love will tear us apart

Location: On a bench on campus Date: Graduation Trigger warnings: Mentions of anxiety, neglect, addiction, relapse, death, and drug abuse. (I get into how Brayden’s addiction affected his family, and Landon’s POV during that time, so it gets a little sad and dark. Please proceed with caution!)

Brayden’s graduation gown is draped over the back of the bench from when he shucked it off the second he was free. The crowd is long gone, probably at their post-graduation lunches, but he hasn’t found the will to go back to the Tower yet. His shit is already packed, and while he’s still staying with Betsy over the summer, it still feels too real. In July, he won’t be in the Fox Tower anymore. He won’t pick up his racquet again, and he won’t have that strict schedule he’s had to follow for the past five years. It makes his chest tight with anxiety, and the fact that he’s walking out of here without the win he tried so hard for, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but he doesn’t regret his choice. He talked it through with Besty, and he’s trying to not to put all his self-worth into whether he beat Landon or not, and he thinks he’ll eventually look back on this year and accept the end result, but it’s too soon right now. 

striker-brayden‌:

“What part of that was lovey dovey?” Brayden tries to argue, words muffled by the pillow that landed on his face. He shoves it off before sprawling out on the bed, letting out a contented sigh. For him, that was borderline mushy. He’s still so used to keeping everything to himself, even his feelings for his boyfriend. There’s nothing to hide though, pictures of them with their tongues shoved down each other’s throats were plastered all over FoxWatch a few days after they got together, so there’s no point in pretending he’s too cool to be in love or whatever. 

Still, he’s not sure if he’ll ever get over that fear of letting his emotions show, of having too much hope and letting himself have things. Brayden spent so many years alone. He pushed his family away to the point where he just came in and out of his home like a ghost, spending the majority of his time underneath the bleachers or wandering around Pasadena. He never thought he’d have any of this–a coach who for some reason believes in him, a boyfriend, or friends like Leo where he can do shit like this with. It scares him still, like one wrong move and he’ll be eighteen and lost all over again. 

Brayden snorts as he lazily looks over at Leo, noticing that he doesn’t deny it, just kind of talks his way around it. “I’m pretty sure if you dumped her you would be dead, not here drinking with me,” He points out. Brayden doesn’t make a habit of talking to Sasha more than she has to, mostly because he’s seen her throw herself in enough fights to steer him away,, but also because the few times they do talk, she reminds him how gross she thinks he is. How Leo ended up with her, he has no fucking clue. He can’t imagine her in a girlfriend role, going on dates and calling him pet names. 

“It’s okay, man. You don’t gotta lie to me. I’m already helping you drink away your sorrows,” He gives Leo a sarcastic grin, mostly joking. If he did get dumped, he doesn’t seem too heartbroken over it–unless that’s the reason he isn’t downstairs with the party.

“You know what you did,” he sniffs, but it’s mostly for show. He likes the gossip: likes knowing who’s getting together and who’s breaking up—(and yes, likes to narrate his teammates’ exploits if they’re involving the team by having them on the team’s bus)—but he doesn’t take it much more seriously than that. His own relationships are flings more than anything else, and if they last longer than that it’s more out of convenience than any kind of seriousness. 

He knows that his teammates aren’t necessarily the same way, that Brayden and Arlo are probably like gay swans who have mated for life, but for the most part it’s their business. 

And, honestly, it’s boring. He’d be way more invested if they were fighting all the time, breaking up and then making up. 

It’s funny, then, that he and Sasha are ending their own not-relationship without all of that drama. But in drama like that there’s always a winner and a loser, and when both of them had agreed to put on a public spectacle to save face, that didn’t seem quite fair. So, instead, they’re fizzling out. And they’re doing a good job of it: if their teammates are wondering, then the next step is the more public rumor mill. 

“Nah, she’s not as bad as all that,” he protests. He’s not sure why: he’s sure that Sasha loves her maneater reputation—even moreso now that he knows what else she’s deflecting from—but he still wants people to believe that they’re broken up without damage to his person. And, well, she’d been a good fake girlfriend. And they’re friends, so he feels like he’s sticking up for her, her ability to be a good real girlfriend to someone else.  “And we’re friends, still. So it’s, like, mutual.”

He feels antsy now. Maybe it’s the lying. But he rolls to his feet, extricating himself from the blankets with the bottle still clutched in his hand. He spares a glance for his discarded shirt, before deciding it’s more trouble than it’s worth, and holds out his hand to Brayden instead. “We done feeling sorry for ourselves? Because there’s a party out there.”

Sure, Brayden isn’t necessarily someone Alanna would’ve expected to find at this hour of the morning, but he sounds confident enough when he promises he can get them back to the hotel on time—and really, that’s enough for her. He also looks much better than she feels, his eyes bright and clear where she’s still dying for a pair of sunglasses, and that’s yet another good sign for this breakfast adventure. 

“I bet there’s a ton of places nearby,” Alanna says, as they move towards the door. “It’s a city after all.” As they step out onto the street and the already too bright sunlight her headache intensifies, but it isn’t enough to send her running back to the safety of her hotel room. Not yet, at least.

Besides: when’s the next time she’ll be in Chicago? Maybe if the Foxes do this well next year too, but that’s ages away. She’s never been here before and she wants to explore, at least a little, before their flight home later today. What’s wrong with that? 

