The Ninja Court

There are too many people here, and Neil needs to leave. But he's also hungry, so he keeps his head down and weaves through the crowd.

It had been a rough night, chronic pain and inner demons acting especially vicious. He'd tossed and turned until he couldn't take it anymore, pulling on a hoodie and lacing his shoes to go for a run. That always seemed to clear his head.

And it had, in a way. The tension melting away as the sun rose, the morning rays chasing away the lingering darkness that always seemed to cling to him. But the cold bit bitterly at his fingers, making them creak when he moved them. Normally, he would—

"Neil!"

Neil whips around, scanning the dining hall until his eyes land on the source. A steadying presence amongst the chaos.

Andrew beckons with two fingers. and Neil jogs up to him as if pulled by a magnet.

The goalkeeper looks him up and down, eyes cool. "Phone."

Neil slips his hand in his pocket and deposits the device in Andrew's waiting palm.

Andrew powers it on. "I didn't get you a phone for weight training," he says showing Neil the missed call notification. "If you were that desperate for clean clothes I would have driven you to the laundromat. No need to go out looking for one on foot in the middle of the night."

"What?" Neil asks dumbly.

"Were all the washing machines occupied, junkie?"

Ah. That. Neil looks down at the bright orange hoodie, hand rubbing his neck sheepishly. "Didn't want to turn the light on when everyone was sleeping. I grabbed it by mistake and didn't even notice until after my run when I tried to keep my fingers warm."

Neil demonstrates by pulling down the sleeves that he usually keeps bunched at the elbows; the black compression sleeves plus the hoodie make his arms feel to constricted when running. A good two inches of the black armbands show.

"And now it's all sweaty," a barely-there tightness in his jaw betraying Andrew's displeasure. "Take it off. Now."

Neil obeys and tries not to shiver at the crisp November air as he hands the bright monstrosity over to Andrew with a tightness in his chest. Neil liked wearing his clothes. And with the way Andrew narrowed his eyes whenever Neil borrowed Matt's hoodie, he thought — he'd hoped — that maybe Andrew wouldn't mind if he accidentally stole his hoodie for his morning run.

Andrew sniffs it gingerly with a wrinkle in his nose. "You will wash this."

Neil nods, a fair consequence for his transgression.

"And," Andrew pauses, making sure Neil is paying attention, his stare heavy. "You will never touch this again."

"I understand," Neil says because he does. He doesn't apologize because it won't change the fact that he crossed one of Andrew's boundaries. Although they are getting better at understanding where the lines are drawn, sometimes they fuck it up. Neil more than Andrew. But they always fix it.

Neil hugs himself, trapping his body heat to his core. He'll have to run back to the dorm to get his hoodie or the cold seeping into his scars would make for a very stiff, very uncomfortable day.

"Are you still cold?"

"I'm fine."

"He's a liar and a thief," Andrew watches him as he shrugs off his leather jacket and holds it out. "Put it on."

"I'm still sweaty."

"Didn't ask. Put it on."

Neil reaches for it, feeling the stiff material as he slips his arms through the sleeves. It smells like cigarettes and sandalwood cologne. Like Andrew.

Neil studies him with a slight pout. So Andrew isn't upset about him getting his precious clothes stinky; or with wearing his clothes in general, so long as it doesn't have his name plastered on the back. It shouldn't sting, but it does. He's being greedy and he knows it.

Andrew's annoying carbon copy slides into the seat next to him.

Andrew looks up. "You look ridiculous."

Aaron scowls, his hoodie swallowing him whole "I couldn't find mine and had to borrow Day's! I wasn't about to be mistaken for you."

Wait.

Neil reaches for the hoodie draped over Andrew's arm. Turning it around he finds, to his utter revulsion, that not only does it spell MINYARD in big blocky letters across the shoulders, but a giant 05 takes up the entirety of the back.

"Oh."

"Yeah 'oh.'"

Neil rolls his eyes. "We don't even know if it's important."

"Neil," Kevin whirls on him, left hand tucked tight to his chest. Andrew doubts it's conscious. "You made a bargain with this guy for our lives. It's important."

"It's been a year," his redhead shrugs. "Maybe he just wants to check in?"

