugh through the tears. “Still dramatic as ever. Fitting for a Frenchman.”

Jean scoffed, soft and fond. “You’re lucky I taught you proper French. Your accent used to be a crime.” Then, after a beat. “What’s this I hear about you talking to that psychopath who guards Kevin?”

“Andrew’s nice.”

“I see. So it’s Andrew now.”

Neil ignored the jab. “Is that why you called? To interrogate me about Doe?”

“No,” Jean said quickly. “No, of course not. Zane told me you’re not sleeping or eating. That you’re training like your life depends on it.”

“It does.”

Neil could practically hear Jean shaking his head. “You need rest, Neil.”

Neil didn’t argue. He was too tired, too relieved just to hear him. “Will you talk to me until I fall asleep?” he asked. “I missed your voice.”

“Of course,” Jean said softly.

Neil lay back, phone still pressed to his ear. Jean was talking—practice schedules, riding a motorcycle, maybe the weather. The words blurred together, steady and familiar.

He was asleep before he knew it.

It was the best sleep he’d had in weeks.

Chapter Text

Hey everyone!

Sorry to anyone who thought this was going to be a new chapter — it’s just a quick update! Unfortunately, I haven’t found another good public place to post announcements.

As you’ve probably noticed, I haven’t uploaded a new chapter in a while. That’s because I decided to focus on finishing the entire story first (at least the first part) before publishing more. I don’t want to end up editing and rearranging things later to make them fit. Even though I already have a very clear outline for this section, I still want to take my time with the writing and make everything as precise and polished as possible.

This part will be around 24–28 chapters long, so we’re actually getting pretty close to the end!

Now’s the perfect time for anyone who wants to do a re-read — just know that I’m working really hard on it, and I truly hope you’ll enjoy what’s coming. Once I’m done writing everything, I plan to start posting twice a week instead of once, on fixed days :)

Let me know what you think about the story so far and how life’s treating you. Thank you all so much for your patience and understanding!! 💛


**April 2026 update**

You can find me on tumblr for updates

Chapter Text

Andrew woke to the sound of someone pounding on his door.

“Andrew! Get the fuck up!” his twin’s voice barked from the hallway.

He groaned and dragged himself upright, peeling himself from the warmth of his bed. He hadn’t drunk much the night before, but he’d dusted more than usual. He tried—unsuccessfully—not to admit that the habit had everything to do with a certain Raven he couldn’t get out of his head.

For a long moment he considered murdering his twin for waking him up. Then he allowed himself one last second of self-pity and stepped into the living room.

Kevin was sprawled on the couch, dead to the world, oblivious to the noise around him.

“Andrew, how’d you sleep?” Nicky asked with a smile.

Andrew gave him half a glance, his skull throbbing. He walked to the couch and snapped his fingers beside Kevin’s ear. “Pills.”

Kevin ignored him.

Andrew leaned closer. “Do not make me hurt you, Day. Pills.”

One green eye cracked open. Kevin frowned, a hand dragging over his face before he fished a bottle from his pocket and handed it over without a word. Andrew shook two pills into his palm, swallowed them dry, then tossed the bottle back. Kevin caught it on instinct and fell limp again.

“Breakfast’s ready,” Nicky said.

Aaron was already at the table, arms crossed, glaring at Andrew. “What did you do this time?” the venom in his voice made Nicky flinch. Oh, it was far too early for this.

“What makes you think I did anything?” Andrew took a bite of the pancakes Nicky slid in front of him. “Unless waking up early enough to hear birds counts as a crime.”

“Coach called,” Nicky said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know you can tell me if something’s wrong, right?”

“You know I don’t like people circling the point, Nicky. Spill.”

Nicky opened his mouth, but Aaron cut in. “Did you kill someone? Not like it’d be your first time.”

Nicky went two shades paler. Andrew could barely handle his family’s dramatics this early on.

“Can you all shut up?” Kevin yelled from the living room.

Nicky tried again, softer. “Coach said there’s a cop waiting for you on campus. You know anything about that?”

Andrew blinked. He had no idea why the pigs might be looking for him. “Maybe they realized letting me go was a mistake.” A slow smile spread across his face. He, perfect timing—the pills were kicking in faster than usual.

“Andrew.”

He looked up at Nicky, feeling the smile stretching wider. “I don’t know why the pigs would be looking for me. Coach didn’t give a name? A reason?”

“No,” Nicky said. “We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

Aaron watched him like he’d personally drowned all the puppies in the world.

They hadn’t had a civil conversation in months.

Kevin was still half-asleep on the couch, mumbling in French when Andrew stepped in front of him. “We’re leaving.”

He got a groan in return before Kevin let out a sigh and let himself upright. 

They were on the road before most of the city had woken. Kevin curled against one door in the backseat; Aaron mirrored him on the other side. Andrew rode shotgun, too wired to sleep, talking Nicky’s ear off about sharks and cartilage and why they were statistically less dangerous than vending machines.

Truth was he had a bad feeling about what was waiting for them when they reached the coach, and he hid behind his smile. The only thing that was good about his medication. Well, good stretching it a bit. The only thing mildly positive about his meds. 

It felt like the ride had taken an eternity and nothing at the same time and by the time they reached the sign showing they arrived, Andrew felt sick to his stomach. Not that anyone would notice.

Coach stood on the porch with his arms folded. “Every time I see you, I lose years off my life.”

Andrew’s grin was blinding. Acid burned the back of his throat. “What makes you think the pigs are here for me? There’s another menace with my face.”

“He asked for you specifically,” Coach said.

Andrew went still.

So the pig hadn’t understood the message.

“Andrew, what is it?” Aaron asked quietly. At least his clone could read a reaction.

Andrew didn’t answer. He walked past Coach into the house, the others trailing behind him. The man on the couch stood as soon as he saw him.

“Pig Higgins,” Andrew said lightly. “I must be hallucinating. Side effect of the meds, you see. You’re a very very long way from home.”

“Andrew,” Higgins replied. “You didn’t give me another choice. We need to talk.”

“We don’t need anything. Pig, pig, most people understand dodged calls mean ‘go away before I’ll hurt you.’”

“Just a couple minutes. I’ll be gone after, I promise.”

Andrew clicked his tongue. “Promises, promises. Careful with those, pig.”

Higgins opened his mouth, but Aaron spoke first. “Why are you here?”

“Not your business, brother,” Andrew said.

“Andrew?” Nicky murmured beside him.

Andrew flashed them a wicked smile before turning back. “Give me one good reason not to cut your throat.”

“Andrew,” Coach sighed, “can you threaten the police when I’m not in the room?”

Andrew ignored him. Higgins held his ground. “I was wrong. I know that now.”

“I warned you. Do I get a prize for being right? Oh! I know, how about you leave in the next five seconds.”

Higgins shook his head. “The others won’t talk, like you said,” he said. “They’re scared. I think I understand that now. I think I know how to handle it this time, but—”

“I already told you it’s not my fault you can’t keep promises, or handle the investigation. Remind me—how many did she take?” Not that Andrew needed a reminder. They both knew it. Knew it was about making his point, it was the knife twist.

“Six,” Higgins said quietly. The number still made Andrew go cold all over, even though he already knew. “Since you. They’re minors in the system, Andrew. You wouldn’t be helping me like this if there were nothing to find, even if you won’t admit it to yourself. Even if you thought I wouldn’t find anything.”

“And finding things is your job.”

“Could someone please explain—” Nicky started, then clamped a hand over his mouth like he can take it back.

Please, please, please. The word that started this whole mess.

“Just talk to me,” Higgins pressed. “Ten minutes. That's all, I swear.”

Andrew laughed. “You swear? Pig, you’ll run back here in a week. Do I have to walk you out to make sure you leave—“

“Drake.” The pig dared to say it, and oh, wasn’t that a name Andrew had been trying to avoid for years? He’d already confirmed it with the pig last year. The investigation had gone nowhere, from what it seemed. Just like he’d expected. His fucked-up almost-foster brother wasn’t the kind to leave a trail of evidence behind, and Andrew, taking criminal justice, knew enough to understand that even with testimony the chances of Drake being put away were slim at best.

So no — he wasn’t even mildly interested in anything like that.

“You know better than to say that name in front of me, pig. This place is holy, didn’t you know?”

“Andrew—”

“No. Not interested. Out.”

“Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking. You wouldn’t want me to say anything out in the open anyway, would you?”

The pig was really, really desperate if he thought threatening Andrew was the right move. Andrew turned to the coach, a manic smile stretching across his face. “It seems I need one of your rooms. There’s this person who doesn’t take hints, even when I make things very clear.”

“You can take the master bedroom,” Wymack said, though he gave Andrew a look like he wasn’t entirely sure it was a good idea.

Andrew stared Higgins down until the man moved. The door slammed behind them.

“You have five minutes,” Andrew said. “Make them count. Next time you show up, you get stabbed.”

“They won’t testify, Andrew.” Higgins began.

Andrew shrugged. “Not my problem. Or my job, for that matter. You’re the one who fucked up the first time. I did my job — I gave you his name on a silver platter while you were digging holes in the wrong yard.”

“There’s only so much I can do,” Higgins said. “The right people know not to let the Spears take any more kids. But they don’t know why. We need you to testify. Drake left no evidence. You’re our key witness—”

Andrew couldn’t stop the laugh that tore out of him. Of course the police hadn’t found anything relevant. Drake never left trails. “I’m your key witness? You should quit now!”

“Andrew—”

“Who would believe me? A monster who nearly killed two people in an alley? Juvenile record? My word means nothing in court, and I’m not offering myself up for a witch hunt.”

I’m not risking my family for something as stupid as justice.

Drake being in jail would do nothing for how he felt. It wouldn’t fix the life he’d destroyed. It wouldn’t give him back the youth that had been taken from him.

Higgins shook his head again. “Am I the only one who knows? You must’ve told someone. Anyone who can corroborate—”

Misunderstanding.

“Oh look, your five minutes are over!” Andrew said as he looked at the imagery watch that wasn’t there. “Time for you to chop chop off.”

Higgins gave him one last look before he signed and got up, walking towards the door. “It’s not over.”

“The next time you come near me or my family, you’re dead. Goodbye, pig,” Andrew replied.

Three confused faces stared back at him when he stepped outside. Once Higgins was finally gone for good, Aaron was the first to speak. “The fuck is Higgins doing here? What was that about?”

Andrew ignored him. His skin buzzed, and he was pretty sure his hands were shaking. The floor felt like it might open up and swallow him whole.

“Is this going to affect you? Would you be unable to play—” Kevin started, but one look from Andrew made him scowl and shut up.

They were smart enough to keep quiet until they reached the tower, where, of course, the noisy Foxes were already waiting, eager to see if Andrew had been brought in cuffs.

He barely glanced at them. He just wanted a cigarette—something to pull him back to earth, something solid to hold on to. He headed for the roof without looking back, letting the door slam behind him.

Pulling a cigarette from his pocket was harder than it should’ve been. His hands trembled as he brought it to his mouth and tried to light it. Texting the Rabbit wasn’t a conscious decision; it wasn’t something he’d planned.

Can I call? he typed, surprised when a yes came back almost instantly.

“Aren’t you in the middle of your cult’s weekly morning meeting?” Andrew asked as soon as Nathaniel picked up.

“Not a cult,” Nathaniel said. Andrew frowned. Nathaniel sounded... off. “I just got off the phone with Jean. I guess this is ‘call Nathaniel’ day for everyone.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

There was a brief silence before Nathaniel said, “You’re a couple of hours early for our call. Something wrong?”

“I called you thinking you’d be smarter than to ask stupid questions. I see my mistake now.”

“Ha-ha,” Nathaniel said. “Is it my turn today or yours?”

“Yours.”

“Okay. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Oh. He’d forgotten the Rabbit was actually smart.

“Someone from my past didn’t understand the meaning of no,” Andrew said. “My turn. What languages do you speak?”

“Why? Planning to run away with me?”

Andrew pretended not to notice the way his heart kicked at that. “I want to know how many countries you can run to.”

“You can just ask that. It doesn’t have to count as a turn,” Nathaniel said. “I know French, English, German, Japanese, Spanish, Arabic, Hebrew, and a bit of Italian. I’m learning Chinese and Russian right now.”

“Russian,” Andrew echoed. “Maybe we can learn together.”

“Like me that much?”

“I need to make sure you don’t butcher the language completely,” Andrew said.

It took Nathaniel a moment to answer. “Nathaniel?”

“Mm?” Nathaniel replied. “Sorry, it’s just—” He hesitated, then changed course. “Can you… call me Neil from now on? I don’t really like my given name.”

“Neil, then,” Andrew said, testing the name on his tongue. It fit him better, somehow. “Anything else interesting happen today?”

“My uncle managed to sneak Zane a whole plate of pizza. I haven’t had that kind of thing in years. I think he’s trying to bribe Zane into sticking by me.”

Andrew knew too well the feeling of being owned—of being passed from house to house—but being an adult and still having your autonomy stripped away was something else entirely.

He was about to answer when the rooftop door slammed open. He turned to see his Aaron striding toward him, furious.

“What is Higgins doing here, Andrew?” Aaron demanded. Then, noticing the phone at Andrew’s ear, he switched to German. “Who are you talking to?”

“I thought I made it clear I’m not interested in talking,” Andrew replied in German, the phone still pressed to his ear. “Go away.”

“No,” Aaron said. “I’m not leaving until you start explaining. I’m not getting dragged into your mess again. Fuck you.”

Andrew sighed and spoke into the phone. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay. Was that Kevin you were talking to?”

Andrew frowned. “No.”

“Oh. It’s just—okay. Bye,” Neil said, and hung up.

The question about Kevin lingered in the back of Andrew’s mind, but he had more immediate problems. He switched back to English. “Didn’t you know it’s rude to interrupt someone in the middle of a call?”

Aaron crossed his arms, wearing an angry expression Andrew himself would never bother with. “Why is Higgins here?”

“Why indeed, dear brother. I’m not the one who invited him.”

“Stop fucking around. He came for a reason.”

“None of your business.”

Aaron’s jaw tightened. “I asked you if you killed anyone. You didn’t answer.”

“And if my answer had been yes?”

“You think this is a game?”

“It’s slightly less boring than everything else.”

Aaron’s fists clenched at his sides. “Make sure it doesn’t come back on us.”

When it became clear Andrew wasn’t going to say anything more, Aaron turned and left.

***

It bugged him, what Neil said about Kevin. The only reason Neil could think he was talking to Kevin was because Kevin knew how to speak German.

And since Andrew had known Kevin for over two years, he came to believe that as far as he was concerned, only his family knew the language. Then again, the Rabbit knew German, and though the golden trio always spoke French it could have been possible for Kevin to learn it in the Nest.

The question that bugged Andrew was why he chose to hide it from them. Two years of understanding them perfectly fine, letting him think he was oblivious to the conversation…

He decided to put it to the test the very next day. Kevin was reading a history book Andrew saw him picking his way though, while Nicky was in the kitchen. 

“Andrew! I was just making myself something to eat. I can make you pancakes; there is still some mixing in the fridge.”

Andrew nodded as Nicky's smile grew wider without saying anything, watching Kevin methodically as he glowed to the book.

“Remind me again of that list of yours you have?” Andrew asked Nicky in German as he sat down.

Kevin looked up for a moment from his book but Andrew knew he could always claim it was because of the switch in languages.

Nicky looked confused before saying in the same language, “the people Eric gives me a pass on?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. You never asked me about it before!” He said in German, then looked at Kevin before turning to Andrew, “there are a couple of celebratory crushes, including our friend on the sofa.”

“Tell me more about it. What’s the difference between hot and gorgeous?” Andrew asked in the same language, voice flat. It made him sick to ask something so stupid and irrelevant. 

Nicky blinked at him before saying, “you feel alright?”

Andrew nodded. “I’m trying to understand something, Nicky. Don’t ask me stupid questions.”

Nicky shrugged before continuing in German, “well you know there are people that are hot, like Kevin or the new guy of the Ravens. You know the one with the number four of his face. Now that’s a cute face, you see-“

Andrew tuned him down completely, watching Kevin who kept his eyes on the book as Nicky continued talking. It would have appeared he was really reading if he wasn’t stuck on the same two pages for more than ten minutes or if his cheek hadn’t gotten into fifty shades of red.

In the end Kevin stood, obviously trying to seem like he was bored rather than flattered and moved to his room. 

Andrew looked at Nicky, still talking and said, “that’s all Nicky.”

Nicky blinked, stopping talking, “I-ha, sure. Whenever you want!”

Andrew moved to walk up the stairs to his room, feeling lighter as he knew one last surprise was solved in front of him.

Now it was time to reveal the imposter. 

Chapter Text

“The university is big. The classes are more of the same, like in the Nest,” he said to Neil in French over the phone.

“Making any friends?” Neil asked. He had sounded strange the last couple of days, in a way Jean couldn’t quite put his finger on. Every time Jean tried to ask about it, Neil changed the subject until Jean got the hint to leave it alone.

Jean paused to think. “Laila and Cat. And Jeremy.”

“Mm.” Neil hummed, and Jean could hear the smirk in it. “How’s Knox as a partner?”

Jean felt his cheeks warm. “Fine,” he replied, trying to ignore the teasing on his brother’s end of the line.

“Alright, alright, I’ll back off,” Neil said. “I just want to know you’re okay.”

Look who’s talking. “Any changes in the Nest?”

Are you safe? That was what he was really asking. Are you safe now that I’m not there? Do you sleep with one eye open?

“Zane’s nice. Well, nice is a bit of an exaggeration. He’s useful. Keeps most of them away. You know how it is.”

How it is. Not how it was, no. Because Neil was still in the Nest — still suffering, still being hurt because Jean was a coward—

“Still with me?” Neil asked.

“Always,” Jean answered automatically. “But I need to go soon. I’m having someone help me with my assignments.” Because he was forced to, Jean didn’t add.

“Wait, and you didn’t start with that? Is it something the school provided?”

Jean hesitated. “It’s a teammate.”

“Oh! Which one is it? I finally got some access to the internet at the school library. They let me go to some classes now that people recognize me from the press. I wanted to memorize the Trojans players as much as I can.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Neil went quiet before he said, “Jean.”

“Number twenty-five, fine?”

“Twenty-five…” Neil repeated. “Lucas Johnson. But why wouldn’t you—” He stopped as realization set in. “Johnson,” he said again, his voice turning venomous in a way Jean rarely heard. “What did he do, Jean?”

“Nothing,” Jean said, knowing it was mostly true. Lucas, more or less, had come through. Jean had spent years with Grayson in the Nest, learning how to avoid monsters like him.

Lucas wasn’t one of them. He was just a kid who wanted attention.

And he was part of Jean’s team now. That meant more to Jean than the Ravens ever had.

“Everything is fine.”

“That’s my line,” Neil said. “Riko tried to say something about you and water. Tell me he had nothing to do with that and I’ll believe you.”

Jean wouldn’t lie to Neil — and they both knew it. When Jean didn’t answer, Neil’s silence sharpened into anger. “He’s going to regret it.”

“Neil,” Jean said quietly. “He’s a stupid kid. He’s not Grayson. Don’t.”

“But he—”

“No.” Jean pressed a hand to his face, dragging it back through his hair. “I have to go,” he added.

“Okay.” Neil exhaled softly. “Just… call me. I need to know you’re fine.”

“I care about you, mon cœur. Even when you make my life more difficult than it should be.”

“Le diable,” Neil replied, and the old nickname hit harder than Jean expected. He hadn’t used it in so long it felt like a punch to the gut.

“Oui. Go to practice before you get yourself in trouble.”

Jean could practically see Neil shrug. “If it’s for talking to you a little longer, I’m fine with that.” Then, quieter, almost swallowed by the line, “I miss you.”

The call disconnected.

Jean stood still for a moment, then another, before he realized how tightly he was gripping his phone. He loved Neil with all his heart, but for once he hoped The Butcher hadn’t been woken.

For Lucas’s sake.

—

“You’re not as bad at this as I thought you’d be,” Lucas said within the first minute of looking over Jean’s English assignments. Jean only frowned slightly in response.

They had gotten better around each other. If Jean was honest, in another timeline they might have even gotten along. Lucas was nothing like his brother. He had a softness Grayson had never possessed, a shyness Jean had never once seen in the other man, and — most importantly — he didn’t seem intent on hurting him. It was obvious Lucas was the youngest, and he clearly worshipped his older brother.

That was the reason for most of their clashes.

“I have been in your uncultured country for too long now,” Jean said dryly.

Lucas rolled his eyes. “What, two or three years?” he shot back, clearly assuming Jean had only been around since college. “What do your parents do, anyway?”

Not good enough. We hit you to make you proper. Salt. The beach.

Soft hands.

A small voice asking what they had done to deserve it.

“I’m not going to talk about my parents.”

“Are you ashamed of them?” Lucas asked. “Grayson said you come from a fucked-up family.”

Jean’s hands curled into fists, but he refused to give him the satisfaction of snapping back. “I gather Grayson has a lot to say now that you two are talking again after all those years.”

“What the fuck happened between you two? He only asks about you when we talk, but then he just talks shit. Even after weeks of catching up. All he says is that you are bad news.”

“He can say whatever he wants. I don’t care,” Jean replied, wishing the conversation would end.

Lucas ignored the hint. “Why do you talk about him like he’s a monster?”

“All the Ravens are monsters,” Jean said quietly, because it felt true. They were tainted.

Well — everyone except Neil.

Sometimes he felt like one too. Like everything about him was wrong. Like he should have been better. He was the one who had caged Neil there when he could have left. Selfish. Greedy.

Together or not at all.

“Fuck you! My brother is not a monster,” Lucas snapped, his hands clenching into fists. “He hates you because you abandoned the team — and because of that, he hates me.”

“So you hate me in solidarity. Very Raven-like. You might as well have been one of them, if you could actually play.”

“Fuck. You.” Lucas’s teeth grated together; the assignments lay forgotten between them. “Tell me why you hate him.”

“I already did. Your brother is a monster. You might have known him before, but the second he stepped into the Nest, you lost him. I’ve told you that before. The sooner you accept it, the better.”

Lucas looked like he might stand up and walk away, but instead he forced his attention back to the paper. “Your grammar still needs work. Not that I can teach you the rules — I just know what sounds right.”

“Okay,” Jean replied.

They sat in silence for a while, Lucas reviewing his assignments and occasionally commenting on Jean’s work. Lucas was better at math, but when it came to statistics, Jean was surprised to find he had the upper hand.

It was in the last few minutes of their study session — probably knowing Jeremy would arrive soon to take Jean home — that Lucas brought it up again. “You said the Ravens are monsters.”

Jean gave him a sidelong glance. We’re going back to this. “That’s what we were bred to be.”

“What about Kevin Day?”

Jean blinked. “What?”

“Why do you never seem to hate Kevin Day?” Lucas pressed. “Tell me he’s a monster like my brother.”

