Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time he heard the offer he wasn't at all interested. There were other things on his mind. Or rather, things that he didn't have at the time — the buzzing in his brain as a side effect of the meds had yet to take root. There were also other things he had to do upon leaving Oakland. Namely going to see Aaron. That worked out about as well as it could have. It didn't take long for him to make promises he was intent on keeping.

Until graduation, they agreed. He would be there, they would have each other. No one else. An even deal. Protecting each other and staying by each other's side. Isn't that what brothers are meant to do? Someone once told him that. Andrew of course never believed it. He doesn't get along with brothers well. For the best that he was given up as a baby in a way.

He's kept up his end. More than. Turned out that here, in the beginning at least, Aaron was the one in need of that deal. In need of protection. Silly boy couldn't hold his own.

Funny how time passes. He hardly noticed. Their deal is up soon and nothing is different. They'll be off to college soon. Untethered. This might be the first time Andrew is without a cage. Nothing keeping him in, nothing to protect him or others. Who's the threat? Could go either way. Just last night sitting across from each other at the table, after Nicky had already gone off to talk to Erik, Aaron eyed him. Searching for something, whatever it was wouldn't be there. The words were on the tip of his tongue though, he wanted to ask. He wanted more.

The second time he hears the offer, Andrew considers it. A new cage, a new prison. Cages keep ravens in. The kingdom will fall if the ravens leave. Kevin didn't say as much, but he can read between the lines. A formal contract wouldn't be given until he reaches Edgar Allan, if he accepts. Lucky Andrew came out early from practice for a cigarette to stave off the settling withdrawal before his next dose. His twin shadow doesn't have to be here for this. He wouldn't do anything, he wouldn't say a fucking word, but keeping his mouth shut has always been easier for him. Quiet Aaron, quiet.

"So, will you come?" Andrew stares blankly back at him. "You'd be the best goalie the Ravens have ever seen. We would be unstoppable, though you've already seen our track record."

Talk of the court does him no favors in getting him to agree. Still, "Enough about exy. I will think."

He turns toward the car, staunchly ignoring the protests coming from behind him. There's five minutes, perhaps ten, before Aaron will be out. Enough time to get into the car and mull it over. What this would mean for him… it's a good option. The reasons don't matter, no one will understand and he won't make them try. If Nicky presses, a simple all my clothes are already black so it's an easy choice, will suffice. Aaron lost his chance to ask for a new promise, he won't be asking anything at all now.

Two days later they play their last game of high school Exy, he couldn't tell you the score. Four days later Andrew sends a text in the middle of the night, to avoid dealing with it until the next day, wanting to send it while he's sober too. That same night he receives a near immediate reply followed by a plane ticket confirmation. Six days later he obliges Nicky in having what he calls family bonding night, not daring to say it will be the last until they are all half asleep.

Seven days later, he's squeezing two small identical beads from a broken necklace into the palm of his hand as he waits for the plane to take off. Before any symptoms can hit him he shakes a pill out of the bottle. Will it make it better or worse while he's in the air? Better or worse when he lands? Entertaining at least.

Kevin makes no indication of if he will be picking him up from the airport or not. He's not left waiting for the answer. A sleek black car is waiting out in front of baggage claim and he gets out to greet him. "You made it."

"Astute observation. Are all of you this simple?"

He lugs the two bags he stuffed with the essentials only into the back of the car. Taking in the new state. One he's never lived in before. He was mostly relegated to California, only made more formal by his stint in juvie after the foster homes. Then South Carolina, until now. So far he's unimpressed. Kevin doesn't seem to notice the lack of interest in whatever it is he's saying. Exy has always been a means to an end for him. Something to keep his mind busy, even if it loses him more often than it keeps him.

The drive to Edgar Allan isn't long but it feels it. He hates being in the passenger seat. It's been too long since he's been behind the wheel. Even just being in a car on his meds makes everything fuzzy. The world whooshes and whirls by. He can't focus on anything. Except for looking at the inked number two on the peak of Kevin's cheek bone. He can almost see how the ink seeps into his skin. Bleeds away from the intentional lines.

He digs his phone out, ignoring the sound of a thumb tapping on the steering wheel. He shoots a quick text to Aaron and Nicky made it, before shoving his phone in his bag to trade it for the bottle of pills again.

"What are those?"

He quirks his brow but doesn't respond.

"You won't be able to keep them." Kevin adds in his silence.

"Court mandated."

A slight hum comes from the driver's seat. He can't decipher it. His absurd medication is no secret. It's in some file that every school and team in the country would have access to. He hates them anyhow. The way they scramble his brain so much that he can't sort through any of the real thoughts from the random bits of knowledge he never needed to retain, or the way he finds everything funny or the way he crashes down hard. The doctor who set this prescription up should have their medical degree revoked. Absently he wonders if they even have a real one. Or if this was a shot in the dark to tame the violent monster everyone sees him as.

"Give them to the nurse when we arrive then. He'll handle it." He offers absolutely no faith in this system.

If he gets off them to play here, if they can work that out then great. Pity for the fool that argues he isn't a dangerous man that needs to be subdued into excessive joy. Everything he knows about the Ravens tells him they would have no problem with violence. Worst case they keep him on the bench. A shame! He might just perish if he doesn't play. What would he do then? Finally escape the claws of this fucking game? Really terrible, that option.

Apparently the walking Exy stick driving the car has been talking the entire drive, save for a handful of brief silences. Andrew thinks. He wasn't paying attention regardless. Focusing on keeping his stomach at bay, fading in and out of consciousness as a new, and possibly extra, dose settles in his system. Every other word out of his mouth could be directly tied to exy, the rest are filler. Once they're off the highway his head stops spinning as much.

Kevin parks and turns to face him. Still unreadable and he hates it. Not being able to tell what else he's thinking. What he's hiding? Surely there is something. Everyone has secrets. Who is privy to Kevin's? How does he make it himself? The number tells Andrew that he already knows the answer to that. Though he would love to be proven wrong. He already doesn't trust Riko. The self proclaimed best exy player. The sport is ridiculous, why would anyone want to be the best at it?

"Put those away too." He gives no context.

Doing all of the work on his own Andrew traces his eye line down to his arm bands. "No."

"Your loss then. They'll take them too." He says dryly reaching for the door handle.

Openness and vulnerability are not words that he understands. Much less with how they bounce around in his brain now. Letting people in, letting people see, letting himself be seen as weak. Comical. He huffs a laugh. Andrew takes them off only to shower and sleep. Never in front of anyone. Hasn't since he got them. Some people didn't like the look of his scars underneath. Some people would form idiotic opinions based on them. Better to keep that away from wandering eyes. Wouldn't want to be put on suicide watch with no privacy. Still, his brain fills with static and he can almost feel the blade piercing his skin.

Searching his eyes for any sign that he isn't serious is useless. For now, he slides them off. Looking away from whatever shock lands on Kevin's face. He's not responsible for the reaction. As gentle as he can he slots the bands and the knives that accompany them into the bag at his feet. This gets an approving hum, stilted by the uncomfort that's palpable.

"Lead the way second place." He mocks slinging his bag over his shoulder.

"This is the main entrance, there is another that leads directly into the stadium. Today you'll get settled and set up in the Nest. You'll be expected at practice in the morning." Kevin rattles off more information that goes in one ear and out the other. Something about hours and meals and pairs. Nonsense that evokes a laugh in his chest. When Kevin tenses, he closes his eyes to force his ears to focus and find the cracks. "Riko will meet us at your room."

Walking in is not at all what he expected. The moment the door closes any light is gone. Not a single ray of sun penetrates the walls of this fortress. They walk down one set of stairs and then another and another. Three floors down, opens into a long hallway. Two, if you're counting either direction. The walls are black with slight touches of red here and there. Perhaps he should dye his hair black to camouflage.

There is next to nothing for him to take stock of as they walk down the more black than red of the two directions from the stairs. Doors on either side, some open revealing rooms that could in some way be classified as dorm rooms. They live here. They live in next to total darkness. At least Kevin has an excuse for how pale and somber he is.

The room they stop in front of, has the door ajar already. The lightest touch pushes it open. A tall figure sits on one of the two beds, he has darker hair than Kevin and skin even paler. He's hunched over himself barely registering that anyone has walked through the door. Faintly, Kevin taps on the desk one, two, three times. The other boy looks up. Eyes glossed over, gauze revealed on one side of his neck while the other side is bruised. A small number three under his eye. Jean.

"Jean." He calls out hoping for more of a reaction this time. When he gets nothing, Kevin slips into what sounds like French, widening Jean's eyes. Back with English, "This is Andrew. Help him get settled in while I go get…"

He trails off for an unknown reason. This is decidedly not amusing. No amount of medication induced mania could pull a laugh out of him over this scene. Not until he understands better. Either the dose hasn't kicked in or his instincts are taking over. He crosses to where his bed sits and drops his bag on top. Jean makes no movement.

"Put everything away." He whispers.

"Neat freak?"

"Just do it. I will not suffer for you over something so simple." Ah so the french man likes to speak in riddle.

Whatever. He slides what he can under his bed and stuffs the rest in a drawer. Any proper organization can wait. If he does it now he would never be able to find anything. The medicated brain has no organizational skills. Not with thoughts or with space. Definitely not with time. Jean keeps his eyes on him, but his stare is blank. Andrew returns the same one.

As they wait he appraises. Studies. Cataloging the injuries on his roommate, instantly knowing that something is off. There is practice today, so sports related injuries are not out of the question, but he can never be too sure. His eyes never leave him, but they never fall on his bare arms. What he's always been afraid people wouldn't be able to see past, Jean seems to look right through.

He can't help the way his own eyes trace them. It's been years since he properly looked himself. Avoiding his arms in the shower and keeping his eyes closed at night. Most of the lines are faint. There's too many to keep them invisible, but he's well past thinking that is possible. The minutes tick by as he waits. Tick tock, one scar two scar, tick tock, ten scar twenty scar.

"They will be here soon." Jean announces.

"Who would that be?"

"The king. You'll go see the master too." Nonsense comes out of his mouth, so he waits.

He's right about one thing, it takes thirty seconds for two figures to appear. The rest of the set. All of the numbered idiots are in front of him and it has him questioning every choice he's made to lead him here.

"Andrew Minyard. Welcome to the Nest." Riko smiles with too many teeth showing.

"Riko."

Disapprovingly he tuts and turns his attention. "Hmmm, Jean?"

"He's just arrived, let—" Kevin tries to interrupt but is ignored and his mouth snaps shut.

Alarm bells go off in his head. Not uncommon, but louder than the meds. Brighter than he knows what to do with. To figure out later. Without a bigger audience perhaps Jean will have more to say. Or he can find a corner out of sight to have time to sort through his thoughts alone. For now he keeps his fists clenched and wishes he could slip his arm bands on before he's beckoned to follow Riko out of the room.

"The master is waiting. Once your contract is signed we will welcome you to the team. Kevin said you have something to see the nurse about, we can stop on our way to the tower."

He spares a glance to Kevin for any bit of information, he is only looking at Riko. Body stiff and waiting. Curious. The thought to say something about it or remember it for later is already gone before he can catch it. On the other hand, when he looks across the room Jean's eyes are locked on him. Not moving an inch. Breathing is not a given either.

"Come." He directs, and rather than find out why Jean has bandages littering more than just his neck, Andrew digs the pill bottle out of his bag and shuffles toward the door.

The four of them walk through the halls and pass not a single other person. The Ravens are a large team, as far as he knows. He thinks it might be lunch time and there is likely a dining hall somewhere. It's hard to know exactly. The walk to the offices is long, up one flight of stairs and in the direction of the stadium. He thinks.

Andrew's memory is impeccable, though he has not been through these halls before. He's going off of approximations of the cardinal directions though even that is impossible without seeing the outside world. Even with the meds in his system he begins tracking every step they take to ensure he never forgets any of it. In a place as dark as this he can't end up with any unknown corners where anyone could be waiting.

The door they stop in front of reads Nurse Smalls, Riko walks right in. He follows because he is the one that needed to stop by. He's hesitant when it comes to any new people, but especially medical professionals. And adults. And men. The man in front of him checks all of those boxes.

"Riko. Mr. Minyard, welcome. What can I do?"

Silently he lifts the little orange bottle up. Distinctly aware that this is the most vivid color visible anywhere that he has been so far.

"Ah, I can keep those for you here."

"I have frequent doses. Keeping it would be easier."

Smalls shakes his head and spares a glance at Riko. "All medication remains here. Edgar Allan rules."

Reluctantly he hands it over. There are hours before it will fade out and the withdrawal sets in. Enough time to figure out getting back here after whatever meeting they are going to next. Kevin said he wouldn't be required at practice, so that gives him extra time. A problem for later. The shock comes when his outstretched arm gets no glance from the nurse. Something that has never happened. Today is full of firsts.

