#tfcfic

It was months before the thought of singing again ever truly crossed his mind. Being freed from the Nest and being safe from Riko hadn’t really hit Jean yet. Before, he never let himself think that he would ever be allowed to leave Evermore, let alone imagine a future that was more than surviving to the next day, the next practice, the next game. He felt as if walking through a dream, rose-colored skies, Je vois la vie en rose. It took several appointments with the team shrink, and then a couple more with his own therapist, before Jean began to look for his voice again.

The first time it happened it took him by surprise. He was sat at the table, textbooks and papers scattered over the space as he worked, when he began to hum. A low note that started in his throat. Some tuneless melody, a few notes in a flat chord progression. Nothing special if it weren’t for the fact that Jean hadn’t made any sound even remotely close to be considered music for – years. A decade. And here he was, humming as he did his homework.

That’s how it went for weeks after that; Jean humming as he walked to his classes, making up melodies in his head when he should have been focusing on the passage he had to read for his history class. Whenever he was alone, he hummed, not quite brave enough to try out the words of his mother’s songs.

In December, on one chilly morning when Jean woke up feeling settled in his own skin for the first time in what seemed a lifetime, he wandered into the kitchen on socked feet to put on a pot of coffee for him and Jeremy to share when he woke up. Since it was a Sunday, Jean didn’t expect Jeremy to be up for another couple hours.

He poured the coffee beans into the filter and snapped the lid to the machine shut, turning it to slow brew while he hummed a quiet tune. Somehow his thoughts turned to a pop song he heard from on the radio at practice and he began to pick up the melody. He didn’t hear Jeremy’s quiet footsteps on the hardwood floor and cursed himself for it when Jeremy rapped lightly on the doorway.

“Good morning,” he said with his usual cheer. Jean jumped, startled at being snuck up on, and was hardly soothed by Jeremy’s apologetic smile.

“You’re up early,” Jean mumbled. He felt his ears growing red so he turned around with two slow, measured breaths. There was nothing for him to pretend to do as he ignored Jeremy, no spilled coffee beans to clean up, no extra mugs to put away, so Jean accepted defeat and faced him.

Jeremy smiled, his eyes crinkling the way they did when he was happy – which, Jean thought, was all the time. Avoiding looking at him was hard, when all eyes seemed drawn to him, Jean’s especially. He looked as rumpled as the crimson USC hoodie he slept in, the sleeves falling over his knuckles. He hadn’t even done anything with his hair, it stuck up at all angles, as stubborn as Jeremy was chipper. And yet Jean couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“So are you,” Jeremy pointed out, brushing past Jean on the way to the over-sugary cereal he was so fond of.

“I’m always up early,” Jean said, “It is a struggle to wake you up on time for practice on a normal day. Up before noon on Sunday is unheard of.”

“People change,” Jeremy said as he poured himself a bowl of cereal.

Jean didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t keep looking at Jeremy’s smile or his dumb hair or his beautiful brown eyes. So he opted to staring at the floor, not able to convince himself to leave and not willing to respond with more than a shake of his head when Jeremy offered him a bowl of cereal.

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day!” Jeremy quipped, and something about it almost sounded musical. It was dumb, it was nonsensical, but Jean found himself wanting to sing again.

~

“I didn’t know you sang.”

Jean cursed, hand jolting to his chest as he withdrew in on himself. He’d let himself grow too comfortable in this dorm and around Jeremy for his own good. Complacency like this, losing awareness enough for someone to sneak up on him, would have gotten him hurt in the Nest. There was no room for comfort, no time to let himself relax.

“Sorry,” Jeremy grimaced.

There were also no apologies. When sincere, they were weaknesses waiting to be exploited. Jeremy was not fit for the Nest. Jean wasn’t sure if that was a bad thing.

“I should put a bell on you,” Jean said once his heart had calmed its terrified beat. Jeremy smiled sheepishly. He was always smiling; smiling at practice when he worked with the Freshmen, smiling as he and Alvarez cracked jokes back and forth, smiling at Jean. Jean didn’t understand it.

“I was going to ask you if you wanted to go out with the girls and I tonight,” Jeremy said. The girls Jean knew to be Laila and Alvarez. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“It’s fine.” Jean shrugged, but it really wasn’t. He would work on being more alert next time.

Jeremy was still watching him, a thoughtful look on his face. He rubbed his bottom lip, a tap-tap-tap with his thumb that drew Jean’s eyes to the movement. He averted his gaze.

“I didn’t know you could sing,” Jeremy repeated, and Jean wanted nothing more than to disappear.

“I don’t,” he said quietly. It was the first time he sang in years, more than just humming quietly so no one else could hear. His voice was scratchy due to rarely speaking above a mumble, his tone too flat one beat then too sharp the next. He couldn’t even remember all of the words to the song correctly.

Alouette, gentille alouette, alouette, je te plumerai…

Plucking feathers. Head, beak, wings. Jean often thought of raven’s feathers, instead of a lark’s. Black feathers between his fingers, dark as oil and just as slick. He imagined plucking them, the delicate plumage destroyed in his grip, the broken shafts spiraling to the ground to rest at his feet. Je te plumerai la tête, et la tête.

“You have a nice voice, Jean,” Jeremy said. And, god, his eyes, shining and earnest and so, so very warm. They were warmer than anything Jean had felt in the Nest, and Jean couldn’t stand it. “Like a songbird.”

And that – that was too much. Jean was not a songbird, not anymore, not ever again. The grief was unexpected, a hot flash in his stomach, sudden as a knife from the dark. Doors slamming shut, dark rooms and tears on his face, his mother’s voice soothing him with a song, quiet so his father wouldn’t hear, Alouette, alouette. Jean trying to keep up with her, his cheek stinging from the slap. A-a-a-a-ah, broken by muffled sobs.

My little songbird, she’d murmur, brushing the tears away with her thumbs. You know you shouldn’t anger him. You have to be better next time.

Jeremy called after him when Jean shoved past and disappeared into the bedroom. Jean didn’t know if he slammed the door or not, but he was sitting with his legs to his chest, head bowed over his knees and back pressed against the wood, breathing too fast to properly get air into his lungs. Jean willed himself to forget ever trying to sing.

A soft knock put a stutter in Jean’s gasps for air. Jeremy’s soft voice came from the other side of the door. “Jean?”

“Go away,” Jean rasped, clutching his face in his hands. He couldn’t breathe, he could barely think. He needed air, he needed space. “Leave me alone.”

He heard nothing after that, so Jean assumed Jeremy had left, leaving Jean to the dark room. That was the thing about Jeremy, he always listened.

It must have been hours before Jeremy returned, creeping into the bedroom and closing the door with a quiet click behind him. Jean had since relocated to his bed, his back turned to the room as he pretended to sleep. He listened to Jeremy’s footsteps pause in the middle of the room before the closet light turned on and Jeremy dressed for bed.

The light flicked off, and Jean squeezed his eyes shut.

~

Jeremy kept his distance after that. He put food for Jean in the fridge but he left the dorm at night and didn’t return until morning, and only for a couple minutes to grab a clean shirt and shorts before heading to practice. He must have warned Laila and Alvarez, because Jean’s interactions with them never went farther than a simple hello or a pat on the back after a good scrimmage.

It was lonely, Jean realized a week after scarcely seeing Jeremy around. He hadn’t realized how much he had grown used to Jeremy’s presence until it was gone. Jeremy was loud and he somehow filled in the empty spaces of a room all by himself. He was so different than anyone Jean had encountered at Evermore, and Jean had grown to miss him.