He wasn’t going to do this with Lucas. None of it. Just the thought of putting Kevin and Grayson in the same category made something in his chest twist.

“Kevin is nothing like Grayson,” was all Jean said in the end.

Lucas studied him for a moment. “Did Grayson steal your girl or something?” he asked. Then he snorted. “No, wait — I know the rumors. I know what my brother told me. Did you two fuck? What happened? Did he dump you and you got bitter?”

Teeth, Jean thought, his jaw tightening.

“Hi, Jean. Are you ready to go?” a voice called from behind him.

Both he and Lucas looked up to see Jeremy standing there, concern written plainly across his face.

Jean gave Lucas one last look before turning away. “Yes. I think we’re done here.”

Lucas’s hands were still curled into fists, but he nodded and dropped his gaze to the floor. Jean didn’t stay to see if he would say anything else. Jeremy’s presence at his side was reassurance enough.

“What happened?” Jeremy asked once they were outside the library.

Jean only spared him a brief glance. “Nothing.”

“Jean…”

“I’m fine.”

Jeremy took a few more steps before stopping altogether. It took Jean a second to notice. When he turned back, Jeremy’s eyes were fixed on the ground, his shoulders tense.

“Enough.”

Jean blinked. “What?”

“I just — Jean, come on.” Jeremy ran a hand through his hair, frustration slipping into his voice. “I can’t keep doing this. You keep pushing me away while I’m trying to help. Don’t you trust me?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Jean said. Jeremy opened his mouth to argue, but Jean cut him off. “You talk about trust — then trust me when I say you don’t need to know anything beyond what I’ve already told you.”

Jeremy’s mouth closed. The words he’d been about to say died there. When Jean was certain nothing else was coming, he turned and continued walking.

***

The first game was approaching quickly, along with the banquet and the start of the season.

For the most part, Jean was happy with the Trojans. They had decent skills and had proven their place in the top three more than once — certainly better than the pathetic team Kevin had dragged himself into. They played well, though not as fiercely as the Ravens. It was a change Jean couldn’t say he liked, but he tolerated it.

The real issue began off the court.

During his first week of practice, they were in the locker room when someone complained about a headache. Jean didn’t even lift his head to see who it was, too focused on the day ahead. Then he heard the rattle of a pill bottle tossed through the air and, to his horror, saw Cody catch it and swallow a pill without hesitation.

Like it was nothing.

Jean glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed, but no one reacted. No one cared.

He dragged his nails lightly along the side of his neck to ground himself and tried to forget he’d seen anything at all.

It wasn’t until Xavier — his vice-captain — casually took a pill right in front of him that Jean decided enough was enough.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked after practice ended.

Jeremy had been in the middle of packing his bag after showering in the locker room. He turned to Jean in mild surprise. “Oh — sure. Give me a second.”

Jean waited in silence while the others waved goodbye and filtered out. Jeremy slung his bag over his shoulder, hair still damp and falling into place. Jean deliberately avoided staring; it was too much to process right now.

Jeremy sat on the bench, waiting for him to speak. Jeremy had figured out by now that Jean needed space if he wanted the truth.

“I’m concerned about the team,” Jean finally said.

Jeremy looked genuinely surprised. “How so?”

“I wouldn’t bring it up if I didn’t think it would affect them,” Jean replied. “Did you know the team is taking medication they weren’t prescribed?”

Jeremy’s entire expression shifted. “What do you mean? Like drugs?”

Jean hesitated. He’d only glimpsed the label in passing, but still… “Ibuprofen. Xavier has a bottle. As vice-captain, he should know better,” Jean said firmly.

Jeremy blinked. “Jean… what do you think ibuprofen is?”

The question made Jean frown. Did Jeremy think he was stupid? “Medicine.”

“It’s over-the-counter drug,” Jeremy explained gently. “You can buy it at any pharmacy. It’s barely a painkiller.” He hesitated, then added, “I know you were hurt before you came here, which makes me worried about what you were actually given back then.”

Jean had a feeling Jeremy wouldn’t like the answer. He said nothing. From the look on Jeremy’s face, it was clear something about Jean’s reaction didn’t make sense to normal people.

He’d messed up somehow. “Forget it. I misunderstood.”

“Jean,” Jeremy said quietly, “I know by now you don’t lie to me. Which makes me even more concerned about your injuries.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. Jean, don’t you see? What they did to you wasn’t normal. I gave you space because you needed it, but I can’t just—” He exhaled sharply. “I’m your partner, your captain, your friend, and I barely know what you’re carrying.”

Jean didn’t know what to say. Friend was still a foreign word to him. How had he ended up with people like this after making it clear, from the start, that he wanted nothing?

“I don’t want you to look,” he said quietly.

“Jean—”

“You… you’re the only thing I’ve wanted for a long time. You. The team. This life. I just don’t want to lose you.” The confession came out uneven, but honest. He was tired — tired of pretending he didn’t care, tired of pretending he didn’t want any of it.

“Jean…”

“I—I can’t. Please.” His hands were already rising toward his neck when Jeremy caught them gently.

“Jean,” Jeremy said, meeting his eyes. “There is nothing you can do or say that would make you lose me. You know that, right?”

Jean wanted to believe him. Wanted to accept it as truth. He just didn’t know how.

“I—” he began, when the locker-room door opened and Xavier appeared in the doorway.

“Sorry, I forgot my charger. Didn’t mean to interrupt… whatever this is,” he said awkwardly.

Jean frowned, then glanced back at Jeremy, who was rapidly turning several shades of red.

“We were just heading home,” Jeremy said, stepping forward.

Jean followed, feeling a little lighter than before.

—

“No, Kevin,” Jean said in French into the phone. “I don’t know who I’m taking to the banquet. I’m not really interested in going at all, but Jeremy thinks it would be nice.”

“It’s the first public event you’ll have since joining the Trojans. You need to make a good impression,” Kevin replied.

“I know.” Jean tightened his grip on the phone. “I know how to behave, Kevin.”

Thankfully, Kevin didn’t comment on that. “At least tell me you have someone in mind.”

There was no need to ask who Kevin was going with. “I’ll think about it.”

“Okay,” Kevin said. “Okay. Fine.”

An awkward silence settled between them. They’d had their ups and downs over the years. Their brotherhood was different from the one they shared with Neil — too tangled in their past to ever be fully open with each other when another option existed.

“And you’re sure Jeremy is coming with you? A hundred percent?”

Jean frowned. “He’s my partner. Of course he’s coming.”

“Right.” Before Jean could question the tone, Kevin continued, “How’s the team?”

“Fine,” Jean answered. “They haven’t seen my scars yet.”

“Good, but that’s not what I asked, Jean,” Kevin said quietly.

Jean gritted his teeth. “Everything is fine. I was cleared for practice this week. I have a lot to catch up on,” he said. “And I’d be more worried about seeing Riko again. Your fall banquet isn’t far off either.”

“I can handle Riko,” Kevin said.

Jean knew him too well to miss the lie in his voice. “You mean your guard dog is delusional enough to think he can,” Jean replied dryly.

“First of all, you know his name is Andrew, Jean.”

“He’s the one who keeps calling me a French bird. Or Valjean.” Jean muttered in his defense.

He could practically feel Kevin rolling his eyes. “Second, he’s talking to Neil. A lot.”

“We already knew that.”

“I just… it doesn’t make sense. He hates practically everyone. Why is he still talking to Andrew?”

“Maybe he got tired of hearing about Exy,” Jean suggested.

He could almost hear Kevin frown. “He and I talk about other things too.”

“Like?”

There was a pause before Kevin answered. “I’m just worried about him. What if Ichriou finds out?”

A chill slid down Jean’s spine. He’d thought about it too — of course he had. It was a risk they all knew Neil was taking, and yet… how could Jean be against his forever partner having someone he trusted?

“He won’t,” Jean said quietly.

“They’ve both been weird lately. There was a cop waiting for Andrew when we got back.”

“Why is that surprising? Doe practically knows everyone in the system by now, doesn’t he?”

“Jean.”

He scoffed softly. “I will never understand the two of you.”

“I think you’d really like him if you gave him a chance.”

Jean was fairly sure he would, if he was honest. The little time he’d spent around Andrew had already softened his opinion.

He wasn’t going to admit that to Kevin, though. “I doubt it.”

“There’s one more thing I wanted to ask you,” Kevin said.

Of course it wasn’t just a courtesy call. “What is it?”

“Is… is Jeremy mad at me or something? He’s been ignoring my texts the last couple of days. Is everything okay? It’s not like him.”

That didn’t sound like Jeremy at all. “I’ll ask,” Jean said, glancing at the time. “I have to go.”

“Why won’t you talk to me?” Kevin asked suddenly, his voice almost a whisper. “You know Neil’s not the only one worried about you.”

Jean bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. He closed his eyes. “You know why, Kevin.”

He hung up before either of them could say anything else.

Chapter Text

“What are you thinking of?” a voice asked in Japanese beside him.

Neil lifted his head. Ichirou stood near the bed, halfway dressed, fingers working a cufflink—yet his attention never left Neil. “What?”

Ichirou studied him for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then he let it go, only giving the end of his sleeve a final tug. “Nothing.” His gaze sharpened. “You know what you need to do today, Nathaniel. Make sure it’s done.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Ichirou stepped closer. He caught Neil’s chin between his fingers, tilting his face up. His thumb brushed Neil’s mouth—slow, deliberate. “Your Japanese is improving,” Ichirou said. “Keep it that way. We’re going to have visitors from Japan soon, and I expect my translator at my side. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Neil said.

Ichirou released him as if Neil were a finished thought and he let himself fall back against the bed while the lord left.

He could probably stay another half hour if he wanted. He also knew what it would cost him later, back in the Nest. 

With a quiet sigh, he found his clothes, dressed fast, and left the tower for the stadium.

It was dark when he stepped out. It was always dark when they let him outside the Nest. He didn’t think about the sun, didn’t think about Kathy’s interview—the glimpse of freedom, and the crash afterward that had taught him exactly how temporary hope was.

He shoved that thought as far down as he could.

Riko was waiting for him in Zane and Neil’s room. Zane sat on his bed, looking between Riko and Neil as Neil entered, stiff and quiet.

“Four,” Riko said.

He’d been more careful around Neil these last two weeks. Neil knew exactly why. It had nothing to do with mercy and everything to do with the butchering lessons he’d been getting with Nathan.

Neil shoved those nights deeper, too.

“King,” Neil replied, not taking his eyes off him.

Riko’s mouth twitched, like a smile was trying to form and he refused to let it. “Nice to see you didn’t lose all my hard work shaping you,” he said in Japanese, “when you whored yourself to my brother.” His gaze flicked to Zane, then back. “You’re with me today. Zane’s got to run a little errand for me.”

Neil narrowed his eyes. “What errand?”

“Not for you to know, Four.” Riko’s tone stayed light. “We don’t want to be late for practice, do we?”

“I need to change,” Neil said, flat.

Riko tilted his head, examining him. “Want to wash away the evidence, Nate?” His voice warmed on the word, almost friendly—making it worse. “Too bad. Tight schedule.” He leaned in just enough for Neil to feel it. “Especially after your little performance last game. The Master thinks you’re due for reminders.”

Neil clenched his hands into fists. “Fine.”

“Good boy,” Riko said, and moved toward the door.

Neil gave Zane one last look. “We aren’t done.”

Then he had to follow Riko out.

The devil didn’t wait. He walked ahead like the hallway belonged to him and everyone else was just allowed to exist in it. 

It was mostly true. 

“I’m glad you moved in with Zane,” Riko said as they went. “Kevin will want his room once he returns.”

Neil couldn’t hold the laugh back. It came out sharp and ugly. “You are fucking delusional.”

Apparently his knife-skills lessons did nothing to improve his fighting reflexes. He was down on the ground, curled around his stomach, before he even fully realized Riko’s fist had connected with his ribs. The air left his lungs in one hard punch. Pain lit up his side and spread fast, hot and deep.

“Pets don’t bark their opinions back, Four,” Riko said, voice calm, almost bored. “Especially after last time.” He looked down at Neil like he was looking at something that had tracked mud onto his floor. “Besides, don’t you miss Three? We’re going to be one big family again.” He made family sound mocking, like the word offended him. “The king, the queen, and their two pets,” Riko went on, his tone turning sweet. “Isn’t it nice?”

Neil tasted copper. He forced his lungs to work anyway. “Fuck you.”

Riko grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back. “Oh, I thought we were getting somewhere,” he murmured. “That’s okay. Once I get my hands on Three again, both of you will remember what property means.”

Neil dragged himself up and stumbled after him. By the time he caught up, Riko was already at the fitting room, pulling on practice gear like he hadn’t just put Neil on the ground.

All Neil wanted was a shower before court.

He swallowed the want until it drowned. He would not give Riko the satisfaction.

You can always start by skinning them alive, a voice lingered in the back of his mind.

“Ah, Nathaniel.” The Master’s cane cracked against the ground as Neil stepped onto the court, the sound snapping his thoughts back into place. “Decided to bless us with your presence?”

Neil bit his lip hard enough to sting, holding himself back from answering. He already knew he was on thin ice.

“Well?” the Master asked. The others stood still, watching—enjoying the show, no doubt.

“I apologize for my absence at recent practices, Master,” Neil said, bowing his head.

The blow to his cheek was half a surprise. He staggered sideways, catching himself just before he hit the floor—then the second strike came, harder.

“I expected you to do it on your knees.”

So, for once, Riko hadn’t been lying. The Master was furious.

Neil forced himself into a sitting position, because he could feel every eye on him. Snickering rippled around the court.

“I apologize, Master,” Neil said again, swallowing down the sharp, stupid impulse to say something like I didn’t realize you wanted to see me on my knees. Luckily, he stopped himself.

The others didn’t know why he was always treated like that—like he was less than human.

They didn’t seem to care, though.

They seemed to love it.

To make a person beg, first you need to know what hurts them the most. Not just pain—no. The thing that breaks the soul.

Neil held his breath as his father’s lessons looped through his head. The Master was speaking—words sliding past—until one finally landed.

“Back to practice, Four. As for the rest of you—” the cane hit the ground again, sharp and commanding, “—I don’t remember giving you permission to stop and stare. Run drills until I tell you to stop. All of you. You’d better be able to do it after the disgrace we had last year.”

The others scattered, forced into motion, leaving Neil with the sociopathic uncle and nephew while he tried to shake the sting out of his face.

“You think you’re above us, Nathaniel?” the Master asked.

“No, Master,” Neil answered automatically—like a beaten dog that had learned which movements got it kicked. “I’m property. I know what I am.”

“Somehow,” the Master said, “every time you say it, I believe you less.”

A sneer sounded to Neil’s left. Riko.

The Master stepped in. His cane hooked Neil’s chain and lifted, tilting Neil’s head up whether he wanted it or not. “Your father may have started teaching you knife skills,” the Master said softly. “Don’t forget who those skills are for. I will not let you be the downfall of this family—no matter how much my nephew enjoys his pet. Do you understand me?”

“Perfectly, Master,” Neil said, hands clenched into fists.

The Master held his gaze one more moment from above, then looked at Riko. “Make sure he stays that way,” he said—then dismissed them to practice like this was nothing.

Riko fell into step beside Neil, the smirk already back on his face. “You see how easy it is when you behave, Four?”

Neil bit his lip instead of answering. It wasn’t worth it—and he had too many things on his plate to go looking for more trouble.

**

Riko let him go back to his room after practice ended, late in the afternoon. It was an even day, so they only had six hours of practice.

Zane still wasn’t there when Neil got back, which was disturbing, to say the least.

Ravens walked in pairs. Ravens never missed practice.

He pulled his phone out, knowing it might be the only time for privacy he could get in a place like this.

“Nathaniel. Everything is all right?” His uncle’s British accent filled the speaker.

A while ago, Neil had believed his uncle could help him. A while ago, he’d believed there was still a way out.

He wasn’t that naive anymore.

“I appreciate the concern,” Neil said, forcing his voice into something that almost sounded sincere. “Do you have anyone who can take on local work?”

“What did you have in mind?” Stuart asked without hesitation.

Neil thought about it for a moment before he made up his mind. “I need you to rough up someone. Not something permanent—just something that would make him think twice before he hurt someone ever again.”

His uncle was silent for a beat. “Any particular message you’d like to communicate?”

“I want him to know it was me.” Neil’s fingers tightened around the phone. “I want him to know that if he ever hurts—scratch that—if he ever looks at Jean in a way that seems threatening, that won’t be the end of it.”

“Of course it’s about that French.”

Neil frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Look, kiddo.” Stuart’s voice shifted—softening like it was supposed to be comfort. “I know I wasn’t there when it mattered. I’ll carry that forever. But I’ve got to tell you—the French and the other one aren’t there anymore.”

Neil went still.

“I’m not saying they left you on purpose,” Stuart continued quickly, “but they’re not in danger, are they? I need you to think about yourself. Focus on surviving in there—”

“How much would it cost me?” Neil cut in, clenching the phone harder. He tried not to sound bitter, but he could hear it anyway.

Stuart sighed. “For this? Free. Believe it or not, I’m on your side, Nathaniel.”

Liar, liar, liar.

“Thank you, Uncle. I appreciate the concern.”

“I’m sure you do, Nathaniel,” Stuart muttered under his breath. Then, louder, “Text me the name and address. I’ll be in touch. Think about what I told you.”

“I will, Uncle. Bye.”

He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bed.

He’d had the same burner for a couple of weeks now, which meant he’d have to change it soon—make sure nobody could snoop on it. Not that he didn’t take extra precautions. He deleted every call and message that could get him in trouble the second it was over.

Still, he felt like he was spiraling.

Between his brothers, his father’s lessons, Riko, and the little lord he had to please—Neil felt sick to his stomach.

Look the man in the eyes and smile while you take everything he has.

“Well, isn’t Natey here all alone?” a voice drawled behind him.

Neil turned.

Grayson leaned against the doorway with a smile on his face, his little pack behind him.

Of course they’d noticed Zane wasn’t at practice.

Neil didn’t have the capacity to deal with him right now. “What do you want?”

“Come on, Natey. We just wanted to say hello.” Grayson pushed off the doorframe, grin widening. “Don’t you miss us? Feels like we haven’t seen each other in so long.”

“And you didn’t get the memo that I’m not interested?” Neil shot back. “I knew you weren’t sharp, but I didn’t know you couldn’t even grasp something that simple.”

Grayson’s smile slipped—just a little—then returned meaner. “Watch it, Four. King said we can’t hurt you while he’s around.” He took a step in. Then another. “He’s not here now, though, is he?”

Neil swallowed bile.

“Zane’s been glued to you for weeks,” Grayson went on, closing the distance like he owned it. “We barely see you. So—” another step, “—why don’t we have a little fun?”

Neil forced his father’s best smile onto his face. Straight spine. Steady eyes. Like fear was a language he didn’t speak. “Touch me,” Neil said softly, “and I’ll make you bleed.”

He counted in his head, tried to think like Nathaniel instead of Neil.

Grayson chuckled under his breath. “I don’t know why King takes you seriously when you say shit like that. Me? I’d like to see you try.”

You slit their knees if they try to run, Junior.

You take their hands if they crawl.

If you ever run from me again, I’ll make sure to skin you from the inside and the outside.

Grayson stepped forward. Neil held his ground.

Another step, and Grayson grabbed a fistful of Neil’s shirt.

Neil moved before he fully registered it—automatic, practiced, something he’d learned as a child and tried to bury. His hand slipped into his pocket, and the improvised knife flashed out in one swift motion.

The edge kissed the side of Grayson’s neck.

Grayson froze.

Neil’s sharp smile widened, bright and wrong on his face. “All it would take is a little push,” he whispered, voice low, almost gentle—mimicking his father’s tone without even meaning to. “One little movement, and you’ll be on the floor trying to hold your blood in .”Neil leaned closer, just enough to make the threat intimate. “That won’t work,” he whispered. “You’ll bleed out in minutes.”

It was the first time Neil had ever seen Grayson hesitate.

The others couldn’t see the knife—Grayson’s body blocked their view—so they didn’t understand the pause. “What are you waiting for, Grayson?” one of them called.

Neil didn’t blink. His smile didn’t move. It would be so easy.

Screw what Grayson had done to Neil. Grayson was the reason Jean’s nightmares never stayed buried.

“Watch yourself, Four,” Grayson said finally, voice tight.

“Nah.” Neil’s smile widened by a fraction. “I think I’m right where I want to be.”

“You think this is going to stop me, Natey?”

Neil held his gaze. “I’m begging you to take one more step. Anything—just give me an excuse.”

“Grayson.” A voice cut in behind them.

Grayson’s sneer returned as he stepped back, turning to look.

Zane stood in the doorway at his full height. The others had already parted for him without thinking—like instinct.

And Grayson noticed.

“Looks like the bitch is back,” Grayson said, eyes narrowing.

“I don’t like having you in my room,” Zane said, hands curling into fists. “Or your pack.”

Grayson scoffed, but he backed up anyway. “I see Nate’s attitude is starting to rub off on you.” He glanced at Neil again, grin turning ugly. “I guess I’ll see you next time, Natey. Dream of me.” His eyes dragged down Neil like a threat. “I’ll surely be dreaming of you.”

Cold spread through Neil’s body.

When they were finally alone, Zane shut the door and crossed the room like nothing had happened, heading for his bed.

That wasn’t going to fly with Neil.

“Where were you?” Neil demanded.

“King’s orders,” Zane said. Then he looked at Neil, expression flat. “One more minute and I would’ve come back to find you dead on the floor. Where would my number be then?”

Neil could feel his hands turning into fists. “I was fine on my own.”

“Sure you were, Nat.”

“I told you that I hate that fucking nickname.”

Zane shrugged. “I don’t care.”

Neil counted to one hundred before he trusted his mouth again. “Where did he send you? You weren’t at practice. The Master wouldn’t let you miss it if you were still on campus.”

“Has anyone ever told you not to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong?”

“I need to know, Zane.”

“Fuck, you’re annoying.” Zane dragged a hand through his hair. “Grayson’s right about that.” He exhaled hard. “I don’t fucking know, okay? King came in this morning—smiling, happy—and told me he had something special for me to do.” His mouth twisted. Disgust. Unease. “I told you,” Zane added, quieter. “King is the only one I’m not putting my skin out for. I’m not giving up my number for you.”

It didn’t sting. Neil had never mistaken Zane for a friend.

“What did he want?” Neil asked anyway.

“He gave me plane tickets,” Zane said. “Round trip. California and back. Same day.”

Neil’s heart skipped at the word California. Jean—

But Zane just kept talking. “It was a fucking nightmare—two flights in one day—for a stupid fucking letter.”

Neil frowned. It does sound like a lot of effort for nothing. “For who?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Zane’s tone made it clear he meant it. “We drove for, like, an hour from the airport to some house I’ve never seen before. Some masculine guy opened the door.” He shrugged. “All I had to do was say Riko sent me. That he wanted some ‘family reunion.’ I handed him the envelope and got the fuck out.”