“Did you have fun last night?” Alanna asks, for lack of anything better to say to Brayden. She doesn’t think he likes small talk much, but she also can’t bear the silence either—especially not with someone she doesn’t truly know, despite the way she’s spent nearly entire year cheering on Brayden as he scores goals on the court. He’s private though. Grumpy, according to some sources. In truth, he intimidates her, even though he clearly isn’t trying. “Congrats on your goal last night. That was awesome.”

Brayden isn’t hungover but the sudden noises of the city as they step outside are still enough for him to blink in surprise. He’s gotten so used to Palmetto that he forgot what it was like to live in a crowded city. He grew up in Pasadena, and while it’s not as intense as Chicago, it was still busy and loud enough for him to blend in generally unnoticed. As he squints up at the skyscrapers, he’s surprised to realize he kind of misses it. Not how things were back then, but just being another person in the crowd--no one special. Plus, he’d have better chances of being a tattoo artist in a place like Chicago than Palmetto. 

Looking over at Alanna, he can see her struggling in the sunlight, so he digs in his jacket pocket for his sunglasses before offering them to her. “They might be too big for your head, but they’re better than nothing,” He shrugs. She needs them more than him. They start walking in a random direction and Brayden keeps an eye on the different storefronts to try and spot a place that looks like a hipster owns it and has eggs. 

“Yeah,” He answers with a shrug, and he did even though he mostly just observed while sober. It was definitely better than the alternative, which was to sulk in his hotel room. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen us so happy to lose before,” He snorts. He nearly forgot they did given the mood of the night, that was until he got another text from Landon, something he expects after every game now. He still doesn’t fucking like it, and he still doesn’t know what his brother’s motive is, but he’s starting to think it’s not as sinister as he originally though. 

“Oh. Uh thanks,” He says in surprise. He wishes he could say something back, because that’s the nice thing to do or whatever, but he doesn’t know a thing about cheerleading, and it’s not like they ever really get to watch much of the halftime show. “Nice--uhm---stunts?” He tries anyway with a wince. “To be honest, I used to ignore kind of you guys,” He admits, unable to help but feel a little guilty. Then again, he was apathetic towards his own team for so long that it would be a lot to ask of him to spare any attention towards the Vixens. “But I know that I could cheer. All those tricks midair…” He trails off with a shake of his head. Not to mention the uniforms alone would be enough to scare him off. 

         Henry has never, in his entire life, been like this. He’s the quiet one. Growing up, he was as happy as he could be, given his situation, but even around his sister, Henry preferred to be quiet. This isn’t how he usually is. If he wasn’t so drunk, he’d be unsettled by it, but with the alcohol in his system and the grin on his face, the Fox can’t be bothered by anything other than feeling as if he for once can let loose. Whatever’s putting him in this good mood, he truly hopes it never goes away. He can handle being the quiet bookish type for the most part. Tonight though is the first time he’s felt like he can celebrate with his teammates and be loud.  

         “Mmm, but it’s okay because I’ll see Wednesday when I go back home,” he laughs, not catching Brayden’s sarcasm. Usually, he’s better at picking it up. Or maybe he did pick it up and just didn’t care. Henry has spent the almost the last three years not sure how to talk to people. As kids, he was always the one to come up with the plans and Holland was the one to execute them. He was the one that created fantasy worlds for them to explore—she was always the brave knight and he was the wizard’s apprentice. Their difference were always celebrated. But after she left, Henry didn’t have that person to lean on, to execute plans, to push him to be brave. And he collapsed in on himself. Now it seemed like he was figuring out his own energy.

         He watches for a moment as Brayden starts to look for Arlo. Henry vaguely remembers what Brayden’s references, but he’d been preoccupied with reading a book at the time, so he only caught what some of it and the post on FoxWatch. Maybe he’ll be bored of this conversation and he can find his own person and they can sneak off. Right now, he’s just curious. “Yeah, but you’re old news now. Everyone knows you two are together, so it’s boring to read about you being all happy. So you could dance or at least be near each other.” Henry tilts his head to the side as he looks at Brayden. “Now Jack and I? I guess we’re not so antiquated news. I mean, not that there is an us. Yet.” A normal Henry would be worried about his dad finding out, but William didn’t keep up with Exy news—or anything his son was up to; worrying seemed stupid tonight when he could worry another day.

Brayden lets out a surprised laugh, because he doesn’t know how else to respond to that. The way Henry is talking about him and Arlo is like listening to someone gossip about Brangelina or whatever. “Old news,” “boring,” as if he ever wanted their relationship to be considered news in the first place. He doesn’t give a shit if him and Arlo aren’t exciting enough to hold his teammates’ or FoxWatch’s attention, because that’s not what being with him is about. Their relationship is for nobody except for each other. He loves Arlo, and in the end, that’s all that matters to him. After everything he’s been through, reliability and steadiness is what he needs the most, even if it’s predictable and boring.

“Well,” Brayden begins after clearing his throat awkwardly, “whatever you two are, trust me, I’ll gladly let you take the spotlight. I don’t want it.” He’s always hated extra attention, which made being part of a Class I team a weird adjustment period for him. Discovering he could google his name and actually get results disturbed him, and he quickly closed out of the search. 

He never wanted to go pro mostly because he has no interest in playing Exy as a career, but he also can’t handle the fame that comes with being on a team like that. He’ll miss Palmetto, and the security that comes with it, but he’s eager to graduate and be a regular person again. Well, as regular as he can be.