As they turn and leave the office, he watches the bottle slip into a cabinet that promptly is locked. The pills are ridiculous, make his brain fuzzy and jumbled. His reprieve from it every night is the one thing he looks forward to. Not sobriety, but an in between of the mania and something else. Two more years of it to get through. Seemingly monitored by this new nurse instead of his own hand. Hmm, he hates that too.

They continue down a new hallway that he has yet to see. If he's picturing it correctly it's continuing toward the stadium. But that could mean nothing and he could be making that up. Nothing is clear. Andrew can barely even see. Not unlike juvie. More black rather than a sterile white. He could acclimate. He's done it before.

His feet stumble over something. Not enough to fall. There's a small shuffling sound seconds later and he turns to find Jean under foot. Jean Jean Jean. An interesting one, he is. Always right there but quiet as can be. Lurking in the shadows. Good or bad? Which will you be Jean? How will it be found out? Andrew let's his name bounce through his mind on a loop. Jean Jean Jean. Jean's like a fawn. Jean Jean Jean.

Andrew looks up just in time again to see an elevator in front of them. Also black. Riko walks in first and turns in place, standing in the front making no room for the rest of them without awkwardly shifting around him. Kevin steps in, directly next to him. There's no choice but for Jean to slide around them to fall in behind. This feels like nonsense. It's an elevator, they could get on like normal people and make space for him. As best he can he slides around Kevin without so much as brushing his bare arms against him, questioning the act all at the same time.

There is no explanation, no talking, just an eerie quiet. Luckily his medication fills that emptiness with ease. Random facts, trains of thought that run so far off track. For the briefest moment he wonders about Aaron. Home with dear Nicky waiting for their summer practices to start too. On a court far from here that he will never see. A different district, a different world. Separate once again. Hardly twins for two years. Worth it at least, it was necessary.

"The master will speak with you, you will sign your contract, then we will go out to the court to watch the remainder of afternoon practice." Riko sounds idiotic as he speaks.

"The master?" He snorts a laugh. Master, servant, master's degree, master a skill. Master master master. "What is this a children's villain?"

He's used to things that go bump in the night, he's always watching for shadows. Just as he anticipates somehow, Jean darts a hand out toward him but he side steps. A warning glare in his direction to not try that again.

"The master is coach." The french boy murmurs, not phased by the flinch. This only makes it more amusing.

"You will address him as such. Go on now. Jean, wait here with us." This direction from Riko is followed with him stepping back, obeying, but shifting his weight between his feet unsettled.

He doesn't. Call Tetsuji the master. It sounds ridiculous enough in his head, he will not be saying that out loud. Instead he stares straight ahead bored through the entire meeting. If that bothers him, nothing is said. Perhaps Riko just wanted to see what he would do, but that would do little to explain Jean's uneasiness. Everything is simple and uninteresting.

Going over what playing exy here means for his future doesn't keep his attention at all as it must for all other players. Andrew has no dreams of going pro. He's not even sure what a future looks like for him. This just seemed like the most entertaining option at the time when Kevin asked again. That might have been the medication speaking, but so far it's something. Entertaining might be the right word, interesting for sure. Unique.

Many things are unique about the Ravens. They follow sixteen hour days for one. All this means for Andrew is that when he takes his medication will need to be adjusted. He's not one to get all that much sleep except for in the crash that follows everything exiting his system. Easy enough. Next.

They have pairs. A replacement for the twin he barely had. They aren't meant to go anywhere alone including classes once school starts. What would Aaron think of that? Did he give them the idea when they made their deal in high school? Oh, but Ravens also don't have contact with their families, a fine print catch that he isn't sure what to do with. Luckily Aaron let him go, he's missing nothing, he knows how to not have a family. Fine.

More and more nonsense about exy is rattled off before he is passed papers. Sign here to sign your life over to a glorified Disney villain, you will get fame and money from this sport if you do. He chuckles at the neon flashing sign in his mind. Grabs the pen and signs. He is a Raven now.

The five of them take a different path down to the court. He commits this one to memory too, even if he doubts he will be back in this tower frequently. When they get down, Kevin drags Jean along side him behind Coach Moriyama. Leaving him with Riko who sizes him up. Andrew is well aware of his height, usually seen as a disadvantage. He doesn't feel that. It never has been for him, he's stronger than some guys a foot taller than him. Besides, he plays in goal and lets few balls in on a bad day.

"Come." He turns down a different hall, leading to a locker room and handing him a blank jersey. "You'll wear this for now. Until I make a decision."

Curiosity bubbles to the surface. As much as he wants to ignore it so as not to indulge him, he hates having blind spots. "Decide…" He goes with half question half statement instead.

"Kevin seems to have an interest in you. Went back to try to recruit you a second time. Thinks we should have a goalie in the perfect court." He turns to face him just enough that his little line of a tattoo is in clear view. "I'm not too sure. I'm holding out for my other backliner to find his way back to the Nest."

"I have no interest in a tattoo." He bites his tongue on all of the jokes he would like to make over this childish game Riko has made.

"You'll change your mind. Everyone wants one." His smirk is nauseating.

𓅂

He doesn't change his mind about that. Andrew does however change his mind about handing over his fucking medication to the nurse that is no where to be found. He's not totally sure what time it is, real world or Evermore, but the nausea is hitting him at full force. Another dose should have been given to him at the meal after practice. Nothing was, and he was dismissed to his room until night practice. Another one he will be sitting out of, but watching this time rather than talking to Riko on the side.

Sitting on the not very comfortable bed will take getting used to. More than that, he's hesitant of Jean. He's sitting on his bed going in and out of consciousness. Hasn't said more than a few words all day. Without fail though, every time Andrew moves even slightly he is alert and ready to jump up in motion.

"What is wrong with you?" He quietly asks now with a touch of annoyance laced through his words.

"Sick." Andrew focuses on a small mark, nothing more than a scuff, on the wall opposite him.

It does nothing to alleviate the effects of withdrawal. Mentally he tracks back the hours trying to figure out how long he has until it's bad. Worse. It comes in waves. First was the crash which he started to feel in the dining hall. Fully hitting him the moment they reached the room. Jean didn't seem to notice that one, equally exhausted perhaps. As he crashes the world simultaneously comes back into more clarity, so it's not all that bad. The second, now, is the debilitating nausea. It will last either until he downs the next doses or an hour — whichever comes first. Then it's about getting a fix. Medication, whiskey, cigarettes, anything to fill the space. Rinse and repeat.

He comes off the meds on rare occasion and only with supervision of Nicky or Aaron. If he wants to space them out differently to have a few lucid sober hours awake. Andrew's not sure how abruptly stopping his doses will work. Unless the nurse is just getting him adjusted to the sixteen hour days — another thing he doesn't get, but Jean seems to be accustomed enough to be a guide.

That should be the whole conversation, Jean should leave him be if he's not going to get the nurse. Instead, "if you will throw up do it before practice."

What does it matter when he's not stepping on the court tonight? He is no use to them like this and he doesn't care to push himself to get out there. If the nausea is gone by morning practice, he will follow the other goalkeepers on the court like he always has. Enough to make believe he plays exy. Enough to make believe that any of this matters. Enough that it's mildly entertaining. He's a freshman anyway, there are older Ravens to play instead of him.

His legs fold up and he presses his head between his knees. Uneasy as he tries to relax into it, ignoring the prying eyes. Privacy is something Evermore lacks. Kevin had told him to ditch the arm bands, he has yet to be alone for even five seconds, it's all very strange. It's not juvie though, he wouldn't choose to go back there. This may be a cage but it's a cage with a door. However heavy and locked and guarded.

"You will be okay to play in the morning." Not a question.

"Depends."

"No, you will be."

Andrew leans on the right side of his face to look at him sideways. As clear as the world was as the medication faded from his system, he only sees a blur now. "You care because…"

He waits for him to fill in the blank, but it's none of the expected shit he hears from Aaron or Nicky. "You are my pair. Your success is my success, your failure is my failure."

"That's bullshit." Fucking hell this guy is either insane or brainwashed. On his meds he would be laughing, now the nausea hits in another wave.

"No." It's the loudest his voice has been all day. Then, "They will demand contrition, the Master on the court and the king off."

"That's fucked up." He aches for the medication to find the humor in this.

"We are in this together." His significantly taller frame adjusts to mirror how he is sitting before he whispers a barely audible, "you should not have signed if you had a choice."

So quiet that he could have misheard, but he knows he didn't.

Night one is not the time to test this, he decides. For better or worse he will follow Jean to the court and watch the rest of the Ravens traipse up and down the court in a ridiculous manner, or not watch ideally. On the way he feels the final wave of nausea hit and he can't do anything but keep moving. One split second leaning over a trash can with Jean right at his side like a shadow, and then he has to keep moving.

Everyone changes out in the locker room, no privacy still. He tries to not look anywhere but at the floor in front of him. Even like this he gets glimpses of legs walking by bruised and scraped. Purple and yellow and green flashes over skin. Almost no one is without bandages or bruises. The Ravens play rough, seems they do within their own team too. Even better yet that he will be sequestered in his goal.

The court lights make it unrecognizable of what time it is. Everyone files out and lines up for drills. Led by Riko tonight it seems. He finds a spot on the bench and zones out. Andrew knows how to defend a goal. A new team, new jersey, new court makes no difference. He wouldn't care if it did. This is all child's play. A means to an end, a ride through college that he can pretend will give him a future. Keep his people safe from him.

An hour into practice a racquet stomps down in front of him. "Pay attention."

"Trying to prove I was worth your investment? I'm not even on the court." He mocks while his nails drag up and down his far too visible scars.

"Don't you care at all?" Kevin frowns.

Andrew shrugs. Poor kid thinks the world revolves around exy. His might, but the rest of it doesn't. He's still trying to push through the withdrawal, that's something that matters. Or should. The last phase of it, cravings, is the last he knows. What comes after if he still doesn't get the next dose?

"Start caring when you get on the court tomorrow. Watch the goalies tonight, start learning now."

His bored stare is taken as a confirmation. He'll think about it. If only he could get a cigarette right now. That would make it easier to think. Not about exy, he rarely thinks about exy. Against his will he sits on the bench for the entirety of practice. Nothing seems all that interesting, drills and more drills. Could be the same ones everyone was always doing on his last team, he never participated. A goalie only has to defend the goal. Easiest position, yet most goalies he has seen are mediocre at it at best.

There's predictability in all of it. Monotonous almost. The strikers are passing and aiming at the goal or at cones, following every movement Tweedledee and Tweedledum make. The defense runs through their own drills on the other end of the court. His eyes catch on Jean against his will. He's alright. Doing everything he's supposed to and seems to have every drill down to a science. Good, that means he will not cause Andrew trouble if what he's said about being partners is true.

He does not want to be responsible for anyone. No one should be responsible for him either. This, whether in his contract or not, is not a deal he's made. In his mind he is not bound to anyone, Andrew has no outstanding deals. He is his own person by choice. Distance between himself and everyone he cares about. His own promise to himself to not hurt them.

And then Jean stumbles. An equally tall, or no, a bit taller and definitely stockier guy, comes up and roughly grabs his shoulder pulling him to stand up on his feet. His vision hasn't cleared much with nothing to settle the withdrawal, he can't make out the number on the jersey or the name. He's not met all of the Ravens and there are so many that he doesn't care to, he hasn't memorized their lineup either. But still, he watches the interaction to see how much truth there is in what he's been told.

Words are exchanged far from his ear shot. Then a mouth pressed to Jean's ear that bring tension to his shoulders. Flashes of rough hands and daunting words flood his mind. Come one, you want, this will be fun. He's never needed a drink or a smoke more. Andrew blinks harshly to expel those images from his mind. If only his memory would fail him for once in his life.

This isn't his to deal with now. It may be nothing. Just upperclassmen pushing around the kids of the team to keep them in line. It's always a cycle no matter where he has been or where he has played. He would have to care about exy for it to effect him personally though.

His focus, more so his line of sight, shifts to the goal. Battered and hunched over, all three other goalies look about ready to throw up. The same as he did on his way here. He didn't watch them at all during practice like Kevin suggested, simply because he asked him to and he's not in the business of listening to silly requests. They could be inadequate to begin with so a little practice wipes them out. Unlikely, but a fickle hope.

"Everyone to the locker room, now." Riko calls out and everyone falls in line.

He stays on the bench. Watches them file in through the doors they entered through. Those trailing behind already looking worse for wear. Rough play, violence on the court. Nothing he's not accustomed to and will fall in easily with tomorrow. Might even be refreshing to not be told off for laying his hands on another player. What will the judge say when they see where he's ended up? What will the Ravens do about that? What power does the master have over the law?

The end of the line of players has Jean darting his eyes around. Waiting for him, it seems. He says nothing. Just looks and looks and looks. Staring. Andrew raises one brow, challenging him to walk away without him in tow. Pushing the boundaries of their so called pair. There are enough Ravens around that he can buddy up with one of them.