"Du bist ein Trottel¹," Andrew informs him, flicking ash on the windowsill.

"I really don't think I am," Neil objects, spreading his arms wide. "It's not like we've done anything wrong."

Andrew stares.

"We lost the championships," Kevin reminds him.

"Yeah, but Jean won. It's kinda how these things go. You win some you lose some."

"And yet nobody's tugging on Moreau's leash," Andrew points out.

Neil chews on that with a thoughtful look while Kevin holds a blue blazer up under Neil's chin. It's the very same one Andrew pictured him in. Andrew takes a long, slow drag on his cigarette as he notes how Neil's coppery hair pops and his eyes get impossibly bluer. Sometimes Andrew still doubts he's real. Day's head might be full of Exy, but he does have an eye for these kinds of things should he put his one-track mind to it.

But then Kevin shakes his head and puts the blazer back. Andrew exhales noisily, smoke whistling past his clenched teeth.

So much for that.

Whatever. He'll pack it up later when Kevin's drunk himself into a proper stupor. Andrew eyes the bottle lazily, noting the liquor level. It's not as low as it could be, but the night is young. He doubts either of strikers will sleep early tonight.

There are three more unopened bottles in the kitchen. Kevin might start on a second tonight, but Andrew will have to cut him off before he gets too far. Day needs to pace himself if he is to get through tomorrow.

Andrew hears a faint buzzing and Neil looks down at his pants, confused, before he fishes in his pocket and pulls out the phone.

"Speak of the devil," Neal announces after glancing at the number on the screen.

It breaks whatever meager composure Kevin has been clinging to. The senior stumbles back against the wall with a whispered curse.

Neil barely spares his dramatics a glance as he flips the phone open, "Allô²… Quand³?… C'est exact⁴."

Neil is silent as he paces the room, listening to rapid agitated French. Kevin's piercing green eyes anxiously track every micro expression Neil shows.

Neil scrubs an exasperated hand down his face. "Just take him with you. We're taking Andrew."

They haven't talked about it. But the junkie is right. No way Andrew is letting either of the strikers out of his sight. Mafia be damned.

"Hmm," Neil hums thoughtfully. "Too late. Jeremy lost his right to stay out of it when Kevin decided to package you up and ship you off to him with a kiss and a pretty bow on top."

Andrew had misjudged. That, out of everything, is what breaks Kevin. Day's legs give out and he slides down the wall, collapsing into a pile of too-long limbs on the floor.

Andrew sighs as he stubs out his cigarette, sliding it into his pocket for later. He hops off his perch on the dresser and nudges the vodka bottle with his toe until it was within Kevin's reach.

Kevin eyes it dully before reaching for it, fingers curling possessively around the bottle's neck. Andrew watches his throat bob as Kevin gulps it down. The striker shows no signs of stopping.

"Enough," Andrew says, yanking the bottle out of his mouth.

Kevin moves to swipe it back but Andrew places a firm hand on his shoulder and slams him back into the wall.

"I don't like repeating myself, Day."

Kevin's eyes contain an interesting mix of submission and defiance.

"Oh grow a spine already!" Neil exclaims, drawing Kevin's attention. "Ichirou is not his brother. He doesn't need to rely on vulgar displays to secure his illusion of power. He's classy. He will accommodate."

The Frenchman raises his voice and Andrew doesn't need to know French to know that Jean is cursing Neil's entire bloodline.

"Kev," Neil says, extending the phone to him, "talk your boy down."

"He is not mine," Kevin spits vehemently.

"You're so right. We all watched you fumble that in 4k."

Kevin's jaw clenches as he glares daggers at Neil. Neil simply waves the phone in his face until the striker takes it.

"Cher ami⁵…calme toi⁶," the striker says softly.

"Pot meet kettle," Neil murmurs under his breath. He pushes his overgrown hair out of his face and runs a hand through it as he turns to Andrew.

Andrew's breath gets trapped in his lungs for a moment as he locks eyes with him. It's annoying as fuck.

"Moreau got the call too," Neil says as if Andrew cares.

"Have you talked to your uncle?"

"No."

Andrew studies him. "Will you?"

There's a bit of tension in his beautiful brow, but it's not exactly worried per se. More thoughtful, like he's puzzling something out in that clever brain of his. "Not unless I have to."