Jean didn’t realize he had been waiting for the sound of a key turning in the lock until he heard it. Shaking himself awake, Jean sat up in his chair and rolled the tightness out of his neck. The door opened, Jean looked, and Jeremy stopped in the hallway.

“Sorry,” he said, glancing away. “I’m just getting some clothes.”

Jeremy ducked into the bedroom and Jean followed after him. Jean watched as Jeremy rummaged through the closest. When he turned around with an armful of clothes, he nearly knocked into Jean’s chest.

“Sorry,” he murmured again and tried to go around. Jean blocked him, a move reminiscent of practice that morning when he had stopped Jeremy from scoring on goal.

“You don’t have to do that,” Jean said.

“Do what?” Jeremy tried for a weak smile, but it flickered like a broken flame.

“Avoid me.” Jean pursed his lips, folding his arms across his chest. “You don’t have to stay out of your own dorm room because I’m in here.”

Jeremy sighed. His hair was a tangled mess and running his fingers through it didn’t seem to help. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said. He still wouldn’t meet Jean’s eyes.

“You don’t,” Jean said. He realized it was true as he said it. Jeremy never made him uncomfortable. He gave Jean space when he needed it, he never slapped Jean’s shoulder too hard after practice, he kept his words gentle and patient. But he also knew when Jean was in the wrong headspace and needed to be brought back, he left leftovers in the fridge and always invited Jean to hang out with the rest of the Trojans. He smiled at Jean; he was kind to him. Jeremy was the most considerate person Jean knew and here he was avoiding his own room so he could give Jean the space he asked for.

Jean didn’t want it anymore.

Jeremy raised his eyes to Jean’s. There was caution there, a certain guarded wall, but underneath it all, always, was concern. There were also the telltale signs of sleeplessness.

“Where have you been sleeping?” Jean asked. It just struck him that Jeremy had to be going somewhere when he left the dorm. He looked worse for wear, not enough sleep and too much tossing and turning. Jean knew the look well, recognized it every time he looked in the mirror.

“The girls’ room,” Jeremy conceded after a beat.

“This is your room, too,” Jean said. Jeremy shrugged, looking at his feet.

“I’m really sorry, Jean,” he said. “I didn’t want to upset you.”

Jean sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. Jeremy still stood, half across the room with his head bowed. “My mother used to sing to me,” Jean started quietly. Jeremy’s head shot up in surprise. Jean had never talked about his family before, not even when Jeremy had told him about his own parents and siblings.

“I hardly remember anything about her, or either of my parents really.” Jean barely remembered France itself, just that it was better than Evermore. Anything would have been better than Evermore. “But I remember that she would sing. And I would sing with her.”

Jeremy didn’t say anything. He was looking at Jean with wide eyes, mouth slightly parted on an exhale. Maybe he thought if he breathed too loudly, moved too quickly, Jean would clam up and never speak about it again. Maybe he was right.

“They were my fondest memories of France. I do not believe I had very many of those.” Jean stared at his hands clasped loosely in his lap, the pale scars crisscrossing over his knuckles. His fingers were crooked and jutted out at odd angles, never given the chance to heal right after being broken.

Jeremy moved slowly toward the bed; footsteps quiet over the carpeted ground. He still looked startled, but the tension eased from the air as Jeremy lowered himself onto the bed next to Jean and listened to him talk. This Jeremy was different than the cheerful, smiling Jeremy that Jean had come to appreciate. But he was still Jeremy, and Jean was glad he was here nonetheless.

“I stopped singing when I came to America.” He remembered the plane ride, the fear and the sorrow. He remembered thinking, Why would they do this to me? Why would they send me away? For the longest time, Jean had blamed himself. “I never expected to sing again.”

Jeremy’s mouth moved wordlessly. “I – ”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Jean cut him off. “You didn’t know.”

“Still.” Jeremy frowned. “I know that being at Edgar Allan wasn’t easy for you. If you ever need to talk about any of it…” Jeremy paused and looked up at Jean. The earnestness in his expression almost made Jean look away. “I’m here for you.”

Jean nodded, not knowing what to say now that he used up all his words. “Thank you,” he decided on. To change the subject, Jean asked, “Are you sleeping here tonight?”

“I can stay with Laila and Alvarez,” Jeremy replied. “They don’t mind.”

“Stay here,” Jean said, not eager for Jeremy to leave again. Like dawn breaking across the night sky, radiant rays pushing through like cracks in the darkness, a smile bloomed across Jeremy’s face.

Jean attempted a tiny smile back.

~

At first, Jean didn’t know what woke him. It wasn’t a nightmare; Jean usually woke from those gasping and panicked, disoriented from the dark and not knowing where he was. Sometimes he made so much noise it woke Jeremy, as heavy a sleeper as he was. More than a few nights were spent with the lamp on between them and Jeremy talking in a soft voice until Jean was able to fall back asleep.

No, Jean didn’t wake from a nightmare.

The bedroom door was closed but light seeped in from the hallway under the door, illuminating a tiny sliver of the carpet. The muffled sound of pots clanging from the kitchen caught Jean’s attention. That must have been what woke him up.

Jean groped blindly for his phone and checked the time. Jeremy’s bed was empty, the sheets thrown to the side and the giant purple blanket Jeremy loved slipping carelessly to the floor. Jean couldn’t fathom what Jeremy could be doing up at two in the morning.

Rubbing his eyes, Jean tossed back his covers and put on some socks. The clanking sound stopped and Jean heard the oven door open and close as he made his way out of the bedroom and to the kitchen. There, he found Jeremy with his back turned, furiously mixing something in a bowl. Even with his back turned, Jean could see the tension tying up his shoulders underneath his worn t-shirt.

“Jeremy?” Jean said, squinting in the bright kitchen lights. Jeremy jumped and the bowl dropped from his hands, spilling across the counter. It looked like chocolate batter. Jean had no doubts that it was Jeremy’s favorite brownie recipe he was making.

“Shit,” Jeremy swore. Jean raised an eyebrow.

He turned around and Jean noticed that he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. His hair was a tangled mess and Jean could see dark smudges behind the thin wire-rimmed glasses he only wore when he was at the dorm or when he was particularly tired, perched askew on his nose. Jeremy pushed them up with his knuckle and blinked owlishly at Jean.

“Sorry,” Jeremy said, hurriedly smearing the spill even further with a paper towel. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What are you doing?” The kitchen was a disaster. Dishes were piled high in the sink, stacked haphazardly to the point Jean was surprised they didn’t topple over at the slightest pressure. Jeremy himself was also a mess. Flour clung to his hands and clothes, the same pajamas he wore to bed hours ago, and what looked like chocolate was smeared across his cheek. He tried to block Jean’s view, but Jean peered behind him to find more baked goods on a cooling rack. “Are those cookies?”

Jeremy’s shoulders slumped with defeat. “Yeah,” he admitted. “And there’s an apple pie in the oven.”

Jean stared at him. “We have midterms tomorrow,” he said dumbly. “What are you doing baking apple pie at two in the morning?”

“Well you see,” Jeremy began, eyes darting wildly as he struggled for an explanation. “I – ” Jeremy’s lip trembled and, to Jean’s alarm, his face crumbled. His voice was thick as he said, “I’m so freaking stressed, I can’t sleep, and this is what I do when I can’t sleep because I’m stressed!”