Neil’s stomach dropped.

Family reunion.

Wasn’t that what Riko had been talking about for months? And California couldn’t be a coincidence. Could it?

“That’s all?” Neil asked, voice tight.

“I think there was cash in there,” Zane said. “Maybe that’s why there was a bodyguard with me—making sure I didn’t steal the bills or some shit. Like I need it in a place like the Nest.” He started to move. “Now can I go shower?”

“Wait.” Neil stepped in his way. “Did he give you his name? Anything?”

Zane sighed like Neil was a headache. “No. Can I go now?”

“What did he look like?”

Zane’s expression snapped. “I don’t know. Normal.” He threw his hands up. “It looked like real America—the flag, all that. He had a military hat—maybe ex-marine. Tattoos. He looked like every other guy I’ve ever seen on the streets.”

Neil opened his mouth—

“Ha-ha.” Zane cut him off. “No more questions. That’s it. Jeez.” He shoved past Neil and slammed the bathroom door behind him.

The best thing to do to get someone to remember a detail they thought they lost is putting a little pressure. You understand, Junior?

Neil swallowed hard.

Fuck.

What if Riko paid someone to take a hit on Jean? What if that guy wasn’t some random ex-marine—what if he was a killer for hire?

He pressed his fingers to his eyes until white spots bloomed in his vision.

Not good enough. Never good enough to protect when it mattered. Never there when they needed him.

Should he call Jean?

He should. He knew he should. But he had a place he’d started to trust now, and what if that trust got burned for nothing? Neil wasn’t sure of anything yet—wasn’t even sure it had anything to do with Jean.

Maybe it was about Kevin.

But what ties did Kevin have to California?

He couldn’t risk calling his uncle. If it was about Jean… if Neil even hinted at it—

No. Not a good idea.

And he couldn’t be sure Ichirou hadn’t had something to do with it either.

“There was one more thing,” Zane said.

Neil looked up.

Zane stood in the doorway fully dressed, hair damp from the shower, like he’d only just remembered it mattered. “There was a name on the door. Family name.” His brow furrowed as he reached for it. “Spear, I think. Ring any bells?”

Neil frowned at the name.

It sounded… vaguely familiar. Like something he’d heard once, years ago, and hadn’t cared enough to keep.

“Not sure,” Neil said slowly. “But I’m going to find out.”

Chapter Text

Jeremy’s mood had been wrong for days, growing stranger the closer the banquet came.

It didn’t fit him at all. Jeremy was many things—sharp, secretive when he wanted to be—but never this openly restless. Lately there was a tension to him that never seemed to ease, like he was waiting for something to happen and hated every second of the waiting.

And because Jeremy was on edge, Jean was too.

It was impossible not to be. If his captain was worried, then something had to be coming. If he was this unsettled, shouldn’t he be warning the rest of them? Shouldn’t he say something instead of carrying it alone and forcing everyone around him to feel the edges of it?

It was Friday, the day before the banquet, when Jean finally started getting answers.

The afternoon was warm and quiet, the kind that made campus feel almost peaceful. Jean was sitting on the grass with Cat and Cody—who Jean liked best on the team, other than his housemates— in one of the less crowded stretches near the edge of the grounds. Cody had brought a carton of strawberries with them, and Jean tried to eat each one as slowly as possible, savoring the sweetness, which made Cat glance at him.

“You know,” she said, eyeing him from where she was sprawled back on one elbow, “we can buy more of those for the house, right?”

Jean shook his head at once. The idea still felt absurd. Strawberries weren’t something a person just bought whenever they wanted. They were a luxury. Something rare. Something you earned.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I don’t need them.”

Cat snorted. “Ha-ha.”

“Hey.”

Jeremy dropped down beside them with an easy grin, then stretched out on the grass like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Jean really tried not to stare.

“What are we talking about?” Jeremy asked.

“Jean won’t let anyone buy him strawberries,” Cody said. Jeremy looked amused immediately, the corner of his mouth lifting. Jean could feel his face harden on instinct, defensive before Jeremy even said anything. But then Cody kept talking. “Ready for tomorrow? Jeremy, are you still going?”

The question shifted the air almost at once.

This year, the annual banquet was being held in Arizona. Jean barely remembered the first one, back before they changed districts. He had been too drugged with painkillers and too out of it to pay attention to pretty much anything.

“What do you mean, is Jeremy going?” Jean asked, frowning. “Of course he is.” He turned toward Jeremy as he said it, expecting immediate agreement, but Jeremy avoided his gaze. His jaw had tightened too. 

“I’m going,” Jeremy said. “No need to ask.”

Cat made a face, the kind that said she was thinking more than she wanted to say aloud. “Well,” she said, “that’s going to be interesting.”

Jean looked at her. “Why?”

“Normally we’re pretty chill with the other teams,” she said. “Nobody really cares that much, outside of the usual rivalry stuff. But if Jeremy’s going…” She trailed off with a small shrug, like the rest should have been obvious.

It wasn’t.

Jean frowned harder. “This is a mandatory event. And why would anyone care if Jeremy’s there?”

“I have my own personal reasons,” Jeremy said. “I haven’t been to one since freshman year. This is the first one I’m going to since then.”

Jean couldn’t stop himself from panicking. “If the ERC finds out you’ve been skipping—”

“They know,” Jeremy said.

Jean blinked. “What?”

“They know.”

That made even less sense. Jean felt his pulse jump. The ERC knew, and Jeremy was still standing here? Still captain?

“Okay. I think we should change the subject,” Cat said, but Jean wasn’t done.

“How could they possibly know and not—”

“Jean, right?”

The voice came from above them. All four of them looked up.

A student was standing there, looking down at them.  “Sorry,” he said, glancing between them, “am I interrupting something?”

Jean frowned, already about to say yes, they absolutely were, when Cat made a face like she’d just realized something. “Not at all! Adrian, right? I think we have a class together.”

“Right,” Adrian said.

He had a soft smile, light green eyes, and more freckles than Jean could count. There was something easy about the way he stood there, relaxed and perfectly at home, that Jean instantly disliked.

Jean took him in with immediate suspicion.

“I wanted to introduce myself.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone on campus who doesn’t know who you are,” Cody said, leaning back as Jeremy shot them another irritated look.

That seemed to make Adrian laugh a little, though Jean had no idea why he was apparently supposed to know who this person was.

“Right,” Adrian said, and turned his attention back to Jean. He was still smiling, and it was the kind of smile clearly meant to put people at ease. “I just wanted to make sure you were settling in okay.”

Jean wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to something like that, so he just nodded. That didn’t seem to bother Adrian.

“Listen, I’m on the student council, and we wanted to make sure you’re doing alright with schoolwork. Us athletes have to really commit to the whole student-athlete thing, you know?”

“Adrian’s on the football team,” Cody said.

“Oh,” was all Jean said. He had never cared much for sports, least of all American football. “I have my own team to help me with that.” Which was not really a lie.

“That’s great! If you get into any trouble, talk to me. I’m half French, though my mom would probably faint over how rusty I’ve gotten. If you want, we can set up some lessons—”

“Thank you, but his team has it covered,” Jeremy said, with the fakest, least friendly smile Jean had ever seen from him. “And we were in the middle of something.”

“Ha, sorry. I just thought—well, never mind, I guess,” Adrian said, looking confused. “I guess… I’ll see you around?” He looked at everyone but Jeremy, then nodded at them and left.

“That was pretty rude, Jeremy,” Cat said, though there was more amusement in her voice than anger.

Jean had to agree with that. All in all, Adrian seemed fine, and it would be good to practice French with someone other than his brothers.

“What did you think, Jean?” Cody asked.

Jean just shrugged. “I have Lucas to teach me. It wouldn’t hurt to practice my French, though.”

“I can learn French,” Jeremy muttered through gritted teeth. “You can teach me—”

“No,” Jean said automatically, so harshly that they all turned to look at him.

He had to remind himself where he was and who these people were.

You are not in the Nest. You are not in the Nest. You are not in the Nest. You are not—

“I can get a French tutor,” Jeremy said, like he hadn’t noticed how sharply Jean had answered.

“I’m sure you can, love,” Cat said.

Jean shook his head. “I’m from Marseille. Most tutors would probably teach you with a Parisian accent, or worse—Quebec.”

“That much of a difference?” Cat asked, amused.

He sneered. “Calling Quebecois French an insult to the language.”

“Okay, I think that’s all the French lesson I can take for today,” Cat said.

Jean wanted to ask about Jeremy. He wanted to ask why he hadn’t gone, as their captain, to a mandatory event, but it seemed they had all moved on from the subject. A moment later, both Cody and Cat got up to leave.

“See you at practice,” they said before leaving Jean alone with Jeremy, who was still lying on the grass with his head resting on his bag.

“So,” Jeremy said, “are you ready for today? Excited for your first full practice?”

Jean didn’t want to tell his captain that excited was not a word he would use. Ever. Needed and have to were the correct terms. “No.”

Jeremy blinked, then pushed himself up onto his elbows before sitting up properly. “Well, I was hoping some adrenaline would make you less grumpy. I thought at least that would make you jump into my arms with joy.”

Jean frowned as he tried to picture it. “I don’t get why I would jump into anyone’s arms.”

“It’s a figure of speech, Jean. A joke, really,” Jeremy said with a small sigh.

“Like the cardboard dog you keep insisting I would react to?”

Jeremy’s eyebrows shot up, like he couldn’t believe Jean would say something like that. “Barkbark von Barkenstein is no joke! Take it back.”

He had gone fully upright now, staring at Jean like he couldn’t believe this was the person sitting in front of him.

“It’s a miracle you manage to be captain with this ridiculous behavior.”

“Ouch, Jean,” Jeremy said, pressing a hand to his heart. “You wound me.”

They still hadn’t talked about what had happened before. They still hadn’t talked about why Jeremy skipped the banquet every year, or why he had seemed hunted last week.

“I don’t know why you don’t want to go to the banquet.”

“Jean—”

He shook his head. “I don’t know why, and I’m not going to ask. I just want you to know something.” Jean held his gaze. “You’re my partner. I’ll keep you safe, no matter what. So whatever it is you’re worried about, I’ll protect you. Do you believe me?”

Jeremy went quiet for a moment. Then he said, more softly, “yeah, Jean. I believe you.”

****

The West Coast Fall Banquet was six hours away from their university, and while Jean happily sat beside Cat, Laila, and Jeremy, he spotted five faces on the bus he hadn’t seen before.

Dates, he guessed. Dates that Kevin had specifically asked him to think about, but Jean hadn’t. Not that it mattered. He had Jeremy; they were partners. He wasn’t going to leave him, especially not for something as ridiculous as a date.

He wasn’t waiting around for Kevin’s lectures, though.

Last year, he and Neil had been in a three-level kind of pain trying to keep Riko satisfied. Jean had been at the actual event while Neil had been stuck behind in the Nest as leverage for Jean’s behavior. A hostage, to make sure Jean said everything he possibly could to make Kevin turn cruelly back toward Riko. Not that Kevin had needed much of a push; once he saw the state Jean was in, he had seemed ready to come to the Nest without much convincing at all.

It could have worked. It had almost worked, if not for Doe, who kept Kevin on a leash. Doe, who made sure Kevin wouldn’t get any funny ideas.

Jean hated to admit it, but all the pain in the world had been worth it. All of it had been worth his brother not ending up back in the cage that had held him for years. Jean had known all along that Kevin was made for something else. He was royalty, almost free. Wild when he wanted to be, and never meant for the Nest.

Part of Jean was grateful for the district change; the other teams meant nothing to him. Nothing of interest, at least, so for once in his life, this was supposed to be a quiet trip.

On the other hand, he hadn’t seen Neil in… months. The longest they’d been apart since becoming partners all those years ago.

Jean hadn’t dared watch the interview between them, hadn’t dared see Neil running his mouth and painting a bigger target on his back, but he had read about it afterward. He had seen the hug between them, Neil’s desperate attempt at warmth.

He watched Los Angeles slide by outside the window. The others were talking or watching something on their laptops, but Jean had learned a long time ago that trying to do the same only made him carsick. Usually, he sat in the far back beside Zane and fell asleep, trying to make up for the hours the Nest had stolen from him.

“Are you really going to keep that?”

The voice came from in front of him.

Jean looked up to find Chuck staring back from two rows ahead, twisted around in his seat. He’d been talking to Lucas’s group before, which Jean had tuned out the moment he noticed it.

“What?”

“The tattoo. You’re really going to keep that? I mean, you’re not Perfect Court anymore.”

Jeremy was clearly about to say something when Derek spoke from behind him. “Ignore him. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“I’m not the only one who wants to know. And we haven’t even talked about the rumors yet—”

“That’s enough,” Jeremy said. “If you’re bored, watch a game you downloaded or something. You do not pick on another member of this team.”

“Of course you’d protect him,” Lucas muttered under his breath, though not quietly enough for the others to miss it.

“I didn’t mean anything bad,” Chuck said quickly. “It must’ve been amazing, playing for the King.”

Teeth. Smelled like oat milk.

“Nah, it’s way too much work. Day and Jean got out of there in time. I just pity the new guy,” Haoyu said.

Jean lost hold of his breath.

Chuck nodded quickly. “Yeah. Really, it’s a good thing you left when you did. They must be working the poor guy to death.”

Together or not at all.

“Jean, are you okay? Are you—”

“Don’t,” Jean said.

He could feel the others staring at him from their seats while he tried to catch his breath. His hand started for his neck, but another hand was there first, stopping him before he could reach it fully. He didn’t mind. His mind was already miles away. In the Nest. The voices around him faded into nothing.

“Jean,” Jeremy said gently.

Jean lifted his head to meet Jeremy’s gaze, then looked around and found everyone else firmly in their seats, already buried in other conversations.

“I’m fine,” he said, and cringed at the thought of Neil. When Jeremy opened his mouth again, Jean cut him off. “You wanted to learn French, right? I’m giving you a phrase. You’ll use it at the banquet if you need to leave, yes?”

Jeremy looked alarmed, but then he pressed his lips together and nodded.

“Ensemble ou rien,” Jean told him. It was close enough to what he’d had with Neil, but a little… different.

Jeremy was smart enough not to ask what it meant. “Esem—”

“Ensemble,” Jean corrected when Jeremy mangled it.

Jeremy frowned and tried again. This time his pronunciation was only slightly off. He repeated it twice more before he got it right.

“Good,” Jean said, turning back to the window.

He could feel Knox’s eyes on him.

They didn’t say anything else for the next three hours.

***

Freedom was not something Jean had expected to settle so quickly.

He hadn’t expected the routine he’d practically been bred for to dissolve as fast as it had. It wasn’t always like this, but lately he found himself barely batting an eye at simple things—like Rhemann leaving them alone in the hotel lobby with a promise to come back at eleven and take them to the banquet.

Laila, Cat, and Jeremy walked into the lobby beside Jean, and he let Jeremy retrieve their room number and key from their coach.

His problem started when he glanced up.

Four elevators. All of them packed tight with his teammates and their luggage, bodies crowded into the narrow space, backs pressed to the walls.

“It’ll be better if we get everything up in one go,” Laila said, and the others nodded as they waited for an elevator to return.

Jean felt sick just looking at it.

None of them seemed to notice when he took a few steps back, stomach turning. Riko’s voice rose in the back of his head, clear as ever.

A couple more days and you’ll learn never to disobey me again.

“I’m taking the stairs,” Jean announced, and fled before he had to hear the others’ confused protests.

Right. First step: find the stairs.

He crossed the lobby, scanning for a sign, searching for some direction that would get him away from the elevators, when a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Jean.” Jeremy’s voice, close beside him, nearly made him jump out of his skin.

“What are you doing here?” Jean asked.

Jeremy studied his face. “I’m taking the stairs with you.”

Jean frowned, and something in his chest beat a little faster. “It’s eight floors.”

Jeremy shrugged. “I need to stretch my legs after the drive. Besides, we do more than that at practice.”

Jean held his gaze for a moment before nodding. Together, they found the stairwell and started up.

Of course, halfway through the climb, Jeremy brought it up again.

“Are you claustrophobic?” he asked. “Because you seemed fine in the car.”

Jean kept his eyes on the stairs. “I don’t like being in boxes.”

Jeremy blinked. “Huh. I think something got lost in translation there.”

Jean ignored him. There were too many layers to that answer, too many things buried underneath it.

Jeremy, however, seemed content with half-answers only for so long.

“You can’t go into the water either,” he said. “I feel like it all goes back to Evermore.”

Riko’s smile flashed in Jean’s mind—sharp, pleased, sadistic.

“Don’t,” Jean said. “I can’t. Not now.”

“When, then, Jean? It’s always next time.” Jeremy’s voice sharpened, though only just. “You can’t avoid talking about this forever. I need to know who to trust.”

It took Jean a second to understand what Jeremy meant. “You think Kevin had something to do with it.”

Jeremy didn’t look at him as he climbed the next few steps. “Maybe, I don’t know. He tried to warn me in a very vague way when you first got here, but now I can’t help but think he might be a part of it,” he said. Then he stopped. “Not that I even know what it is.”

“Nothing good,” Jean said, and that was all.

He avoided Jeremy’s eyes for the rest of the climb. When they finally reached the top, Jean shoved through the stairwell door into the hallway without waiting, looked left and right, and headed straight for their room.

The Trojans were split across two floors, but their coach had at least tried to keep friends close together. That was how the two of them ended up downstairs with the others nearby later that evening, while Jean tried not to look at Jeremy in that suit for too long.

It was going to be hard. Jeremy looked good in a suit.

“Tell me the phrase again,” Jean said, leaning close to Jeremy’s ear. He didn’t miss the shiver that ran down Jeremy’s spine. He pretended not to notice.

“Ensemble ou rien,” Jeremy replied. Then, softer, “I’m fine, Jean. Don’t worry about me.”

The fake smile was back, and Jean had to fight the urge to punch him in the face.

All twenty-nine Trojans had shown up to the banquet, six of them with dates, and they followed Rhemann through check-in before being led to their tables: thirteen and fourteen.

“We have some nice company,” Jeremy said to Jean as they walked over, glancing at the other teams already seated.

Jean didn’t know much about the western teams. The Ravens had always focused on teams they considered worth their attention. So Jean found himself sitting quietly while Jeremy talked to some old friend and kept insisting on dragging Jean into the conversation too.

Jean also didn’t miss the person at the end of the table who kept looking at Jeremy. Didn’t miss Jeremy glancing at his phone and then back at him. But it wasn’t Jean’s business, so he pretended not to notice. Pretended it didn’t make his heart ache and his breath stutter.

No, he was fine.

All in all, he had to admit it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. Teammates who barely spoke to him at practice had actually made an effort to pull him into conversation, which he answered with short, careful replies. Lucas sat close by, but even he behaved for once, mostly keeping to conversations with everyone else.

It was, of course, too predictable to last.

Nothing good ever did.

Someone was walking toward them, and Jean had spent too much time in the Nest not to recognize trouble when he saw it. “Company,” he said to Jeremy, who frowned before turning around.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“Jeremy Wilshire,” the man said as he reached the table. “We weren’t sure you’d show, even with it being your last year. We were taking bets and all.”

Jean recognized the abomination immediately. The Bobcats’ goalkeeper, Connors. “His name is Jeremy Knox,” Jean said, a note of venom in his voice. He was Jeremy’s partner, protecting him was instinct by now.

“Ah, yes. And the infamous Jean Moreau,” Connors said with a thin smile before turning back to Jeremy. “Listen, we’re having a little get-together. For old times sake. There’s going to be plenty of good stuff. You should come.”

“No, thank you,” Jeremy said, plastering a smile across his face. “You should go. For old times sake.”

Connors ignored him as if he hadn’t spoken. “This kid used to know how to party,” he said to Jean, who only glared harder. “If you don’t want to party with us, maybe one of your siblings would. You still have, what, two? If you’d brought them to a party before—”

Jean didn’t miss the way Jeremy went completely still.

“That’s enough,” Laila said, rising to her feet while Cat glared at Connors beside her. “Go. Now.”

“Why?” Connors asked, raising his hands. “I’m just trying to have a conversation. You can’t invite someone anymore? Just because his brother wanted to take a little leap from the balcony—”

“Choose your next words carefully,” Jean said, standing with gritted teeth, “or you might not be able to use them for a while.”

Connors laughed. “Wow. How far the Perfect Court has fallen. First Day to the Foxes, and now you to the Trojans of all people? Real shame.”

“I’m fine exactly where I am.”

Connors tilted his head, like he’d just thought of something. “You know, you should come. I mean, I know your reputation. You could have a lot of fun at the party. Maybe convince Wilshi—Knox too. We’d even let you have your freaky little time together—”

Cat was already on her feet, ready to swing, when Lucas came out of nowhere and drove his fist straight into Connors’s face.

Connors stumbled back, one hand flying to his nose, staring at them in shock. “You’re going to pay for that!”

“Oh yeah?” Lucas shot back as the others surged around them. “What are the others going to do, bench me for like three games?”

Jean barely heard him. He was too focused on Jeremy, who was staring at Lucas like the world had tilted under his feet.

“Jeremy,” Jean said softly, catching his attention. “Ensemble ou rien?”

It took Jeremy a second to understand. “But Lucas—”

“Took one for Cat. You saw her—she would’ve swung.” Jean kept his voice steady. “Lucas is already benched for the first couple of games. They just don’t know it.”

Jeremy’s face eased, if only a little. “But I’m their captain—”

“Xavier is there,” Jean said. “Come on, Jeremy.”

Jeremy looked him in the eye for a long second, then nodded. “Okay.”

Jean took his hand and led him out of the convention center and into the open air.

The heat outside wasn’t exactly what Jean had in mind, but it still seemed to help Jeremy breathe a little easier. At least Jean thought it did, right until Jeremy stopped one of the waiters passing by and, with a smile, asked her for a cigarette.

She handed him one.

Jean caught at his wrist. “Don’t.”

“Jean.” That was all Jeremy said, but it came as a warning. He held Jean’s gaze as he took the lighter she offered, lit the cigarette, then handed it back with a broad smile and a quiet thank you.

“You are not this stupid,” Jean told him.

Jeremy smiled at him again. “Watch me.”

Jean’s mouth hardened into a line. He didn’t push again, not until Jeremy had smoked a third of the cigarette and still hadn’t stopped shaking.

“Jeremy,” he said.

Brown eyes met his.

“I want to tell you about my freshman year,” Jeremy said. “My last banquet.”

Jean shook his head. “You don’t have to.”

Jeremy laughed softly. “I’m always asking you for honesty. Maybe I should share some of mine.”