Leave Andrew a solitary crow in a nest of ravens.

Then: "Moreau! Handle that before I do."

That being him. Riko is predictable already. Over powering, overcompensating perhaps. He tests it, stays put. Takes him time thinking over his next move. Pushing the limits that Riko has set just to see how far they go. How much the rules can bend.

He doesn't get to push very far, Jean jogs in his directly within ten seconds. Mouth giving away his mumblings and probably curses. Regretting what's brought him to have Andrew tied to him. Unwilling to cut his losses.

"Get up."

"More fun to sit here."

"What do you care about fun? You do not want to anger the king." Jean says with more bite than he thought the baguette had.

He bites back a laugh, a laugh that is not mania induced. Weighs his options of following like he should and staying put. But the word catches in his brain. The king. Self proclaimed of course. Surely not Andrew's king. It looks as though Jean will crawl out of his own skin if he doesn't do something, so he stands.

Pausing before walking to retort, "Oh no precious idiot number one will have to cry to his uncle that I didn't listen. Or should he be idiot number two, since following him as Kevin does can only imply that he is the stupider of the pair?"

"Do not say that." Jean defends, which remark is unclear.

He waves it off, over the conversation entirely. Itching to get away from the court despite having nothing waiting for him down in their room to distract him. Inside the locker room everyone is standing around waiting expectantly. There a few faces that look confused. Other newcomers perhaps. Though Andrew was the only one to sit out of practices today, a touch of special treatment that he can't understand. On top of being placed with a player who has a ridiculous tattoo rather than a commoner.

The only bit of information he retains from this is that their next practice is in four hours. He will be expected to change out and participate. Nothing else pertains to him, he tunes it out. A few unfortunate players are asked to stay back by Riko, the rest file back down the stairs. Most side by side with their pair. Something Andrew will not initiate, if Jean wants to walk with him he can find him.

Kevin finds him instead, matching his walking pace without explanation. The backliner from earlier is next to Jean hurrying him along. It seems to be more a buddy system than a true partnership by the looks of this. He files that away in his more clear brain now. Once at his room he's lost sight of anyone else other than the tall idiot to his left.

"Swapping roommates?"

"No, just filling in while he's away." Kevin provides absolutely no details. "Get some sleep, it will be an adjustment for you to get used to the days here."

"Why sixteen hours?"

"More practice time."

His eyes roll as he crosses the room to his partially still packed bag and digs out a change of clothes and his arm bands. The latter he slips on first and his chest untightens. Relief washes over no longer seeing his scars flashing in front of him. Like drawing a curtain on the wort parts of his mind. Kevin sits on the edge of Jean's bed, awkwardly and out of place, but he makes no comment on his accessories this time.

"This place is fucking weird." He says, mostly just to get a reaction.

His voice is level in a way that no one else he's heard talk here is. "It is home. You will get used to it."

𓅂

Bullshit. He doesn't get used to it. At least not overnight. One sleep here changes nothing and he's exhausted when he wakes. He gets very little sleep, due to the withdrawal or due to only having a four hour break. Though he knows he gets some because he misses when Jean comes in and replaces Kevin. Waking up and seeing his roommate does not ease him at all. It would be better to see no one.

"Five minutes," Jean warns him before turning away and adjusting a new bandage where one also was yesterday on his neck.

He's groggy, more so than usual. It's been at least twice as long as it should be between doses. There's no telling what his body will do. He should stop by the nurse and see. He would really rather not have the judge find out and throw him in jail. Quickly he gets dressed knowing he will just change into gear soon too. He slips his arm bands back into the bottom of his bag and zips it shut.

"Meds." He cocks his head toward the door, letting Jean know he's leaving with or without him.

"You will not get approved to take any."

"Court mandated."

"Does not matter. The master will deal with that." He wants to press, but resigns for now. He's too tired for a fight, too antsy, nails already coming up and scratching lightly across his bare arms. Later. After practice.

A mistake clearly. Practices on his meds have never been enjoyable. Practices in general aren't, but usually he can find something amusing. Blocking every shot used to be marginally entertaining. Laughing at the failed attempts. It wasn't something he had to work for, it was simple. A matter of tracing patterns of players and knowing exactly where they would aim. Getting there after it would be too late to change course but always before the ball.

Today's practice goes a little like this:

Andrew is directed to the goal immediately while the other goalies are sent to the other end of the court. He's told to block every shot. A warning against letting a single one in. He tests this because the incentive to put in the work is minimal. The first few strikers to take aim either go easy on him or they aren't skilled enough to do any fancy shots. He blocks those.

Then Kevin steps up, notably shooting left handed and is one of the only strikers to have the opposite dominant hand. He blocks one, lets the next in, and lets every other one in after that. Not even trying. This earns him an exasperated look from him, now that is funny. He's scored goal after goal and yet he's annoyed with him. How quaint.

"Put the racquet down now." Riko calls out, ideally swapping him for another goalie that will likely care more. "Block every shot now."

The second his racquet hits the ground balls fly toward the goal from every angle. Too many at once to block, let alone block with just his body. They hit him with precision. One to the shoulder and before he can steady himself from the blow another hits his stomach and he lurches but stays upright. Each striker continues, except for the one pair standing to the side. Watching.

"Stop," he steps forward now assessing the scattered balls on the ground that admittedly did not light the goal up behind him. Unintentionally Andrew did as he was asked. "My turn."

He sets up and raises his racquet and the ball lands just to the left of him. Where he was just standing, but he moved. Not enough force in the swing to hit the goal and too little forethought from Riko to actually hit him. He smirks, having won this one.

"Looks like you couldn't make it. I even moved out of the way for you." He mocks.

Hit after hit comes next. He doesn't see how Riko gets the balls into his racquet so quickly. No one else is shooting. With insane precision each time and more speed than the average striker has. They hit the same spot each time and Andrew is left without any time to move as he tries to recover and stay on his feet. A bruise already blooming under his gear is pressed over and over again. Five, ten, twenty, likely more. He's lost count.

Practice turns into a blur. Standing up straight is his only focus now. His racquet could be anywhere, it might still be at his feet. If he can lift it up after this he will smash it down on Riko's dominant arm. But he never gets the chance. His vision goes at some point. His head spins and control is lost, leaving him only with the thrum of his own heart in his chest and his head. Beating and beating and beating.

He stumbles through a scrimmage in goal. Unsure how many shots he blocks and how many he lets in. Just wanting to get off the court. Feeling another wave of nausea coming on that could be for any number of reasons this time. He'll save it for later at least, knowing now that it wouldn't get him any pity or even let him move to the bench and swap out with someone else.

The team gathers on the court to debrief the game as he struggles to keep his eyes open and his feet under him. He does, just barely. Needing to keep some semblance of control, needing to keep himself present. He'll collapse in the dorm after. In the span of a blink a body steps up right next to him. Close enough that he could almost brush against his shoulder, but he leans away from it. Jean. The entire practice he's not sure that he saw him once, yet here he is now. Surprisingly it keeps him alert and on his two feet more than a moment ago.

Everything said goes in one ear and out the other. Passes over his head. Whatever it is, he retains none of it. More of the same will be said tonight and tomorrow and at every practice after that. It's a game, there's not much variety in the feedback anyone could give on performance.

Breakfast is after this, but he isn't hungry. As they walk toward the locker room he uses Jean's need to be close to his advantage. "I'm going to sleep after this."

He nods, agreeing to skip the meal. Or bring it back for them. No argument is good at least. Maybe he will simply go off on his own again like he did last night. He wouldn't mind time alone. He changes out and steps under a shower head quickly rinsing off. Ignoring everyone else around him doing the same thing. Avoiding looking down at his own body not needing to see the marks beginning to deepen in color.

He slips his clothes back on and shakes his hair dry with a towel. Half of the team has already cleared out. Jean is waiting by his locker for him, "We have a stop before you can sleep."

A raised brow in his direction isn't enough to get an answer out of him. Food most likely. Except there is something in his voice that gives him pause. A heaviness, a warning. Fear. He can't have that, he hates it. If they are going to be together constantly he doesn't want to be looking over Jean's shoulder on top of his own. Waiting to find out what lurks around the corners that he is so scared of.

"For," he prompts on their way down the black hallway.

"The king—"

Immediately he's clenching his fist. "Call him by his name or nothing."

Under his breath he says something in French and then, "Fine, Riko asked for us."

His fists do not loosen the rest of the walk. Jean says nothing else but leads them to the end of the hall past their room. He taps lightly on the door three times and the door is opened for him. A grim expression on Kevin's face greets them. He almost suspected that those two would get separate rooms. Riko at the very least, finding a reason to be exempt from their pair system. Getting more privacy than most. But perhaps they have simply opted to share for the fun college experience or whatever.

"Sit, Minyard."

The demand on its own only makes him want to ignore it more. He's never wanted to blindly obey. When he has, it has never gone well for him. He's barely staying standing as it is though, so he listens. Focusing entirely on not stumbling over his feet right now between the withdrawal and exhaustion keeps his mind present at least. No flashes of the past that would typically haunt him when spoken to like this even attempt to resurface. He's safe from that at least.

Jean nudges him forward and he flinches at the contact. It distracts him long enough that he doesn't see the racquet coming. Half a step from the bed and he's hit in the stomach and he topples. Landing more laying down than sitting and with specks littering his vision. A strangled noise is caught in his throat but dies when he realizes that no one else is making a sound. He can't be the one to break that silence.

"You're already proving to be a problem. But Kevin here thinks you are worth the effort. Let's see what it takes." Riko muses.

What comes next happens without him entirely present. Only faintly aware that anything is happening at all. Only faintly aware that he's even alive and breathing. Another hit with the racquet he thinks. Hands touching him far too much. Maneuvering his weak body, pads of thumbs that are not his tracing over his scars. He thrashes, he thinks. Any punches he tries to throw are thwarted attempts and in the end he just stops. Everything fades out, there's nothing he can do.

A new wave of pain washes over him. His stomach, his chest, his hands, his shoulders. It's easier if his eyes are closed. If he can't stop it then he doesn't want to see it happen. Mentally he braces for what could come. What has always come when he ends up like this. His mind trained for this for years, but this ends up different.

It's no more than ten minutes before he blacks out entirely.

Andrew wakes up again entirely unaware of his surroundings. His eyes are still closed taking more time and effort to peel open. It gives him the time to realize that there are still hands on his chest. One cupping his shoulder and one holding down his body. He doesn't want to see, instead he tries breaking away. This time it works, he's not held down he's not restrained, he has more control of his body.

He uses his feet to kick the person off of him and hears the crash across the room where they land. With space between him and them he opens his eyes and regains his bearings. His room. This is his dorm. His bag is on the floor next to him. When he looks up and at the figure slumped against the door, farther than he realized his legs would kick him, is Jean. Staring up at him startled.

"Don't touch me." He seethes as his hands smooth down his arms over the scars that he knows and finding new rawness at his wrists. His chest heaves catching up in the breathing that he's missed in the time he's been out.

"You should have stayed still. I was almost done."

"Do. Not. Touch. Me." He repeats, hating to have to repeat such a simple thing.

Jean stays where he is across the room, curled in on himself more than he has ever seen. Afraid. Rather than continue looking at the broken bird in front of him, he looks down at himself. His torso is more purple than not. A gash on his shoulder that is half-stitched back together a small thread hanging where he left off.

"Let me finish." He warily stands up to cross the room.

He considers it. It's not as if he ever taught himself any part of tending to injuries. Anything self inflicted only needed to be covered, any marks left behind otherwise only needed to be covered. He swallows thickly, closing his eyes and finding a steady pace to breathe with. A tune in his mind. A soft beat that can serve as a distraction.

Andrew fills his lungs, feeling the sharpness under the bruises and exhales his answer. "Ask first, always."

"Okay. Can I?" Jean takes easily to this, points in his favor even if only clawing back from the negatives he put himself in by invading his space.

"Yes." He holds his breath the entire time.

Chapter Text

It could be worse. Day in and day out, Andrew tells himself that. It keeps him going and truthfully he wants to keep going. He will see the other side of this. Aaron is on the other side of this, and now that he "doesn't have a family" he can admit that he wants to get back to him. Not to anyone other than himself, but still. One day they can maybe become brothers for real. Maybe. Each day that fact settles into his chest more and more as he grows accustomed to his ever present shadow.

He makes a mistake somewhere around two weeks into being a Raven. Andrew shouldn't have reacted, but he couldn't help it. Instincts kicked in. Instincts that he only developed two years ago. Caught with his guard down. Sitting in the cafeteria with Jean just to his left. They are sat at one of the back tables so that no one can approach from behind, yet he still ends up looking down at the bland Raven approved lunch in front of him when footsteps grow louder.

Most of the conversation is not something he can decipher, Japanese he thinks. Except he catches one word. A name, Aaron. His head snaps up and his eyes zero in on the speaker. Riko's gaze is already locked on him. He was waiting for this. A smarter person would pretend nothing was said and nothing was heard. A Raven would do that too, though intelligence doesn't play a factor there. Andrew holds still, challenging him to continue what he's saying in a language he knows.