“Why don’t you go dance with them then?” Brayden asks after a beat and nods towards the crowd. “If you think I should go be near Arlo, maybe you should follow your own advice,” He suggests with a shrug. 

         Henry’s never been that big of a partier, save for high school, when it was the easiest way to get hold of alcohol. He prefers celebrations to be quieter. He prefers the celebrations in books. Revels in fantasy novels, the roaring twenties parties in F Scott Fitzgerald novels, house parties during Halloween. They’re easier for him. Tonight though, tonight is different. He feels different. Henry doesn’t know what’s changed in the two days since he last talked to Betsy, how he’s somehow braver than before. Maybe it’s the Foxes just pulled a win from two losses—the most Fox thing they’ve done all season. Whatever it is, Henry can’t help, for once, wanting to drink while happy.

         Feeling brave, for once, feels completely new to him. Like almost everything he’s done in the past doesn’t matter right now—maybe it never did. Maybe what happened with his sister was always going to happen; Holland was always closer to walking away from her family than Henry had been. Sometimes the hurt is still so fresh, especially when he wakes up from a dream about that night, being frozen in place, Holland leaving without looking at him. He knows he can’t keep hurting himself over that decision. Henry’s using it as an excuse to punish himself—Betsy was right about that. It isn’t fair. He’d been scared at the time. What he did wasn’t right, but what his sister did hurt him. But actually coming out, that feels braver than it should to him. And Henry can’t help thinking about Holland whispering to him to keep it secret at the young age of twelve, how much progress he’s made since then. 

         For so long, being a Fox felt more like a burden than anything. His saving grace from two years of community college under his dad’s roof, but somehow a burden. Henry’s been a quiet Fox for the last three years. One of them that doesn’t show signs of anything being wrong. The only indicator that he’s Fox material is his required sessions with Betsy—which he never talks about anything other than homework stress. He’s never wondered about his teammates either, especially not their sexualities. It wasn’t something Henry let himself think about in middle school, definitely not in high school, and out of the question until now. Somehow out of all his teammates, he’d managed to catch the interest of one of them.

         Henry’s not even talking about how Jack looks. If he did, he’d never stop talking. He’s still grinning though. “You guess right.” He probably—definitely—doesn’t need to drink anything else tonight. “I’m allowed to be mushy. We did it. I’m happy.” He’s never felt like this before other than when he was around his sister. “Only thing that could make this night better is my dog, but she’s in South Carolina, so… I guess I’ll have to wait until we get back to give her a hug.” Henry looked at Brayden. “How come you’re not being mushy with your significant other?” 

It’d be hard for Brayden to feel Henry-levels of joy on a particularly good day, and while he’s not miserable over the loss tonight like he was after their last game, he still doesn’t feel like he can fully celebrate either. They’re moving forward, but now they have two back to back losses under their belt, and that’s just not going to cut it if they’re ever up against the Ravens. They won’t just beat the Foxes, they’ll destroy them, and his brother will be watching the whole time, walking away from it superior as he always does.

He doesn’t have to worry about that yet, he tells himself as he fidgets with his label. They could’ve been out tonight, but they aren’t, and he should be grateful. “And to think, it was almost the perfect night,” Brayden replies sarcastically. He’s never been any good at this--talking to people, especially when he can’t match their energy levels. At least he’s trying, it’s a huge difference from his silent apathy.

Brayden turns away from Henry to see if he can spot his Arlo in the crowd, it’s usually easy to pick him out given how tall he is, but he’s at a disadvantage right now because he’s sitting. When he can’t find him, he shrugs in response. They’re sharing a room tonight like they always do during away games, so there’ll be plenty of time and privacy to be “mushy.” Brayden still has a reputation to uphold, and while he’s not ashamed of how he acts around his boyfriend, he’d rather the others didn’t overhear some of the shit he says to him. “And end up all over FoxWatch again? Nah, you guys got a good enough look already,” He counters with an amused snort. 

Location: Chicago, IL—hotel Date: Saturday, March 30 Time: Early (open)

Alanna is not a morning person. Especially not the night after a party, especially not when their flight isn’t for ages. In a better world, she’d be asleep for hours still. Actually, in a perfect world, she’d sleep right through this hangover. In the real world though, she wakes up at 6am with a horrible taste in her mouth and a head that’s pounding enough to keep her awake the rest of the morning. 

She isn’t sure how long it takes her to roll out of bed and track down painkillers and water, to get dressed and do her makeup as well as she can in this state, but she doesn’t feel much more like a person by the end of it. She needs food. She doesn’t want the continental breakfast either, with its sad looking collection of fruits and oatmeal packets and plain coffee creamers. 

But the prospect of facing Chicago alone? Alanna can just see herself getting lost and missing the flight. Or, worse, calling Cade to come find her in the nick of time—making her the exact opposite of the cool, independent step-sister she wishes she was. 

Thankfully, there are familiar faces in this hotel even at this godawful hour, and Alanna stops the first one she sees. “Hey, any chance you’re hungry? I need bacon. And hash browns. Maybe some eggs too. Definitely a fancy coffee with lots of milk and sugar.” 

The combination of still being on Palmetto time and early morning practice time has Brayden up way earlier than he wanted to be. A late flight means sleeping in, but apparently his body didn’t get the message. He’s sore and groggy from being up so late after the game, but no matter how long he tries to keep his eyes closed, he can’t doze off. Giving up, he slides out of bed and changes into something appropriate for hunting down some food. 