Jean crossed the room. His hands found Jeremy’s shoulders. He didn’t realize he was pulling Jeremy to his chest until he tucked Jeremy’s head against his shoulder with a steadying hand on the back of his head. Jeremy clutched Jean’s shirt with tight fists. He was shaking, from barely-withheld tears or from too much caffeine making him jittery, Jean didn’t know.

“Is it just because of the tests?” Jean asked.

Shaking his head, Jeremy said, “It’s…everything. The tests, the team. Our last game before winter break is coming up and we need to do well. I have no idea what the winter season is going to look like, let alone semifinals and championships.” Jeremy made a soft sound, a cross between a sigh and a sob. “I should have never reduced starting line. I’m ruining this team.”

Jean didn’t think Jeremy could ruin a single thing if he tried, but he didn’t say that. Instead he eased Jeremy far enough he could look him in the eyes and said, “I don’t think that. You’re an amazing captain.” Better than Riko, who ruled with fear and violence. Jeremy stood tall on the court with the Trojans behind him, following him willingly. “They trust you because the team has only gotten better under your leadership.”

Jeremy tried to look at his feet but Jean tilted his head up with a finger under his chin. “They’ll hate me,” he said, his mouth twisted downwards.

“No. They won’t. And if they do, they don’t deserve to be on this team,” Jean said with conviction.

The anxiety eased from Jeremy’s eyes, and Jean found the familiar warmth in them. It was one of the first things he noticed about Jeremy when he picked Jean up from the airport after arriving in California. For the first time, unobstructed by an Exy helmet or Jean’s injuries making it difficult to see, Jean couldn’t help but notice it. How warm he was, how his smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, how the gold shone through when the California sun hit them just right, reminding Jean a little of honey.

He realized how close they were standing. Jeremy’s chest pressed against Jean’s in a half-hug, his hands still curled in Jean’s shirt. Jeremy tilted his chin up and moved closer until his nose brushed against Jean’s. He had to stand on his tip-toes. A curl of hair tickled Jean’s forehead and Jean’s hands held Jeremy’s shoulders tighter, closer. Jean bumped his forehead against Jeremy’s, a small nudge, not pushing away, but beckoning closer.

“Jean,” Jeremy breathed, his eyes flicking to Jean’s with honey-slow distraction. They flicked down to his mouth. Jean didn’t know if Jeremy had even realized.

Jean’s stomach jumped. “Come on,” he said, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat. He pushed Jeremy back a step. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“But the pie,” Jeremy said, and the tension eased from the air. “The kitchen.”

Jean forced his hands to let go off Jeremy’s shoulders. “You go to sleep, I will get the pie out, and then we’ll take care of the mess tomorrow.”

Jeremy washed his face and Jean helped him into his bed, pulling the sheets and his purple blanket over him. He was always complaining about the cold, unused to it in the way Jean was, so Jean tucked the edges in so the blanket wouldn’t slide off.

Jean made to leave, but a hand curled around his wrist, barely touching but enough to grab his attention. “Jean?” he heard Jeremy say. “Will you stay with me? Is that okay?”

It surprised him that Jeremy wanted him to stay. But Jean nodded and settled down to face him as Jeremy nestled down in his blankets. Only a couple inches away on the tiny dorm room bed, Jean was hyper-aware of how close he and Jeremy were.

Jeremy’s eyes grew wide and anxious in the dark again, his breathing just a bit too fast. Jean held his gaze, then fixed the blanket tighter over him. He would have to get up again in half an hour to fetch the pie, but for now he was content to lay there.

“You should try to get some sleep,” he said. “You do not want to be tired for your exams.”

Jeremy nodded but his expression never changed. Sighing, Jean adjusted his position so he was more comfortable and began to hum. He heard a small gasp beside him when he started singing the words to an old lullaby he could no longer remember the name of. He sang quietly, his voice wavering and strained until he found the melody he was looking for.

For first few minutes Jean sang, Jeremy watched him with uncertainty. It had been months since Jeremy caught Jean singing by himself in their dorm, and since then Jean had made sure that no one was around to hear if he ever dared mutter the words to a song. But Jean was confident in this, and he wanted Jeremy to hear him, to listen.

Jean’s mother had never sung him this song, not to sleep, not when he was crying, not even when they were alone in the house, listening to the radio in the kitchen on lonely Sunday afternoons. This was a song Jean had all to himself. It was what he sang to himself when there was no one around to comfort him, when he was completely and utterly alone. They were the words he thought of most in Evermore, when Riko was done with him and he had to clean up his wounds by himself, new and old, invisible or not. He’d never shared it with anybody, never planned to, but now here he was, singing to Jeremy his lullaby.

Jeremy barely lasted until the end of the song before his eyes began to droop. His face slackened and in minutes, Jean could hear the quiet sound of his snoring. Jean should have gotten up and left Jeremy there to sleep, but there was still twenty minutes before he was supposed to go, so he brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over Jeremy’s forehead, tucked it behind his ear, and decided to stay until the oven called him away.

~

They circled each other for weeks. Every time Jean saw Jeremy, he was reminded of how close they stood that night in their kitchen. When Jeremy stretched and his shirt slid up to reveal a sliver of his tanned, toned stomach, Jean thought about his hands circling Jeremy’s shoulders. When Jeremy shook his head after he took his helmet off, Jean couldn’t think of anything other than Jeremy’s hair brushing against his skin.

It was distracting. Everything, class, practice, the Trojan’s last game before winter break, was impossible to concentrate on. They won and secured their place in winter season, but Jean took a bad fall against the Plexiglas when he was thinking of Jeremy’s triumphant smile the day before at practice instead of watching where he was checking his striker mark.

Winter break was worse, since Jeremy had invited Jean to stay with his family over the break. At least at USC, Jean could always duck into the bathroom or hide away at the library if Jeremy’s presence pricked at Jean’s subconscious too much. At his childhood home, however, he had no such luck.

He knew he should have kept some distance between himself and Jeremy, but Jean didn’t want to stay away from him. Not even a little bit. He could have slept in the room that used to belong to Jeremy’s sister that was turned into a guest room after she moved out, but more often than not, Jean fell asleep on Jeremy’s floor. Jeremy always argued, he said Jeremy didn’t have to sleep on the hard floor, Jeremy could sleep there instead and Jean could take the bed, but eventually they devolved to talking and quiet laughter. They stayed up too late every night, attempting to keep their voices low so not to wake Jeremy’s family. Occasionally Jean would hum or sing while Jeremy watched him with that peculiar smile he seemed to reserve solely for Jean until either one of them passed out.

It was too easy to be around Jeremy. Jean never felt pressured or uncomfortable; Jeremy simply let him exist. And if Jean began to open up to Jeremy about his past, his own family, and his nightmares, then Jeremy listened and held Jean’s hand when he began to tremble. Jeremy was comforting, he was warm, he looked at Jean like he was special. And Jean liked how Jeremy made him feel.

Maybe it should have bothered him, the way Jeremy looked at him, but it didn’t. If anything, it made Jean bristle with energy, anticipation of what might happen next. Would Jean glance over at Jeremy to find his eyes on him? Would Jeremy look away or would he hold his gaze?