"Something interesting about our conversation?"

"You tell me."

Next to him Jean tries to get his attention. Incessantly. Tapping on the bench where they sit out of view, turning his head toward him and opening his mouth to whisper something but nothing comes out. To his credit he does as good of a job as anyone could without laying a hand on him. It's just not enough. Andrew has more than enough experience ignoring and focusing on one thing. With the meds out of his system and the withdrawal seemingly through other than the prolonged impact on his sleep and mood — which could both be effects of the Nest — he's the most alert he's been here. Hearing Aaron's name only intensifies it.

The pair takes the last two steps to the table and set their plates down. All the same food for the most part. A handful of times he recalls seeing Riko get something that no one else does. An extra bit of fruit, a smoothie, whatever else. Rules have proven to not always apply to him. Today all four of them have the same thing.

No one else sits at this table with them and truthfully he doesn't know how to feel about it. He has no interest in the other Ravens. He wouldn't even say he has an interest in these Ravens. But better to know what he's dealing when the others have essentially left him alone in the weeks he has been here. He doesn't bring an inviting presence with him and being lumped in with the perfect court adds to that it seems. Still, keeping Riko on a short leash makes it marginally easier for him. Though Riko would argue that Andrew is the one on a leash he's sure.

"You don't get to be privy to all of our conversations. That's why we were speaking in Japanese." His smile sends a surge of violence through him. Perhaps the meds really were keeping him at bay.

"Carry on then." He waves it off, looking to Jean before stabbing his fork in a bite of chicken. "Just keep my brother's name out of your mouth."

Whatever utensils Kevin and Jean had in their hands clatter to the table. The boy next to him freezes. It's as if the entire room can feel the shift, the tension rising, the room filling with water to drown them all. Andrew is breathing just fine, he's said what he needs to. The last person to not believe him about his twin ended up wrapped around a tree. He's not afraid.

It hasn't been all that long that he's equated brother with Aaron instead of other monsters of the past. That took more than a year to settle in his stomach. Perhaps he should have never let that happen, it's causing more problems now. The word was right there on his tongue. Brother brother brother. Twin. One half of a pair but not quite the same. He can feel Jean shifting in his seat next to him holding his tongue.

"A brother you say?" Riko tilts his head inquisitively before looking at his own make believe brother with a challenge. "Were we talking about a brother?"

Kevin swallows and looks anywhere but at Andrew. "No."

"That's what I thought. You must have misheard. Or have you forgotten your contract?" Meant to be an end to the conversation, but there is still a fire inside of him left over from a deal of years past.

"Aaron. Don't talk about him, don't think about him, don't ever go near him." It wouldn't matter who his audience is, the sentiment would always be the same.

"Or what?" Riko snickers.

"Want to find out why I was put on those meds you took away?" He's almost certain that Jean has stopped breathing next to him.

"Prove I have no reason to have a talk with Aaron. Practice is in two hours."

It sounds oddly like a deal. Play well, save your brother. It definitively is not one. He knows better than to think any sort of deal with Riko would hold any weight. Unless… well no there is no unless. There is no world in which he could trust Riko to do anything that isn't directly for his benefit. So it's not a deal, it will never be a deal. It's not even on him to protect Aaron anymore.

But it's not worth the risk. Andrew will dig in his heels on this. He can play for him.

As unnerving as it is, the rest of the meal passes with normalcy. Or the Evermore equivalent. They idly talk, he tunes it out. Kevin brings up something or other about a game or a drill and it keeps Riko's attention. He has a one track mind, annoying yet oddly useful at times like this. Apparently no one knows how to talk about anything else, so Andrew ends up staying out of a majority of conversations every hour of the day. He's only in some by necessity, he's already tried the route of ignoring it all.

He pushes around his food, poor appetite still a lingering effect from coming off the meds abruptly. If it were decent food he might eat more of it. Everything is bland and uninteresting. If he had the chance to go out for a smoke that might also give him a push in the direction of getting healthy when it comes to eating. He only needs one good habit at a time, the rest can be bad and destructive. It's about balance.

"Don't forget Minyard. Come to the court ready to shut down the goal or I might have a field trip to take this weekend down south." He puts a hand on Kevin's shoulder, beckoning his pair to follow him out of the room leaving them behind to stew.

Andrew returns his ever present bored stare, digging his nails into his palm to keep from launching across the table. Small crescents indent in his palm but he's felt much worse. This is just enough of a pinch of pain to center himself. To control the tug in his chest.

"Room. Let's go." He utters once they are alone.

It never takes long for Jean to hop up and follow him. He's still far from used to it and he would much prefer this to not be his life, he is starting to accept it more. Knowing that there are worse people he could be tethered to. That Jean keeps space between them and has not crossed that since the first time, is another fact that helps. It's a new development to throw a few words out before just walking off. Jean would follow regardless, but it's easier for him to keep up and hold off on asking anything until they get where they are going.

Behind the slim privacy that their closed door provides he slumps to the ground with his back leaning on the bed. This show of vulnerability should have him clawing at his skin. Heaving out the air from his lungs. Like nails every inch of the way. Sandpaper lungs. Funny that he feels the effects now when it's been weeks since he had a cigarette. He just wants to know that nothing will happen. Aaron has had enough, he got rid of any threat. There should not be a new one. He knows this room inside and out by now, but still he whips his head around trying to find a mirror to look in just to see his face for a split second.

"That was not smart."

"Fuck off."

"They weren't talking about him." Jean sits opposite him leaning against his own bed, copying his position, getting on his level. This peaks his interest and puts a rock in his throat all at once; all he manages is a raised brow. "He only said his name to see what you would do."

"He got that answer."

"Provoking him was a mistake." There's something laced in his words and he wonders how Jean doesn't choke on the fear he carries with him constantly.

He's not stupid. As much as they may not have been threatening Aaron, it's not out of character for him to do that. He would, Andrew knows for certain that he would. Jean does too. Anyone who has interacted with Riko even once knows that the runt thinks he can do anything he wants to anyone he wants. No remorse.

"Why do you listen to him?" Andrew looks past him.

Completely level, almost rehearsed, he answers. "This is where I belong. I am perfect court, Riko made me that way. He gave me that."

"He gave you a fucking tattoo. Don't lie to me and say this is what you want."

"I told you that you shouldn't have stayed if you had a choice."

They sit in silence until they have to leave for practice. It's routine at this point. Scary how quickly he fell into it, but he's been known to adapt quickly. New houses, new places, new people, over and over again. This is just another one to get used to. Another one with it's own challenges. Different than the past ones thankfully. It separates it all in his head easier. He doesn't look over his shoulder as much. He doesn't lie awake wondering if it's safe in his room.

On the walk through the Nest to the locker rooms he clears his mind. Everything is tucked neatly away except for one thing. Aaron. Whatever he does at practice tonight is just for him, it's what he's got. Enough motivation to match the skill that is already there. Spite and Aaron will fuel him through the next three hours and it will just have to be enough.

He changes out quick in comparison to most days when he is not eager to get on the court. The other goal keepers trail somewhere behind him, but he walks out with Jean next to him. They only peel off when the reach the center and everyone is starting to line up by position for drills. The dealers step up first, then the strikers, then the back liners, and finally the goalies. He recognizes the drills from all of the practices before this one but he has yet to actually put proper effort into them.

It will hurt to do it. He doesn't give a shit about how well he can aim at a cone when tossing a ball. His racquet isn't even made to succeed at these types of drills. Riko is in line with the strikers, or rather leading them with Kevin close behind. It's Tetsuji who calls the commands to each line of players. He doesn't seem aware of the reason behind the newfound effort that Andrew is putting in, he figured he wouldn't. The coach doesn't seem to care what extracurricular activities his nephew gets up to off the court, none of his business.

When it's his turn he misses the first four cones. He has no idea how. He has good aim, able to lob the ball from the goal to strikers without a second thought during a game. The fact that he's putting in any effort at all and not excelling annoys him. This is a stupid game and a simple drill.

"Get it together. Next," the coach calls out for the senior goalie to step up.

He moves to the back of their line, ready to go again. Not slinking off to the bench or to walk the perimeter of the court like he would in high school. Not looking for a way out, because now a way out of practice holds more weight. It has implications beyond him. He isn't bound by any promises to care about those implications, and he wouldn't even call this care. But he isn't going to let anything happen. He simply will not let Riko win. Too bad in the end they are on the same team so at some point he will win, just not with this.

"You already went Minyard."

"I'm going again." He steps up and this time he doesn't miss. He goes through the drill, all seven cones, twice. Perfect precision even with his goalie racquet.

Half of the team is staring when he turns around to move on to the next drill. All of the goalies glaring. Multiple sets of eyes seeking him out. Varying reactions from shocked to impressed to envy to whatever else. He's not paying them any attention. The one person he knows won't move until he looks is Riko, so instead he meets Kevin's gaze. He wears a mostly blank face, just the corners of his mouth upturned. The same way he looked when he was trying to recruit him. That gives him enough of an answer about how Riko will be feeling.

The rest of the drills go smooth. He doesn't falter, and he can't understand why any one is struggling at all. It can't be that hard for them. All of these players were recruited for this team, most have been here over a year if not more. Interesting to see the weak links pointed out. It entertains him for the briefest of seconds.

For the last hour of practice they are divided up for a scrimmage. He would hope to be one of two goalies picked to sit out, but he knows that won't happen. In fact he ends up the only player to not be switched out even at the halfway point of the game. A test. As he steps in goal he rolls his eyes seeing that the opposite team's strikers are starting with Riko and Kevin. As predictable as ever.

On his side to start there is Jean and the taller backliner, Grayson, as his first line of defense. They should do well enough to help his cause. He hates this, he hates putting in the effort because someone told him to. Especially coming from Riko. Except the fool doesn't think he can do it. So spite will fuel him. A handful of passes are intercepted and redirected by his defense sending the ball down the court and away from him.

By the time it comes back he's prepared for the ball to come his way. Riko passes to Kevin who takes a few steps to maneuver around Jean, then passes it back for him to shoot. Easy block which he sends down to the opposite end, landing perfectly in the net of a striker's racquet. The next time, the same order is followed but a different aim. Still blocked. That routine goes quite a few rounds and he's getting tired of it.

At this point he's lost interest in helping his team keep the ball and score. If he's going to be doing this it should be interesting. With each shot coming from either Kevin or Riko, more often the latter as he seems to either be a ball hog or he's enjoying today's mind games, Andrew aims his blocks at their ankles. It makes contact the first few times, they aren't expecting it after he had been shooting much farther before. Eventually they catch on, and are ready to more rapidly shoot on goal again.

By the end of the scrimmage he let exactly zero goals in. His body is exhausted in ways that he wasn't sure were possible. Barely staying upright as he follows everyone to center court to debrief. He played flawlessly and yet — Tetsuji doesn't praise it. Riko doesn't either, he instead tells him off for the ankle shots. It doesn't matter in the end. He shut down the goal and even the self proclaimed idiot king couldn't get a ball past him tonight.

On the way off the court it isn't Jean or even Riko that catches up with him to keep him to the back of the pack. It's Kevin. He doesn't want to hear about Exy now that the day is finally over — sixteen hours don't seem to last any less than twenty four.

"That was good. Do that more often."

"Had a reason to today, most days I do not."

He huffs, but surprisingly bites his tongue on that. "He won't do anything. A brother is… he won't." Kevin's face twists as he fights for what he deems the best words to say now. None of it is a comfort to him.

"I don't give a fuck about his freak brother complex as long as he leaves Aaron out of it."

"He needed to see how you can really play."

Andrew pushes past him to change out of his gear, not justifying the mind games with a response. He's not interested in being anyone's pet project on this team. If they want someone to care about being the best they are looking in the wrong place. He would have to care at all for that to be him. Though it's clear that none of the other goalie's can do what he did today. Not his problem. They should put effort into them instead.

At his locker when he gets back, Jean is sitting and waiting. Ready to leave as soon as he is. His eyes are zoning out, he doesn't hear him approach. Sometimes he seems lost, not entirely here. Without moving anything else his hand comes up and scratches at his neck. Once his gear is away he pauses.

"Come on." He waits the few seconds for Jean to snap out of it, and then they make the descent back to the dorms. They don't talk until the next morning, but they remain quietly in each other's presence. Neither swept off to the dark corners of the Nest.

𓅂

The way everything starts to seem normal gets under his skin. It's a routine, every day is full of patterns. Which players are in scrimmages, which players are on the bench. Which table they sit at for meals and whether it is just him and Jean or if they are quiet with the other two around. If they go back to the dorm together after practices or if they are separated until regaining consciousness. He hates all of it.