Jean hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”

Jeremy took another drag before he spoke. “I used to have a brother. His name was Noah.” Jean could see how much it cost him just to say the name. “I did a lot of stupid things back then,” Jeremy went on. “I listened when Bryson said the pills would make everything at home easier. I got hooked on them.” He exhaled slowly. “Then, that Christmas, he came home with cocaine, and I just… I wasn’t strong enough to say no. I should have said no.”

Jean watched the pain move across his captain’s face, all the pieces he had never known.

“There was a party,” Jeremy said. “A secret one, for the gay players in the league. A place where they could be themselves, you know? I let Noah stay behind at the hotel.” His voice faltered. “Noah hadn’t been okay for a while. I tried to get my parents to do something, but they wouldn’t listen. I should have tried harder.”

Jean swallowed.

“What happened, Jeremy?” he asked quietly.

The cigarette was nearly finished when Jeremy finally continued. He didn’t look at Jean. “I brought some good stuff. Everything was going fine until the cops showed up.”

“They found out about the party,” Jean said, only to stop when Jeremy shook his head.

“No,” Jeremy said. “The police came looking for me. Do you know why, Jean?”

Jean shook his head, unable to force out an answer.

“My brother,” Jeremy said. “He—he jumped. From the balcony. And when the police came… only two of us were out back then. They called it a ׳faggot orgy’.” His mouth twisted. “It wasn’t—we didn’t—but it didn’t matter.” He paused, then went on. “Dexter was at the party. One of my friends. He was the Bobcats’ captain for three years, up until that night.”

“He was the fall guy,” Jean realized.

Jeremy nodded. “He was the only one old enough to buy the alcohol. He was also going to bring me down with him, and my parents knew that. They did everything they could to protect the Wilshire name.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jean said. “You didn’t know that would happen.”

Jeremy shook his head again. “It doesn’t matter. I disappointed my little brother. I was supposed to protect him.”

Are we going to be okay? a small voice asked in Jean’s head.

He should have been there for her. Maybe he could make it up to her when he saw her again, if she even wanted to see him.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jean said.

“It was—”

“It wasn’t,” Jean repeated. “I didn’t know you then. I didn’t know who you were before, but I know you now. You are my partner and my captain. You cannot be a bad person if you are the captain of the Sunshine Court.”

That earned him half a smile. “The Golden Court,” Jeremy corrected.

“Yes,” Jean said. “And if Lucas hadn’t hit that wretched man, I would have. Because you didn’t deserve that, Jeremy.”

Jeremy’s smile turned a little softer. “Thank you for holding back.”

Jean huffed. “If you let me, I can make sure he never plays again. No one would ever know.”

Jeremy shook his head. “I’m touched by the offer, but please don’t. It’s bad enough that Lucas got in trouble.”

“For once, he made himself useful.”

“Jean.”

Jean rolled his eyes, then tipped his head toward the doors. “Come on, Jeremy. Let’s go back.”

Chapter Text

Chop. Chop. Chop.

Cut the meat. Don’t think about what you’re doing.

Chop, chop. A scream, a plea. He doesn’t hear it at all; it’s all miles and miles away from him. Just like when he was little. He’d grown numb to those screams when he was a child.

Chop, chop, chop, chop.

At some point, the screaming stopped. He was too focused to notice.

Chop.

The smell hit him first, before the voice did. His cologne didn’t always manage to mix with the smell of blood. “Don’t cut too fast, Junior. We want precise cuts.” 

His father’s voice pulled him a little closer to reality.

“Yes, sir,” he said, and cut deeper.

Chop, chop, chop.

Today was a good day, considering. It wasn’t self-inflicted practice this time, which was good, because the wounds from his last example hadn’t fully healed yet.

Lola and DiMaccio were somewhere beside him. Watching. Judging whether he was worth anything at all.

Waiting for him to fail.

The first lesson, Lola had told him with a smile so wide she couldn’t wait for the little Lord to get tired of him and hand him back to Nathan. The first they would do, she said, is slit his knees so he can never run again.

Chop, chop, chop.

The air was thick with blood. He barely noticed it anymore; it felt less like a warning and more like a childhood smell. For a second, he was eight years old again, watching his father put men in their place or carve them open where they stood.

Chop.

Eight days.

Eight days until he sees Kevin again.

Eight days until he sees Andrew again—see him, really, for what felt like the first time.

Eight days until he is miles away from Nathan.

Eight days until he has to behave in public.

Eight days without the Nest’s routine.

Eight days without the lessons.

Eight days. Just eight days.

But first he had to survive them.

“Nathaniel.”

Their coach’s voice cut through without warning. Neil lifted his head to find the Ravens staring at him, whispers moving through them.

He blinked and found Zane at his side, giving him an odd look. Zane said he never noticed when Neil lost time. Neil always answered questions, always moved when he was supposed to, always kept going.

Coach Rossi, apparently, did notice.

“Yes, sir?”

“What have I just said, Nathaniel?”

Well, fuck him if Neil knew. He barely listened to the man when he was fully present; like this, he had no chance.

He guessed anyway. “We are stronger when we are disciplined.” That was usually Rossi’s point, no matter the subject.

A few of the others sneered. Across the court, Grayson looked at him like he was hungry.

Zane went tense beside him.

“I’m impressed,” Rossi said, “by how undisciplined you still are, even after all this time. We were discussing the schedule, since the Master and King are away.”

“Right,” Neil said, trying to shoot Zane an apologetic look.

It didn’t help.

“Today we’ll start with a scrimmage. You know the deal: subs sit on the sideline and watch. Then we circle up and criticize each other.” Rossi smiled without warmth. “After that, we’ll have a special drill. One Nathaniel won’t miss this time, since he is obviously so bored.”

Neil bit the inside of his lip.

He’d thought things might be a little better with Riko off the court. They usually had been, before. But Grayson had gotten a taste of freedom with Neil in Riko’s place, and that had made everything worse. How had Jean survived them?

“Don’t fuck it up,” Zane muttered as they moved to center court. The subs settled along the sideline to watch.

Neil bared his teeth but nodded. He needed Zane, more than he liked to admit. He pulled on his helmet and gripped his racquet like his life depended on it. The whistle blew, and the scrimmage started ugly.

Neil dropped back on instinct, settling deep into the defensive half where he belonged. The shift in his body was automatic: knees bent, racquet up, eyes moving. Ball first. Open man second. He mapped the court the way he used to mapp escape routes—fast, instinctive, exact.

The first player came hard down the left wall.

Neil cut across before the striker could break inward, planting himself square in the lane. The impact rattled through him when they collided shoulder to shoulder, but Neil held long enough to get his racquet in the way.

The ball deflected loose, and play surged on.

The offense pressed like a living thing—fast, coordinated, and cruel. Neil stayed low in the backcourt and did everything he could to make sure nothing slipped past him. He wasn’t the strongest player on the court, or the meanest, but he recovered faster than most and was stubborn enough to keep throwing himself in the way.

In another life, with that speed, he might have been useful as a striker.

But he’d been bred for defense, shaped into a backliner, taught to turn every instinct into something protective and brutal. That made him useful.

It also made him a target.

Grayson came at him next with the ball tucked close and murder written all through his posture. Neil recognized the play before it happened. Grayson had run it at him three times this week already; bait Neil toward the wall, fake the inside pass, then either shoot around him or drive straight through him just for the pleasure of it.

Neil shifted left.

Grayson smiled and cut right.

“Stay on him,” Zane snapped from somewhere upcourt.

Easy for him to say.

A racquet hooked under Neil’s arm as he turned, wrenching him off balance. Another shoulder slammed into his spine. Neil stumbled, dropped to one knee, and only managed to bat the loose ball toward the wall instead of controlling it cleanly.

He looked up just in time to catch Grayson smiling.

I’ll make sure your little brother suffers for what he did to Jean, that was all Neil could think as he pushed himself back up.

Lucas. Ugly name, in Neil’s opinion.

It took two and a half more hours of brutal checks and tripped legs for it to finally end, earlier than usual. Neil pulled off his helmet with the rest of the team and stood there listening to what the subs had to say. They certainly had opinions, launching into criticism Neil did not care enough to hear. None of them were valuable enough for his attention.

“We’ll have a special exercise today,” Coach Rossi said when it was over. “Neil is going to play goalkeeper. The entire team will take shots, one by one. For every goal that gets past him, you and your partner will run a lap around the school. Understood?”

Neil nodded. It sounded awful, but not as bad as it could have been.

He stepped into the goal and reached for his helmet, only for Rossi to laugh. “Ha, ha, ha. Did I tell you to put a helmet on, Four?”

Neil froze. “But—”

“We need to make sure you don’t get bored again. Maybe after a few hits, you’ll start paying attention.” Rossi turned toward the others. “Line up. And you—” he looked back at Neil, “lose everything but the shirt and pants. Let’s see how your little body moves with a racquet and nothing else.”

It might have sounded insane, if Neil hadn’t been used to worse. He knew it was going to hurt before the whistle even blew.

The shots came one after another. His racquet stopped some of them until one slammed into his arm. He gritted his teeth as pain bloomed there, only for another ball to crack into his thigh.

Two in.

“Use your whole body, Wesninski!” Rossi shouted.

Block. Ignore the pain. Block again. Don’t let the red light show.

Another shot got past him. 

Then another.

Block, block, block. Don’t think. Don’t think.

Minutes or hours—it all blurred together. The balls kept coming, one after another, too fast to breathe between them. One smashed into his ribs and nearly folded him in half. Another caught him in the head. White burst across his vision. He ignored it. He could feel blood trickling down his cheek, then along his neck.

Ignore the pain. Ignore the pain. Ignore the pain—

“You let in twenty out of one hundred fifty-five.”

Rossi’s voice reached him from very far away.

Neil was practically collapsing where he stood, sweat plastered to his back. He could feel the bruises now—everywhere. Every movement hurt. He tried to straighten, but the world tilted under him and he had to lock his knees to keep from falling.

“You will both complete all twenty laps. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Zane answered. Neil heard him coming closer. “Come on.”

“Can’t,” Neil managed. Even focusing on Zane felt like work. Had the edges of the world always looked this blurred?

“This is your fucking fault. Move.” Zane grabbed him by the sleeve and hauled him outside. “You can die if you want after we finish the laps. You get me?”

Neil blinked, and suddenly they were outside.

Another blink, and he was running, focused on anything but the pain.

He didn’t realize he had collapsed until his head hit the ground.

“Up. Fuck! We only have two more to go. I’m not getting punished for this. You owe me, Four.” A voice above him said. Ha. At least Zane hadn’t called him Nat.

Strong hands yanked him upright. Neil could vaguely hear Coach Rossi talking, but the words wouldn’t sort themselves into meaning.

Someone shoved him forward and kept hold of his hand. He moved—or thought he moved. His arms and legs were too numb to tell the difference.

A whistle blew somewhere in the distance. Zane collapsed beside him, breathing hard.

Had Neil been sitting there long? He couldn’t tell.

One blink later, they were in a corridor. 

“Legs up. Fuck, up!” Someone was shouting at him.

Neil blinked and looked down. His legs didn’t look broken. Why wouldn’t they listen?

Another blink, and he was back in his bed.

“Fuck. Fuck! You are so much more trouble than you’re worth.” The voice moved closer. “You better have my number by the end of the year, Four, or I swear—”

Neil let the blackness take him this time.

“It seems you’ve managed to piss everyone off these days, Nathaniel,” Lord Ichirou said in Japanese.

Neil had been summoned the night after what had apparently been only a mild concussion, and it still hurt to walk without getting dizzy. “I’m sorry, my lord,” he replied in the same language.

Ichirou handed him a glass of whiskey, which Neil had learned to drown in one swallow. Funny, to think there had been a time before the Nest when he hadn’t dared drink at all.

It burned down the back of his throat.

Good.

“I think that may simply be your default state, Nathaniel,” Ichirou said.

There was something in his expression, some suggestion Neil couldn’t quite place, but something about tonight was off. Even on work nights, Ichirou usually laid everything out in careful detail the moment Neil stepped into the room—who they were meeting, what they would be doing, what was expected of him. Tonight, everything was vague. Blurred at the edges. Half-information layered over more half-information.

“I always appreciate seeing you, my lord, but… why am I here?” Neil asked. He hoped his Japanese didn’t sound too simple.

Ichirou swirled the drink in his hand and smiled at him. “Forward as always, Nathaniel. It has come to some people’s attention that you are related to Nathan. We both knew that would happen eventually.” He tilted his head slightly. “I’ll admit, it happened sooner than I expected, but we can’t always control everything.”

Neil nodded, feeling cold all over. Of course he had known it would happen eventually.

Just not that early. 

“Your interview certainly didn’t help once people started snooping,” Ichirou said, looking at his glass instead of Neil, “but you’ve already paid for that.”

“Yes, my lord. Sorry, my lord.”

“Mm.” Ichirou looked up. “We are going to give the FBI something else to focus on. Something that will completely sever you from any knowledge of your father’s activities.”

“Okay,” Neil said.

It sounded good. Didn’t it?

Ichirou held his gaze. “We are taking down Moreau’s family. And before you ask, no harm will come to your precious ex-partner.”

Neil’s stomach dropped. “But—”

“It is for the best, Nathaniel.”

Neil swallowed hard. He knew better than to argue. Not with him. “When… when are you going to tell him?”

“Next week. He will have to be a witness, after all.”

Elodie. That was all Neil could think. He guessed he owed his uncle another favor, after tonight. 

“What’s the story?” Neil asked.

“You’ll know soon enough,” Ichirou said. “I trust you can keep this information from Day and Moreau for a little while. We don’t want to create panic, after all. I’ll tell you when the time is right for them to know.”

Neil bit the inside of his cheek, bile rising in his stomach. “Yes, my lord.”

“Now,” Ichirou said, “speaking of holding back, is there anything you need to tell me, Nathaniel?”

Shit.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, my lord.”

“So there are no surprises I should learn about later?”

“Right,” Neil said.

Their gazes locked for a moment.

Neil knew better than to move. Better than to let anything show on his face that might suggest he was lying. That he had Andrew. That he had broken one more rule Ichirou had given him.

Le diable rouge, Jean used to call him.

It had always felt fitting.

“We have visitors tonight,” Ichirou said at last. “French associates who will be helping us at the trial. You know what you need to do.” He took a step closer, then paused. His eyes dropped to Neil’s arm. “Your sleeve. Pull it up. Now.”

Neil frowned, but he knew to do as he was told. 

The skin beneath had mostly healed from the lesson with his father, from the flesh he had been made to skin from his own arm. The wound sat high enough that his uniform usually hid most of it.

Most.

“Your father shouldn’t have done it,” Ichirou said, taking Neil’s arm in hand. “Even if it was only a small piece.”

“It was essential to my studies,” Neil said.

Was it, really? Neil wasn’t sure. It wouldn’t have been the first time his father had simply enjoyed cutting him.

“I need you looking presentable. Those scars will raise questions.”

What’s one more scar added to the collection?

“Mmm,” Neil murmured, leaning forward slightly. “I’ll do better next time.”

“You shouldn’t promise things you can’t control, Nathaniel,” Ichirou said, stepping back. “Get ready. You’ll stay here tonight with our guests, then return in the morning for practice.”

“Yes, my lord,” Neil said.

Three missed calls were waiting on his burner the next day after practice. Unknown number.

Neil had been meaning to replace the phone soon, but he hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Not while Ichirou already seemed suspicious. He picked it up and stared at the number.

Unfamiliar.

His uncle? Neil doubted it. He wouldn’t use the same cell more than once if it wasn’t his regular phone. That would be too careless. Too obvious.

“You’re looking a little pale there, Naty,” Zane said as he passed on his way to his bed. “Trouble in paradise?”

Neil ignored him.

He hovered over the call button for a second before pressing it.

It rang once. Then again. Then a third time.

Then—

“Hello?” Neil said when the line connected, only to be met with silence. “Hello?”

Whoever it was took a moment to answer. Then, “Who the fuck is this?”

Neil straightened. “Andrew?” he asked, glancing back at the number. That couldn’t be right. It wasn’t the one Andrew usually used, and why would Andrew ask who he was?

“Wrong twin, asshole.”

Ah. Aaron.

Neil didn’t know much about him beyond the fact that Andrew avoided speaking about him and Nicky the way most people avoid a plague.

There was also no way Andrew had given him the number on purpose.

“Aaron,” Neil said.

“Who the fuck are you?” Aaron snapped. “Why is my brother talking to you, Neil?”

“Is Andrew there with you?”

“Answer the fucking question.”

Neil considered it for a moment. “I’m just a friend.”

“Friend,” Aaron repeated, like the word itself was suspicious. “Andrew doesn’t make friends. Not the kind that calls him.”

“Look, I don’t think it’s okay for you to talk to me without your brother knowing. I’m ending this call—”

“You from juvie?” Aaron cut in. “That’s the only place he could’ve made friends. That or one of his foster homes. Not that he was in any of them long enough for that.”

“Listen—”

“The Spears, though. Are you one of them?”

Neil went cold all over. “What did you just say?”

“Stay away from my brother, asshole. You got it?”

“Wait—”

The line went dead before Neil could say anything else.

“Shit,” he said aloud, immediately trying to call back, only to get sent straight to voicemail.

The Spears.

He remembered now. After Kevin left for the Foxes, Riko had become obsessed with finding some way to get back at him. And what better way than digging into the goalkeeper Kevin cared about so much?

Spear. Andrew Spear.

That was the name Andrew had almost had. That was all Neil really knew: Andrew had almost been adopted by them before he ended up in juvie, before his cousin took custody of him. It had seemed like such useless information at the time that Neil had practically forgotten it. Who cared about the last name of people who had almost adopted someone else?

Which begged the question; what the hell was Riko doing?

Neil didn’t know much about the Spears. In fact, he knew almost nothing, except that one of them had met with Zane not that long ago.

He didn’t like where any of this was going.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Zane said, sitting down on his bed. “Don’t tell me I need to call Johnny again to cheer you up.”

“No,” Neil said.

“Whatever. I’m going out tonight.”

Right. The girlfriend Neil had, unfortunately, found out about. That had been an awkward thing to walk in on.

“Didn’t ask,” Neil muttered.

“Wow, Naty. You’ve got an attitude today.”

“I told you—”

“Not to call you that, yeah, yeah.” Zane waved him off. “Don’t worry. It’ll grow on you. Johnny loved my nickname in the end.”

No, he didn’t, Neil thought, but he didn’t say it. Instead, he crossed to his bed and sat down, staring at the phone in his hand, feeling as though the world was about to collapse around him.

He just hoped he survived it.

Chapter Text

“So you and Renee are going together, right?” Allison asked before practice.

Andrew shrugged. That was usually how it went. He could have asked who Allison planned on dragging along now that Seth had graduated, but he would have rather put a screwdriver through his eye than pretend to care.

Across the court, Kevin was checking his racquet.

Kevin, Kevin, Kevin. What a tedious problem.

“Listen up,” Wymack said as he stepped onto the court. “We may have won the first game of the season, but we need to make sure it stays that way.”

“Some of us put in more effort than others,” Jack said from the sidelines, standing with the two freshmen.

Aaron looked over. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“We all know we won because of Day,” Sheena said, looking straight at Kevin. “Some people actually show up to practice instead of getting drunk in some club in Columbia.”

Jack gave a short, ugly laugh. “Or bringing cops to campus.”

“That’s enough,” Matt said. “If we keep talking like this, we’re not going to win. We need to be a team.”

Andrew’s attention started drifting before Matt was halfway through it. “Touching,” Andrew said. “I almost cared.”

“Cut the bullshit, Andrew. I need you sharp,” Wymack said. “We’ve got another game next week. University of Texas. We’re flying there.”

Flying. His least favorite way to travel. Too high, too enclosed, too many people trusting metal to stay in the air. Humans weren’t meant for the sky. Icarus had already proved that.

“Sharp as a knife, Coach,” Andrew said, smiling wide enough to make it insulting. He gave Wymack a mock salute.

“Psycho,” Jack muttered.

Andrew didn’t bother looking at him.

Interesting. Jack had stopped caring what Kevin thought. Or maybe Kevin had stopped caring, now that Jack was the only one still hanging off his every word like a dog with a bone.

Wymack smacked his clipboard against his palm. “Warm up. Now.”

The court broke apart the usual way after that: his family on one side, everyone else on the other. Kevin moved first, because of course he did. Kevin always had to go first when Exy was involved, and being captain had only made the habit worse.

Jack followed him close behind.

There it was. The current problem. A Raven fan caught in the Foxes’ den. Andrew wasn’t sure yet whether he wanted to cut him loose or let him choke on the trap. Jack was worse than Seth had ever been, which took effort. At least Seth had only been stupid. He hadn’t worshipped the enemy.

Andrew felt eyes on him and turned his head enough to find Renee watching him. She held his stare for a second, then nodded to herself like she’d confirmed a suspicion and stepped into place beside him. “You’re brooding.”

That still surprised him sometimes, how easily she looked straight through the smile and found whatever sat behind it. He pointed at his mouth which was stretched to a smile. “Did you miss this?”

“Just because the drugs make you smile doesn’t mean you’re not brooding,” Renee said. “I know the difference.”

Andrew let his racquet hang from two fingers and considered lying to her for the fun of it, but Renee’s calm made that feel pointless. It wasn’t satisfying to lie to someone who saw the shape of the truth anyway. 

“Day has a problem,” he said.

Renee glanced toward Kevin, who was already correcting Jack’s footwork with the kind of intensity most people reserved for surgery. “Only one?”

“An immediate one.”

“Mm.” She watched them a moment longer. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Day doesn’t need a disciple,” Andrew said. “His ego is already tedious enough.”

Renee looked like she was about to answer, but Wymack noticed them by the sideline.

“Practice. Now.”

Andrew already hated the day.

Practice was a disaster.

Not unusually so, which somehow made it worse.

Sheena kept trying to ride everyone else’s success as if it belonged to her, needling at people alongside Jack whenever she had the chance. Nicky spent half a drill flirting with Noah until Andrew finally got tired of it and cut him off with a single look. Nicky, to his credit, knew better than to keep pushing.

Aaron was in a mood violent enough to be useful, which meant he scored twice and nearly started three separate fights. Probably something to do with his little cheerleader and the banquet.

Jack, at least, had learned one lesson. He didn’t aim for Andrew again. Instead, he picked what he must have thought was a ‘safer’ target and took every shot at Aaron like he was trying to prove a point no one had asked to hear. It was excessive even by Fox standards.

Andrew stood in the goal with his racquet braced against the floor, leaning on it while he watched the others wear themselves thin. The drugs made everything look blurred and too sharp at once, as if the edges of people had been outlined wrong. Looking at any of them for too long was annoying.

He was bored on top of it.

Exy was supposed to be slightly less boring than most things, but the Foxes had managed to become dysfunctional enough that Andrew was no longer sure they qualified as a team.

His gaze found Kevin again, moving across the court and barking orders.

Tick, tock.