Andrew grunts in acknowledgment and presses his thumbs into Neil's hips, pulling him just a few inches closer. Neil goes willingly. It doesn't escape Andrew's notice how Neil pulls his arms back and clasps his scarred hands behind his back, eyes open and trusting. As if Andrew would do anything with Kevin panicking on their dorm room floor. Although… Day does look rather preoccupied, and Andrew hasn't touched Neil since Abby's.

His hands itch.

But then Day snaps Neil's shitty flip phone shut and Andrew's arms fall to his sides.

Kevin's eyes are empty. Like a doll in the shape of man. Nobody says anything for a long while.

"I'm coming with you, am I?" Andrew says breaking the silence.

"You don't want to?" Neil blinks at him innocently.

Andrew can count on one hand the things that he cares enough about to bother with wanting. One of them just so happens to have blue eyes.

Neil smiles at him. But Andrew doesn't have the patience for whatever traitorous things his stomach is doing.

"Staring," he snaps.

Neil's single dimple appears, provoking him, before turning away to say something insulting to Kevin.

Andrew flexes his fingers. Oh how he hates him.

Light returning to his eyes, Kevin says something completely thoughtless back and for a moment it is like any other night.

-

"Found you."

Andrew leans back on his elbows and tilts his head all the way back to see himself silhouetted upside down in the rooftop doorway. He had left Neil on Make-Sure-Day-Doesn't-Kill-Himself-With-Alcohol-Poisoning duty to come up here and finish his cigarette in peace and quiet.

So fucking much for that. He rolls his eyes as he rolls his head back up and faces back towards the shitty view of campus from the roof of Fox Tower, tapping his feet against the wall as they dangle over the edge.

Aaron takes that as the begrudging invitation that it is and approaches cautiously, keeping a healthy distance from the edge. Andrew distantly wonders if Aaron shares his fear of heights, but he won't ask.

Aaron doesn't say anything and Andrew is grateful for that. They've never quite understood each other, but they are resigned in the knowledge that they are stuck with each other. There's a strange sort of comfort in that. On occasion, his twin isn't so bad. But of course he has to ruin it by opening his mouth.

"You're going with them."

A statement. Not a question.

Andrew shrugs. "Free dinner."

"They're the ones involved in this mafia bullshit, not you."

"Giraffes have the same number of vertebra in their necks as humans do, they're just really fucking long."

Andrew can feel Aaron's stare from behind him and turns to face him with a disinterested mask.

"Oh, were we not just trading facts now?"

Aaron's dramatics have always shown on his face: flushed cheeks, veins popping in his neck, eyes wet with suppressed frustration, body posed as if gearing up breath for a shouted dissertation. He holds it for an impressive moment and Andrew fleeting worries he's managed to work his way up to a stroke. But that's not how strokes work at all.

But then Aaron deflates. So much for a show of spine. This could have been interesting.

"Why do you hate me so much?" Aaron asks, his voice small and wounded, almost lost in the night's gentle breeze.

With an exasperated sigh Andrew flicks his cigarette off the roof and watches the cherry disappear before rising to his feet.

He notices how Aaron tries to not to flinch when Andrew reaches for him, hands balling into fists to keep them still and staring at him with determined (if a bit fearful) eyes. But he successfully holds his ground as Andrew slides his fingers over Aaron's unmarked wrist.

"You were supposed to be the smart one," Andrew leans close over his shoulder and whispers into his ear, for once not having to strain his neck up. "Tell me, when have I ever cared enough to hate anything?"

"You hated my mom."

"Wonder why that could be."

A concession. He doesn't stick around to watch Aaron work out the implication, giving him a rough slap on the back as he moved past him towards the door.

"Wenn du springst, bringe ich dich um⁷," Andrew warns before letting the door slam behind him as he makes his way down the stairs.

¹Du bist ein Trottel – You are a fool – German ²Allô – Hello (casual phone greeting) – French ³Quand – When? – French ⁴C'est exact – That's right – French ⁵Cher ami – My dear friend – French ⁶Calme toi – Calm down – French"⁷Wenn du springst, bringe ich dich um. – If you jump, I'll kill you – German

to be continued…