Andrew pays enough attention to it all anyway. It's how he comes to expect having to stay back in the locker room waiting for Jean one day. He was out of it for most of practice. Still on the court, they both were. But Jean seemed more like a ghost than a Raven. Hands limp around his racquet. Getting tossed around the court.

He pays attention, but he missed something to know why he's off today. It could be anything. Being here is exhausting, there are no breaks. No time to recover before more is thrown at them. Still, he can't do anything other than watch Jean stumble through practice and then be asked to line up at the end while most of the team changes out and showers.

It's normal for this to happen he's found. He was told and he didn't doubt it, but it seemed infrequent enough. Maybe that was just the start of the summer practice season, or he just never saw it. A few weeks in and he has yet to be required to stay back with Tetsuji. He is not naive enough to think that he never will be. He's not special, he's never been special. Jean staying back reminds him this.

He showers and finds Kevin waiting for him again. Curiosities have been swirling in his head. Trying to put together the puzzle that is Jean Moreau. Nothing has been adding up quite right. He sees the bandages, he sees the bruises, but he doesn't know where they are from. Any time that they are separated, he doesn't see him come back to the room. Though that is because he doesn't get back on his own. Another thing he hates. It can't be all poor performance in practices that leaves Jean as he is, he's one of the best on the defense line.

The locker room is almost cleared out. He scans the room without a second thought, not finding Jean anywhere. "He'll be back soon."

"Didn't ask."

"You were looking." Kevin points out.

Caught. Vulnerable. His skin prickles and he hasn't wanted to pull his arm bands back on this badly until now. He's somewhat gotten used to not wearing them, no one says anything about the scars. No one antagonizes him that isn't Riko.

While his armor is down he lets it go. "It's not coach and I don't think it's Riko. Who is hurting him?"

His adam's apple bobs in his throat and he looks away. Fixing his eyes anywhere else. "The master is responsible for on court contrition."

"That's not what I asked."

"You don't want the answer."

He knows the end of a conversation when he hears one. It's just as well, Jean walks in a moment later barely able to hold his racquet. He changes without a word and the three of them walk down. Kevin leaves them at their room, but not without giving a warning look at him. Warning against asking, warning against potential consequences, warning for protection, could be anything. He's too intertwined with Riko to be fully trustworthy. Keeping him at arm's length is best.

His hand is bruised. A new injury. Nothing to do but wait that one out, Andrew won't bother him about it. Except Jean's words from that first night echo in his mind. Your success is my success, your failure is my failure. Will this fall on him tomorrow? What about the next day? Gritting his teeth he crosses the room and stands over him, never usually the taller one.

"You were out of it today."

No response, not even a glance up at him. His eyes are trained on his knuckles as he stretches out.

"Tell me why."

"I will be better tomorrow." Jean answers like a toy with a string and preset phrases.

He pushes for more, there is more he knows that much. "Kevin wouldn't tell me."

This gets his attention, his grey eyes snap up to him pupils dilated. Just for a split second it confirms that something remains under the surface there. Kevin knows and won't tell him. Is it Kevin causing him this much pain?

"Do not ask him again."

"You said I was your pair," Andrew tests.

"You are."

He knows, or was learning, how to be part of a set. He could be good at it one day. Aaron then, Jean now. A turning point, a switch flipped. He doesn't know what lurks around the corners still, but no one breaks what is his.

"Then let me be."

𓅂

It's not every day, not even every other day, that Riko wants to see him. Either he's gotten too annoyed with him that he thinks Andrew is not worth the effort, or by some miracle he's accepted this is how Andrew is. He hasn't changed much about his behavior. The most he's done is accept how Evermore runs. Meals are plain, practice takes up most waking hours, he doesn't get to go anywhere alone. He doesn't bother questioning it, which seems to be enough for him.

This however doesn't mean that Andrew has learned to bite his tongue. If he has something to say, he's going to say it. A part of him finds the joy and amusement in watching frustration bloom across Riko's face. It's easy to get under his skin, it seems he's quite sensitive.

Jean hates that he does it. His eyes go wide and his face grows paler whenever he sees Andrew open his mouth to say anything mocking toward him. Except, it has not even once fallen back on Jean to handle the consequences, so he doesn't stop. He should, it would stop the after hours trips to Riko's room where he's beaten down and ripped apart. But part of him knows that even if he stopped taunting, this would still be the result for one reason or another. He might as well be in control of why.

It's also easier and preferable to Tetsuji. Coach wants them to do better and to care about the game. Andrew doesn't. Any hits from him mean nothing. it's not going to make him start giving a shit about the sport. Though he's rarely subjected to that, only if his team loses in a scrimmage which is rare. He's good on his own and that is what the coach cares about.

His little nephew cares about everything else. He cares about submission, he cares about power. For all the coach knows, Andrew is simply a silent goal keeper and that's the reason he's never called him master or said more than a handful of words to the man.

A month and half of living as a Raven passes, what is actually only thirty days, and somehow he has settled into it and no lingering effects of the drugs remain. He thought they would. The game Riko plays as of late is trying to get Andrew to call him the king. Something he never plans to do. That has just as much amusement as the first day he was here, drugs or no drugs he laughs at it.

His method for getting through dealing with Riko's idea of coercion and punishment has not had to be very thorough or thought out. When he does end up there, he shuts off his instincts to fight. The one time he threw fists, he woke up disoriented a day later having missed two meals and a practice. Jean waited for him to wake up and was quick to tell him the day and time before patching him up.

He tries not to think about it. Past when it is happening, he would rather not think about it. It's just another thing that happens to him and one day will just be something from his past that haunts him. He hates not knowing, but it's better almost. Being unconscious makes it easier to stomach, he doesn't have to have any of it stuck in his memory forever.

A part of him wants to ask. Kevin knows, he has to know. He's always there, he's the one who makes sure he gets back to his dorm as much as he hates to think about that too. He won't ask, not now. Not any time soon, he can be honest enough with himself that he is not ready to know that. It would be easy enough for Kevin to lie to him anyway, he won't even tell him what's going on with Jean. It's not a conversation for now, he doesn't want to be lied to and a part of him doesn't even want to know.

Today he waits for a thud to his head to come when he walks through the door with Riko at his back. When it doesn't and he's only knocked down to the floor he pushes himself to the farthest corners of his mind. Pulling his consciousness out of the Nest. He stares straight ahead. His knee hurts, he knows that much. The backs of his legs too.

When he doesn't respond to anything that Riko says, he seems to give up. Kevin ushers him out of the room, but lets him walk the short distance back to his room alone. Jean will be there waiting, he faintly hears told to him. It's hazy and he's not sure if it's from the lighting or the pain. He hasn't felt this lack of clarity since the drugs.

Pain shoots down his legs as he walks, but he does it on his own. It's not that bad. It's not as bad as it has been before. Just fifteen more steps to the door and then four to get to his bed. His arm bands are underneath his pillow and he slips them on out of habit. Pulling control back into his favor.

The buzzing in his brain goes quiet when he looks up and finds Jean across the room.

"You're conscious."

"And you're here," he still doesn't know where he goes sometimes, but he doesn't provide an answer today either.

He pulls a desk drawer open and grabs the small kit of bandages and supplies. It's gone a mystery to him why he has all of this to patch both of them up when there is a nurse on site. Though he knows that Smalls is not one to help or step in when players are injured after practice or off the court. He might even only be here as a formality.

Eyes drag over him, scanning for anything that needs attention. He's in good enough shape compared to other days which they are both more than aware of. Bruising and soreness aside, it's only whatever marks were left behind on his legs today that should be cleaned up.

"Can I?" Jean asks before even sitting down on the bed with him.

"Yes." It's become routine.

He has not worried that Jean will do anything without asking him since he lashed out. That boundary has not been crossed and he's thankful. At least within the four walls of this room he's not suffocating. Though still every time he asks, it's a yes. It has to be, if he wants to be patched up.

"Talk me through it." He's met with a twisted frown and furrowed brows. "I should know how to do all of this too." The words get caught in his throat, his want to be able to help in return. Not a deal, not a promise, but something he can and will do.

"Okay. Clean first, then see if we need to stitch or just wrap." He continues methodically talking through it. Disconnected almost.

Unlike the times that there are gashes left on his chest or shoulders, it's the back of his legs this time. He can't see it himself, but Jean still talks through it. He does the best he can working with how Andrew is sitting, but there's no good angle. He makes it work as the rough area is wiped clean, stripes of blood coming up on the cloth.

"Lie down." Jean motions the way that he means.

His breathing stops momentarily, but he agrees. He turns and lays down across his bed, head on his pillow, stomach on the mattress. Deep breaths. In and out. He has time to prepare, he has time to blockade himself in his mind. Focus only on the present. Jean asks him again before continuing to bandage what he thinks are lashes from the net of a racquet. He can't be too sure though, Riko did it all from standing behind him. He can't see what is happening, he can't stand having someone over him like this.

He blinks harshly. The physical contact sends a shock through him. He gets lost for a moment. He shifts away and somewhere distantly hears someone tell him to stay still. Accompanied by a word he can't stand the sound of. Please. He's moving too much for anything to work. Andrew heaves, gasping for breath.

"Stop." He forces out. "Stop touching me, now."

That's all he needs. Jean moves back, he steps away from him entirely. Hands held away from his own body and out where he can see. He's not doing anything that Andrew hadn't agreed to. He was trying to help. Without the contact he can rationally recognize that.

But the look he sees in his eyes makes him sick. He doesn't want to be seen as weak. He's not weak. He isn't. Jean doesn't try again, he simply waits. Not pushing for an explanation, not crossing the space created between them. Just patience and time.

Something like understanding, which only makes his stomach turn once more.

"I don't like that word." Andrew adds when he comes back to himself and doesn't feel everything caving in on him.

"Okay." He easily accepts and then holds out the long piece of gauze. "Do you want to wrap it yourself?"

He reaches out and accepts it. Not something to deal with now. Just confirmation that his request is accepted. Jean immediately stepped away when he needed him to. That has to mean something. That has to be something like trust. He's never truly felt that before, but he thinks that's what this might be.

𓅂

"Stay back." Kevin stops him on the way into the locker room and he meets him with a glare.

It's less than a month out from the first game of the season. From school starting. He has no interest in spending even more time at the court now. That seems to be the exact reason he asks him to stay. Everyone else files away, he catches sight of Jean who is with the rest of the defense line.

"What's the reason today? Need your ego bruised a little?"

"Making up court time before I'm away for a few days." He shrugs.

Andrew tugs his helmet back down over his face and drags his feet toward the goal. It's only the two of them on the court, almost like something that he doesn't hate. Within seconds Kevin is moving with ease down the court. Bouncing the ball off of the glass and catching it back in his net. He does a few more complicated tosses that emulate what could be passes. He's bored before he reaches the goal the first time.

He weakly and vaguely extends his racquet toward the upper right corner of the goal. The ball grazes it, but falls outside of scoring territory. Andrew laughs. He tries again with better results. Though Andrew made no attempt to block this time. Wanting to see what he would do.

"Put in some effort." He growls at him.

The next time the ball comes toward the goal he deflects it back at Kevin, hitting him in the chest. He takes the blow in stride and shoots again. After aiming at his ankles with the next handful of shots he blocks, he tires of the game. Any novelty is lost. He sits in front of the goal but keeps his racquet in hand. He waves it above his head in the air pretending to defend. Somehow it works on at least one shot, though he sees the red from behind his back from others.

"Done yet?"

"What is it going to take?" Kevin pulls his helmet off and meets him where he's sat.

He shrugs dismissively. He's not going to care and extra practice definitely isn't the trick. Besides, he's good. Andrew doesn't need to care to know that. He can observe and play all without giving a single fuck about this game. The attention Kevin is investing in him makes no sense either. It's not worth it. He seems to think there is something to prove with him, but there isn't. There shouldn't be. It's not as if Riko will respect him more if Andrew starts putting in effort.

"Figure it out. Whatever it is, I don't care. Just start trying."

"Fuck off." He enunciates before falling onto his back on the court. He thinks for a moment before adding, "no more extra practices, you're already the best and I don't want to be here."

Kevin storms off the court. The locker room is empty, it's been nearly an hour since everyone else cleared out. In silence they change and put their gear away. His shoulder is sore from earlier in practice but when he looks at it there's no bruise. Just a little jagged scar from almost two months ago. Time keeps passing and he's still here. He hates that.

On the walk downstairs Kevin is stiffer than usual. His posture gives him away. Stress oozes out of him. For some unknown reason. Andrew doesn't ask, he isn't in the mood for a conversation. Not that Kevin seems capable of having one about whatever the fuck is bothering him. If it were about Exy he would tell him to take it up with someone who cares. Except he stays quiet. Only fidgeting with his hands to his left. More than one his hand comes up and traces over his tattoo.

Halfway to the room Andrew stops in his tracks. Just for a second. Someone slips out the door to his dorm and it's not Jean. Grayson smiles and locks eyes with him. His stomach is in his throat and looking to Kevin gives him no reassurance. Walking faster now he swallows the sick feeling down and doesn't care one bit if he keeps up with him. He needs to get there.