The lobby is practically dead when he steps out of the elevator, and it only makes him more bitter that he’s up and moving while the rest of his teammates are dead to the world. He’s about to track down the hotel breakfast, but runs into Alanna first. The fact that he’s not alone in his inability to sleep instantly makes him feel better, and he actually manages to give her a weak smile as a greeting. 

She looks relatively alive after a night of partying, but Brayden can still see the signs of a hangover on her face and sympathizes with her. He was sober last night, but he’s woken up with more nasty hangovers than he can count, and he knows the only cure is a big breakfast. 

“I could go for fancy coffee,” He gives a quiet laugh as he nods towards the door.  He’s been experimenting with more than black coffee ever since Raleigh showed him the light. There’s coffee that tastes like actual fucking cookies, and he doesn’t know how he’s gone his whole life without taking advantage of that. 

“We’ll go find a place.” He hasn’t been to Chicago enough to know his way around, but he thinks he knows enough to not get lost. “I promise I’ll get us back to the hotel afterwards.” 

LOCATION: Fox Party  DATE: March 29th  TIME: 12:12 PM OPEN

         They did it—the Foxes did it. He had seen part of the last bit of the game on the television he angrily snapped at Abby to turn on when he was escorted off the court after his injury. It was his own stupidity for getting injured the way he had been. Henry was sure he was going to get an ear full from Wymack later for it, but he wasn’t worried about it when he was too busy listening to Abby fuss over yet another one of them with a potential head injury. After some testing, everything turned out fine—if he could call completely freaking out one of his teammates fine. He was going to have to have a conversation with Betsy about that later. His head still hurt, but it was fine. It didn’t hurt any worse than it would after reading so much. He was alright. The Foxes lost, but they won tonight. They could celebrate. They could… they’d done it. Henry’s entire chest swelled with pride and happiness for his team. And damn he was lucky to be here with this unbelievable team. His team.

         Henry sat at the edge of the dance floor, beer in hand. He truly can’t think of a time when he’s actually had alcohol for a positive reason. He’s never celebrated with the team like this before. In the three years he’d been a Fox, Henry carefully built up a wall between him and his teammates. A part of him didn’t want to be exposed, didn’t want them to know him. There was a façade he put up to make them think there was something normal about him. Like he didn’t belong here, he didn’t fit in. His weekly sessions with Betsy making him feel like maybe he wasn’t like the rest of his teammates. But he was. Henry carefully hid the pieces of himself, stacked them neatly behind a locked door, because he wasn’t ready to admit any of the things that were wrong with him. His dad, Holland, the drinking, his sexuality, his anxiety, his pain—secrets hidden, tucked away. They were pieces of himself that made him who he was, but it was too much to fully admit his problems. At least until one wall came crashing down and honestly, he wasn’t even mad about it.

         He finishes the beer and grabs another one—fourth one, if he’s counting correctly. Not enough to really do anything other than make him slightly tipsy. His eyes scan the room, looking for Jack, but wherever the other Fox is, Henry currently can’t find them in the mass of people celebrating. “God, this feels good,” he says to the nearest person. “Like all of it.” It was disappointing to lose the game but moving on in the Championships made up for it. “Shit, it feels weird to be so damned happy for once.” There’s a wide easy grin on his face, a calm that hasn’t been there since well before he entered high school and started playing Exy. “I’m just so proud of us. And I get to go back to my hotel room and fall asleep cuddling with someone I actually like instead of pretending to like girls.” Okay, so maybe he was slightly more intoxicated than he thought. So much for his façade and the walls he’d built up. But that one wall had been there for almost ten years and Henry just wanted to be happy. He spotted Jack and his chest did a flip and his smile grew wider. “Wow, Jack is incredible.”

The party is pretty rowdy for a bunch of losers, and even Brayden isn’t immune to the good mood. He’s still worried about their spot in the Championships, but they could’ve been done tonight if it weren’t for Akira, so Brayden’s going to let himself be happy that they’re still going forward, loss or not. He still feels too sober compared to the rest of the room, who’re dancing and shouting over the loud music, but he’s been doing good about keeping his drinking to a minimum, and he can’t just throw that away every time there’s a party. 

Brayden’s been sipping on the same beer for so long that it’s warm and flat, but he hasn’t made the move to grab a second drink, instead he’s sitting on the edge of the dance floor as he fidgets with the peeling label on the bottle. Good mood or not, he’s not much of a partier, but he does like people watching, so he quietly observes his teammates drunkenly flail around on the dance floor. 

He doesn’t realize he’s not alone until Henry starts babbling beside him, obviously drunk. Brayden has no idea what he’s supposed to say in response to that confession. It’s not like he spends time debating his teammates’ sexuality, he just kind of has a ‘gay until proven straight’ mentality. He doesn’t have a habit of announcing he’s gay to everyone he ever spoke to, but he never hid it either. He avoided the big coming out journey with his own family, so he can’t relate to concept of pretending to be something he’s not. 

“I guess?” Brayden responds with a shrug as he spots Jack in the crowd. He’s always considered his teammates to be unfairly hot, but he doesn’t have enough history with Jack to single them out. He’s definitely not the type to share his warm and fuzzy feelings with people, so he shifts awkwardly in his seat, ripping the label from his bottle. “Someone’s a mushy drunk,” He points out. 