Jean started noticing more and more how much he looked at Jeremy, too. Alvarez had called him out on it when she and Laila roped Jean into going out with them and Jean had flushed such a deep shade of red Jeremy thought he had a sunburn and gave him sunscreen, despite it being January. But he couldn’t help it. More than once he caught his eyes drifting to the mole on Jeremy’s neck, nestled behind his jaw. Jean wanted to press his lips to it and kiss it. He wanted to run his hands through Jeremy’s hair and find out if it was really as soft as it looked. He wanted to trace his fingers over Jeremy’s lips and down his chest.

It only got worse once Jeremy made the habit of falling asleep on Jean’s shoulder when they watched TV. Jean never had the heart to wake him, so he let Jeremy sleep until he began to stir on his own. Sometimes it took hours, sometimes Jeremy slept until the sun began to set. Sometimes Jean would turn off the TV and maneuver them so he could lay down with him and they’d spend the night on the couch underneath the blanket they shared.

It wasn’t until late February when it started to change.

Jean had already resigned himself to a life where he could only look, never quite touch without pulling away the very last minute. A life where Jeremy fell asleep on Jean and Jean had to quietly untangle their fingers when they woke instead of holding tighter like he wanted.

Until Jeremy came to the dorm with a small smile on his face.

“Jean Moreau,” he said, smile broadening. “Will you go on a date with me?”

The weather was nice enough for a picnic, so Jeremy packed a basket full of food and Jean grabbed the blankets and then Jeremy drove them to a grassy hill a little less than an hour away from LA.

As they walked to the spot Jeremy picked out, Jean basked in the warmth of the sun. So many years of being locked underground and only being allowed to leave for a couple hours at a time had Jean cherishing the feeling of the sun’s heat on his skin. After months in California, Jean still wasn’t as tanned as Jeremy, but a smattering of freckles had begun to dot his arms, his shoulders, across the bridge of his nose. Freckles like pollen on a flower, constellations in the night sky.

Flowers swayed in the wind winding through the long strands of grass, the air warm despite it being February, and the sky stretched above them with fluffy white clouds dotting the expanse of blue. Jeremy helped Jean lay out the blanket and then they divvied out the food. They ate pre-made sandwiches and strawberries, per Jean’s request, and drank cider from fake campaign glasses that made Jean smile when the bubbles popped in his mouth and made his tongue tingle. It made him feel giddy and light, despite the lack of alcohol in the cider, like he had swallowed a mouthful of stars, an entire galaxy.

When they finished eating, they stretched out on the blanket on their backs and Jean watched Jeremy point out the shapes in the clouds that looked like various animals. Jean didn’t have to feel afraid of Jeremy catching him looking, not when Jeremy caught his eye and grinned, his cheeks flushing a pretty pink. Jean didn’t want to look away, not when Jeremy smiled like that.

“That one,” Jeremy said, pointing. Jean followed the line of his hand, the way his fingers stretched elegantly to the sky and how his knuckles jutted out and accentuated the veins on the back of his hand. “That one looks like mistletoe.”

That startled a laugh out of Jean. His eyes jumped from Jeremy’s hand to the cloud above them. It looked like a regular cloud to him. He turned to Jeremy and quirked an eyebrow, not bothering to keep the smile off of his face. “Smooth,” he said.

Jeremy shrugged, unashamed. “Can I kiss you?” he said instead. His eyes were dancing with light.

Jean’s breath hitched in his chest as he nodded. He had wanted to kiss Jeremy for months, but never entertained the thought of Jeremy kissing him back. Jean cupped Jeremy’s cheek, feeling the softness of his skin, smooth under Jean’s calloused hand, his pinky brushing the tiny mole he so desperately wanted to kiss and Jeremy closed the few inches between them.

Jeremy kissed him, and the world ground to a halt. The only thing going through Jean’s mind were Jeremy’s lips on his, as warm as the rest of him, Jeremy’s fingers playing with his hair, twirling a strand around his thumb as he pressed closer, so gentle and mindful even when they were kissing. Jean turned on his side and rested his hand on Jeremy’s chest, his fingers curling in the collar of Jeremy’s shirt. He could feel Jeremy’s heart beat under his palm, the quickness matching Jean’s own pulse.

When they separated, Jean had to take a moment to catch his breath. Jeremy pressed his forehead against Jean’s, his hands still cupping his face, and let out a breathless laugh. “I’ve been wanting to do that for ages,” he said.

Jean felt a smile creeping across his face. He opened his eyes and ran the pad of his thumb over Jeremy’s lips. “Me too,” he said.

They smiled at each other and Jean wondered about the impossibility of it all. A year ago, he’d never have thought that he would be allowed to leave the Nest. Falling for someone, especially someone like Jeremy, had never even occurred to Jean as something that could happen. His future was short and bleak in the Nest, but with Jeremy, it seemed endless, like the sun’s rays stretching forever on the horizon.

“I want to sing you a song,” Jean murmured. Looking away, Jean pushed himself up and sat cross-legged. He didn’t know why he was suddenly nervous, just that it was easier to stare at his hands as he plucked at the grass and twisted the stalks in his fingers. He felt a hand on his arm and soaked in Jeremy’s reassuring presence by his side.

Taking a deep breath, he began to sing.

He didn’t know what song he was going to sing until he was already singing it. It was in French. Jean hadn’t sung to Jeremy in French since he sang him his lullaby, so many weeks ago. It brought up too many hard memories Jean would prefer to leave buried. Shouting and loneliness, darkness enveloping him like a curtain, Jean didn’t want to think of them. Instead he had sang pop songs he heard on the car radio on the way to the stadium or songs he heard Laila singing on their impromptu karaoke nights. It was easier to avoid the songs that made up Jean’s childhood completely, but this was different.

Jeremy was good. He made Jean feel warm again after spending so long in the cold and darkness of Evermore. Jeremy made Jean want to sing again.

He started off slowly, rounding the words in his mouth until they almost sounded sweet. Jeremy’s eyes never left Jean’s face as he sang the words. “Les parois de ma vie sont lisses, je m’y accroche mais je glisse, lentement vers ma destinée.”

Jeremy didn’t understand French, but he listened intently, watching Jean sing the words with a crinkle between his brows. Jean still didn’t look directly at him, he kept his eyes on the plaid pattern of the blanket as the melody climbed higher and higher until it was snatched and whisked away by the wind.

He sang the song solemnly. When his mother had sang it, she sang it with a sort of frenzy, matching the voice from the staticky radio. She often forgot Jean was listening completely, sat up on the counter with his chin resting on his knees, as she spun around the kitchen. Jean had always thought the words deserved a slower tempo, a quieter one. They left him with a sort of sadness.

Je ne vois pour moi qu’un refuge, toute issue m’étant condamnée.

Jean squeezed his eyes shut. Words like bullets to his chest. Feathers drifting to the floor. “Mourir d’aimer.”

Perhaps it wasn’t the right song to sing as it certainly wasn’t a song that came without any bad memories attached. Jean didn’t think of this song when he thought of Jeremy, he didn’t think of it when he thought of how Jeremy made him feel. Nonetheless, he sang.

Jean had always thought the afternoons spent with his mother had been tainted. By his father and his quick temper, or by his years spent in Evermore with Riko and his blades sharpened specifically to render Jean’s flesh. But that wasn’t true. His memories were tainted, yes, but not because of anyone else, but because of Jean. He’d always painted his early memories better than they really had been. More yellows and golds than there had been, brushing over the blues and angry reds.