Two and a half months. That was how long Kevin had left before he broke their deal. Andrew still did not know what he would do when it happened. He had known, when they made it, that Kevin’s chances of succeeding were close enough to zero to be insulting. But broken, unbearable Kevin had managed to do something Andrew usually considered impossible: convince him to almost believe.

Not faith, exactly. More like indulge the possibility.

A dare. A game. A way to see how far the great Kevin Day could go before he failed like everyone else.

Andrew did not let himself want it. Hope had never done him any favors, and the older he got, the more useful it seemed to expect the worst and make his own plans from there. Better to hold fate by the throat than stand still and wait for it to come for him.

Kevin had made a deal with him. A mutual agreement. More than that, Kevin was his. Family, for whatever that word was worth.

Which only made it worse that Kevin was still keeping something from him.

“I mean, Jack doesn’t even look good,” Nicky said in German on the way to the locker room. “I don’t get why Day likes him so much.”

Aaron looked even less interested in the conversation than usual. “Maybe because he actually plays instead of staring at the new freshman all game.”

He dragged a shirt over his head, damp from the shower and already irritated.

“Hey, monsters, I still know my name even when you speak German,” Jack said. “What do you two even talk about? How good I look when I score on all of you?”

Aaron sneered. “You wish.”

“Okay, why don’t we all calm down?” Matt said, already dressed and stepping in from the side like peace was still a thing he could negotiate.

Kevin was nearby, getting ready as well, one foot braced on the bench as he tightened his laces.

Andrew considered, briefly, all the places he could hide Jack’s body. There was always the construction site on campus. New concrete, fresh foundations, years before anyone would think to dig in the right place. Convenient. Efficient. Still, he was undecided on whether Jack was worth the effort.

“Relax, John,” Andrew said. “They were just saying how pretty you look when your face hits the wall.”

Jack bared his teeth. “I told you, I go by Jack, freak.”

Andrew’s smile widened.

Ever since he had learned Jack’s actual first name, he had made a point of using it whenever possible.

It worked beautifully.

“Just kill him already,” Aaron said to Andrew in German, holding his gaze. “It’s the one thing you’re actually good at, isn’t it?”

Beside him, Kevin went still.

Nicky seemed to pale at the same time. “Come on, Aaron,” he said in German. “That’s not funny.”

“Oh, Nicky.” Andrew’s voice turned mocking, in the same language. “Where’s your sense of fun? I don’t think the cops would mind coming back here again. And really, how tragic would it be? Who would care? Probably Sheena. Day might even be heartbroken.”

He looked in Kevin’s direction as he said it.

Of course Kevin had his eyes fixed on the floor, but his jaw had gone tight, like he was biting back whatever he wanted to say.

There was a knock at the door before Wymack stuck his head into the room. “Bus leaves for the airport Thursday at six. If anyone is late, I’m leaving them behind.”

“Could you leave Jack?” Aaron asked, pointing toward where Jack stood with Noah—the only one of the three recruits Andrew could stand. A few of the team nodded in support. Even Matt, the golden retriever of the group, looked in agreement.

“No,” Wymack said.

“Could you leave me?” Nicky asked.

“No.”

Andrew raised a hand and waved it high. “Coach, Coach. What about me?”

Wymack pointed at him. “Especially not you.”

“Favoritism,” Andrew said.

Wymack left before homicide became an administrative problem.

The others slung their bags over their shoulders and started toward the exit, Matt already talking to Noah about some movie they apparently both wanted to watch that night.

Kevin stepped in front of Andrew before he could leave.

“You need to stop taunting Jack. I know that you hate him—”

Andrew almost laughed. “I find him too unimpressive to hate, Day.”

“I need him.”

That was unfortunate for Kevin.

“Then that sounds like your problem,” Andrew said. “No more strays. You know that.”

“So you have to antagonize him?”

“Oops,” Andrew said. “This conversation is over. Get a handle on your little fledgling, Day, or he might end up in a hole one night walking home in the dark. It would be tragic.”

“Andrew.”

“Kevin,” Andrew said back. “You see? I know your first name too.” He adjusted his grip on his bag and tipped his head toward the door. “We’re going to Columbia this weekend. Just you and me. Now move.”

For once, Kevin Day did what he was told.

***

“What do people usually wear to the banquet?” Neil asked from the other end of the line. “I mean, I saw Kevin and Jean in suits, but Kevin always had a fancier one. And I’m not really into suits. You know?”

Andrew was on the roof, finishing a cigarette in the middle of the day. He had skipped practice mostly to annoy Kevin further. If Neil had noticed the change in schedule, he didn’t comment on it.

“What is the actual question, Rabbit?”

It had become a habit at some point, calling Neil that. Neil didn’t seem to mind anymore. “Ichirou said I can wear anything I want as long as it’s proper,” Neil said. “So I’m trying to figure out what that means.”

“Your closet wouldn’t do?”

Neil laughed softly. “We have to fill out a form if we want clothes. Or anything, really. I managed to get three shirts.” There was a note of pride in his voice that made Andrew’s stomach turn. “I think that’s the most shirts I’ve ever owned.”

Andrew tightened his grip on the phone.

He was between doses, and hearing something like that from someone who was his—

Wait. Since when had he started thinking of Neil as his?

“Did we get disconnected or something?” Neil asked. Andrew could hear the rustle of movement, probably him checking the screen. “Because you haven’t said anything in, like, two minutes.”

Andrew let the cigarette burn all the way down before flicking it off the edge of the roof. The silence had stretched further than he meant to let it. He lit another to steady himself.

“I was thinking,” he said.

“Oh no,” Neil said. “That’s never a good sign.” There was no heat in it. Then, more carefully, “Did I say something weird? Kevin gets all quiet when Jean and I say weird things.”

Andrew took another drag. “You said you were proud of owning three shirts. That’s sad, even for someone like me.”

“Oh.” Neil went quiet for a moment, then steered the conversation back with visible effort. “So. The banquet. You still didn’t answer.”

“You’re asking the wrong person,” Andrew said. “Ask Kevin. He’s the poster boy for your little cult.”

“It’s not a cult.”

“Sure.”

“You still didn’t answer.”

“Any black suit will do.”

“I just—there are a lot of options, you know? I don’t want to look stupid.”

Andrew could picture him in one without much effort. Neil looked like many things. Stupid was not one of them. “You won’t.”

Neil said nothing for a few seconds, and Andrew disliked how that made him aware of what he had just given away. Then Neil said, “You’re really quiet today.”

“I’m between meds.”

“Is it my turn or yours?”

Andrew exhaled smoke into the wind. “I don’t know why you bother asking. Your little junkie’s heart always gets what it wants.”

“What does that feel like?”

The rooftop wind tugged at Andrew’s shirt. Somewhere below, a whistle blew—practice, probably ending. He ignored it. 

“You’re getting bolder,” Andrew said. Then he tipped his head back and immediately regretted it when the motion sent a wave of nausea through him. “It’s annoying,” he added. “I feel more like myself between doses. The closest thing to sober I get. But it also makes me sick. Like I’m almost at the surface and everything is still muffled.”

“Oh,” Neil said. “Your turn, then. Or do you want to save it?”

Andrew already knew the question. “How did Kevin learn German?”

The pause on the other end told him he had landed a hit. “You want to waste your truth on Kevin?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Neil hesitated. “I spent three years in Germany, and two in France before—” He cut himself off. “Anyway. That’s how I learned German. I didn’t know any Japanese when I got to the Nest, and that caused problems. A lot of problems. The Master didn’t appreciate it.”

Andrew stayed quiet.

“So I convinced Kevin to teach me Japanese, and I’d teach him German,” Neil continued. “Then Jean got jealous about being left out, and then it just… became a thing.”

“But you speak French,” Andrew said. He wanted to see if the idea in his head was right.

“Yeah,” Neil said. “Because we didn’t exactly have the privacy to sit around and study together. Shocking, I know. There wasn’t a little study group in the Nest.” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Have you ever tried teaching someone German? It’s fucking hard. French was easier. We all already knew it. Or enough of it. We all speak Jean’s dialect by now, more or less.”

“Easier,” Andrew repeated.

There were too many questions hanging off that answer, and none of them would go anywhere useful today. The nausea was getting worse now, bile starting to crawl up the back of his throat along with the familiar need for a pill. It had taken him too long to admit that part, and admitting it had only made him hate the medication more.

“Gotta go, Rabbit,” he said. “I have things to do.”

He got to his feet, fully intending to end the call before Neil spoke again. “You’re still coming to the banquet, right?”

Andrew hated the way his pulse tripped. “Miss my face?”

“Kevin said it was important.”

“Kevin says a lot of things.”

“Yeah,” Neil said. “But he sounded… serious. More serious than usual.”

Andrew tipped his head back and looked up at the sky. When was the last time Neil had seen a sunset? Or a sunrise. Or just the sky for no reason at all.

His fingers paused on the cigarette pack. “You worry too much,” Andrew said.

“That’s rich coming from you.”

“I don’t worry.”

“You absolutely do.”

“No.”

“You skipped practice to piss Kevin off and then spent ten minutes humoring me about a suit you don’t care about,” Neil said. “That sounds a lot like worrying. In your own way.”

Clever bunny.

“Careful,” Andrew said flatly. “You’re getting bold again.”

Neil did not sound sorry when he answered. “You said that already.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t stop me.”

Andrew didn’t answer.

Below the roof, another whistle blew, followed by voices carrying up from the court. Practice really was ending. A shame. He had been enjoying the quiet.

Neil must have heard it too.

“Kevin’s going to come looking for you.”

“Let him.”

“Andrew.”

“What.”

Neil hesitated.

“Yo-you are coming to the banquet, right?” he asked again, softer this time, and more urgent.

Andrew looked out over the trees and buildings below. From up here, everything seemed smaller than it was. Manageable. Distant. “Yes,” he said after a moment.

“Good,” Neil said quietly.

Andrew hung up before he could do something stupid.

***

Andrew had always known he was a ticking bomb.

He knew what the medication did to him. How it dragged his thoughts out of order, dulled the edges, rearranged things until nothing sat where it belonged. How were you supposed to explain to someone what it felt like to be so high in the clouds you could barely make out the buildings below, let alone pick one and hold your focus on it before the drop came?

Columbia was where the clouds thinned. His safe place. His landing strip.

The others knew that well enough.

“I don’t understand,” Nicky said, looking genuinely lost. “You’re going without us?”

Aaron, beside him, was brooding hard enough to be annoying. “Why is it you and Kevin alone?”

“Not for you to know,” Andrew said.

He turned for the door. Aaron stepped in front of it. “Fuck you. You don’t get to do that.” Aaron’s teeth were clenched so tightly his voice came out sharp around them. “First Higgins, then you dragging Kevin to fucking Columbia, and we all know what that means. I told you not to bring anything back on us.”

Nicky took a cautious step toward them. “Aaron, I think maybe you’re being a little har—”

“Too harsh?” Aaron snapped. “He always does this, and it always gets back on us. Why do we have to say yes and jump every time he says so? Who made you the fucking leader?”

“Life,” Andrew said. “Now move before I hurt you.”

“Fuck. You.” Aaron said it like he meant it. Then his mouth twisted into something uglier than usual. “Who’s Neil?”

Andrew went very still. He looked Aaron in the eye. “You went through my phone. Brave. Or stupid. I haven’t decided which it is yet.”

Aaron still had some momentum, but less than before. “You think you’re the only one allowed to play dirty? I bet taking Kevin to Columbia has everything to do with Neil. We had a deal.”

“Do I need to get your little cheerleader here to remind you who broke it first? We talked about it already.” Andrew asked.

Aaron lost all color.

Andrew smiled. “Speaking of deals. Aaron, Aaron.” He tipped his head. “Do you see now why I’m in charge? You’re all too incompetent to manage it yourselves.”

“Andrew—” Nicky started.

One look shut him up.

Andrew stepped forward. Aaron held his stare, jaw locked, hands tight at his sides. This time, he moved.

Good.

Kevin was already waiting by the car when Andrew got outside. Apparently the panic had reached him too. “Why are we going alone?”

Andrew ignored him and slid into the passenger seat.

He had not taken his meds for this. By the time they reached Sweetie’s, he was already coming apart—shaking, nauseous, skin crawling with the need for something to steady him. Kevin ordered for both of them without asking. He knew the routine by now; he glanced at Andrew only once, probably debating whether offering him a bottle of pills would count as helpful or suicidal.

Andrew took his usual. Then the special — he ripped the packet open and dumped it straight into his mouth. Kevin ate some of his salad and watched him. At least he was smart enough not to comment.

“Do I have to wait until Eden’s to find out what I did wrong?” Kevin asked, jaw tight. 

Andrew took another bite of the ice cream, then tapped the spoon against the table. “What makes you think you did something wrong?”

“You never take someone to Columbia alone,” Kevin said. “And you don’t like changing routine.”

The meds still left enough of a smile on Andrew’s face. “Oh, Kev. You know me so well.” He set the spoon down. “Now shut up before I shove this through your throat. We’re leaving.”

He pointed at Kevin, which Kevin understood to mean pay and move.

Kevin’s hands were white on the steering wheel on the way over. His jaw was still locked. He was scared, which was sensible of him.

It was a short drive from the restaurant to the actual destination.

Eden’s Twilight looked the same as ever: two stories, too much light, too many people, and a line already forming outside. Weekend traffic.

At the sight of the car, security waved Kevin through to VIP parking. Andrew saluted the bouncer on the way in. Kevin nodded at them all like he was trying to pretend he belonged there.

It did not take long to get a table. It was easier when there were only two of them.

Roland was working that night.

“Back so soon?” he asked when he spotted Andrew. His eyes flicked past him, clearly looking for the rest of them, and then back. “Where’s the rest of your cavalry?”

“It’s just me and Day tonight,” Andrew said.

That only made Roland frown harder. “Right,” he said slowly. He looked at Kevin sitting in the back, then back to Andrew. “What can I get you?”

“The usual.”

“Sure,” Roland said, in a tone that suggested he had several questions and enough self-preservation not to ask them. He brought the drinks over. Andrew took the tray and carried it back to the table.

Kevin was staring at him by the time he set it down. “Do I get to know what I did wrong now?”

“Oh, Kevin,” Andrew said. “Why are you so determined to be guilty? Maybe I’m just worried about you.”

Kevin studied him, then reached for a shot and downed it like a dare, head tipped all the way back, clearly expecting it to be drugged. A minute passed. Then another. Nothing happened.

His frown deepened. “What do you—”

“Just drink, Day. If I wanted to dust you, I’d have done it with more imagination. Maybe in your water bottle before practice. Or one of those protein bars you keep pretending tastes good. Dust might actually improve them.”

Kevin narrowed his eyes. “Not funny.”

“Debatable.” Andrew pushed another shot toward him and took one himself. “Drink.”

Kevin hesitated, then took it. And another. By the third, the tension had started to ease out of him enough for him to default back to what Kevin always defaulted to.

Exy. “We’re wasting time here,” he said. “We need more practice before the next game—”

“Kevin.”

Kevin huffed. “You could have brought Nicky and Aaron. At least I’d have someone to dance with.”

“Bouncing your head around and swaying badly does not count as dancing, Day.”

Kevin ignored him and looked out at the crowd while he finished another round. When he was done, Andrew got up and crossed to the bar. 

Roland looked at him like he had been waiting. “Why is Kevin your new victim?”

“Focus on the drinks,” Andrew said.

Roland half smiled and went to refill the order. When he returned, he leaned on the counter. “Is it still a no to some fun tonight?”

Andrew looked at him once, then turned away and went back to Kevin whon was leaning into the booth now, a little loose around the edges, smiling faintly. That’s how Andrew wanted him to be. “You know,” Kevin said, words just beginning to slur, “it’s not so bad.”

“Don’t sound too excited,” Andrew said, taking another shot but keeping himself well short of drunk. “Those drinks were expensive, you know.”

“I mean being here.” Kevin looked around again. “I don’t usually like clubs. Or this kind of music. I like classics better.”

“Of course you do, Day.”

Andrew poured dust into the next shot in plain view.

Kevin only nodded and swallowed it.

Then Andrew said, “Neil called me.”

Kevin went absolutely still. “Okay,” he said.

“He said he didn’t know what to wear to the banquet.”

Kevin scoffed. “He should have asked me. I’m not letting him show up in something inappropriate.”

“He said Ichirou would let him wear whatever he wanted.” Kevin froze again, reached for another shot, and Andrew decided to keep pressing. It was Mind-Kevin's-Business-Night after all. “He also said you taught him Japanese.”

Kevin stopped halfway through the drink. “You know.”

“What exactly am I supposed to know, Day?” Andrew asked. Then, in German, “that you speak German?”

Kevin looked as though someone had hit him. “I was going to tell you—”

“Liar.”

Kevin flinched. 

Andrew’s voice stayed light. That usually made it land harder. “When were you going to tell me, exactly?”

Kevin looked sick. He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. “I don’t know.”

“Deception. Betrayal. After everything I’ve done for you.”

“I didn’t mean not to tell you,” Kevin said, barely above a whisper. “You just—when I got here, you looked at me like I was a threat. And all of you were speaking German around me, and I didn’t know who to trust or what to do. Then you made the deal, and I thought if you found out, you’d kill me. I thought… maybe it would do no harm if you never knew.”

“So you said nothing.” Andrew tilted his head. “You stood there and listened for two years. Lying to my face.”

“Let me stay,” Kevin whispered. “Pl—”

“Oh, Day. You know how much I hate that word,” Andrew said.

Kevin stopped.

Andrew let the silence sit long enough to hurt. “I said I’d help you. I will. Even with the lies. Our deal still stands. For now.”

“Andrew.” Kevin’s voice was smaller than usual now. “I’m going to hold up my end. Just—just give me a little more time.”

“Day,” Andrew said, “it’s not going to be Exy.”

Kevin’s jaw locked. He took another shot like he could drink past the sentence.

“What do I need to do,” he asked at last, “for you to forgive me?”

Andrew looked at him the way he looked at things already solved. “Forgive you?”

“Yes.”

“You lied,” Andrew said. Calm. Precise. “For two years. To my face. While listening to every word we said.”

“I told you why.”

“I heard you.” Andrew leaned back slightly. “Fear. Self-preservation. Cowardice. Very Kevin like.”

“Andrew—”

“That is the third time,” Andrew said, “that you have hidden something from me. Strike three.” He mimed a bat swing. “How am I supposed to protect you if you keep hiding from me, Kevin?”

“I’m sorry,” Kevin said quietly.

Andrew sighed. “Aaron thought he was very clever, talking around you. Nicky as well. They are going to look like a fool when they finds out. That would be entertaining.”

“Asshole,” Kevin muttered. Then, wary again, “so we’re good?”

“Oh, no.” Andrew smiled. “We are far from good. The next time you hide something from me, Riko won’t be the only thing you need to be afraid of. Understood?”

“Yes.”

Andrew looked at him for a moment longer, then got to his feet. “Come on.”

Kevin blinked. “What are—”

Andrew caught him by the sleeve and dragged him off the stool.

It took them a minute to get to the dance floor. Andrew avoided touching anyone else, which was difficult with that many bodies pressed together. From the corner of his eye, he saw Roland watching them with open curiosity as they moved deeper into the crowd.

“Dance,” Andrew said, folding his arms. “You have five minutes.”

Kevin stared at him.

“No, I’m not dancing,” Andrew added. “And if you ask, I’ll leave you here to figure out your own way home.”

That, at least, got a real smile out of Kevin.

It was early when Kevin’s phone rang.

Not his usual ringtone.

Andrew had never seen him move that fast. Kevin was out of his chair before the second note finished, breakfast abandoned on the desk—toasted bread, half a salad, untouched.

Bad sign.

Andrew knew it had gone wrong the moment he heard Japanese and saw Kevin’s face go still. From Kevin’s tone he knew he was not going to like whatever came next, which was inconvenient, because the morning had already started badly.

He did not need fluency to recognize Ichirou’s name.

The little lord had been too present in Kevin’s life lately. Andrew disliked it on principle, no matter what Kevin said about it, no matter what arrangement Neil had made to get them out of the Nest. Money was not the problem.

Ownership was. And Ichirou still had too much of it. Especially over Neil.

“They invited you out for sushi?” Andrew asked.

He had not taken his pills yet, so the usual chemical lightness was missing from his voice. What came out flatter. Sharper.

Kevin looked like he might be sick. “He wants to meet,” he said. “Me and Jean.”

That got Andrew’s full attention.

“Neil said he wanted to, but we didn’t think…” Kevin stopped, swallowed, and started again. “We need to get to California. Now.”

California.

Flying.

Andrew had nightmares that started exactly like that.

Missed you, AJ.

“He wants a little meet-and-greet?” Andrew said.

Kevin’s hands had gone tight at his sides. “They know something about Neil.”

Andrew looked at him.

“Help me,” Kevin said, quieter now. “I need you there.”

That, more than anything, decided it.

“Okay,” Andrew said.

There was no point dragging it out. “You’re going to call your crush first, or the French bird?”

Kevin gritted his teeth. “Neither.”

Interesting.Very interesting. 

“Jean will panic,” Kevin said. “I don’t have time for it.”

“I thought this was about Rabbit.”

Kevin looked at him too quickly.

There it was. He had not expected Andrew to connect the pieces that fast. Kevin was getting sloppy. “I’ll tell you when we get to California,” Kevin said.

His eyes said the rest anyway; temporary hold back. please. not now.

Andrew ignored the nausea curling low in his stomach. “I needed a tan anyway,” he said.

He guessed he was going back to where it had all started.

Back to the place he had once called home.

Chapter Text

Since the banquet, Jean had been relatively happy. More than he had ever expected to be, anyway. Which meant he should have known something bad was coming. Nothing good lasted. 

Not for him.

It was Saturday, and he had been having a decent evening with the girls and Jeremy, watching some stupid movie about wizards, when someone knocked on the door.

They all looked at each other.

“Are we expecting someone?” Jeremy asked, frowning as he got to his feet and disappeared out of sight toward the door.

Jean should have known then. Should have felt it. Anything that could go wrong usually did, and more often than not it circled back to him.

There was a short exchange of voices Jean could not quite make out. Then Jeremy said, “Uh, Jean? Someone’s here for you.”

Jean stood.

The moment he stepped into view of the doorway, he froze. Kevin and Andrew beside him, half in shadow, smoking and leaning against the door like he had all the time in the world.

“This is really an unexpected pleasure,” Jeremy said into the silence that followed, while Jean and Kevin only stared at each other.

“Mm,” Kevin said at last, looking away from Jean long enough to glance at Jeremy. “We tried calling. None of you answered.”

As if that explained anything.

Jean was already moving before he fully realized it, his gaze fixed on Kevin. He spared Andrew one quick look, then switched to French. “Why are you here?”

“German or English,” Andrew said in German, not moving from where he stood. “I know Rabbit taught you both.”

Jean shot Kevin a look. Kevin avoided it.

Of course.

“Someone want to tell me what’s going on?” Cat asked, coming up behind them from the living room. “You’re a long way from home.”