“Is there something you wanted to talk about today?” Betsy leads today’s session as she usually does, and Brayden typically lets her drive the conversation after turning down her hot chocolate, but today he switches things up. He takes the hot chocolate, because it’s fucking cold outside, and he actually does have something he wants to talk about.

striker-brayden‌:

When he first came up with the idea, he didn’t think it was something that he’d actually be able to pull off. He wasn’t even sure if it was what he wanted, leaving all this security behind, but Bee helped him realize that it wasn’t an impossible goal. When he signed up for those online courses, he probably should’ve started spreading the word, but he held back out of fear he’d convince everyone he’s leaving, only for him to fuck up and come back next year. 

“I told Betsy,” He shrugs awkwardly. “I was gonna wait and see if it looked like I’d actually pass before telling anyone else, but now it’s March…” He trails off. He’s gone the last five-ish years doing whatever without caring what anyone else thought, but things are different now. Will Wymack feel like signing Brayden on was a waste of time? Will Arlo hate him for leaving early? What will Grant think? 

“So, yeah, thanks. I’d rather tell them myself, you know?” Brayden mutters. He doesn’t know what led him to choose Glory as the first person to confess to. There’s something about her that’s always made her pretty easy to talk to, which is weird because he feels so old and jaded compared to her. 

It’s a sobering reminder: things will change, people will leave. Next year, Grant’s going to be gone, and they’ll have a new Captain. Now, Brayden will be gone, too. People are going to keep graduating, moving on. New freshmen will come, just like Glory has this year. The Foxes will still be the Foxes. 

And yet it’s hard to imagine. There’s a part of her that doesn’t like change: she’d grown up in Owls Bend, where things never really seemed to change much. Not the buildings in town, not the people, not the attitudes. Glory changed, though. And Glory left—and ever since then, it’s felt like things are always moving too quickly, changing too fast, like she can’t keep up, or can’t settle down.

It’s hard to imagine being in Brayden’s shoes in a few years time, or any of the older Foxes: being one of the experienced ones on the team, the ones that younger players—like her now—look up to. When the time comes, she wonders if she’ll feel like she deserves it, or if she’ll still feel like she doesn’t know what she’s doing, doesn’t belong.

“Thanks for tellin’ me,” she says, with a slight smile, her chin propped up on her tucked-up knees. “If you ever wanna—talk about it, or anything, before you tell the rest of the team, you can. You know where to find me.”

“Uh. Maybe?” In that moment, Arlo is extremely grateful for the unforgiving temperature. His face is already wind-chapped and red, so the uncharacteristic flush that overtakes him is difficult to make out in the low light. He blows out a shaky breath, fighting the urge to fidget, and tries to psyche himself up to have this conversation. 

One that he’s been thinking about for awhile. 

Keep reading

Brayden tries to listen patiently as Arlo rambles away his explanation, not that he even needs one, but his lips are twitching with the effort to hold in laughter, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he watches him in amusement. 

“Fucking gross,” he whines, reaching above his head for a pillow and throwing it at Brayden. “If you’re gonna turn your horny talk into, like, lovey-dovey, heart-horny shit, I’m fucking outta here.”

He doesn’t move though, except to snag the bottle back and take another swallow—dramatic, because of course he is, like Brayden is driving him to drink with his heart-eyes. He’s never been one for sentiment—even with Sasha, when the point was to be as public as possible, he couldn’t bring himself to post the kind of nauseating shit that some couples did. 

No one would have believed it from him. No one would have believed it from Sasha, either. And it’s going to make their breakup easier to swallow, too, less embarrassing for both of them. They never pretended to be each others’ forever.

He’s supposed to be good at lying and now, here he is, tempted to blurt out the truth to every person who’s even halfway nice to him. He’d lasted all of two seconds trying to lie to Jen, but they’d just seemed so confused. And he’s talked around it with Louis, unsure if he thinks that Leo and Sasha weren’t that serious or if he just didn’t care. 

Sasha would probably eviscerate him if he widened that circle of trust any farther. 

But it doesn’t feel great. He and Brayden have been honest with each other tonight, and Leo had bared a part of himself that’s much deeper than his fake relationship with Sasha Hart-Ashby—but he made a promise to her, and he’s trying to be the kind of person that can keep it. “Okay, first off,” he says with a sniff, throwing himself into the lie. “You think so little of me? I’m wounded. Maybe I dumped her ass.”

“What part of that was lovey dovey?” Brayden tries to argue, words muffled by the pillow that landed on his face. He shoves it off before sprawling out on the bed, letting out a contented sigh. For him, that was borderline mushy. He’s still so used to keeping everything to himself, even his feelings for his boyfriend. There’s nothing to hide though, pictures of them with their tongues shoved down each other’s throats were plastered all over FoxWatch a few days after they got together, so there’s no point in pretending he’s too cool to be in love or whatever. 

Still, he’s not sure if he’ll ever get over that fear of letting his emotions show, of having too much hope and letting himself have things. Brayden spent so many years alone. He pushed his family away to the point where he just came in and out of his home like a ghost, spending the majority of his time underneath the bleachers or wandering around Pasadena. He never thought he’d have any of this--a coach who for some reason believes in him, a boyfriend, or friends like Leo where he can do shit like this with. It scares him still, like one wrong move and he’ll be eighteen and lost all over again. 

Brayden snorts as he lazily looks over at Leo, noticing that he doesn’t deny it, just kind of talks his way around it. “I’m pretty sure if you dumped her you would be dead, not here drinking with me,” He points out. Brayden doesn’t make a habit of talking to Sasha more than she has to, mostly because he’s seen her throw herself in enough fights to steer him away,, but also because the few times they do talk, she reminds him how gross she thinks he is. How Leo ended up with her, he has no fucking clue. He can’t imagine her in a girlfriend role, going on dates and calling him pet names. 