As they pass Grayson he doesn't wipe the idiotic look off of his face and despite being over a foot taller, Andrew has half a mind to body check him into the wall. An arm blocks him. He stops before he walks into Kevin's outstretched arm, distracted enough by his audacity to suddenly become aware of his surroundings again at the worst time. He almost runs, but would rather not draw more attention to himself.

He throws the door open and everything crashes. Nausea, every breath lodged in his throat, his heartbeat like a gun shot. No. No no no no. Behind him the door closes and he thinks he hears the lock turn but it does nothing to settle him. Nails trail up his arms digging in. He slides to the ground, eyes never moving from the boy in front of him. Everything else is a blur, the edges of his vision are black.

Come on Andrew. You want this. Ask nicely if you want it to stop. No. Be good for me. No no no. You love it don't you. With each blink he can't tell exactly where he is. He's lost. Different homes, different people meant to be safety. Voices echoing through him. Hands on him, never letting him go. Not taking their claws out of him no matter what he says. No this can't be happening, he can't, he can't, he can't.

The room eventually comes back into focus. Jean comes back into focus too, motionless on the bed. Curled in on himself. Then Kevin is moving in, closer and closer and closer hands out stretched. He launches off the ground and pulls him off the second his hands make contact with Jean. For a second he recoils at the contact, but he can handle this. Pushing Kevin up against the door and bracing him there with his forearm across his neck.

"Don't touch him."

"I was help—"

"He's fucking unconscious. We're going to wait until he's not and while we do you're going to tell me what the fuck is going on." Andrew keeps him pinned, choking only slightly, while he turns to truly look at his partner.

Limp, slow breaths rising and falling in his chest, a fucking bite mark on his neck. His own chest heaves and he does everything he can to stay present. A cigarette would help. A drink. Anything. Except he has nothing so he lets Kevin go and moves to sit on his bed where he can watch over Jean with his knees pulled up and his head resting atop. Each and every breath that flows through him, every little movement in his sleep. It's not even sleep, he's not out of his own choice. Or maybe he is. He's going to be sick.

Multiple times Kevin tries to come toward him. Hesitating or second guessing before he does. Pausing and thinking better than to risk being choked again. Without pulling his eyes off Jean he reaches under his mattress for his arm bands and the knives to accompany them. He will use them if Kevin so much as thinks about getting close again. Why didn't Jean grab the knives when he needed them? He knows where he keeps them, right?

"So?" His heart beat is too loud to find any more words.

"There's nothing to do." Kevin says like the idiot he is.

"Try again." His jaw is tight his fists are clenched, his gaze is still unmoving.

Quieter now, he gives a helpless response, revealing more than Andrew was ready to know. "He lets him. Riko allows it. They can—"

"He's not even eighteen."

"The age of…" Before he can finish the sentence Andrew is on his feet and holding the point of a knife less than an inch from his chest. It promptly shuts him up.

He doesn't want to hear any more actually. Not from him. Not right now. Not until Jean wakes up. It doesn't stop the pieces from falling together in front of him. The whispers and jokes he hears through the halls about him, the awful things they say. It's not his choice, he doesn't fucking want this. No wonder he's clawing at his throat every night.

Time starts to warp and he doesn't know how much actually passes before he hears the shift in his breathing. Kevin notices too, rushing toward him. He beats him and puts his body between them. Of all the monsters in the Nest, Kevin is not the worst of them. Not even near the top in this regard. But right now he's not someone Andrew would even think about trusting. Not with this. Not with him.

"Jean."

He blinks a few times, roughly, coming back to himself. Seeing him awake makes him no less nauseous. Behind him Kevin turns to go for the small first aid kit again as if he's done this plenty of times. He probably has. He snatches it right from him, in no world allowing him any closer to Jean than he already is. He wants to force him to leave, he can handle this. He will handle this.

"Kev—" He speaks hoarsely. When he recognizes that it's Andrew in front of him instead he rolls over to face the other way. But he's already seen all that he needs to to know. "It is okay. I will endure. It is okay."

"I'll patch him up."

"Back off Day. Jean?" He waits. "Yes or no?"

"Yes." He whispers, but it's still there.

It's enough for him. He will make it as quick as he can, he can manage that. Not without a sick feeling lingering in his stomach, but still he manages. Kevin hovers in the room but away from the bed, not crossing him again. Respecting the line now, even if it took a knife to convince him of it. None of them talk for a long while. Not until after he's all bandaged. Even then, he's out of it and Andrew can't help but wonder, how many times? How did he not see it? How does he fix this?

He lets Kevin see that he's handling it and that he can keep handling it before sending him away. Needing space from him to breathe. Thinking that he's known about this, that he— No. He doesn't want to go down any other trains of thought. There are only so many people at Evermore that will ever be on his side, he's not going to burn this one.

"Go." He instructs before he can change his mind.

"Do you have him?"

Care. He cares. He cares in a twisted way and it only makes him more sick. "Yes, now leave. I'm not asking." He holds the door open and locks it again as soon as he's gone.

Hesitantly he sits next to Jean. On the ground leaning against his bed. Enough space for them to both be comfortable with it. He's never been one to talk about it, he's not expecting Jean to. It's not going to happen again as far as he can control. Neither of them sleep that night, Andrew doesn't move from his spot on the floor. At some point he gets confirmation that it was Grayson, he doesn't push for anything more than that. He can handle him.

For the first time in the months he has been here he understands the pairs. He failed and this is the result, whether it started before or after he arrived. He still failed. He's not going to again. They don't talk enough to make any promises to each other, but there's nothing to be done in exchange for this. Nothing equal. It doesn't matter, it doesn't have to be for Andrew to keep him safe from this. The closest they get to any sort of deal is a cryptic exchange lacking context that he won't understand for a few weeks more.

"I'll kill him if he touches you again."

He doesn't even know if Jean is awake when he says it, until he exhales, "Then say yes to Riko."

𓅂

There is a week of reprieve for seemingly everyone at Evermore. Riko and Kevin are away for one reason or another. A postcard comes for Jean during this time, whatever is written on the back of it is in French. He keeps it close and eventually adds it to a stack of others. No one else leaves the Nest for trips or anything like this, just the pair of them. Made up rules for made up royalty.

It is a calm week. Practices and meals and nothing else. Andrew never leaves Jean's side, except for during practice though he can still see him. There is no pocket of time where he doesn't know exactly where he is and what he is doing. It becomes his main focus. He never gets separated from him because they are treated as a pair by Coach.

As soon as they get back it is the first week of classes. Adjusting to a new schedule yet again. Regardless of school they still operate on sixteen hour days. Practice times and meals are what shift for the most part. He gets lumped in with other freshman on the team that he doesn't care to talk to but is forced to attend classes with. It's not something he worries about, more annoying than anything. It's time that he doesn't know exactly where Jean is or who he is with.

The Ravens for the most part seem focused on the first game of the season. That should be enough to distract any monsters that lurk in the Nest. It's been fine so far. A few weeks and the most injury that either of them have sustained are bruises from racquets or balls during practice. Even Riko has left him alone outside of taunting words. Eyeing him every chance he gets and sizing up what he may do to him in the future, but nothing more.

He doesn't start on the court for the game. That position goes to the junior goalkeeper. He doesn't pay attention to what team they are playing, it's a home game which makes ignoring the details even easier. The score at the end of the first half is 3-2, Ravens favor. Though this seems to not be good enough for the little prince. He swings his racquet at more than one player in the locker room at half time.

Ultimately the end of the racquet ends up pointed at Andrew's face. "You're in. Prove Kevin was right about you." Riko seethes.

With dead eyes he stares back. Not justifying his threats with even a flicker of a reaction on his face. It's when Kevin steps up to him just before they are called back on the court that he throws out the idea of letting the other team score for the entertainment value.

"It will fall on Jean if you don't." Perhaps the most honest thing he has ever said to him. Curious.

He glances around and finds him quickly. Andrew does best on his own. He came here to not have to worry about his people getting hurt. Not to gain more people he feels the need to protect. This is not what he signed up for. It would be so easy to block all of it out. Snap and destroy everyone and everything in his path. Let the judge find out he isn't on the medication anymore and get taken away from here. Put into a different cage where he really can't hurt anyone. He hates what has become of him in such a short time.

The nagging question remains, what would happen to his people then?

So he goes out and plays the entire second half. Shuts down the goal. Not a single shot makes it past him. That alone would win them the game. The strikers seem to do their part too — the final score is 6-2. Four more points scored in all the time that Andrew was blocking shots. The team celebrates aggressively on the way off the court. He doesn't pay that any attention, instead searching for the faces that hold weight.

First and most easily Jean ends up by his side as the team circles up to hear anything Tetsuji has to say. Nothing consequential, they will go through the game at practice in the morning rather than right now. Next when he finds Kevin and holds his stare until the taller looks back, he receives a nod. He doesn't care for the approval, but it indicates what he can expect last.

He really doesn't care. Andrew hates that he's been forced to. What Riko thinks holds zero value in his eyes, he's a spoiled brat that has not been told no enough in his life. Knowing that he gets under his skin so much is the only amusing thing he has though.

No words and no glances are exchanged. Which could be good or detrimental. He knows he did everything perfect. Of course he did. Though he may come to regret that. Maybe he should have let in just one goal. Started the season out less than perfect, he's never strived for perfection. That requires more care than he has ever placed in this sport. The team is content, Riko says nothing. The team changes out and stores their gear for the night, Riko stands against Andrew's locker. Waiting until everyone has cleared out but them.

"Come on," Riko nods toward the door.

"Decided to kill me finally?"

"Something like that."

The four of them walk as one. It feels eerie and he hates this more than a majority of the last three months. He was never meant to be here, to be this. They pass his room and end up in the next most familiar room. Only slightly more settled knowing that Jean is here too where he can keep an eye on him. Though he looks about ready to break right now, a message unreadable in his eyes.

Riko pushes him down onto a chair with a rough hand that weighs on his shoulder. "Jean, looks like you have your partner now."

As the needle comes toward his face he realizes what Jean asked of him. Agree. Say yes. Take the number he is given, locking them together. It's done either way, but he doesn't fight. He already wore the number during the game, this just makes it official. At the back of his mind he only thinks about how there's something to distinguish him from Aaron now, aside from the scars. Good thing he already swapped places with him the one time it mattered. What will he think about him now?

Chapter Text

Andrew has always been observant. Just being in the foster system made it a skill he wanted. Even more so after he learned that it was also something he needed. It wasn't a choice for him. He reads people, whether he knows them or not, with relative ease. Can tell how anyone might react to something. Can guess what a look means and be right most of the time. He's good at observing, he's not as good with talking to people. He's good at observing and anticipating individuals, doing the same with the public not so much.

Leading up to their second game he does everything he can to not think about how it will go. How the news will be received about the expansion to the perfect court. A few hours passed before word got around the Nest of his number. He's pretty sure Riko let it slip purposefully. Keeping him from being able to lie down and sleep without half a dozen Ravens pecking at his door. He sits in front of it, leaning just in case someone figured out how to pick the lock. No one is smart enough to, but better safe.

He sits there all night. Losing more than just the hours taken from him by their days. Andrew is sitting against the door but his mind is elsewhere. Anywhere else. When he moves a muscle in his face he can still feel the needle pressing into his cheek. He can see it get too close to his eye as a threat to stay still. He's a child being told to stay still. He's a doe without a name or real identity. Better that than this, he thinks when it's far too late.

Anyone who didn't find out overnight, can't miss it when he walks in for breakfast. All eyes on him. Jean is at his side, but he might as well be alone. Being a numbered part of a set doesn't make him feel any better. It's a vulnerability, a weakness. Something he has no control over and would hide under anything similar to his arm bands if he could. Stop everyone from looking at him.

He hates it. Though he is given very little time to adjust and come to terms with that. Andrew is seconds away from crawling out of his skin when two of his least favorite Ravens step in their way of grabbing food. Next to him Jean stiffens. He locks everything away for now, not one bit of it will show on his face. No one can have that satisfaction.

With a dead stare he looks up at Zane and Grayson. "Move."

"I don't think so. Why didn't you just tell me that you two were a set? I can work with that." Grayson taunts.

Steady. Breathe. Struggling to find a pace to breathe at. In and out. In for longer, out as quick as he can. All while his eyes don't move, he barely blinks. All this just because he has a number on his cheek now? Fine. It doesn't change anything, nothing is different other than his appearance since last night.

"No." He says because he needs to know he said it. "Take it up with Riko if you're that upset he didn't pick you." He adds because he knows that plays a roll in their anger now.

"Fuck you." Reacher seethes. "And fuck you too Jean, you were supposed to—"

"It was not up to me."