“We need to borrow Jean for a few hours,” Kevin said.

“Why?” Jean and Jeremy asked at the same time.

“Not here,” Kevin said in French. Andrew caught at the sleeve of Kevin’s shirt. “Not here,” he repeated in German.

Jeremy frowned. “Since when do the two of you speak another language other than French?”

“Hello? English, please,” Cat said, folding her arms.

Jean ignored her. “Is it about Neil?” he asked in German.

Cat gave him an exasperated look he did not spare the attention to care about.

“No,” Andrew said, also in German. He dropped the cigarette, ground it beneath his shoe, and straightened. “Your little cult needs your help.”

Jean went cold all over. It must have shown, because Jeremy stepped in front of him the next second. “Okay, that’s enough,” Jeremy said, looking directly at Kevin. “You are not taking him anywhere unless you explain what’s going on. I expect at least that much from a friend.”

Kevin looked as though he had been struck.

Before he could answer, Andrew said, “Their cult is calling. Family drama. Very boring. Coming, Frenchie?”

He turned as if it were already settled.

“Wait a minute—” Jeremy started.

“Hold on—” Laila said.

“This is bullshit—” Cat snapped.

Jean ignored all of them.

Family. That could mean too many things, and none of them were good. The main family. Neil. Kevin.

Any of them would be enough.

“I’ll be back,” Jean said. “Don’t wait for me for dinner.”

He managed two steps before Jeremy caught his sleeve. “Jean.” His voice dropped low, nearly a whisper. He was reading Jean’s face, Jean realized, trying to decide whether Kevin was dangerous or whether he had judged him wrong all this time.

“Kevin is family,” Jean said quietly. “We do not always agree, but I trust him. I trust him with my life.”

Jeremy held his gaze for a moment longer. “Be careful.”

“I will.”

Jean turned away before Jeremy could say anything else and headed for what was clearly a rental car. Not a bad one, from what little he could tell. Probably Doe’s choice. Not that Jean knew anything about cars.

Andrew was lighting another cigarette by the time they got in. He took the front seat. Kevin was already in the driver’s seat, which left Jean no choice but the back, like a child being carted somewhere he had not agreed to go.

“What is this about?” Jean asked instinctively in French.

“English,” Andrew said. He seemed more animated by the second; Jean guessed the pills were kicking in.

“We’re going to see Lord Moriyama and Stuart Hartford,” Kevin said in English, watching Jean through the rearview mirror.

Jean frowned harder as his heart began to pound. “Why? Why are we seeing them?”

The deal is off, was his first thought.

Then, they’re taking us back.

Then, Neil is hurt.

“Stuart is there as middle ground,” Kevin said. “Neil is the one who convinced them they needed one when he found out Ichirou had arranged the meeting. He just didn’t think the Lord himself would come.”

“What is the meeting about, Kevin?” Jean asked.

His hands had started shaking.

Whatever it was, it would not be good.

Endure, endure, endure.

You are a Moreau. You knew this was coming.

Obey, obey, obey.

Kevin took too long to answer. He kept his eyes off Jean in the mirror. “You’ll see when we get there.”

Andrew laughed. The sound was sudden and ugly. “That’s the Day I know!” he said. “I was almost starting to think you’d grown a spine.”

Jean looked sharply at him. “Why are you here?” he asked, more angry than he had expected to be.

It was too much at once. Everything seemed to be coming down around him, and somehow Andrew Minyard had ended up standing in the middle of it.

Andrew smiled, full and false, cigarette caught between his teeth. “I’m Kevin’s partner,” he said. “That’s how your cult works, right? Don’t worry, Frenchie. I’m staying in the car while the two of you talk to your little leader. Kevin doesn’t want me there.”

Jean turned back to Kevin and switched to French. “It would not protect him from them. You put him at risk the moment you told your Foxes about the Nest. You cannot take that back.”

He barely had time to register movement.

A hand caught the front of his shirt and yanked him forward hard enough to wrench him halfway over the seat.

Jean found himself face-to-face with Andrew. He hated that smile.

“That’s strike three,” Andrew said. Looking at him now, Jean could see he was tenser than usual. His shoulders were set too high, and his smile had an edge Jean did not think he had seen before. “I told you to speak English, Jean. Even a broken little birdie like you should know how to follow orders. Next time I pull out knives. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Jean said. “You think you’re invincible, but you are in over your head. This is not an Exy match. The closer you get to the fire, the more likely it is you burn.”

Andrew’s grip tightened once before he laughed. “Oh, very poetic.” He turned his head toward Kevin without letting go of Jean’s shirt. “You didn’t tell me Frenchie was a poet.”

“Get ahold of your guard dog,” Jean said to Kevin in French.

Andrew gave his collar another sharp yank. “Strike four!”

“Jean,” Kevin said.

Jean sneered at him, then looked back at Andrew. “You got yourself involved in something you do not understand.”

“Your concern is touching,” Andrew said. “I’m almost moved. But I know exactly what I got myself into. I would not come to California under any other circumstance.”

“Do not blame me when they break you.”

“Don’t worry, Frenchie. Plenty of people have tried. It never really took.”

“I’m sure,” Jean said.

Andrew finally let him go.

They had just pulled up in front of what looked like an obscenely expensive hotel.

“I have a suit for you in the back,” Kevin said. “We’ll both change at the entrance. We still have time before the meeting.”

Jean’s hand went automatically to his neck. His nails broke the skin there before he caught himself. Then he got out of the car and followed Kevin, who was already carrying both garment bags.

“Don’t do anything I would do,” Andrew called after them.

Jean ignored him. “I’m surprised he let you go in alone,” Jean said as they headed inside.

The entrance was grand in the way only old money ever managed: wide arches, carved stone, polished surfaces, everything arranged to suggest power without ever needing to name it. Flags stood outside on tall poles. The windows on either side of the doorway looked more suited to a private estate than a hotel. It was elegant, formal, and expensive enough to be insulting.

“Andrew is not stupid,” Kevin said. “He knows him being in that meeting would put us at risk.”

He led Jean to the desk, gave a room number that had to belong to the Lord, and after a brief exchange the guard let them pass into the private hall.

“They are watching us,” Kevin murmured as they walked. “Behave.”

Jean gritted his teeth. Being ordered like that was so very Kevin. 

He tried not to linger on it as they stepped into the bathroom to change. The suit fit perfectly. Of course it did.

The stage had already been set, and they were expected to walk on cue.

Jean’s breathing shortened. Quickened.

Endure, endure, endure.

You are Jean Moreau.

You will never be free.

Endure.

A minute later Kevin stepped out of his stall as well. The dark suit only made his green eyes look brighter, sharper. Somehow even his hair had been tamed.

“I need a drink,” Kevin muttered, leaning against the counter.

Jean frowned at him. “You are supposed to be better than this. They made you better than this.”

Kevin laughed at that, low and bitter, eyes dropping to the floor. “We are what they made us, Jean. No more or less.” he said in French. Then he looked up. “We should go.”

“Okay,” Jean said, because there was nothing else to say.

We are what they made us.

And that word again.

More.

A guard was waiting for them by the elevators. He pressed the button without speaking and rode up with them in silence. 

They reached the suite too quickly for Jean’s liking. “The Lord will meet you here,” the guard said in Japanese. “Behave.”

Both of them nodded. Neither was stupid enough to answer.

They stepped into the suite alone. The door shut behind them.

The room was enormous, more apartment than hotel room, but Jean barely spared it a glance. The danger in the air made every hair on his body rise.

Ichirou and Stuart sat at the table.

Neither looked especially pleased to see them.

Jean and Kevin bowed at once, instinct and training overriding everything else.

“Jean-Yves. Kevin. Sit,” Ichirou said, gesturing toward the chairs opposite him. Stuart sat to one side, arms crossed. “Thank you for coming. I know it was short notice.”

“Of course, my lord,” Kevin said as they sat. “Hello, Mr. Hartford.”

Stuart gave them a curt nod and leaned back in his chair, studying them.

Jean was struck, not for the first time, by how little he resembled Neil. There was none of Neil’s warmth in him, none of that impossible softness. If anything, Stuart looked at them both with something closer to resentment.

“Hello, Kevin Day,” Stuart said. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

There was tea waiting on the table, cups already set before them. The Lord offered the pot without a word, and both Jean and Kevin dipped their heads as he poured.

“Well,” Stuart said, “shall we get to it? Word is someone at the FBI took notice of Nathaniel’s little interview,” Stuart said. “Unfortunately, my nephew looks too much like Nathan, and keeping the same last name did not help.” His eyes flicked sharply toward Ichirou before returning to them. “We are handling the situation. We always knew someone we had not bought would eventually connect Nathaniel to the Butcher of Baltimore.”

“Is Nathaniel in trouble?” Jean asked before he could stop himself.

There was the faintest trace of pity in Stuart’s eyes, but it was Ichirou who answered, watching Jean with mild curiosity. “Your concern for Nathaniel is admirable,” he said. “In some circumstances.”

“He is my partner, my lord,” Jean said.

“Was is the more accurate term, as far as I am aware. Unless you intend to return to Edgar Allan. I would not object. I am sure my brother would be delighted.”

“Jean is more valuable with the Trojans, my lord,” Kevin said quickly.

“Let us hope that is true. His first game this week should tell us enough,” Ichirou said. Then he looked back at Jean. “But to answer your question: no, Moreau. Nathaniel is not in danger. If I were you, I would be more concerned for yourself.”

It took a moment for the meaning to settle.

Then it landed all at once.

“You are burning my family,” Jean said.

His stomach turned over. His hands started to shake. Bile rose sharp and hot into his throat. For one terrible second he thought he might fall apart completely, right there in front of them, because breathing was suddenly too hard and being alive felt like too much work—

Pain bloomed across his right thigh. It took Jean a second to realize Kevin had driven his nails into him under the table. Not enough to tear the suit. Enough to anchor him.

A silent command to stay present.

It was the closest either of them could get to comfort in a room like this.

“Yes,” Stuart said. “Are you going to be a problem, Jean-Yves?”

I am Jean Moreau.

I belong to the Moriyamas.

I will always belong to the Moriyamas.

I am what they made me.

“I am a Moreau,” Jean said. “I know my place. I will play my role.”

Jean saw the corner of Ichirou’s mouth lift in satisfaction. “Excellent.”

Stuart began, “Now, what we need to do—”

“May I ask a question?” Jean cut in.

“Jean,” Kevin hissed under his breath.

Jean did not wait for permission. “What about my sister?”

Stuart blinked. “What?”

“What does this plan mean for her?”

The silence that followed made Jean’s stomach twist harder. Then Ichirou put him out of his misery. “Oh, Jean,” he said, studying him. “I thought you knew.”

His voice held no apology at all.

“Knew what?” Jean asked.

Kevin’s nails bit harder into his leg.

“Nathaniel knew for a couple of years,” Ichirou said. “He insisted on knowing. I assumed he told you.” He paused just long enough to make it cruel. “She is dead, Jean-Yves. She was sold two years after you were. A man in Algiers.”

“No.”

The word came out before thought.

Kevin’s grip sharpened again under the table, desperate now, as if pain might keep Jean from splintering. Jean let his own hands fall to his sides and dug his nails into his palms hard enough to hurt.

Neil knew. The thought turned sick inside him.

Neil had known, and he had said nothing.

Known, and let Jean believe all those years that one day he would see her again.

Small hands. A house by the sea.

All of it gone.

All of it a lie.

“I will ask again,” Stuart said, sharper this time. “Are you going to be a problem?”

Because that was all they cared about.

When Jean did not answer immediately, Kevin whispered, “Jean—”

“No,” Jean said.

Then he lifted his eyes and looked straight at the two men across from him. “As long as you do not have a problem with me burning his house down. No.”

“I am glad to hear it, Jean,” Ichirou said.

Then he turned to Kevin. “And I can trust that you will not be a problem either, Kevin Day?”

“Of course, my lord,” Kevin said.

Jean could feel Kevin’s hands trembling under the table, clenched too tight to be steady. He could not tell whether it was fear or anger. Maybe both.

After that, they started discussing details.

Jean heard almost none of it. Something about a trial, about Nathaniel being taken by his mother after she sensed danger from men she refused to name.

About old loyalties, old debts, old arrangements.

About Ichirou and Kengo, with their supposed fondness for abandoned children, agreeing to take him in. About Stuart signing papers as guardian. About keeping everything clean. Legal. Presentable.

They said the years of running and hiding would be laid at the Moreaus’ feet.

European connections gone wrong.

Old money. Old brutality. Convenient ghosts.

Jean did not care.

He tried instead to remember Elodie.

The sound of her voice. The feel of her hands when they had still known gentleness, before everything had become survival and silence.

He went looking for warmth and found only memory-washed fragments.

Thin things. Fading things.

Jean had never felt less real.

Kevin did most of the talking after that. He answered for both of them in polished words and a perfect smile Jean knew was false. Jean could feel the tremor in him all the same, the panic Kevin had shoved down under manners and posture and performance.

That was Kevin’s way.

Build a wall. Step outside yourself. Hope no one notices the cracks.

Fake, fake, fake.

Ichirou watched him the entire time. Waiting, Jean thought, for him to crack.

Endure, endure, endure.

By the time it was finally over—by the time they were dismissed with bows and permission to leave—Jean felt sick enough to come apart. His thoughts were spinning too fast, wild and violent as a thunderstorm.

He did not remember following Kevin back to the car, but he must have, because the next thing he heard was Andrew’s mocking voice. “They broke Frenchie, I see. Was it worth dragging him here without telling him what it was about?”

“Andrew, I—”

“Pull over,” Jean said.

They were already on the highway, not far from the hotel.

Kevin looked at him in the mirror, then tried to angle the car over while horns blared around them. 

Jean was out before the car had fully stopped. He barely made it three steps before he threw up everything he had managed to eat.

He knew. Neil knew. Neil knew.

“Jean…” Kevin started behind him.

Jean had moved farther from the car without noticing. “Don’t,” he said sharply in French. He dragged in a breath that did nothing to steady him. “Did you know? Did you know about Elodie?”

Kevin held his gaze for a second. Then he looked down. “No, Jean,” he said. Then he lifted his head again and met Jean’s eyes directly. “I didn’t know.”

Jean knew Kevin Day. He knew his tells. Knew the shape of his lies.

He found none of them.

His mouth twisted into a sneer. “So I only have one brother who is a pathological liar.”

“Jean—”

“No, Kevin.” Jean’s voice sharpened. “He lied to me. To my face. We lay together in bed next to each other on our worst nights and he let me dream about getting her out. About all of us leaving the Nest together. About being a family after.” His stomach turned again. “All that time, he knew she was dead. Somewhere in a ditch.”

Kevin’s face tightened. “You know why he did it.”

It did not matter. None of it mattered. Because until now, Jean had thought there were three people in the world he truly loved.

One across the sea, waiting for him in Marseille.

One standing in front of him now, green-eyed and rigid with helplessness.

And one who had lied to him for years.

Jean had thought they were better than this. “I don’t care,” he said.

Kevin tried to say something else, but Jean was no longer listening. He was too lost in every memory he had of Elodie—every hope, every plan, every late-night promise.

Why had no one loved her enough? Why had he not been there?

Jean got back into the car and shut down piece by piece. Why had David taken Kevin in? He had not needed to. He had not even known then that Kevin was his son.

Nothing about any of it made sense.

His parents had sent him to monsters and his sister to her death. Like damaged things. Like objects to be traded away and forgotten.

For what? It had all ended in ruin anyway.

Maybe none of it had ever mattered.

“Jean.”

Kevin must have said his name more than once. By the time Jean looked at him, Kevin’s voice was edged with frustration.

They were parked in front of the house Jean had slowly started to think of as home.

The place that, for the first time in his life, had begun to feel warm.

Safe.

Jean was out of the car before either of them could stop him. He went straight for the door.

Laila opened it, but he did not stay to hear whatever greeting she started with. He passed Jeremy, passed Cat, passed the living room and the kitchen, and went straight to the only place that still felt remotely survivable.

His room.

Jean locked the door before Kevin—or anyone else—could follow.

He did not remember pulling out his phone. Did not remember dialing. Only the blood pounding in his head, the thoughts clawing at each other, the rage and helplessness mixing into something so old it felt almost familiar.

“Jean?” Neil said in French when he answered.

It was the voice that had always steadied him. The voice that had always pulled him back when things went dark.

Now it felt like mockery.

“How did it go? Are you okay? Did—”

“Elodie,” Jean said. He was surprised by how steady his own voice sounded.

Neil went silent. Then, carefully, “Jean, that’s not how I wanted you to find out—”

Jean closed his eyes. Bile burned at the back of his throat. Ichirou would never lie about something like this. There would have been no point. He knew that. 

But hearing Neil admit it made something inside Jean twist harder.

“How long?” Jean asked. The anger was unmistakable now. There were voices downstairs, muffled through the floor, but he ignored them. All of him was fixed on the silence at the other end of the line. “How long did you know?”

“Since my second year in the Nest.”

Jean laughed. The sound that came out of him was bitter and broken and nothing like amusement. “So almost the whole time.” He pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes. “You let me dream about her for all those years.”

“Jean—you have to understand. I thought I was going to lose you in there.” Neil was talking too fast now, words tripping over each other. “You kept talking about her, and I thought—if Ichirou could be involved, maybe he could get her out. For us. For all of us. Then he told me she was dead, and what was I supposed to do? Destroy what little hope you had left? Jean, listen to me, I’m sorry—”

“You needed me more than I ever needed you,” Jean said. The line went silent for half a second. “That’s what you were afraid of all along. Being alone.”

“Jean—”

“She was all I had.” Jean’s grip tightened around the phone. “You gave her back to me, and then you took her away.”

“I’m sorry. Jean, I’m sorry. I didn’t—I just—please. I won’t do this again. I’m sorry.”

Jean laughed harder. It hurt. “Of course you won’t,” he said. “I only had one sister. There’s no one left to use like that.”

“Jean—”

“I don’t think we should talk anymore.” The words came easier than they should have. “Not for a while. Not until I can trust you again.”

“Hey—no, please, don’t.” Neil was breathing too hard now. “I need you. I need you so much. I’m sorry, I’m sorr—”

Jean ended the call.

Then he turned the phone off completely and threw it onto the bed.

His hand went to his throat. He pressed hard enough there to break skin, to bring blood to the surface.

It did not matter.

It was stupid to think he could ever be anything more.

Chapter Text

He found Kevin with the vodka already in his hand. “That’s getting depressing, Day. Even for you.”

Kevin met his eyes and took another pull. At least he wasn’t stupid enough to drink in the dorms, or worse, right after a game. The little ones would not know what to do with this version of Kevin.

Especially John. On second thought, maybe Andrew should bring him over sometime. Educational.

“Goddammit, Kevin!” Coach shouted from behind him. They’d only been back on campus a couple of minutes, and finding Kevin halfway through a bottle on his doorstep was enough to make anyone furious. “Where did he get the alcohol, Minyard?”

Andrew lifted his hands in mock innocence, smiling wide. For once, it wasn’t his fault. Not that anyone would believe him. “Don’t look at me, Coach. I found him here a minute before you did.”

Wymack stalked forward and ripped the bottle from Kevin’s hand. Kevin protested without words, only a glare. “I’m getting Abby. Make sure he doesn’t choke on his own vomit,” Wymack said. Then he fixed Kevin with another look. “And you. What would the others think if they saw you like this? How many times do I have to tell you they look up to you?”

Kevin looked back at him with glassy eyes and said nothing. Wymack cursed and walked off, leaving Andrew alone with him.

“Which one is it?”

Kevin dragged his gaze back to Andrew. He still hadn’t said a word, but that wasn’t surprising considering how much he’d had. There was the ghost of a smile on his mouth, but his eyes told the truth. “Mm?”

“Which birdie drove you to drink? Seeing Neil tomorrow, or your precious King?”

Kevin shivered. “Both,” he said quietly. “Jean… angry… they are both… I don’t know what—”

Ha, yes. Jean Valjean, who’d refused to speak to them for the rest of their visit. Kevin wouldn’t tell Andrew what had happened in that meeting, and Andrew had let him keep it after Kevin swore it had nothing to do with him directly.

“Day,” Andrew said, “you let me do the talking tomorrow.”

Kevin shook his head. “I—King will try to convince me to go back.”

“You mean like he has since you got out of the Nest?”

“I—” Kevin swallowed. “Neil is going to be there.”

“Yes.”

It took Kevin a while to get the rest out.  “If he asks me to go back… don’t know if I can say no. Maybe it would be for the best. Maybe if I beg… they’ll take me back…”

“Stop it.” Andrew stepped closer. “We made a deal, remember? I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“Maybe you should call the deal off.”

“Hey.” Andrew said. “Look at me.”

Kevin did, then pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them so tightly his knuckles blanched.

“You’re a pain in my ass, and stupid, and I hate you. But you’re mine. It’ll be fine. You believe me, even this drunk. Don’t you?”

Kevin hesitated, then nodded once. “I believe you.”

“Liar,” Andrew said, just as Abby and Wymack came back.

Abby took one look at Kevin and said, “I want to keep him here tonight. Make sure he’ll be okay by morning.”

Wymack turned to Andrew. “Are you staying here or going back to the dorms?”

“You’ve got Kevin covered,” Andrew said. He gave Kevin one last look and turned for the door.

He hadn’t managed to talk to Neil the last few days. Between the games and the banquet, their daily calls had turned into weekly calls, and then last week the Rabbit had disappeared completely.

Not before sending a warning, of course.

Neil (Rabbit) 03:50 p.m.
Riko’s planning something

Neil (Rabbit) 03:50 p.m.
I don’t know what it is yet, but it has something to do with your old foster family

Neil (Rabbit) 03:54 p.m.
The Spears. Just wanted to make sure you knew

Neil (Rabbit) 03:58 p.m.
I won’t be able to talk until the banquet

Neil (Rabbit) 04:50 p.m.
I’ll see you there

The name still hunted him. Spears.

Whatever Riko was planning, Andrew didn’t know. The Spears were supposed to be over; a nightmare buried in California with everything else.

He didn’t like where this was going. Didn’t like the way his worlds were starting to overlap.

This was going to end badly.

That was all Andrew could think as he went to bed, or pretended to, hoping for once that he was wrong.

–

The banquet was at USC Columbia this year, maybe the closest team in the league to them geographically.

It was still a nightmare.

Being stuck on a bus with the rest of the Foxes, even for a short drive, would have been annoying on a good day. Kevin was in the back barely holding himself together, Aaron was still throwing death stares whenever Andrew came within range, and Nicky had been talking for so long Andrew was starting to consider violence as a practical solution. He talked to Andrew without taking a breath. Last year he’d brought someone from improv as a date. This year he seemed content to come alone.

His twin, meanwhile, still hadn’t found the nerve to ask his little cheerleader to come, even knowing Andrew knew about them.  Shame. Andrew had been waiting for a chance to deal with that  that particular tumor once and for all.

