#nyktelya

neil stumbles, his shoulder blades hitting the nearby wall with a dull sound. it hurts to breathe and there's blood running down his face, sloping across his temple to his cheek in an uncomfortably hot trail, but he still doesn't stop looking at bianca. part of him (the stupidest part) wants to reach her, to go to her and let her tease him about the mess he has just made, but he holds back, feet frozen a few inches from where one of ichirou's men lies dead.

she is not doing what she should. her fingers are not even remotely close to the gun he knows she must be carrying. neil shakes his head, checking his own weapon for rounds — not for her, no. but for the other men he knows will come after him. it's been two hours since neil ended his father for good, loaded gun in hand and no remorse to be found in his heart. it's been just a little less than that since his uncle told him he could get him out of the city; neil just had to stay alive until then.

he is not doing what he should, either. he is still not running, remaining an easy target for whoever might come looking. an even easier target for her. she is still not aiming her gun at him.

'' don't be stupid, '' he says this raggedly, the taste of blood sitting heavy in his mouth.

when neil finally makes a move, it's in the wrong direction. he is moving towards her, not away. his mother would have hated him for this — no, worse, she would have buried him herself for his weakness. but mary hatford is long dead and neil gets even closer, not stopping until there's barely an arm's lenght between them. maybe if they're lucky it will look like he's pleading for his life.

exy is a vicious game, the violence of it there for everyone to see.  neil knows this, feels it all too well with each bit of aggression the minneapolis centaurs are giving him — and his teammates too. neil grits his teeth, focusing instead on the fact that they are leading 5-4 at the start of second half. neil can't afford to take his eyes off the finish line, not when he is playing in the professional exy league.

the centaurs backliners are big, rock solid and mean, but neil is so much faster than any of them.  he ignores the sweat pooling at his temples and takes a pass from bianca like it's second nature, without having to re-adjust his stance at all before it connects neatly with his racquet's net and neil sprints for the goal with everything he has. he barely has time to register the goal lighting up red with success before something hard slams into him, knocking him clean down. neil hits the plexiglass wall first, then the floor, in what they will later assure him to be quite the frightening sight. his vision goes black for a few moments, on and off, with muffled sounds reaching his ears gradually. he thinks he hears bianca's voice among the chaos and he tries to say something to her, not even knowing if she is within earshot. she must be. how could she not be?

'' hey. hey, 's okay. go win this. ''

mercifully, he doesn't need to be carried out in a stretcher.  once his vision clears and his body regains proper sensation without all his muscles burning, he exits the court with the team nurses tailing him close, ready to support him should his legs fail to hold him up.

the nest welcomes him back without a fuss, if only because most of its inhabitants are fast asleep in the dead of night.  his gun now cooled and tucked in, neil haunts the underground garage, ignoring the elevator that would take him to ichirou's quarters entirely — there's only one person he can be bothered to speak to right now and that's certainly not moriyama. neil's got nothing important to say to him, anyway. the faulty business partner he sent neil to dispose of has been dealt with. evidence:  the snapped pic of the dead body on his phone.

he is leaning against the roof of his car when bianca arrives.  he doesn't even need to turn to check it's her. she carries a clear scent, something herbal and sweet but not overly so. she flicks her lighter near his unlit cigarette, the gesture not warranting the smallest flinch from him. he doesn't smoke much, but these snatched nights between them somehow call for it.