The Nest and its darkness, all the pain it held for Jean, made it too easy to forget the way his mother always turned away from him when he reached for her, how her hands wiped his tears and told him to stop crying, she didn’t have time for this. In the face of Riko’s cruelty, Jean had forgotten that his mother had watched him board a plane to never come back without uttering a word. She said nothing to him when he begged her to let him stay, to protect him. Les gens haineux face à eux-mêmes, avec leurs petites idées.

When Jeremy looked at him, Jean knew that he had been loved the wrong way. He knew when Jeremy held his hands when they shook and he knew when Jeremy stayed up for hours talking Jean down from a nightmare, he knew that his parents had never really loved him at all, if they had let him go so easily. His parents had sold him, given him away to rid of a debt that had nothing to do with Jean, yet what he was abandoned to pay by himself. It was a fact he denied so vehemently in the first few years of Evermore. There had to be some other explanation; Tetsuji was lying, Riko just liked seeing the look on Jean’s face when he repeated it.

“Tu es le printemps, moi l’automne, ton couer se prend, le ien se donne, et ma route est déjà tracée.” Jean sang the last few lines of the song, his voice fading away with the lyrics like the light leaving the sky above them. “Mourir d’aimer. Mourir d’aimer. Mourir d’aimer.”

It was quiet for a very long time. Jean felt unsteady, such a difference from when he had kissed Jeremy. He was left with the distinct feeling that he had done something wrong.

But then he felt Jeremy’s hands on his face, tender as they held him. Jean opened his eyes when Jeremy’s thumbs swiped across his cheeks and came away wet, brushing away each tear as it came. Jean hadn’t realized he was crying.

“It’s okay, Jean,” Jeremy said softly. “You can cry now, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Jean exhaled a shaky breath. “I’m sorry for ruining our date,” he said.

“You didn’t.” Jeremy carded his fingers through Jean’s hair. “We’ll always have more dates, if that’s what you want.”

Jean could have a future with Jeremy, and he wanted it so badly he ached. He wanted the way Jeremy made him feel, the way Jeremy’s face glowed with happiness when Jean smiled. He wished to make Jeremy feel the same way Jeremy made Jean feel. And he hoped to keep kissing him, and holding his hand, forever and ever and ever.

Burying his face in Jeremy’s neck, Jean circled his arms around Jeremy’s waist and pulled him closer. Always closer. Jeremy rubbed soothing hands up and down Jean’s back and murmured reassurances in his ear, his cheek pressed against the side of Jean’s head.

They didn’t move until the sun set and Jean could breath normally, until he felt steadied, rather preferring to stay in Jeremy’s arms because that was the only place in the world Jean wanted to be and not because he needed help holding himself up.

Jeremy laced their fingers together and squeezed. “Let’s go home,” he said. “I’ll turn on the radio while we drive. Sing something for me?”

i. 2007

Andrew had never exactly liked Christmas. He liked being able to disappear without his foster parents getting calls that he skipped class. He liked that he could shovel the driveway without the possibility of missing the bus. Later though, it became a nuisance.

Nicky had been big on Christmas when Andrew and Aaron had first moved in with him. The first year, he told them they wouldn’t be doing present exchanges but used some of his savings to decorate and cook a big dinner. Aaron was mortified by the amount of effort he had put in but Andrew was unaffected. They didn’t do as big of a celebration the following years, but Nicky always liked to do something.

If Neil wanted to do something, he could arrange that. Christmas was a bullshit holiday with bullshit intentions, but he could give Neil a couple gifts and get cinnamon rolls for breakfast or something.

Only a couple freshmen stayed behind for the break. Neil stuck back too with the intent to keep an eye on them, but he and Andrew went to Columbia on the 24th and left the kids to Abby.

They went shopping before going to the house. The first stop was to a department store, much to Neil’s apparent confusion.

“I thought that when you said shopping you meant for food and liquor,” he said.

“We’ll get to that,” Andrew waved off as he led them to the PJ section in the back corner. He motioned to the racks and shelves they stood between. “Pick some pajamas.”

Neil cocked his head to the side. “What about you?”

“Pick mine too.” Andrew was thoroughly bored with Neil’s ignorance. “Santa, elves, reindeer. Christmas shit, yes?”

He smiled, just a little, and went about trying to find anything in a small. All they had left on Christmas Eve was extra small and double X’s, but he managed to find plaid pants, one pair in red and the other in green, and matching shirts with penguins and lights, respectively.

Food shopping was easier, though Andrew was remembering all of Nicky’s past attempts to make a holiday meal. He was a decent cook but the man was no good under pressure.

Something about the disgusting amount of domesticity must have amused Neil, because he broke into a smile and looked at Andrew like he had put each star in the sky.

“What?”

Neil paused for a moment, smile not faltering. “Nothing.”

He snorted a little. “Nothing.”

Neil swayed to nudge him as they walked out of the store with their bags, that small smile still on his face.

This makes Neil happy, Andrew noted, keeping it in the back of his head.

ii. 2007

Once they got back to the house, Neil helped with putting all the groceries away before vanishing into Andrew’s--their--bedroom to put on his new pajamas.

He walked out in red pants and the penguin shirt, looking half giddy. He pulled out a baking sheet and preheated the oven while Andrew poured them drinks. He put premade cookie dough on the sheet in chunks, standing hip to hip with him. Neil bumped into his side and put the cookies into the oven. Not wanting to waste time, Andrew set the timer before crowding him against the counter.

“Yes or no?”

Neil jumped up to sit on the counter beside the oven and leaned down. “Yes.” He took the initiative to kiss Andrew, keeping his hands to his hair.

They got interrupted sooner than they ought to have been by the timer. Neil moved away and took out the cookies, busying himself getting a plate and searching for a spatula. Andrew stood patiently to the side, taking long sips of his drink. He made them weak.

It was ambient once they were in the living room with cookies and some channel marathoning Christmas movies. Andrew let Neil swing his legs onto his lap and lay against him at the same time, curling around him.

Andrew refused to let his heart race. He refused to acknowledge how cute Neil was like this, how happy silly shit like pajamas and cookies made from premade dough made him.

iii. 2008

Neil broke out the pajamas they had gotten last year. He wore the pants on occasion, but the rest of the set stayed shoved into the back of Andrew’s drawer.

Nicky insisted on having a Christmas dinner with the Foxes. The girls had graduated and it hit him harder than usual when he realized that family dinner no longer included them. They were always family, but it was harder for them to all be a part of it. Renee hadn’t had the room in her schedule, Allison had last minute company obligations, and Dan’s flight got snowed in.

They had managed to slip away without a trace. They drank and blew smoke out the bedroom window and locked out the rest of the Foxes.

Neil wanted this. He wanted to feel giddy off witty comebacks that Andrew shot at him, wanted to feel warm and then burning hot as Andrew brushed lips over his.

His mood worsened again when he came to the violent, sudden realization that he only had one of these left with Andrew before they graduated.

“Is it no?” Andrew asked, pulling away as soon as Neil tensed.

“It’s still yes,” he said, but the unsure tone made Andrew shoot him a questioning look. “Just thinking about how many holidays we have left. I think I’m starting to like Christmas, if only for the culture. Just thinking about how we won’t have many more like this.”

Andrew hummed and kissed him once, quickly. It stopped him from rambling, if anything. “They’ll be better when we have our own place and no noisy jolly fuckers around to ruin the night.”

He couldn’t help smiling at the implication. Neil reached up to pull him in for a kiss, tasting the future, tasting hope, tasting better things to come.