“It’s okay, man. You don’t gotta lie to me. I’m already helping you drink away your sorrows,” He gives Leo a sarcastic grin, mostly joking. If he did get dumped, he doesn’t seem too heartbroken over it--unless that’s the reason he isn’t downstairs with the party.

   “Oh, I love that one,” Indigo disagreed with a smirk, liking the game more for the ideas it gave her than her ability to win it. Playing for the first time, she’d felt like she’d been missing out sorely on life, taking getting to take a drink as the others would giggle about their wild antics. Well, those days of peace were long behind her, and Indigo had made lots of progress in filling up a hypothetical list of things she’d done. If she were the kind to create a bucket list, it would be something out of this world - which meant playing Never Have I Ever would be equally dangerous. 

    It was probably a good thing for Brayden he wasn’t letting them get into that.

  “Hmm….” Indi hummed out into her cup, swallowing it down and giving a little blech noise following it. “Alright. I got one for you.” Her grin suggested nothing good was going to leave her mouth, but hey - he’s the one who agreed to entertain her, even if unknowingly. Once you start with her, it’s hard to escape. “Would you rather be… a fairy or a mermaid? And you can never change back. Oh, and you’re the only one in existence. Unless you turn others.” 

    Indigo was mixing up her mythos, but she didn’t care. 

Brayden furrows his eyebrows as he gives Indigo a confused look. When she suggested a game, he didn’t expect it to go in this direction, and the few times he’s played would you rather, it was usually more along the lines of “would you rather eat nails or sleep on nails?” He’s not a big on fantasy, so it’s not something he ever really considered, but he is now. 

“That sounds like a lot of work,” He comments flatly before taking a drink as he thinks. He grew up by the beach, but he wasn’t really a swimmer, so he doesn’t love the idea of living in the ocean for the rest of his life. And he doesn’t really know anything about fairies other than they’re glittery and have wings. 

So, the real question here is--would he rather be glittery or forced to fend off sharks with his fish tail? If he can turn people, which he doesn’t know how either of those creatures turn humans into them, then he at least has the option to recruit some of his friends and boyfriend to join him. He likes his alone time, but being a solitude mermaid...merman? is a little extreme even for him.

“Uh--mermaid,” He finally decides on with a shrug, “I guess dolphins are cool.” He goes quiet as he thinks of options for Indigo, going with her more mystical theme. “Would you rather marry a vampire or a werewolf?”

Location: Parking Lot Date: March 29 Time: 9:32 p.m. (OPEN)

Akira isn’t ashamed to admit that when the Foxes converged on him on the court…he’d cried. He’d hugged anyone who would let him throw his arms around them and then he hugged them all again. Screw the game. They could lose tonight and Akira wouldn’t care an ounce. They were going to the death match. They’d made it. The Foxes were going places. And the Foxes did lose but…Akira didn’t care. Barely even noticed the scores as they walked off the court, sticks on their shoulders. They’d made it. He felt weak in the knees just knowing it.

It’s a struggle to separate himself from the mass of celebrating Foxes and Vixens in the locker room, but he hurts and, if he’s being honest with himself, he needs a moment to himself. Needs a moment to breathe, to tell himself that this is real. That it isn’t a dream. And the warm water on his shoulders feels fantastic. He lingers there, water running down his body, head resting against the wet wall. Thinking of everything and nothing all at once. He plays the game over and over in his head, reliving the rush of scoring  over and over again. By the time he gets out of the shower the rush hasn’t faded. His hair is damp when he gets dressed and walks back out into the fray, gathering his gear and heading out to the bus to drop it off. 

He shoves it in the storage compartment and spends a little bit of time with Wymack by the bus. They don’t talk much, Wymack never does, but he puts his hand on Akira’s shoulder as he turns to leave and smiles at him an Akira’s heart soars. He’s on cloud nine as he leaves, headed for the nearest person he can find. He doesn’t even care who it is as he slides up next to them, still riding high. “I still can’t believe that we made it. It’s like…like I’m going to wake up and it’s all just a…dream. You know?” Akira fidgets, shifting from one foot to another and shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “You’re going to the party, right?” He smiles. “Come with me?”

When Akira gave them that final point they needed, Brayden felt like throwing up he was so relieved. He realized near the end that they didn’t have a chance at winning, but there was still some hope that they could still somehow make it out of this alive. His hands shake as he sits on the bus, so overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. He’s fucking happy that they’re moving forward but dread sits heavy in his stomach. They lost their last two games and they’re nearing the end now. He’s pretty sure this was their last stroke of luck, and he’s not feeling very confident in their ability to win it all—or even come up second. 

He doesn’t want to spend this game like the last though, hiding away on the rooftop as he smokes through an entire pack of cigarettes. They’re in Chicago, which is a pretty cool place for a city, and even though he’s convinced this is the end of their rope, it still seems like they should celebrate. They lost twice and still get to move forward. 