It could go a lot worse. However subjective that may be. They grab their prepared assigned meals and head to their table. The other two already waiting for them. Unfazed by the interaction he knows they saw. Andrew gives nothing away, of course he doesn't. He takes his usual seat across from Kevin and leans back against the wall. Able to see everything from here, unfortunately including all of the eyes that are on him today.

Every single set of eyes landing just below his own at one point or another. Trying to determine if the ink is real. Wondering why the freshman goalie that hates exy and hates everyone and has barely said more than a few words to a majority of the team, is suddenly part of the illusive perfect court. He is wondering the same thing. He can make plenty of guesses. At the top of the list is Riko wanting to keep him close and within range. To control him.

Too fucking bad. Make no mistake, he may be marked but he's no one's property. He might just have to let a few goals in on Friday. If he can keep that from falling onto Jean to pay for, he'll do it. Watch Riko squirm, watch him feel whatever shame comes to him for picking the wrong number four.

It's hard to escape it. For a while he was able to block it all out. Just move through the Nest on his own accord. Do what he had to to get through each day. Practice and then collapse. Not talk to anyone, have almost no one talk to him. He was flying under the radar. With Jean by his side, and often Kevin or Riko too, he almost had a shield. Even if part of that shield was what would always hurt him in the end.

The prying eyes of everyone else are what he hates. It only takes until Monday for the Ravens to slowly go back to avoiding him. He's become no more open to interacting. He and Jean have spent even less time outside of their room, whenever possible. Practices are the main time they have anywhere to be over the weekend. Tetsuji only acknowledges Riko's handiwork with a slight nod and a note about how he could have blocked a goal more effectively during the last match.

Going to classes is more complicated. On his way to meet the others for their morning class, Riko steps in front of him. Kevin in tow. He glares and waits for one of them to speak. He can't read minds, and quite frankly those are not minds that he cares to see the inside of. The two freshmen next to him feel years younger and smaller than him right now, though they are meant to be the same.

Andrew is the only one the attention is on, he stands up against Riko in a way that no other newcomers would dare to. "Are you just going to stand there? Forget how to talk suddenly?" Their eyes open in shock, but rush to hide any reaction.

"Cover up for class." Kevin extends his hand offering a bandage.

"Already regretting it?" He takes it but zeroes in on Riko instead.

"Timing. So cover it. See you after class Minyard." He smirks and it takes serious restraint to not punch it right off his face.

There are no looks from anyone around campus when he settles into his usual seat on the end of the trio of Ravens he goes with. The entire time he's itching to leave. With his memory and the way their grades hardly make a difference, coming to class at all is pointless. It's the one break he gets from the Nest each day though, and that might just be worth it. At least he knows that Jean has the same schedule, so he's not alone with vultures waiting and watching.

"Did it hurt?"

He ignores the question. He doesn't even know the kid's name. Peter? Paul? Likely it doesn't even start with a P. He really has no use for it, it's not as if they are going to become friends.

The second one, sitting closer to him moves his elbow toward him. He sees it out of the corner of his eye. Trying to get his attention, in the worst way possible. Andrew heard perfectly well, he does not have a problem with his hearing. He chose to ignore the question.

"Andrew? What's it like being chosen?"

He considers this, just for a second. "You don't want to know."

A flurry of questions and protests come as the walk out in the same formation they walked in. The other two are flocking behind him as they were trained to. Staying together, moving as one. Andrew is simply walking. It's been two hours out of the Nest and it's time to go back. If he could ditch them he would take a detour. Find Jean and sit somewhere on campus where no one would think to look. Give them both a chance to just breathe.

Except there is afternoon practice in less than an hour. He wouldn't have time for any real break. Barely enough time, even if he could, to go buy a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. It occurs to him that he knows nothing about the town he's in. Getting out and going anywhere would be a struggle even on a good day. Technically he has a car. Two in his name really, one left with Aaron and Nicky against his will, and one Raven issued. Neither of which he has keys to.

This repeats day after day. Practices are intense from then on. More than usual. There are even more expectations on him now and it's infuriating. He wants a reason to give up. To sit out and not try. He wants to go back to before he agreed to come here and tell Kevin to fuck off.

Instead he stands in the goal for every scrimmage and catches Riko looking at him. His constant glare doesn't deter him. He would look at him taunting and goading regardless. When Andrew returns the looks with a murderous glare or even a bored stare, the dick turns his gaze toward Jean for a split second before returning to him. He always catches it. He knows what it means.

It keeps both of them uninjured though. As long as he plays, they're almost treasured for now. For this week at least. There is no telling what next week or the week after will bring. Though with the banquet coming up and Andrew playing every game, it wouldn't be wise for anything too bad to happen to him.

The second game goes much like the first. Easy. The Ravens have no trouble scoring on the other goal and when Andrew is on the court, he blocks nearly every shot. As he planned, he lets one go in this time. Just for fun. Just for something different. Just for his own amusement. When he does, the rest of the so called perfect court turns to look at him. Andrew shrugs.

They decided he was perfect and he decided to prove he still has free will.

Score doesn't matter by the end of the game, of course they win. The team starts for the tunnel that leads to the locker room and he follows at the back. One and Two are set for press duty, they always are, but tonight is set to be the announcement. No one else is even allowed to make eye contact with a camera or reporter. Except before he slots in next to Jean to walk in, Riko signals to him.

If he had the energy he would ignore him. Mess this up for him too. So much of him wants to just go and collapse in his bed though, so he listens. He pulls his helmet off as requested and flashes his cheek in the direction of all of the cameras. At least one will have picked it up. Kevin gives him a nod saying he's done enough and can go. Just as he lights up with a smile that Andrew has never once seen genuinely land on his face within the Nest. It's all an act, right?

He'll peel all of that back. Kevin hasn't been real with him this entire time. He's becoming more and more sure of it. This is an act, the most obvious of all of his fake personas really, but so is when he's around Riko, and when he's around the other Ravens, and when he's around them. What could he be covering up? What does the second tier striker have to hide? What is he so afraid of? Andrew salutes him with two fingers to his head once they're sure the cameras got him and catches up to Jean on the way to change.

From inside, speakers connected to some screen in the locker room, he can hear every word the pair says on television. The reporter too.

"It seems you've added to your court, is that right?"

"Oh, you saw that? Guess the cat's out of the bag. We're building up our line." Kevin forces his smile to seep into all of his words, hooking the country on a fake version of him.

"Looks like you picked a goalie this time?"

"That's right. A very good goalie at that." A threat from Riko if he's ever heard one.

The shoulder next to him tenses. Even after all this time that Jean's been one of them, he doesn't seem to be used to hearing about it. Or it's just unpleasant. Or a million other reasons that he will never say. He sucks in a breath and looks at Andrew. Seconds pass and they wait to see if more will be said or if they can move on with their night.

"Well of course you've all got to be perfect. I think I speak for everyone when we say we were wondering if you would add any new members this year, or if we would have to wait for the best to come along."

"We couldn't keep it just as three." Every remark that feels almost cheerful comes from Kevin.

"So does that mean we may have more than four too?"

Riko finishes it off, not even talking about the game — for once not droning on about exy. "Depends if we can find someone else that's perfect for us."

Getting back to the dorm takes much less time than last week. They make it out of the locker room before the others even showered. Benefit of them being the media interference. They get the opportunity to slip out nearly undetected. For now everyone leaves him alone which is all he could want. Even the defensive line that continues to seek them both out, sniffing around to find if Andrew would be a problem if they repeated any past actions again, doesn't trail behind them in the hall. They can walk in their door without fuss tonight.

He shakes off the feeling of the match that lingers even after the shower. In the dark room it's hard to breathe if he thinks about it too much. His muscles are sore and he just wants to lie down. But first he slips his arm bands on and grabs his bag to go brush his teeth.

They move as one together. He's stopped noticing it in a way. Or rather he only notices when it's not like this. Jean right next to him or right behind him. Never far. Always within reach though they don't cross that line. They're just near, orbiting. So Jean walks beside him without having to say a word.

"You have those on out of the room."

"Good to know you have working eyes."

Jean puffs air out through his nose. Amusement almost, but more acknowledgment. "You normally do not."

"I was told not to." He offers up the truth just to see what happens.

In front of the sinks he tilts his head up at Andrew. Considering for a moment. But then turns to brush his teeth like any words were lost on him. He follows suit. The end of a conversation is the end of one. And really he doesn't see why they would suddenly talk about his arm bands. Jean hasn't cared once. He's never said anything about the habitual way he pulls them on when he gets back. Even while Jean is patching up his latest injury, that can always wait until he gets them on.

He leans down to spit the toothpaste out of his mouth as Jean flatly says, "I didn't know you could follow directions."

Fair point. He's been listening to people far too often. He can't even say Jean is lying. So he shrugs.

Back in their room Andrew does another thing he had been told not to. Pull out his phone. It's surprising it's still charged. Only a few percent remain, it will be dead soon enough at this rate. There's a lot of notifications. He could scroll through them, but he doesn't. Nearly all from his cousin, but at one point his brother did text. Those dates are long ago, earlier in the summer. No point opening those now.

He can't help himself though, he taps on the screen to just see the most recent. An hour or so ago. Nicky… what the fuck? r u kidding?

Right, they would see. Though he wondered if they would just let him drift away, forgetting all about the brief period he was in their lives. Of course Aaron didn't text even with this, he's not surprised. It's best that he's gone then. Leaving was the right choice, he's getting the distance he's wanted since the incident. Now he finally has it and doesn't even have to see Andrew in his reflection anymore.

Andrew should have looked in a mirror one more time before he let the needle touch his face.

𓅂

The newest development, or what has become more evident, are pockets of time that Kevin is around. Just him, to be specific. Interesting. Is this the real Kevin that starts to turn their duo into a trio, or is he here in Riko's stead? Is he going to tell him everything when he walks away from them? Perhaps not, given that Jean taught him French so that likely could talk without prying ears. Perhaps he should learn French, or Japanese. One of them, he can't stand being left out of understanding anything here.

It starts to happen more frequently. At first it was every few days, or even earlier it started as once a week or so. Now it's every day. Multiple times on occasion. Andrew is skeptical, but Jean doesn't seem to mind. Did it ever used to be the two of them? Is Kevin here to keep an eye on him or Jean? Sometimes it eases the Frenchman and sometimes it sets him off. He doesn't know exactly how to interpret this.

Any of it, but mostly Riko's absence. The excuses, or explanations are always that he is off with his uncle, or traveling to recruit, or off with a reporter. Things that only he does, with the occasional addition of Kevin. More of that special treatment, so any amount of it could be a lie. It's not like Andrew ever paid attention before signing here.

"When did you teach him French?" He asks one day while they are sitting in one of the common rooms, though the rest is empty.

Both of them stop muttering to each other in the language and look at him. Jean's eyes go wide. "Years ago."

Andrew hums as Kevin asks suspiciously, "why?"

"Simply asking. Do you not know how a conversation works?"

Clearly the answer is no, all talking falls out there. Not in the way Andrew often does, but rather as if all of the air in the room deflates. That's not going to work. Time won't pass any faster here in silence. If it gets too quiet he hates the sounds that creep in the depths of his mind. Too difficult to make out but loud enough that it unsettles him. He used to be better at being alone, he thinks. Now the buzzing only comes back when he is.

"Let's try again. Tell me something." He offers nothing but an open ending.

"You need to work on your grip."

"Kevin." He warns. "I don't want to talk about exy."

It takes him back. He opens his mouth to try again but nothing comes out. He has nothing but exy. It's his entire life. From the moment he was born. The son of exy. He needs something else he needs a break from this. Every thought in his head must circle around the sport. How unfortunate.

A new development, something he has only seen a handful of times at most, Kevin's defenses fall. "I miss my mom."

It hangs in the room. Andrew bites back a laugh. Kayleigh Day was likely a good mother to him. Or she wasn't and he loved her anyway. Like someone he knows. He flexes his fingers almost able to feel the steering wheel under his touch. Flashes of bright headlights through the darkness even here. Mothers are a strange thing.

"I don't miss mine."

"You barely knew her, right?" Of course that would be somewhere in whatever file Kevin had on him.

"I knew enough." Anger courses through him though there is no threat remaining toward Aaron. "How long have you been here?"

The more he knows the better it is. He hates unknowns. That was always the worst part of moving to a new foster home, he had no idea what he was getting into. He was never given those choices, those luxuries. Stuck here now, he wants to know. Mapping every possible danger and where it lies like a mine field. Kevin is harmless to him, but he could be beneficial.

"Since she died. I was nine." No wonder he has nothing in his head other than exy. He grew up on the court, he was born of the sport, he lived in such proximity to the national team.

"And you?"

Jean shuts his eyes before dutifully answering. "Three or four years. When I was fourteen."

He's— fuck. He's only seventeen. It throws Andrew off. He didn't know that, how could he? But everyone else must. Kevin doesn't react until he sees the darkness growing in his eyes. The rage that surges through him over another child being failed. It's not the same, of course it's not, but it's fucking close enough. He really needs to kill Grayson just the same as he hopes everyone in his past is rotting away. As long as no one else is getting hurt. He feels sick.