Neil liked the new feeling that replaced the cold, replaced the winter, replaced the holidays. He couldn’t stop thinking, our own place. It was a mantra, a pick-me-up, a promise. Even if Andrew dismissed any implication, it felt amazing.

iv. 2010

Andrew wasn’t coming to Palmetto during break. All new players were to stay for extra practice, orders of the captain. Neil figured, he would stay on campus too, taking care of the kids who couldn’t go home. He was the only fifth year senior and the team captain, even though Kevin came to practice over break because the Florida team wasn’t making new players give up their Christmas.

Robin stayed by Neil’s side for most of the break. She had stuck to Andrew like glue the year before--that is, once she realized he wasn’t going to kill her.

Just before noon on Christmas Eve, Neil and Robin were sitting in the corner of Abby’s living room, drinking coffee and hot chocolate respectively. The other kids were dispersed through the house or on the court for a Kevin-ordered conditioning. A sophomore striker was out for the first half of the semester for a broken wrist and still couldn’t get her throw right, so Kevin was helping her to switch hands.

He got a text from one of the freshmen that he was being asked for on court without specification. He showed Robin and she shrugged, getting up to follow him to the car.

When they walked into the stands, Neil saw Kevin instructing the sophomore on how to angle so he could make it past the goalie. Neil couldn’t see his face, covered by a helmet, and he was wearing light padding, but Neil’s heart nearly stopped when he realized that Andrew was standing in the goal.

Neil raced down the stands and Robin trailed behind. Another player on the court who was doing footwork saw him and unbolted the door--a freshman, the only one that year.

Andrew noticed too. He called off Kevin and dropped his stick in time for Neil to half-tackle him in a hug.

“You left Chicago?” Neil asked after thinking about who’s around. The only one who didn’t know about them was the freshman, but Neil didn’t give a damn.

“Yeah, I’m here to see Kevin,” he drawled.

He drew back from the hug. “Yes or no, Andrew?”

“Yes, idiot.”

Neil pulled off his helmet, holding it at his side as he kissed Andrew, not minding the sweat. They were interrupted when a ball was shot at their feet. Robin stood at mid court, handing Kevin back his stick.

“Don’t I get any sugar?” she asked.

Andrew rolled his eyes and held an arm out. Robin ran forward and was sandwiched between them.

“Ew, you smell,” she said, wrinkling her nose. Neil burst out laughing. The other Foxes on the court came and hugged them too, but Kevin abstained in favor of making a wall so Andrew had a way out. He liked this, liked the family he had made. The holidays had been feeling bleak, but they made him feel at home.

v. 2014

Neil Josten was twenty six years old and playing for the US Olympic team and the Seattle team beside Andrew. Robin had already gotten offers from them in her fifth year. Unlike the last two years, she passed up their offer to go to Washington and spent the break with her parents instead.

Seattle was snowy but less dull than Chicago had been. Andrew had lunch with his press manager, so Neil went for a run. He came back and got out of the shower only ten minutes before Andrew’s car rolled up. It was snowing and creating a picturesque holiday scene.

He had hot chocolate and tea made for them--his nutritionist was getting on him about drinking so much caffeine--by the time the door opened. The suite was big enough that he couldn’t see the door from the kitchen.

“Took a little longer than expected, huh?” he asked. Andrew turned the corner looking pissed and dripping wet. He was hugging something close under his coat, right on his chest.

“There’s a situation.” Neil raised an eyebrow before he saw Andrew pull a kitten out of his coat, looking only a couple months old and damp. He set it on the counter and stripped his coat, not paying attention to the look on Neil’s face or how he scooped it up and slipped it under his sweater.

Andrew vanished for a second, coming back with a fluffy towel and some thinner ones. He put them on the counter and let Neil figure it out as he left for another minute. He fumbled to get the little thing wrapped up, listening to it mewl, only looking up when Andrew put a cardboard box on the counter and began lining it with the towels.

“We have to take it to a vet,” Neil said.

“We can Google things.”

Neil rolled his eyes. “We need to get it tested and shit, make sure it won’t drop dead on us.”

Andrew paused for a second. “You assume we’re keeping it?”

Narrowing his eyes, he said, “Were you planning on not?”

He stayed silent for half a second before regaling Neil with the tale of how he saw it on the side of the road in the snow. He looked around with it in his coat for half an hour and couldn’t find any siblings or mother, so he drove home with it.

“All that, and you wouldn’t want to keep it?”

“Cats are almost as much work as you.”

Neil stuck his tongue out and put the kitten into the viable nest Andrew had made for it. He filled a little dish with water and stuck that in there too. It immediately started drinking, even if it seemed hard on walking.

When Andrew left to get properly warm, Neil looked up a vet with good reviews. He found one in uptown with a high enough rating and called to see if they had openings. The receptionist started drawing on about how they took some walk-ins and they didn’t have a packed schedule and if he wanted to come in that would be fine. He said he would be in soon and thanked her, hanging up as soon as he could.

Andrew walked out in different jeans and a fresh shirt. Neil looked down to the box. “We’ll go now if you don’t have any other plans,” he said.

Andrew nodded. He took the kitten out and handed it to Neil, who put it neatly into his sweater, and took the box out to the car. Neil pet the kitten’s head during the whole drive and cooed at it, to Andrew’s disgust.

They went home knowing it was okay if slightly malnourished and probably, eighty percent chance, a boy. They were given instructions on feeding and general care. Neil checked the pet policy on their building and promptly convinced Andrew to keep it.

Neil sulked at the table with Andrew and Kevin, occasionally taking sips from his water before he glared out at the crowd around him. Even though he was in a foul mood, this trip to Eden’s was a lot better than his last one.

The last call for drinks went out and Andrew snatched a couple more whiskeys and shots of vodka for him, Aaron, and Nicky to down before they got ready to go.

Back at the house, Neil tried to sleep on the armchair in the living room, but it was impossible. He couldn’t stop thinking about the game. All of his faults and fumbles, how he could have done better. He wondered if Ichirou saw the game. No, that wasn’t the right question.

He wondered when Ichirou would contact him about it.

Eventually, Neil gave up and wandered upstairs, careful to not disturb Kevin snoring soundly on the couch. He knocked on Andrew’s door before opening it as quietly as he could. Andrew’s eyes had been open when Neil stepped in, but they were unfocused and groggy from sleep. Neil probably woke him when he opened the door. Andrew didn’t tell Neil to get out when he settled on the floor beside the bed, only tossed a blanket at him and told him to go to sleep.

Now that it was morning, Neil felt less scared than he did in the dark, but his body still felt cold with fear. Fear of the game, fear of how he played, and fear of how Ichirou was going to react to it.

Screams coming from downstairs ripped Neil from his reverie.

He jumped to his feet, ignoring the dizziness that attacked his head from the sudden movement, just as Andrew yanked off his blankets and lunged for the door with a knife already in hand.

Neil followed Andrew down the stairs, taking two at a time and barely avoiding tripping down them. Kevin was rousing from his spot on the couch, blinking blearily from behind the pillows, but Neil could hear loud voices from the kitchen.

He didn’t know what he’d find when he turned the corner. Blood, definitely. A body, maybe.

He didn’t expect to see Nicky with a mess of glass shards and coffee at his feet, his eyes stretched wide in horror as Aaron waved around a knife and a piece of paper clutched in his fist in the air. There wasn’t a body, not even blood. The only mess was the coffee on the floor that Nicky had clearly dropped.

Aaron rounded on Neil as soon as he saw him. He shoved the paper to Neil’s chest. “Care to explain what the fuck this is?”