So, when he gets off the bus, he doesn’t immediately disappear to his hotel room, lingering to see what the others are doing. Brayden flinches in surprise when Akira suddenly appears beside him, full of enthusiasm. And for once, he can’t hold it against him. He saved their asses after all, if anyone deserves to celebrate it’s him. He raises a brow in response, “Me?” He looks around as their teammates climb off the bus, he’s pretty sure it would make more sense for Akira to show up with any of them over him, but he won’t argue. “I mean, I guess,” He agrees with shrug and shifts awkwardly as he works himself up to congratulate him. “Hey—uh—nice work, man. We’d be fucked without you.”

She doesn’t think too much about the future: when the present feels like so much already, it’s the only thing she can focus on, the only thing she has room for. She can’t think about what happens after the Foxes, when she already feels like she knows that she’ll want to keep playing Exy, and she isn’t sure if she’ll be able to. When she can’t imagine a professional team picking her, just like she hadn’t been able to imagine Wymack recruiting her. 

She hasn’t even thought far enough ahead to next year, but Brayden’s words make her do it: what if this, her first year on the Foxes, is the best that she gets? If they don’t make it this far in the Championships next year, or the year after that, and every year that comes after is just fighting and failing to recapture this feeling that she has now?

She thinks about it, but she just as quickly stops. That isn’t going to happen. She isn’t going to let it—and she believes enough in the rest of the Foxes to know that they won’t, either. 

Maybe Brayden doesn’t. Maybe he’s wrong, or maybe Glory is. But he’s got years under his belt, and he’s paid his dues. It’s just strange to think that, after sharing the court with him all year, next year he’ll just be gone, and they’ll be another striker in his place. That, eventually, the only people left on the court with Glory from this first, wonderful year, will be the other freshmen. 

“Have you told Wymack?” She asks, quietly. “Or anyone else on the team?“ Maybe it’d be a distraction, during Championships, the kind of thing they can’t afford. But she can’t imagine it’d be better to be blindsided by it, after they’ve won or loss and they’ll never play together again. Maybe there’s no good way to do it. Just ripping the bandaid off, and then living with it. “I won’t say anything to anyone, if you haven’t.” 

When he first came up with the idea, he didn’t think it was something that he’d actually be able to pull off. He wasn’t even sure if it was what he wanted, leaving all this security behind, but Bee helped him realize that it wasn’t an impossible goal. When he signed up for those online courses, he probably should’ve started spreading the word, but he held back out of fear he’d convince everyone he’s leaving, only for him to fuck up and come back next year. 

“I told Betsy,” He shrugs awkwardly. “I was gonna wait and see if it looked like I’d actually pass before telling anyone else, but now it’s March...” He trails off. He’s gone the last five-ish years doing whatever without caring what anyone else thought, but things are different now. Will Wymack feel like signing Brayden on was a waste of time? Will Arlo hate him for leaving early? What will Grant think? 

“So, yeah, thanks. I’d rather tell them myself, you know?” Brayden mutters. He doesn’t know what led him to choose Glory as the first person to confess to. There’s something about her that’s always made her pretty easy to talk to, which is weird because he feels so old and jaded compared to her. 

Brayden tastes like smoke and sharp, winter air. His lips are chapped and cold and his hands, where they rest against Arlo’s waist, spasm with tenuous restraint. He’s fucking perfect. This is fucking perfect, and Arlo slowly comes undone with it - the overwhelming affection and admiration he has for this man. It leaves him lightheaded. Helpless. Adrift. And he finds that he doesn’t really care at all. 

He snakes a hand up to grip the base of Brayden’s neck and uses the newfound leverage to pull him closer, until their bodies are flush against one another. The kiss turns messy, intense, and he can’t help the ragged noises that escape him at the slide of Brayden’s tongue, the brush of his stubbled cheek. He can’t remember the last time they sat somewhere, alone, and just made out.

He’s missed this. 

“Fuck,” he reluctantly pulls away after a few moments, chest heaving. His cheeks are flushed from exertion and beard burn, lips raw and wet. “You are… unfairly good at that.” He shakes his head fondly, but doesn’t move an inch, determined to stay close and leech as much body heat from his boyfriend as possible. “I swear I’m not trying to be like, one of those high maintenance partners that’s gotta be on your dick twenty-four-seven, but fuck.” He sighs. “I miss just being near you, man. I hate that everything’s so busy right now. That every second we’re not preparing for the next match feels wasted. Sucks.” He buries his face in Brayden’s shoulder, digging his nose into the other man’s collarbone.

Brayden didn’t mean for the kiss to turn heated, especially when they’re on the roof, which is everyone’s favorite moping spot. But as Arlo draws him in and lets out those little noises, he can’t help it. Living with two other guys means they don’t get to be together like this as much as they’d like, unless they get creative— like using Brayden’s car, sometimes just as a place to go or to drive somewhere private, like that field they went to watch UFO’s.

A muffled low moan slips out of him as he lets himself get lost in it, carding his fingers through Arlo’s long, dark hair and kissing him deeper. It’s weird to think about when he had that stupid no kissing rule, back when he stuck to one night stands. It was his fucked up way to make sure no one got too close, not even these nameless guys he’d never see again. But Arlo changed everything, and continues to change everything he thought about himself.

He never thought he’d have a boyfriend, let alone one that he could so clearly picture the future with. He never thought he’d have someone important in his life after what happened with his family. It’s still fucking scary, but he’d rather have this and be afraid to lost it than not have it all. 

When the kiss finally breaks, he exhales shakily and licks his lips, his eyes trailing over Arlo’s flushed cheeks and swollen lips. The sight does nothing to help him calm down, but he can’t look away. It’s not hard to agree with him when he feels like this and can’t do a whole lot about it. “Yeah,” He answers quietly and rests his hand on the back of Arlo’s head. 