Maybe it was for the best. Between the sleepless night, what Neil had said, the meds, and the thought of seeing Riko again, Andrew had enough on his plate already.

Kevin lasted longer than Andrew expected. He only started taking sharp, uneven breaths when they passed a sign announcing they were ten minutes from Columbia. He knew what was waiting for him there. Riko wasn’t even the worst of it; there was the Master, the Ravens who still thought Kevin belonged to them.

There was Neil.

“I can’t do it,” Kevin whispered from behind him.

Andrew turned in his seat. “Day. Deep breaths, or you’ll tear something.”

“I can’t.” Kevin was folding in on himself now, shrinking against the seat.  Andrew glanced at Nicky, who was deep in conversation with Matt, then got up and slid into the seat beside Kevin.

“Look at me. Remember what we talked about last night?” Andrew pinned him in place with a stare, the ghost of the manic smile on his face. “I’m not leaving you, and you are not going anywhere. I don’t like others touching my things. So stop.”

It didn’t help much, but there weren’t any better options. Not that Andrew was especially fit for the job, drugged out of his mind and headed straight into a room full of people he’d rather kill than greet. His eyes met Aaron’s across the aisle. Andrew smiled wide. Aaron looked away.

Great.

Columbia came up too fast. The stadium appeared first, then the faculty house where the banquet was being held. Edgar Allan was already there when Wymack had the driver park as far from the black buses as possible.

“Listen up,” Wymack said before anyone could stand. “USC is hosting. We beat their ass last year, and we all know they’d love an excuse to get us suspended, or worse. You”—he pointed at Andrew—“are making sure he doesn’t get anywhere near his former team. Understand?”

Andrew saluted. “Sir, yes sir.”

Wymack made a face, then turned to the freshmen. “You follow Matt’s lead. If he says jump, you ask how high. You understand?” 

They nodded. Jack opened his mouth, but Wymack cut him off before he could start. “No questions, and no to whatever likings you’ve got with Edgar Allan. You’re a Fox. Act like one, or you won’t be here. Understand?”

Jack frowned but nodded.

“Good. Off the bus.”

Everyone filed out fast until only Andrew, Kevin, and Wymack were left. Like last year, Wymack handed Kevin a bottle of vodka. “Five seconds. I’m timing you.”

Kevin frowned. “Last year I had ten.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you drank yourself stupid yesterday. Five now or nothing.”

Kevin took the bottle and drank fast enough to make Andrew blink. Then he handed it back. “Want to be sober for this,” he said. After a beat, “mostly sober.”

They grabbed their things from the bus, stashed them in a room assigned to them, and let Wymack lock it behind them. 

Fourteen teams meant the place was packed, almost as bad as Eden’s on a busy night. At least this banquet wasn’t held in a court. Andrew suffered through stickball often enough, he didn’t need it in formal events too.

As soon as they entered, their arrival was announced. Kevin lost another shade. And just like last year, the organizers had seated the Foxes right beside the cult.

All twenty-two Ravens were dressed in black and sitting so still they might have been dead in their place. Riko was on the far left, nearest the head of the table.

“No,” Wymack muttered. “Not again.” He looked at the layout once, swore under his breath, and said, “Give me five minutes. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Then he disappeared into the crowd.

Neil stood out immediately. He was a flare in all that black—red hair too bright under the low lighting, pale blue eyes sharp enough to catch from across the room. The number four painted on his cheek stood out even more in the dimness.

Their eyes met for one brief second, as Andrew felt the shiver run down his spine before he could stop it.

The Raven beside Neil moved and touched Neil the instant it happened. Neil looked away at once and put on a bored expression like a mask. He looked bad. Andrew could not have said exactly why at first glance, only that Neil looked like he had not slept in days and was standing upright out of spite alone.

Kevin was captain this year, which meant he was supposed to stand in front of Riko and offer his hand. That was not happening. Not under Andrew’s watch. 

For once, some of the Foxes had a functioning brain cell. Matt moved first and stepped in front of Kevin, blocking him neatly from view. “Riko,” Matt said. “Been a while.”

“Boyd,” Riko said, bored. “You’re interrupting a family reunion.”

He ignored Matt’s hand and looked past him at Kevin. “Sit here if you know what’s good for you.”

“Careful, Riko. You’re getting close to making me do something interesting. Like stabbing.”

“Hey,” Matt said quickly, “why don’t we all just sit down?”

The freshmen were looking from the Ravens to the Foxes like they had wandered into a hostage situation, but for once Jack managed to keep his mouth shut long enough to move toward the far side of the table without arguing.

Andrew sat directly across from Riko. Kevin ended up across from Neil.

The Ravens looked ready for war.

“Kevin, Kevin,” Riko said. “Why do you have to make everything difficult?” He lifted a knife and pointed it lazily toward Neil, elbow on the table, blade too close to Neil’s eye for Andrew’s liking. “Nathaniel missed you. Don’t you miss your pet?”

Kevin looked visibly sick. Andrew smiled at Riko, all teeth. “You have a pet I don’t know about, Kevin? Funny. I don’t see one. Just a spoiled child who never learned to hear no.”

“Don’t speak to the King that way, Doe,” Neil said from beside Riko. He gave Andrew a look that might have passed for insolence if his eyes had not betrayed him completely. I’m sorry. I don’t mean it.

“Nathaniel, right?” Renee said from somewhere to Andrew’s left. “We haven’t formally met.”

Neil barely acknowledged her.

“Don’t be polite to psychos,” Aaron said beside Kevin. “Fucking cult.”

“Not a cult,” one of the Ravens said automatically. “We’re simply bred to be the best.”

“Okay,” Nicky said quickly, sending a desperate look Andrew’s way, “why don’t we all calm down—”

“Control your team, Kevin,” Riko said, saying the word team like it was an insult. “I certainly control mine.” 

He draped a hand over Neil’s shoulder like he owned him. Neil’s face went flat in that dangerous way that meant he was one bad second from doing something irreversible. Beside him, the one who had to be Zane was watching all of them with open hostility.

“Nate,” Kevin said.

“Hi, Kevin,” Neil answered. 

Andrew knew immediately that there was too much warmth in it for Riko to let it slide. His grip on Neil’s shoulder tightened hard enough to hurt. 

Riko spared Andrew one quick look, then said something to Kevin in Japanese, gesturing toward Neil as he did.

Of course the Rabbit couldn’t leave it there.

Neil answered in Japanese too. Slower, rougher, not as fluent as Kevin or Riko, but angry enough to make up for it. He stopped once or twice to search for words, then kept going anyway.

Whatever he said made Kevin panic immediately. “Neil!”

Zane looked ready to hit him. Riko looked ready to do worse.

“Neil?” Aaron asked, staring at Nathaniel. “That’s who you’ve been talking to?”

Andrew really hoped Riko was too distracted to notice that. “It’s rude to speak another language when others are present,” Andrew said. “Didn’t anyone teach you that, Riko?”

Riko ignored him. His attention shifted instead to Aaron, then to Zane at Neil’s side. “Take Four somewhere I won’t have to look at him,” Riko said. “I’ll deal with him later.”

“Yes, King,” Zane said and caught Neil by the arm before Neil could decide whether resistance was worth it. Neil clearly wanted to fight him, but Zane was bigger, and in the end he let himself be steered away.

Kevin’s gaze followed Neil the entire way. 

Riko opened his mouth to say something else, but Wymack arrived first. “Up,” he snapped at the Foxes. “We’re moving. Other side. Now.”

No one needed to be told twice. Even Jack moved without arguing, though he made sure to shoot Andrew a look that blamed him for all of it. Naturally.

Aaron tried to say something to Andrew, but Andrew made a point of sitting as far from him as possible this time.

The rest of the meal passed in relative quiet. Relative being the important word. Both Andrew and Kevin kept glancing toward the Ravens’ table. Zane came back eventually.

Neil did not.

Andrew expected him to be returned to his seat before the meal ended, but he was wrong. By the time the music started and Neil was still nowhere in sight, worry had started to settle in for both Kevin and Andrew. 

When Riko stood and disappeared in the same direction Neil had been taken, Kevin stopped pretending not to panic. “He should be back by now,” Kevin said under his breath.

Wymack had slipped him another glass of vodka between courses. Kevin was far from drunk, but the alcohol had at least taken some of the edge off his breathing.

“Listen up,” Wymack said to the team. “You’re staying together tonight. Since none of you seem capable of not causing problems, we’re going to have some lovely bonding time as a group.”

“That’s not fair,” Sheena snapped for the first time all night. “Why are we getting punished because the monsters can’t behave?”

“You don’t know anything,” Aaron shot back.

“I know enough to say this is all your freak twin’s fault,” Jack said.

Andrew smiled and pointed to his own face. “Who, me, John?”

“Enough,” David said. He pointed at Andrew. “You make sure he gets through tonight without marching back to the Nest. Got it?” He didn’t wait for a response. “And you—one more fight with Andrew and I tear up your contract. You understand?”

“But—” Jack started.

“Understand?” Wymack repeated.

Jack looked murderous, giving a quick knowing glance to Sheena, but nodded. Jaine and Noah kept their heads down. Smart.

“Fuck this,” Allison said. “I need a drink. Coming?”

Most of them followed. Andrew had barely moved when Aaron stepped in front of him. “Neil.” Andrew shifted to go around him. Aaron moved with him and blocked the path. “Neil,” Aaron repeated. “Why are you talking to him?”

Andrew was too tired for this. “Because he’s not stupid enough to shout my secrets across a banquet hall.” Andrew said. “Can you say the same?”

“Fuck you. A Raven. A fucking Raven. What, are you going to rescue him too? Piss off the yakuza even more?”

“Go bother Nicky, Aaron. I’m in stabbing mood tonight.”

“You know what? Fine.” Aaron took a step back. “I don’t care anymore. You can die in a ditch for all I care. Keep rescue them. I can’t wait until it finally catches up to you so I can say I told you so. Don’t come crying when they break you.”

Then he stalked off, leaving Andrew with Kevin a few feet away. Close enough to have heard everything. “Andrew—”

“He said what he felt,” Andrew said with a smile. “Very healthy. Come on. Let’s go mingle. You like that sort of thing.”

“Coach said to stay together.”

Andrew looked at Kevin, then at the team. “Who’s up for mingling, hmm?”

The next hour crawled by. Kevin made small talk with people Andrew didn’t care about, while the rest of the team hovered nearby. A few of them tried to pull Andrew into conversations too, but one look at his face was enough to kill that idea.

Riko returned at some point. That did not help.

“Jeremy stopped talking to me,” Kevin said after getting another drink. “He thinks I’m why Jean is like this. Especially after the visit.”

“Knox is still learning the world isn’t made of sunshine and motivational posters,” Andrew said.

He caught Zane looking at him from across the room at almost the same moment he noticed Riko slipping away again. A moment later, a fight broke out between the Ravens and another team Andrew didn’t care enough to identify.

A real fight, and for once the Foxes weren’t involved.

“Doe.” 

Andrew turned.

Zane was already moving toward them, fast, clearly taking advantage of the chaos before anyone important noticed.

Then he looked at Kevin. “Kevin.”

“Zane,” Kevin said.

Awkward.

“Well,” Andrew said, “aren’t you a little far from your flock?”

Zane looked over his shoulder like he expected to be caught. “I’ve been trying to talk to you all night. I don’t have long.” He was right; the fight was already getting broken up. “Your… whatever the two of you are. He told me to bring you to him.”

That got Andrew’s attention.

It was bait. Of course it was bait. Zane crossing the room during a conveniently timed fight with a key in his hand and Neil’s name in his mouth was not subtle. Riko had planned something with the Spears, Neil had warned him days ago, and now a Raven was offering Andrew a closed door and no witnesses.

Andrew smiled. “Try harder.”

Zane’s expression tightened. “You think I want to be here?”

“I think you want me somewhere.”

“Yeah. Where he is.” Zane shoved a hand through his hair, too sharp and too frustrated to look rehearsed.

“Where is he?” Kevin asked at the same time, suddenly more awake than he’d been all night.

Zane shot him a sharp look. “He asked for Doe. Only Doe.” Then, to Andrew, “look, I need to get back before anyone notices. He’s in the room next to where you left your stuff. Riko had me lock him in there. Open it or don’t.”

He stepped past Andrew and pressed the key into his hand.

Andrew caught his wrist before he could pull away.

Zane went still.

“If you’re lying,” Andrew said, “I’ll remember.”

Zane looked at him, then at Kevin, then away. “You already do.”

He was gone before either of them could say much more, swallowed by the edge of the crowd just as the fight broke apart.

Andrew looked down at the key.

It was a trap. Neil was the bait.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, Andrew had never been especially good at leaving his things locked behind doors.

He turned to Kevin. “Stay with Aaron and Nicky.”

“No.” Kevin’s answer came fast. “Fuck that. I haven’t seen him in months.”

“Get over it,” Andrew said. Then, louder, in German to where Aaron and Nicky stood within earshot, “Keep Kevin here. If he tries to follow me, trip him.”

“No,” Kevin said again, immediate and furious. “I’m not staying with them. Trip me and I'll break your legs.”

Aaron blinked. “Did he just understand that?” he asked in German.

Nicky had already gone pale. Kevin rolled his eyes, then looked back at Andrew and said in German, “take me with you.”

“Shit,” Nicky said. “Quick question. Did I say anything horribly incriminating over the last few years?”

Aaron answered in German without taking his eyes off Kevin. “Aside from a lifetime of inappropriate comments about him and everyone at Edgar Allan? Probably not. It’s not like you didn’t say half of it to his face in English too.” Then he looked at Andrew. “You knew. You knew, and you said nothing.” His attention swung back to Kevin. “And you. Great job. Two years and you couldn’t mention it?”

“Aaron—”

“What else are you hiding?” Aaron snapped.

“Figure it out on your own time,” Andrew said. “I have a birdie to collect. Keep Kevin here.”

“Fuck you. I’m not babysitting him. Where are you even going? Coach said stay with the team.”

Andrew smiled. “Not for you to know, doppelgänger. You’ve done enough damage for one day.”

“It’s Neil, isn’t it?” Aaron sneered. “Your precious Perfect Court just can’t stay away from my brother.”

He pointed at Kevin, who looked like he’d been slapped.

Nicky finally cut in. “Andrew, let’s stay and talk about it.”

Andrew ignored him. His eyes found the Ravens’ table.

Riko was still there.

He was speaking to one of his own, but his attention kept cutting toward the edge of the room. Waiting. Counting. Andrew knew that look. Riko had not sent Zane because he needed Andrew to know where Neil was. He had sent Zane because he needed Andrew to choose it.

Fine.

Andrew was very good at making bad choices look intentional.

“Kevin, with me,” Andrew said, low enough that Wymack would miss it but not so low the others could pretend they had not heard. “We’re going.”

“Where are you going, monster?” Allison asked as Matt and Renee both turned to watch Andrew and Kevin move.

“Not your business.”

He made it only a few steps before Wymack cut him off. “I thought I told you to stay put.”

“Above your pay grade, Coach.”

Wymack’s eyes dropped to the key in Andrew’s hand, then snapped back to his face. “What did you do?”

“Not yet.”

“Andrew.”

“Dad,” Kevin said, stepping forward. “Please.”

That word was disgusting in Kevin’s mouth, and Andrew did not have time for this. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Riko stand.

That settled it.

Andrew moved.

He did not run. Running would have drawn too many eyes. He cut across the floor with his hands in his pockets and his smile in place, letting the remnants of the fight swallow the shift in direction. He passed the Ravens’ table without looking at it, then doubled back through the hall toward the rooms where the Foxes had left their things.

Kevin did not follow.

Good. Whatever trap he was walking into was for him alone to deal with

The hall was quieter than it should have been. No banquet staff. No players hiding from the noise. No one drunk enough to have gotten lost.

Andrew slid one hand into his sleeve and found the knife there in his arm band.

The door beside the Foxes’ assigned room was closed.

Silent.

He stood to the side of it as he put the key in the lock. The turn was too smooth. Too easy. Whoever had arranged this wanted him inside quickly.

“Rabbit,” Andrew said, low.

Nothing answered.

Andrew opened the door and stayed out of the frame.

Dark room. Stale air. No movement he could see from the hall.

Trap, trap, trap.

He should have gone back for Wymack. He should have sent someone else for Abby. He should have dragged half the banquet down this hallway and made enough noise to ruin whatever Riko thought he was doing.

Andrew’s fingers tightened around the knife.

“Neil,” he said.

Still nothing. He stepped inside.

The door shifted behind him, Andrew turned too late.

A voice to his left said, “Hello, AJ. Did you miss me, little brother?”

Andrew knew that voice.

Nightmares knew that voice.

For one impossible second, everything stopped.

Then his body remembered before his mind could. Knife up. Weight back. Turn toward the sound.

Not fast enough.

Something slammed into his temple hard enough to split the room open.

The floor vanished.

Andrew hit the ground with his shoulder first, then his cheek, pain bursting white-hot behind his eyes. The knife skittered from his hand into the dark.

The last thing he saw was Drake’s smile.

Then everything went black.

Chapter Text

Neil was out of time.

Tick tock.

Neil always failed.

Tick tock.

Always a second too late to save anyone.

Tick tock.

Too helpless to save his mother.

Too slow to avoid being dragged to the Nest.

Too late to get to Kevin before Riko broke his hand.

Too late to save Jean’s sister.

Too late to save Jean from Grayson.

Too slow to get Jean out of the Nest.

Too late to see what was right in front of him.

Too late to help anyone, anywhere.

“Get in the room,” Zane said as he shoved Neil inside.

Neil turned and glared. “Fine.”

“Your phone.” Zane held out a hand. Neil glared a second longer, then gave it up without arguing. He already knew he was standing on thin ice. Zane slipped the phone into his pocket and looked back up at him. “Why can’t you shut up for once in your life?”

“You don’t even know what I said in Japanese,” Neil said, aiming for innocent.

It backfired harder than he expected.

“Don’t bullshit me, Nate. I don’t need to know what you said to know you ran your mouth.” Zane looked disgusted. “I thought you’d be a handful, but this?” He shook his head. “We’re done, Four. I’ll make sure every man on the lineup knows you’re up for grabs.”

A chill slid down Neil’s spine.

He could maybe fight them off once. Maybe twice. But then what? What if Riko handcuffed him and left him for Grayson? What if they came for him in his room while he slept? In the hall? At lunch?

Fuck.

“Give me a week. I’ll make sure—”

“Don’t make me laugh, Four. I’ll be surprised if you make it to the end of the year alive.” Zane’s expression twisted. “Thinking you were better than Johnny was a mistake.”

“Wait—”

But Zane was already slamming the door shut.

Then he was gone.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Neil pressed his back to the door and tried not to let panic take over. Tried not to think about what waited for him back at the Nest. Tried not to think about losing the only half-life he’d managed to carve out for himself inside those four walls.

He pushed away from the door and searched the room, scanning corners and furniture for anything small enough to use on the lock. A paperclip. A bobby pin. Anything.

After a few minutes, he found one lying near the leg of a chair.

Bingo.

He waited another half hour before using it, just to make sure Riko meant to leave him there until the end of the event. Then he got to work.

It took him an embarrassing amount of time to pick the lock, long enough that his mother would’ve slapped the back of his head and told him to start over. Years in the Nest had dulled the skills he’d learned on the run, and the thought made his stomach turn.

If he had to run now, how far would he get?

Not far enough. They would find him right away.

Then he would be dead. That, he was sure of. If his father got to him when he tried to run…

The lock finally gave out with a soft click.

Neil exhaled once, slow and careful, and slipped out into the hallway.

He hadn’t had much to work with, but he’d memorized the route Zane had taken on the way in. He wasn’t far from the banquet hall.

Too close. He needed to get deeper into the building, somewhere out of sight, somewhere no one would think to look.

Without his phone, calling for help was out. He’d have to find a way to get word to either Kevin or Andrew without being seen first.

He moved carefully through the halls, listening before every corner, keeping to the edges whenever he heard footsteps. A few staff members passed in the distance, but never close enough for him to risk approaching them. Mostly it was players from the other teams wandering in twos and threes.

Neil made sure they never got a good look at him.

The 4 on his cheek would give him away immediately, and he wasn’t stupid enough to think being away from the Ravens made him safe. Alone, he looked less like a threat and more like prey.

It took a while before a waiter came down the corridor. He looked young, barely older than Neil, and his uniform marked him as staff. The second he spotted Neil, his face lit up. “You’re Nathaniel, right? From the Perfect Court?”

Neil gave him his best practiced interview smile. He had never been as good at this as Kevin, but he knew how to fake friendly well enough. “That’s me,” he said. “You’re a fan?”

“Oh, hell yes! I volunteered the second I heard this was an Exy event. I can’t wait to see you get made Court.”

I don’t have time for this.

Neil laughed anyway, just enough to seem polite. “Thanks for the faith. Listen, this is embarrassing, but I forgot to charge my phone.” He lifted a shoulder like he was annoyed at himself. “I need to make a couple of important calls, and I’d rather do it privately.” He emphasized the last word. “Can I borrow yours for twenty minutes? I’ll bring it right back.”

“Sure,” the waiter said at once, already pulling it out. “Here. Sorry, it’s not exactly fancy, but it works. Bring it to the back rooms over there,” he pointed at a door farther down the hall, “when you’re done.”

Neil nodded. “Thanks.”

He stepped away, flipped the phone open, and dialed the number he had memorized the day Kevin left the Nest.

It rang once. Twice.

Then Kevin answered. “Hello?”

“Kev,” Neil said.

He’s fine. The relief hit so hard Neil nearly stumbled under it. In French, low and fast, he said, “I think Riko is planning something. He had me locked in a room for most of the event—”

“Wait,” Kevin cut in. “Andrew still hasn’t seen you? It’s been a while since he went to you.”

Neil frowned. Panic came back all at once, sharp and cold. “How did he know where I was?”

Kevin went silent. Then, carefully, “Please tell me you asked Zane to send him to you.”

Neil was moving before Kevin finished speaking. “Where did he go?”

“The first door on the left from where we left our things. Third door down the corridor we came in through.” Kevin sounded like he was moving too, voice rough with motion. “Wait for me, Neil. Promise me you won’t go in alone. I’ll be there in a minute.”

The line went dead before Neil could argue.

He was going to kill Zane later. Right now, he had to find the corridor.

He was sprinting through the halls when a roar rose up from the direction of the banquet hall. Wild, loud, chaotic. It sounded like a riot had broken loose.

A moment later Aaron appeared at the mouth of the corridor, moving fast and hard, not slowing when he saw Neil.

Neil didn’t waste time wondering why Aaron had come instead of Kevin. The dread in his gut was already answer enough.