Neil looked at the paper and his stomach bottomed out.

“Why the fuck did I come downstairs this morning to see this stabbed into the fucking wall, Josten?”

Neil didn’t know what to say. The words on the page started to blur as the rest of the room faded out, all the yelling and chaos paled compared to the note. Andrew plucked it from Neil’s fingers to read, but Neil already had the entire thing burned into his mind.

Careful, Wesninski. You do not have room for any more slip-ups. This is your last warning before I cut you off at the knees. Do not disappoint me. You cannot afford to.

The note wasn’t signed, but it didn’t need to be. The threat was clear.

Aaron’s hands shoving at Neil’s shoulder brought him back to the present. His face was contorted and angry. The only reason he hadn’t hit Neil again was because of the human wall in the shape of Andrew Minyard that forced its way between them.

“Neil, what’s going on?” Nicky asked, his voice wavering and his eyes scared.

“Nicky, check the locks on the door. The windows too,” Andrew ordered, pointing at Nicky. Nicky didn’t move; he looked torn between listening to Andrew and staying for an explanation.

“Ichirou Moriyama,” Kevin’s weak voice answered so Neil didn’t have to struggle for words. “That’s what that is, isn’t it?”

Neil turned to find Kevin, pale and stressed out in the doorway. He raised his phone in the air, his hand trembling. “He says your failure is my failure, too.”

“Why are the Moriyamas sending you two threats?” Aaron asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“We’re his investments,” Neil said vaguely when it was clear Aaron wasn’t going to take silence for an answer. His head was spinning and he couldn’t tell if the words were really leaving his mouth or not. “How well we play determines if we get to live. Ichirou made it clear that I was on thin ice. That was never supposed to extend to Kevin.”

“So, what, you sold yourself off to the fucking Yakuza? And didn’t think that was an important thing to bring up with rest of the team?” Aaron shouted, his face twisting with hate. “This kind of affects all of us and you had no right to keep that from us.”

“Since fucking when do I owe you anything?” Neil snarled, snapping out of his frightened haze. Andrew had a hand on his chest, preventing him from getting closer to Aaron, but Neil sure as hell tried anyway.

“Since your dumbass actions affect the rest of the team.”

“What, scared that the bad guy is going to slit your throat while you sleep? This isn’t about you, get your fucking head out of your ass.”

“Fuck you. You may not care that you’re putting the rest of us in danger too, but I do. This is last year all over again. Who do you think is going to get hurt because of your loud mouth?”

Neil’s mouth clamped shut. Nicky glanced from Neil to Aaron like he was watching an intense tennis match and Kevin was quickly turning green in the face like he was going to be sick. Andrew’s hand dropped from Neil’s chest to his side, but Neil didn’t move. He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. “What?”

“Right, ‘cause your memory loss or whatever,” Aaron said with venomous derision. “Remember what happened to Seth because you couldn’t keep your big fucking mouth shut? Or –”

“Aaron,” Andrew warned.

Aaron ignored him. “– or to Andrew? You seriously don’t remember last year’s winter banquet, when you said Riko set Andrew up, do you?” Aaron’s glare could have flayed Neil alive.

Neil felt sick. Aaron was right. Neil put all the Foxes in danger just by being there. It didn’t matter that he didn’t lead Ichirou right to them, he already knew where they all were.

“Don’t you fucking dare say this isn’t about us when we’re the collateral damage.”

“Neil,” Nicky whispered just as Andrew started to pull Neil away from the kitchen.

Neil jolted away. “No,” he said.

Neil turned, intending to run from the room and put as much distance between himself and everyone else, and smacked right into Kevin. The hit wasn’t hard but it still drove the last of Neil’s breath from his lungs. Kevin was looking at Neil with the same fear that Neil felt clutching his heart. Neil dodged past him and took the stairs two at a time to the bathroom. He just barely bent over the toilet in time to dry heave into it.

Aaron had no reason to lie to Neil, especially not about something like that. And he didn’t need to either, because Neil remembered it. The worst part was that Neil thought he might have known it all along, buried somewhere deep in the back of his mind so he didn’t have to face it. He knew he was responsible. Ichirou might as well have staked the knife through Neil’s ribs instead of the kitchen wall.

Neil slumped to his knees.

God, how could the Foxes even look at him? Guilt twisted inside his stomach like a burning hot knife slicing him from his chin to his gut. Neil wasn’t sure if he could face the Foxes ever again. And Andrew. Andrew should have let him run that first day in the hospital.

A knock on the bathroom door startled Neil from his spot on the ground beside the toilet. Neil didn’t have time to lock the door before he doubled over the toilet, so Nicky just eased it open and peeked inside. “Neil?” he said.

Neil, Nicky called him. He might as well have called him Alex, or Chris, or any of those other names that belonged to a boy that didn’t exist.

Nicky’s face scrunched up with concern as he knelt down by Neil. “Are you okay?”

Neil swallowed the bitter taste left-over in his throat. He nodded. “I’m fine. I just don’t feel too good. I think I might go lay down for a bit.”

“You do that. Andrew took Aaron on a drive, mentioned something about grabbing food for breakfast. You can use his room while he’s out, I’m sure he won’t mind,” Nicky said gently, like Neil was a scared child that needed consoling after a nightmare. This whole goddamn thing was a nightmare.

Neil didn’t understand how Nicky could look at him like that; like he was concerned for Neil’s well-being. Neil had ruined things for him, gotten Andrew hurt, and nearly destroyed Nicky’s team yet Nicky was somehow still able to look at Neil like he cared. He didn’t deserve it.

Nicky helped Neil up from the bathroom floor, holding him carefully like Neil was made of fractured glass, and led him to Andrew’s open bedroom although Neil could have walked by himself just fine.

“If you need anything, call me and I’ll be right here. Okay?”

Neil nodded. He already knew he wasn’t going to call Nicky. He wasn’t going to get anyone else involved anymore.

Nicky smiled, his eyes still wrinkled at the corners like he thought Neil was about to shatter. He backed out of the room and closed it behind him.

Immediately, Neil locked the door and started to pace the room.

He needed to get his duffel bag. His binder didn’t have as much money than it used to – from the Maserati, Neil remembered – but Neil knew where Mary stashed the rest of it. He could stop in Minnesota and Idaho, maybe circle back to Pennsylvania and meet up with one of Mary’s contacts. He’d get a new fake ID, a new name, a new face with fake contacts and hair dye. Then he could get a plane ticket and leave the country as soon as possible. Argentina was a good bet; it was easy to disappear there and while Neil’s Spanish was still rusty, he could learn.

The only problem was the FBI. There was no doubt they’d be tracking Neil’s movements still. If he got on a train as soon as possible and got that fake identity, Neil could probably throw them off his trail. He had no doubt that he could do it. It was just a new face, a new name, a new place. He’d done this twenty-two times before.

He’d never speak to the Foxes ever again, would never see their faces one last time, but this was necessary. Neil was keeping them safe. Ever since he came to Palmetto, he was putting them in danger. He was eliminating that threat the best way he knew how – running.

Neil was out the door and down the stairs before he could even think about stopping. Neil decided to skip going back to Palmetto completely. Not having his duffel and binder full of contacts and money was a huge loss, but Neil would manage. Andrew and Aaron had been gone for twenty-five minutes. They could be back any minute now so Neil only had a small window to escape before Andrew realized he was gone. By the time anyone noticed he hadn’t come back, he would already be on a train to Pennsylvania.