“You wanna be on my dick?” He playfully asks after a beat with a raised brow, an attempt to lighten the mood a little. “Noted. I’ll pencil you in for...whenever we get the fucking room to ourselves.”

There’s a split-second of silence. On one side of it is the Ravens, is that bond that he and Brayden have always shared by never acknowledged until tonight. On the other side of it is—Brayden, professing his love for shirtless dudes. 

And—fuck whatever came before, everything that could weigh Leo down until he drowned, if he gave into it. Because he’s not going to give into it. The Ravens took years from his life: the soul-crushing time at Castle Evermore, that felt like an eternity but was barely even over a month, but all the time that came after, too. The year he barely remembered, the blur of cities and faces as he ran and ran again. The year he remembered all too well, alone in Vegas with his father in the ground. Even the year in San Diego, because it was one more year away from Class I. A year that he was finding his way back to himself, sure, but still falling farther behind. 

But all of that was, like, fifteen seconds ago. Now he’s fucking laughing, the ceiling above him seeming to blur with the force of it as he clutches at his bare sides and lets it roll through him. 

“Oh, you better believe I’m going to quote you on that,” he says, once it’s died down enough for him to have breath to speak. He picks his head up off of the bed, makes a show of wiping the corners of his eyes in Brayden’s direction. “I’m never going to let you live it down.”

And then, because he can’t resist, he reaches out with one foot and jabs it into Brayden’s thigh, punctuating his teasing words: “Come on, talk dirty to me. Tell me more about shirtless dudes, Brayden. Tell me about pantsless dudes.”

Brayden isn’t blushing, he tells himself. It’s just hot in this room, and it’s making his face all hot. As Leo bursts into laughter, he fights back his own, shoulders shaking as he purses his lips. But he feels lighter than he did only a few minutes ago, the vodka probably has a lot do with that, so he gives up the act quick and a low chuckle escapes his lips, which grows into a full body laugh. Tears of laughter spring to his eyes and before he can wipe them away, they roll down his cheeks. 

“Whatever, it’ll still be true tomorrow,” He relents with a feigned nonchalant shrug, wiping at his cheeks with his hoodie sleeves. Maybe, he won’t be as vocal about it when he’s sober, but it’s not like he’s ever going to disagree when someone declares that shirtless guys are hot. 

He rolls his eyes and kicks Leo in retaliation. It’s starting to feel like he’s at a sleepover, and they’re giggling over cute boys. Not that he’d know from experience, but he’s seen enough TV to get the gist. He feels good though—the weight of press duty and Championships temporarily lifted from his shoulders, so he doesn’t fight it. For once, he just plays along.

“Yeah, pantsless dudes,” He agrees with a solemn nod. Like this is a very serious conversation. “Naked dudes. My naked dude…” He trails off before shaking his head. He definitely shouldn’t go that far. Especially when said naked dude isn’t even in the room. 

“Oh. Speaking of naked dudes,” Brayden remembers suddenly, and pushes himself up to his elbows so he can look down at Leo. “Where the fuck is Sasha? Did she dump you or something?”

Setting: Vixen’s Den, The Watch Party Date & Time: Friday, March 22, before the game begins Status: open for all

    A party for Indi meant a chance to dress up. Like her other teammates, she was eager to watch the game, record notes, and learn something; but possibly even more importantly was the statement pieces she had to decide on. In her dorm, she’d trashed her half, a pile of clothes strewn about, shoes on her pillow, makeup sprawled over the bathroom sink and counter. She’d left it that way, too, too excited for the pleasant distraction of a party to bother with tidying up. 

   Now, she leaned against the wall with a cup in hand, close by the snacks (she she belonged), proud of her choice of outfit for the evening. It was maybe a bit more stripped down, lacking in the usual bright colors and clashing patterns that she normally would dare boundaries with, but it was sparkly and skimpy and she felt confident. Palmetto State, and her friendships she’d made (Rosie, especially), had done wonders for her ability to shine. 

  “This party is off to a lame start,” Indi commentated, being one of the first ones there, eyebrows raised and a pout playing on her lips. She couldn’t help but think of the horror that was parties at her all-boys boarding academy, or even worse; the girls boarding academy. Palmetto had been much more her speed, but until things livened up, she’d continued to complain tactlessly. “Don’t make me start up a game of truth or dare — we’d all regret that.” 

Throughout his years on his Foxes, he never came to this kind of thing. It’s not like he was so checked out that he didn’t keep up with the Championship scores, but rather than watch the games live, he’d just check updates online. He definitely didn’t go to watch parties. But those days of apathy and distance are long gone, because now he’s surrounded by Vixens and Foxes while hyper-focused on the TV, calculating points in his head. 

He sips from his cup, not really paying attention to his surroundings when Indigo suggests a game. He’s with her on avoiding truth or dare. He doesn’t trust any of these people not to give him some dare he’d regret, and he’s not into the idea of being asked shit he doesn’t want to talk about. 

“As long as it’s not Never Have I Ever. I always lose,” Brayden snorts. Although, he’s pretty sure there wasn’t a winner or a loser with his game with Leo. They didn’t really finish the game, just moved on to Fuck, Marry, Kill, which got out of hand pretty quick. “You got any better ideas?” He asks her with a raised brow, though his gaze doesn’t leave the TV in case he misses something exciting.