“He’s been gone twenty minutes,” Aaron snapped, looking like he wanted to tear Neil apart with his bare hands. He had a steak knife clutched in one hand, probably grabbed from one of the banquet tables. “If my brother got hurt because of your bullshit, I swear—”

Neil ignored him and kept moving.

By the time they reached the door, they could hear something hitting the wall inside. A heavy thud. Then another.

Neil grabbed the knob and twisted.

Locked.

Aaron opened his mouth, probably to call Andrew’s name, but Neil didn’t wait. He braced himself and slammed the heel of his foot into the door. Pain shot up his leg so hard his vision flashed white. His injuries weren’t healed enough for this, but he didn’t have time to care.

Before Aaron got out more than a startled, “What are you doing—” Neil kicked the door again, harder.

This time it gave.

The door burst inward and Neil barely caught himself before he fell with it. Aaron saw the room first and stopped dead.

Blood down Andrew’s face. Andrew tied to one of the storage shelves. A man pinning him there, one hand around Andrew’s throat, his own face streaked with blood from the scratches Andrew had clawed into him trying to fight back.

Neil froze.

For one second, all he could do was stare.

Teeth. That was all his mind gave him. Teeth and blood and hands and the world turning black at the edges. The old nausea rose sick and fast in his stomach, thick enough to choke on.

Aaron moved before Neil did, charging straight at the man.

He missed by inches.

The stranger let go of Andrew and twisted aside, turning his back to Neil.

Never lose sight of your target, that had been one of the first lessons his father ever taught him.

Instinct snapped Neil out of it. 

The man looked big enough to take either of them apart, but Neil had known worse monsters than this. Bigger ones. Meaner ones. Men who bled the same.

He lunged for the heaviest thing within reach: a metal tank shoved against the wall. It was even heavier than he expected. Lifting it tore at his healing wounds, and he felt them split open again under the strain, hot blood wetting his side.

He didn’t care.

With a sharp grunt, Neil swung it as hard as he could into the back of the man's left leg.

Something cracked. The stranger made a broken sound and buckled, twisting with a snarl.

Neil hauled the tank up for another blow, but the stranger was faster than pain. He threw himself at Neil before Neil could swing again.

The impact knocked Neil flat. The tank slipped from his hands and skidded away across the floor. His head hit hard enough to set the room ringing, and then the man’s hands were around his throat.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” the man said, smiling through the pain. Neil clawed at his wrists, but the man only leaned in closer. “I usually go for blondes,” he said. “Andrew set the standard young.” Neil went still. His gaze dragged over Neil’s face. “But you? Redhead’s close enough.”

Neil was suddenly too aware of everything. 

The man's bare skin.

His weight pressing Neil into the floor.

His breath on Neil’s face.

No, no, no, no, no–

Then something hot splashed across Neil’s mouth and cheek. It got in his eyes.

A second later came the smell. Blood.

The stranger’s body went slack and collapsed beside him.

Neil shoved himself upright, coughing, and looked up.

Aaron stood over them, the metal tank in both hands, its surface slick and wet with blood. His fingers opened. The tank dropped from his nerveless grip and hit the floor with a deafening clang.

Neil didn’t look at the man again. Didn’t look at Aaron, either. 

He turned straight to Andrew.

Andrew was still tied with his back to them; he was wearing only his shirt, blood covered too much of him. Bruises were already darkening across his skin, ugly and spreading, some of them deep enough that they would probably scar.

And he was laughing.

It was the most terrible sound Neil had ever heard. Broken, ragged, wrong.

Footsteps pounded down the hall. Instinct sent Neil moving at once, stepping in front of Andrew to block him from view. He had to look straight into Aaron’s wide, horrified eyes as Aaron took in his brother’s face.

Kevin appeared in the doorway a second later. He took one look at the room, then staggered back and disappeared before anyone could say a word.

Probably getting Wymack.

Probably calling the police.

It didn’t matter.

Neil had never felt so empty in his life as he did then, staring at Andrew while he kept laughing, and laughing, and fucking laughing.

He looked around until he found a tablecloth, then brought it back and draped it over Andrew as carefully as he could, trying not to touch him more than necessary. The knife was still on the floor, so Neil picked it up and cut through Andrew’s restraints.

He spared the man’s body a single glance and hated himself for how quickly it had ended.

I usually go for blondes. Andrew set the standard young.

The words kept looping through Neil’s head, uglier every time. Blonde. Andrew. Young.

Drake hadn’t said enough for anyone else to understand, but Neil understood because Andrew had made him understand. Not with a full confession. Not with all the details. Andrew never gave anyone that much. But Neil knew the name Drake Spear.

He knew now what Riko planned.

And now Neil knew the face that went with it.

His fingers tightened.

Quick would be too kind.

Drake didn’t deserve quick. Not after Neil realized who he was.

He deserved slow. Deliberate. Painful.

“Andrew,” Aaron said suddenly, taking a step forward. “Andrew, are you—”

He cut himself off.

Of course Andrew wasn’t okay. How could anyone be okay after this?

Andrew turned his head toward them. The smile on his face made Neil want to be sick. Andrew tried to push himself upright, went still, and started laughing again. “Ouch,” he said. “This is unpleasant.”

His whole body was shaking with it. His hands trembled where they pressed against the floor. He shut his eyes and let his head fall back, then opened them again to look at Neil and Aaron. “I think I’m concussed,” he said. “That, or I just found a fun new side effect of the meds.”

Aaron looked like his legs were about to give out under him. “Andrew—”

Andrew flicked one look at him, then turned his head toward Drake’s body. “That looks like it’s going to hurt,” he said, and laughed again. “I was wondering why it got so quiet in here.” Then his eyes landed on Neil and Aaron. “Did he touch you?”

“No,” Aaron said.

“No.” Neil said as well. It was close enough to the truth that it didn’t quite feel like a lie.

“You should go, Rabbit. Run back to the flock. The pigs will be here any minute, and we both know you don’t want to be here when that happens.” Andrew’s gaze cut briefly to Drake. “You were late enough to be useless and early enough to ruin his fun.”

It hit Neil harder than it should have.

Because Andrew was right.

Rationally, Neil knew the smart thing was to leave. Go back to the room he’d broken out of. Wash the blood off his face. Pray the black uniform hid the rest.

Drake hadn’t gotten what he wanted. Neil knew that. Knew it with the bruises blooming around his throat and the ghost of hands that had never made it any farther. One second later, Andrew had said, and Neil could not stop hearing it.

But he couldn’t leave like this.

Before Neil could say anything, Nicky appeared in the doorway with Coach at his side and a woman Neil only recognized from games, the Foxes’ team nurse.

“Jesus Christ,” Wymack said.

The nurse froze for half a second, then snapped into motion. “Everyone out,” she said sharply—then made the mistake of looking left and seeing Drake’s body.

Wymack took a step toward Neil, and even now, in the middle of all this, Neil couldn’t stop himself from flinching. “If any of this is your fault—”

“Dad,” Kevin said, voice small and frayed. “It wasn’t.”

Wymack crossed his arms and looked between Kevin and Neil. “Out.”

Part of Neil wanted to stay, but he knew better than to push against an entire team. He also knew they weren’t going to hurt him.

Kevin tried to talk to him, but the second Neil stepped out into the hall the world seemed to go thin and distant around him. He was tired, hurting, and too wrung out to care. Even Kevin’s voice couldn’t make him focus, couldn’t drag him back far enough to listen.

By then Neil knew Riko must have gone back to check on him and found him missing. The paramedics and police locked the place down quickly enough that no one could leave and no one could go in. Every team at the banquet knew by now that something had happened.

Neil knew how much trouble he was already in, but he shoved that thought as deep as he could.

Wymack left with the paramedics. Aaron was arrested.

The police asked Neil a few questions. He answered as little as possible, and after that they let him return to the rest of the Foxes, who had been shut into one of the back rooms while the area stayed closed off.

He sat in silence while the others glared at him and Kevin. Wymack had left Nicky and Matt Boyd in charge, was it the smart choice? Neil wasn't sure.

“You knew who it was,” Kevin said in quiet French. “How?”

It took Neil a moment to answer. He replied in the same language. “You remember when we looked into Andrew? Back when he said no to you?”

Kevin frowned. “Nothing like this came up.”

Neil shook his head. “The Spears. The family Andrew almost got adopted by. That was their son, Drake.” He swallowed. “I don’t know how Riko found out. I didn’t really know myself until—”

Until Drake said Andrew’s name.

Until blonde and young and Spear snapped together in Neil’s head and made a shape too ugly to look at straight on.

Neil bit the rest off before it could get out. “Until it was obvious,” he said.

“Higgins,” Kevin said suddenly.

Neil looked at him.

“There was a cop waiting for Andrew a couple of weeks ago. He said the name Drake. The police must’ve been investigating it when Riko—”

Kevin stopped cold at the sound of Riko’s name. Neil could see the exact moment panic sank its claws into him. “You can’t go back to the Nest, Neil,” Kevin said. “They’ll kill you.”

Neil laughed, low and humorless. Several of the Foxes looked up at the sound. Switching back to English, he said, “You can’t be delusional enough to think I have a choice, Kevin.”

Before Kevin could answer, Nicky’s phone rang.

Neil was on his feet before he even realized he’d moved. Nicky spoke in a low voice, listened, then ended the call. “He’s with Betsy,” Nicky said to the room. “She’s going to take him off his meds.”

Neil let out a breath.

He still couldn’t shake the image of Andrew’s face. That smile. That laugh. The way he had trembled through it. “This is good,” Neil said.

“She can’t be serious,” Kevin said beside him. “Now? It’s too early! We just started the season. What does she think she’s doing?”

Neil’s world stopped.

He found himself holding his breath.

Then turning, and shoving Kevin where he stood.

The room fell completely silent.

Neil saw Kevin’s face—shocked, confused, hurt—but he didn’t care.

“Not the right timing?” Neil said. He hadn’t even realized he was shaking until he heard it in his own voice. “Should Drake have come later? Would that satisfy the Son of Exy?”

Kevin frowned. In French, he said, “You know that’s not what I meant—”

“Then tell me what you meant, Kevin.” Neil’s voice was getting louder now, rougher. In English he said, “your friend just went through that, and all you care about is Exy?”

Kevin’s expression changed then. Too late. The mistake had finally landed.

“Is that all you see when you look at us?” Neil demanded. “Any of us?” Is that all you ever saw when you looked at me? he wanted to ask. “If I wasn’t good enough at Exy, would you have just stood there and let Riko break me too?”

“It’s not—Neil—I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean what, Kevin?” Neil snapped through gritted teeth.

His blood felt too hot in his veins. For the first time in his life, Neil thought he might have been completely wrong about someone.

Because the truth was, Neil had worshipped Kevin.

He’d never said it aloud. He’d been too embarrassed for that, too proud to admit it even to himself, but it was true. He had thought Kevin was good, and brave, and funny, and kind.

Right now all Neil could see was a coward.

A selfish, frightened boy who only ever thought about himself.

“Is that all I ever was to you?” Neil asked, quieter now. “An Exy player?”

Kevin looked like he’d been struck.

“Okay,” Nicky said carefully from the side, “let’s all calm down—”

One of the freshmen cut in instead. “Why is the Raven even still here? I thought we weren’t supposed to mingle with them.”

“Shut up, Jack,” one of the others snapped.

But Jack had a point, didn’t he? What was Neil still doing here? The police had never stopped him before.

He moved before anyone could stop him, quick as instinct. The waiter’s borrowed phone hit the floor as he went, clattering against the carpet before Nicky could get out more than a startled, “Where—?”

It wasn’t hard to convince the police he needed to get back to his team. He thought briefly about slipping past them instead, but that would have taken effort, and he had nothing left for effort.

The number on his face helped. To them, he was just a Raven being returned to the Ravens.

The Master was waiting for him just beyond them. He caught Neil by the back of the neck and steered him away. 

To anyone looking from a distance, it might have passed for comfort.

Neil knew better. It was control.

And it meant he’d fucked up beyond repair.

“You foolish boy,” the Master said once they were out of sight and far enough from anyone to overhear. “I knew you were good for nothing.”

He led Neil straight to the bus, where the rest of the Ravens were already seated.

So they weren’t staying after all. Not after this.

Riko looked up when Neil stepped inside, smiling so wide it made Neil’s stomach drop. “Ah, Four.”

Dread pooled low and heavy inside him.

Neil lifted his head and searched for the least unbearable seat. There wasn’t one. Zane avoided his eyes completely, and Neil knew better than to sit near him. Grayson was watching him with something almost cheerful, and the sight of his face, so soon after Drake, made Neil feel sick.

In the end he dropped into the seat beside one of the backliners, James, who at least wasn’t looking at him like he wanted blood.

Neil half expected Riko to order him closer, but apparently Riko was too busy imagining all the things he was going to do to him once they got back to the Nest.

In and out, Neil told himself as the bus pulled away.

In and out.

You can’t go back, Kevin’s voice whispered in the back of his head. Too early.

We shouldn’t talk until I can trust you again, Jean said.

Redheads are good enough, Drake said next.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

He held on to the rhythm until the bus stopped. Logically, he knew that meant they were back at Evermore. His body refused to believe it anyway.

Everyone looked at him as they climbed off the bus.

No one spoke. That somehow made it worse.

Neil walked in silence toward what he knew was coming. Before he crossed the threshold, he lifted his eyes once to the night sky.

Please, he thought.

The Nest welcomed him with its familiar lack of air.

It always smelled the same inside: metal, damp stone, old bleach, and something else he could never name. A film over the air. A weight. He hated that it felt like home.

The door locked behind him. No way out.

“Nathaniel, you are going back to being Riko’s assistant,” the Master said. Right. Of course. They had never really been equals. A King did not lower himself to stand beside a servant. There was a smile on the Master’s face as he went on. “For however long that lasts. My nephew is out at the moment. We’ll see what he decides to do with you when he returns.”

Neil half expected the Master to hit him before leaving, but he simply turned and walked away.

That was worse.

Neil was left alone with Riko, who was smiling wider than Neil had ever seen. He looked like a child being handed a new puppy. Neil knew this was the kind of child who burned puppies just to hear them scream.

“Let’s go back to our room,” Riko said.

Dread spread through Neil so fast it almost made him stumble.

After Kevin ran, Jean had become Zane’s unofficial partner. Neil had become Riko’s. Until Jean left, it hadn’t mattered much; Riko took what he wanted from both of them when he wanted it. They still ate together. Still got punished for each other’s mistakes.

But now Jean was gone. And Zane wasn’t his anymore.

So this was what Neil was back to. Not that he expected to live long enough for it to matter.

He wasn’t sure what to expect when he saw both Zane and Grayson waiting at the door. 

He knew exactly what it was when Riko told them to take him to the showers.

Zane and Grayson could barely stand each other, but apparently hurting Neil was enough common ground.

Usually Riko waterboarded him alone, in the court showers. Usually he cuffed Neil first, took his time with it, made it almost personal.

This was different. This was a message.

Zane didn’t look sorry at all as he forced Neil’s face into place and laid the cloth over it. Neil fought on instinct when Grayson grabbed his arms from behind, body and mind splitting apart the way they always did around him.

It only made everything worse.

Neil heard the bucket filling. Heard it scrape against tile. “It’s been a while since we’ve done this,” Riko said.

It had, and Neil hated how fast his body remembered.

The first rush of water hit the cloth and his lungs seized at once, panic firing through him before thought could catch up. He bucked against their grip, desperate for air.

Riko poured again.

And again.

Until repetition became meaningless. Until Neil could not tell one drowning from the next.

Neil’s lungs burned. Every inch of him screamed for air, for breath, for mercy that was never coming. Black spots crept across his vision, but the water never stopped. The hands on him only got tighter.

Riko was saying something, maybe laughing, maybe talking, but Neil couldn’t make sense of any of it. There was only terror, and suffocation, and the animal panic of a body convinced it was dying.

Maybe Riko had finally stopped caring whether he left lasting damage this time.

Neil blacked out.

Then woke back into the same nightmare.

The cloth.

The hands.

The grip forcing his face up.

It went on long enough to lose all shape. Hours. Days. Forever. He would black out and come back only to find himself in the same position, still drowning on dry land, still being held down.

Maybe he had died already. Maybe this was hell.

Eventually it stopped.

They let him go so suddenly that his head cracked against the tile when he hit the floor. That was how he knew it was over. Not that over meant anything.

He felt like a fish thrown onto land, mouth opening and closing on nothing. Riko crouched in front of him and said something Neil couldn’t process, tapping a finger against the number on Neil’s cheek.

Neil tried to force his body to breathe. A broken sound came out instead.

It took him another moment to realize they had left him alone.

He tried again. Still nothing.

He dragged his eyes to the tiles in front of him.

Count, he thought. Count. That had helped before.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five—

He stopped without meaning to, staring through the floor instead of at it.

He started over.

One. Two. Three. Four—

Lost it again.

He tried a third time. Made it to eight before the numbers slipped away from him.

He tried to breathe.

Air went in. Or maybe it didn’t. He couldn’t tell.

It took him until morning—he would realize later it had been the entire night—before his body remembered how to move again. Before mind and muscle reconnected enough for him to do more than lie there on the freezing tile in soaked clothes.

When he finally dragged himself upright, the world spun so hard he nearly dropped again.

Riko was waiting in the doorway. “My brother’s back,” he said, almost to himself. “Guess playtime’s over.” Then he smiled. “I hope he lets me carve you one more time before he ends you.”

It took Neil a moment too long to understand.

Then his legs gave out again. He hit the floor, tried to get up, and found his body still wouldn’t obey him properly. One of Ichirou’s men hauled him upright and dragged him to the Tower, then into the Moriyama suite.

The Master was there with the Lord.

At first Neil thought they were speaking another language because his mind was still too slow to catch up. Then, a beat too late, he realized it was another language.

“He is unreliable and useless. He tried to run—” the Master was saying in Japanese, when Neil’s mind decided to work again.

“Now, we both know that’s not true,” Ichirou said, one hand curled around a glass.

“He might as well have run. And who knows what he said to Doe.” The Master’s voice sharpened. “Get rid of him. Give him to his father. That’s the only logical thing to do.”

Silence stretched. Then Ichirou said, “Leave us.”

The Master didn’t look happy about it, but he obeyed.

Then they were alone.

Neil tried to keep his head upright, looking at him, even as the room pitched around him and nausea climbed into his throat. Not that it mattered. 

He was going to die tonight. He knew it the moment he looked up at Lord Ichirou.

He did not dare speak. Not that he felt like speaking, with the why he was feeling. 

“What am I supposed to do with you, Nathaniel?” Ichirou asked in Japanese, idly swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

Neil’s position on the floor was awkward, every breath pressing pain through his ribs, but he did not risk moving.

“Your father wants me to hand you over to him. You heard my uncle, he wants the same.” Ichirou went on. “Do you have any idea what he’ll do to you?”

Neil swallowed hard. His throat felt thick. His mind was still heavy and foggy, but he didn’t need to be at his best to answer that question. He had lived with enough nightmares to know the answer by heart. “He’ll cut through my knees first. If I try to curl away, then my arms. After that…” He hesitated, a shiver breaking across his skin. “I imagine he’ll take his time.”

So that was it. They would not even let him die cleanly, with a bullet and a moment’s mercy. No. His father would make certain it hurt. He would make certain Neil understood exactly what he was worth.

Neil hoped there was no afterlife. The thought of seeing his mother again — of letting her see what had become of him, of proving that everything she had done had been for nothing — made his stomach twist.

Another person he had failed. Another name to carry into the grave.

“All this for Doe,” Ichirou said. “For a nobody with a juvenile record.” He tilted his head slightly. “Tell me, Nathaniel. Was it worth it?”

Neil dragged in a breath. Let it out. Then another. “I don’t know,” he said at last.

Because that was the truth of it. It had never been only about Doe. It had been about being seen as something other than a weapon, other than a thing people used when they needed it and discarded when they didn’t. It had been about Andrew choosing him — not because he had to, not because he was useful, but because he wanted to.

It had been about freedom.

“A little honesty after the betrayal,” Ichirou murmured. “How touching.”

Neil lifted his head too quickly, pain flashing hot behind his eyes. “I never told him anything about the family,” he said. The words came fast now, urgent, desperate, even through the haze. “Nothing. Not about me, not about you. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I never—”

“Oh, I know,” Ichirou said. The interruption was soft, effortless. Somehow that made it worse. “I know you were not stupid enough to do that. Otherwise, we would not be having this conversation.” He took one measured step forward. “If you had truly betrayed us, I would not have wasted my time on you. I would have sent you straight back to your father.” His mouth curved, but there was no warmth in it. “And I think I would have enjoyed hearing what was left of you by the end. Maybe even watch.”

Neil dropped his eyes at once. “Understandable, my lord.”

Would Ichirou arrange a funeral for him?

He did not know.

Would anyone come if he did? That answer felt easier.

No.

He had spent his childhood under his father’s hand. Then running with his mother, always afraid, always waiting for the next door to break open. Then the Nest and the Moriyamas. Every year of his life had been spent belonging to someone else.

And when it ended, there would be no one to mourn him. No one to stand at his grave. No one to remember him as anything but a failed son, a failed weapon, a failed investment.

“Look at me.”

Neil obeyed immediately, though his stomach lurched with the movement.

Ichirou stood over him, immaculate and composed, his expression unreadable. “I am going to offer you a choice,” he said. “You should consider it very carefully. You may die tonight as a traitor who accomplished nothing. A foolish boy who mistook rebellion for meaning.” His gaze sharpened. “Or you may live.”

Neil said nothing.

Ichirou crouched in front of him with unhurried grace, bringing himself level with Neil’s line of sight. “Tell me,” he said quietly, “who, exactly, are you still fighting for? The boys you call brothers have abandoned you. Your little fantasies of freedom are just that — fantasies. You were not made for freedom, Nathaniel. You were made for this.”

His voice never rose. It did not need to.  “You will never escape this place. You will either die here as Neil,”—he said the name with delicate contempt—“or you will rise from the ashes of that childish delusion and become what you were always meant to be.”

He reached out then, cool fingers closing around Neil’s jaw and forcing his face up. It was more firm and demanding than Zane’s hold. 

“No more running,” Ichirou said. “No more pretending. No more Neil.” His thumb pressed lightly against Nathaniel’s cheek, where his number was tattooed, almost gentle. “You will do exactly what I require, precisely as I require it.” His eyes were dark and steady. “So choose. Nathaniel, or Neil?”

Neil closed his eyes.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

There had never really been a choice.

Neil was not a real person. Neil had been a game. A dream, thin and temporary and doomed from the start. A lie. A borrowed name, a brief and fragile thing stitched together out of hope and desperation. Nathaniel was what remained when hope was gone.

What remained when the running stopped.

Nathaniel did not get freedom.

Nathaniel got what he deserved.

Slowly, he let the last of Neil slip through his hands.

Nathaniel opened his eyes. 

“Nathaniel,” Ichirou said.

It did not feel like a choice. It felt like dying.

He let go.