Kevin was on the couch with his head in his hands when Neil came downstairs. Nicky was still in the kitchen but he looked over when he heard Neil’s frantic descent down the stairs. Kevin looked up the same moment Nicky opened his mouth to say something, but Neil cut him off.

“I’m going for a run. Be back in a few,” he said. It wasn’t a complete lie. He was going for a run. He just didn’t intend on coming back at all.

“Hey, I don’t think that’s a good idea –” The door slammed behind Neil before Nicky could finish his sentence.

As soon as he was out the door and down the porch steps, Neil was running. He reached a full sprint within seconds, dodging a man walking his dog and a basketball hoop on the sidewalk. He nearly lost his balance when he turned a corner and narrowly avoided slamming into someone on a bicycle.

The cold February air whipped around his face, stinging his eyes and cheeks and making every breath inhaled like a shard of glass in his lungs. Every time Neil’s feet hit the pavement, it sent a prickly jolt up his legs, making him run faster, faster, faster.

He didn’t know his way around the neighborhood, but it didn’t matter. When he felt he could slow down enough without letting his demons catch up to him, he could ask for directions.

Neil heard his mother’s voice in his head for the first time in weeks telling him to never stop running, berating him for settling down in the first place. That was stupid, Abram, you can never have a normal life. Not when you’re not a normal boy. Keep running.

A car pulled out in front of Neil, making him skid to a sudden halt to avoid getting hit. The man rolled down the window and squinted at Neil from the driver’s seat. He was older, with small watery eyes lined with years’ of wrinkles. “Are you okay, son?” he asked kindly.

No. No, he wasn’t. Neil steadied his breathing and smoothed the panic from his face the best he could, “Do you know where the nearest bus stop is? I think I’m a little lost.”

Neil tried to smile, but he wasn’t sure if he succeeded. The old man didn’t seem to mind. He gave Neil the directions he needed and waved at him with no more than a confused expression as Neil jogged away.

The bus stop wasn’t very far, but a bus wouldn’t be coming for another hour and a half. Neil cursed. He could find another stop or even try his hand at hitchhiking, but he didn’t have the time to get someone to stop and then convince them to take him where he needed. He decided to call a taxi, a last-ditch resort Neil would have preferred not to take, but he didn’t have a choice.

He pulled out his phone and dialed a number he found by google search, and within minutes he was getting into the yellow cab.

The driver gave Neil an odd look, probably for his disheveled appearance or the last traces of desperation on his face, but didn’t ask any questions. Neil told him to take him to the nearest train station and offered to pay extra if he hurried.

He looked at the phone in his hand, wondering why he took it with him, before he popped the back open and took the battery pack out. Neil was about to roll down the window and throw the remnants of his phone out, but something stopped him.

Andrew would hate him forever. He’d never forgive him, if he left it like this. The thought somehow hurt more than anything Neil had felt in the past hour. It shouldn’t have bothered him. He shouldn’t have cared what Andrew would think of him, not when he’d never see Andrew again.

Neil’s heart squeezed. Mary’s voice screamed in his head, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the memory of Andrew whispering stay.

Neil’s hands fumbled when he put the battery back in his phone and powered it on. Several missed calls from Nicky and even more frantic text messages loaded on the screen. Only one text and missed call were from Andrew.

The text said where the fuck are you? Neil texted back a slow i’m ok with shaky fingers and pressed send. Then he turned his phone back off and tapped it against his thigh.

He should leave, he really should. There was so much tying Neil here and so much he could have ripped away from him. It seemed easier to give that all up rather than lose it against his will. If he ran, he was protecting his Foxes by leading Ichirou away. But if he stayed, he’d get to keep their easy friendship and acceptance, something Neil never thought for a million years he’d be able to have, let alone keep.

The first train out of Columbia left in fifteen minutes, giving Neil just enough time to get to the station, buy a ticket, and disappear through the sliding doors. He should board the train and never look back. But that’s not what he wanted.

Neil wanted to stay.

He motioned to get the taxi driver’s attention. The driver flicked him an irritated look through the rear-view mirror.

“I changed my mind,” Neil said. “Take me to Palmetto State University.”

~ ~ ~

By the time Andrew, Kevin, Nicky, and Aaron made it back to Fox Tower an hour and a half later, Neil had already been chewed out by Dan, Allison,

and

Wymack.

They didn’t know the extent of Neil making plans to leave the country or the whole business with Ichirou, but they knew enough from Andrew through Renee that Neil had tried to run that morning. Neil didn’t know how to explain to them, didn’t know how to tell them that he didn’t want to run, not exactly.

Neil flinched when the door to the dorm slammed against the wall as Andrew threw it open. He raked a glare across the Upperclassmen who had refused to leave Neil alone, even for just a second, until it landed on Neil.

He was angry, no furious, Neil could tell. His entire body was tense and poised for a fight and his eyes held a spark of rage that Andrew usually didn’t allow anyone to see. “Get out,” he snapped at the others. His tone left no room for argument.

Dan led the others out of the room with one last backwards glance. Neil waved her off without taking his eyes off of the most important thing in the room. When Allison closed the door behind her, Andrew strode across the room with thunderous footsteps until he was standing toe-to-toe with Neil.

“Andrew –” Neil started.

“No,” Andrew snarled. Neil grimaced. “Did you think I was lying when I said I was going to protect you? Did you think I was going to let you get hurt? I keep my fucking promises, Neil.”

“Andrew –”

“Do you know what I found when Aaron and I got back to the house?” Andrew didn’t let Neil answer before he continued, “Nicky freaking out because you said you’d be back but you were gone for thirty minutes already and you weren’t answering your phone. You were gone, Neil. Without a word.”

“I’m sorry –” Neil attempted.

“Shut up,” Andrew snapped. His hands were curled into white-knuckled fists by his side, trembling with restrained violence, but Neil knew Andrew would never hit him. The wall, maybe. He shattered a window with his fist, once.

Neil started to move, slow enough that Andrew could ward him off if he wanted to, and hovered his hand over Andrew’s closed fists to prevent him from punching something and hurting himself. When Andrew didn’t make a move to push him away, Neil carefully curled his hand over Andrew’s.

“I knew you would protect me,” he said. Andrew wouldn’t look at him, his eyes were trained on the wall behind Neil’s shoulder. “That’s why I left. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Andrew shook his head. “Still a fucking martyr. I’ve told you before that I don’t need you to protect me.”

“But I’m going to anyway, so you better get used to it.”

“Idiot.” Andrew maneuvered his hand out of Neil’s until he could grab hold of the sides of Neil’s shirt with both his hands. They had stopped shaking enough to feel like they stood on stable ground. Andrew finally met Neil’s eyes.

Andrew didn’t like being vulnerable in front of people, Neil knew. He understood it, too. Being so exposed in front of someone, stripped bare with all your emotions laid out on the table was more terrifying than not. Andrew’s face smoothed away into that usual calm expression but a testament to how much Neil’s disappearing act affected him was in the way he clutched at Neil like he thought Neil might vanish underneath his hands.

“You left,” Andrew said. There was no bothering denying it, the whole team knew it was true. Andrew more than the rest.

He did leave. He also planned on never coming back, never contacting the Foxes again. Picking up without a trace and being whisked away like cigarette smoke in the wind. He wouldn’t tell Andrew otherwise. Neil didn’t want to lie to him anymore.