Whatever he meant to do by getting some truths out of them, it's failed. The only two people in here that he can even breathe around and yet now he's suffocating. Choking on the tightness in his chest. He would much rather get up and walk away. Take time to clear his mind. He can't though, he can't leave them and he can't walk around on his own. So he stays.

Kevin silently works through some paper he has for a class that only he and Riko are in. It's enough to settle into the silence. No one enters the room for the hour or so that they remain. Jean won't meet his eyes once. He's looking off at the wall or sometimes at Kevin. Doing this day after day can't be good. But it's better than the alternative, it's better than dealing with Riko.

"The banquet. Riko went to get your suit." Today's excuse for Kevin's presence.

"And?"

"He wants to make sure it fits after practice." Kevin shrugs as if that's all it is.

It won't be, but since it's him asking and not the evil twin, he bargains. "I'll go to him if you do something for me. Pack of cigarettes and a lighter for the banquet."

"You should not smoke." Jean nearly jumps out of his seat, but he lifts a hand and motions for him to leave it. At least he's been following the stupid meal plan that he has no choice over.

"Fine. But no ice cream even if they have it on the dessert table then. I don't need you smoking and loading up on sugar in one night." It seems he may not be so stupid after all.

𓅂

It goes well enough. Jean is with him when he goes to the other room after practice. He's there and made to watch as Riko hits him over one thing or another. He is relentless when it comes to trying to demand respect out of him. Funny that, he's never respected anyone. Riko is not about to be the first. A knife dragging across his chest is not going to get him to comply.

The suit is fine. He tries it on with ease and notices, unsurprisingly, that it's all black. Any blood that will inevitably seep out of torn wounds won't show. How many Ravens will need that precaution come Saturday, he wonders.

Normally his gaze is trained on the opposite wall or the ceiling. If Jean is around, he's looking at him. It's just habit at this point which only twists his stomach a little bit. Tonight he's right there. Just sitting and watching with Kevin, not interfering in the slightest. Better that way, Andrew doesn't make a sound anyway. No one would know that isn't right here.

It's Kevin though, that he looks at now. Staring at him as a reminder of what he agreed to. Andrew is here and not fighting back, He's enduring the hands that are on him and only staying present because these hands never wander. That gives him hope for all of those times he wound up unconscious without the knowledge of what was done to him.

He holds his gaze until he gets a nod in return. And then he waits for Saturday.

The Ravens pile into a bus for the first time this year. All of them out of the Nest and not on their own court. They haven't had an away game yet because it seems everyone is always dying to play at Castle Evermore. Whispers circulate every game about how lucky they are and he wishes he could show every single one of them a glimpse of the Nest to send them running.

Everyone is sat in their pairs on the bus. He follows Jean and lets him pick where they will sit, or where he used to last year. Second to last row, with only Kevin and Riko behind them. They have a few hours on the bus before they arrive to the hotel where they will have time to change before dinner. Everything is meticulously laid out and uniform.

He knows that Kevin won't do anything with Riko around. Annoyingly so. It just means he has to wait. Find the pocket of time where he's distracted. But the protective way Kevin holds his hand around something in his pocket tells Andrew that he followed through. He can almost taste the smoke that he craves. Just a little bit longer. He rests his head on the back of the seat and even lets his eyes close. Jean is in the aisle seat so it's fine really, he's blocked.

At the hotel they manage the hand off. A pack of cigarettes and a black lighter. Quickly he changes in the room he and Jean will share and waits for his partner moving much too slow for his liking. They don't have all day. There's thirty minutes before they are due downstairs.

"Come on."

"Why?"

"Roof, let's go." He nods toward the door and there is no further fight.

Andrew gets to have his arm bands on under the dress shirt and a pack of cigarettes in his pocket. He almost feels like himself. Before leaving the room he tactfully avoids the mirror. Keeps it to his right side just in case he catches a flash. It's easier to see himself if it's Aaron looking back and not a Raven.

Any complaints about his health wait until they reach the roof. He doesn't have to pick any locks, the door just pushes open for him. They block it with a small rock just in case it locks automatically and then crosses to sit near the edge. Heights terrify him. Andrew holds his inhale waiting for his pulse to quicken. It does for a moment, but then his heart beat settles.

"This is terrible for you."

"What's the worst that could happen?" He muses, flicking the lighter with one pressed between his lips.

Jean sits down next to him and watches the smoke curl through the air. The sun is setting over… Ohio? Pennsylvania? Wherever they are. He keeps his eyes trained on the cigarette or his knees bent in front of him. Anywhere but over the ledge. He's gone up on roofs before, plenty of times, he likes the air. Not the heights. This is the tallest building and he's not about to test how he feels about that.

"You don't like this." The observation takes him by surprise, he almost drops the lit cigarette on the ground. "Heights."

"I never said that."

"You started to breathe differently. Before stupidly smoking that." He gestures. "Do not be slow at our next practice."

He ignores the request. It's not as if it matters. He hardly moves a few steps out of the goal and he can keep up just fine. Smoking was part of his daily routine before, one stray one tonight is not going to impact anything.

What it does impact, is what he can tolerate during the banquet. Sat across from Penn State who they are set to play in a few weeks, he stays as composed as is expected of him. No one provokes him, no one goes near Jean. He has his knives out of his room for the first time in months, but he has no use for them now. Though he almost wants to use them when Riko calls them over to stand as a perfect court in front of ERC board members for the first time.

"Just for a minute." Kevin whispers, and he agrees if only because he has the rest of a pack of cigarettes to make up for it.

It goes as well as it can. At least he thinks. Two days of freedom from the Nest and even more moments he's able to sneak away and just breathe. Inhaling and exhaling smoke because it's easier to stomach than air. It does more to soothe him than anything. The buzzing in his brain settles. Jean doesn't complain after the first one, other than to mention that he can still smell it when they walk back downstairs.

Riko is too engrossed in keeping up appearances and getting people to fawn over him that he doesn't notice the second pair hardly near his side. It's the best weekend he's had since signing. Though he's not sure how to even count weekends anymore. Every day isn't quite what it should be.

𓅂

He never should have let his guard down. Even slightly. He didn't. That's somehow the worst part. If he had, then this would be on him and he would have seen it coming. Something he could have stopped. Except it's not, it would have happened anyway. Still, he may be at fault. He feels at fault, feels the tug in his gut that he felt the first time he saw the bruises on his brother's arms.

In the months he's been here this hasn't even seemed like an option. Andrew has learned the risks, learned the punishments, learned all of it. Asked Kevin for the things he didn't know and took whatever information he offered. Anything Riko did was with reason, however deluded the reasoning may be.

The gasp that comes from Jean's mouth when his feet come out from under him just at the top of the stairs, is not one he expected. The thud he makes when he lands crumpled at the bottom echoes in his mind. It's a dark stairwell, all of them are. Only the four of them are there, for a few weeks that felt like armor. Nothing would hurt him out in the open. He knows now that it's always been a threat.

He runs, shooting a glare at Riko first. "Fuck. Jean?"

A strangled noise comes from him, at least he's awake. He can barely lift his head, his eyes are more closed than anything. He gets there first and kneels down to look at the damage. Nothing looks irreparable. Nothing broken either, from how it looks. It will take time to heal and that's not even considering the possibility that he has a concussion.

"He should be more careful walking. Stairs are such a hazard." Riko tuts standing over him.

Andrew doesn't bother finding the sense to bite his tongue now. "Fuck you. He didn't do anything. Are you just bored?"

"Save your breath Minyard. I know you don't have great lungs. See what happens when you sneak off?" His smile grows into something disturbing. "Make sure they go right to their dorm, Kevin."

With the three of them remaining he forces himself to focus. It's no use to spiral over this being his fault. That can wait until later. First he scans over his pair's body to see what damage is evident. Mostly just roughed up. That's good, Jean is just out of it. Which is less good. He won't be able to walk back. Even in this situation he can't be the one to help. His skin is already prickly.

"Jean?" He hovers. "Kevin will need to carry you. Okay?"

Weak, eyes glassed over, he agrees. "Okay."

Instantly Kevin is scooping him up into his arms. Clearly not the first time. Though at least he's learned to wait for consent. Even when there is no real choice in agreeing, Jean deserves that much. He deserves to not flinch at any touch. They bring him back and lay him on the bed to figure out what to do and how to help with the limited experience in anything medical the two have.

"Kev…" he whines and almost reaches out.

"Yeah." He doesn't ask what it is, he already knows. Andrew watches the following movements with scrutiny. Jean sitting up as much as he can, Kevin sliding to sit behind him. Hands running over his shoulder and forehead. Head dropping back onto the supportive shoulder. Holding him in comfort. "Don't give me that look. He asked."

"I didn't say anything." Because he didn't. He's trusting that this helps Jean in a way that simply patching him up and being across the room can't. "Jean can I—"

"Yes, anything." He spits out and collapses further into Kevin.

It's more work to check over where he's bruised and scratched with an extra body in the way, but he makes do. They have done this enough times that it's second nature. He's really not in that bad of shape. All things considered. No stitches, just cleaning up rough patches of skin from the fall. He does everything as quick as he can so he can rest.

After ten minutes or so Andrew thinks they might actually be done. Fast, easy, leaving plenty of time for him to sleep. And then his nose starts bleeding. The first dot falls on the collar of his shirt and the rest is caught by the tissue he grabs from the desk. It's not that bad, they have all had plenty of nose bleeds. He's just… concerned.

Jean hit his head, not with the brunt of the impact but close after. It's when Andrew's stomach dropped. Unsure if he was awake or okay. Knowing that whatever the outcome it was somehow his fault. Confirmed by Riko, though he must also know what Kevin did. Was this to spite both of them? For all the time the three have spent together. No, none of that even matters. He didn't deserve this and that is what does.

He has never had a concussion, but he knows the signs. His eyes have been screwed shut even in the dark room. He couldn't walk back on his own, though they weren't going to let him. He looks rough, he looks out of it. This is not something he is equipped to handle, it's something that they should see the nurse about. Call it an injury from practice if that will do anything.

"Hey, look at me." He tries to get his attention.

"I think he fell asleep."

"He can't practice in the morning." Not a question, he's not letting him.

He closes his eyes and thinks, his bottom lip caught by his teeth and a slight tilt to his head. Kevin has become much easier for him to read. Even the exy addict himself can see that this would end badly. "He shouldn't."

"Good. Now go sleep, I've got him." He motions to the door despite all of Jean's weight leaning on him.

Reluctantly he goes. With a promise to stop by before practice for him and to check in. He's hesitant to leave. Kevin looks back for a long moment at the sleepy way he curls in on himself, taking up as little space as possible. His feet pause even longer. Long enough to hear mumbled sleep talking from across the room.

"'m sorry," and Andrew wants to kick and scream that he shouldn't be the one apologizing, but no words come out of his own mouth.

𓅂

Two days later, no one is questioning where Jean is anymore. He's starting to feel better but looks strained any time he leaves the dorm room and is hit with more light. The court is the brightest place in Evermore, it would not end well to step on it. Any hits from strikers would set him back and have him heaving on the ground.

Riko doesn't push, he knows what he did. He must tell Tetsuji so that their coach is not looking too hard into it. Jean tripped and hit his head, are likely the words he used. But he must know. It's unsettling at first, but then it's worse as the attention on him grows. He sticks out alone in the halls. Though Kevin sticks close by most of the time.

He's off his game. Distracted. Practice is always dull and he would rather be doing anything else, but he's there. Blocking goals well enough and going through the motions of drills. Not with the same precision he does when he needs to try, but he doesn't have a reason right now. So he passes with the least amount of effort possible. The other goalkeepers, while usually mediocre look good comparatively.

Tetsuji is unamused by this. "Minyard, stay back."

This declaration at the end of practice earns him looks from the entire team. It's rare that coach asks for him. He knows what Andrew can do in a game and that's been enough a majority of the time. But he can handle whatever this will be. With ease.

"Yes coach?" He stands holding his racquet upright against the ground, back to where all of the others left the court. He cocks a brow and if only to get out of here faster he swallows everything down and grits his teeth, but will not apologize. "Master."

"You have been lacking today. Leave any distractions off my court." He nods, not meeting his eyes.

Coach is much taller than him, but in the same way that Kevin or Riko are. Broad shoulders but still fairly slim. An intimidating face for the average person, but just another coach to Andrew. He carries himself like this, like everyone should bow at his feet. For what? Creating exy? Right, sure. Not worth a damn in Andrew's book.

"Racquet," his hand extends to take it from him.

He loosens his own grip on it and lets it fall into Tetsuji's hand. He lifts it and weighs it between his hands, deliberating. Wondering perhaps how to hit the way he does with others, but with a goalie racquet. Larger and flatter, rather than a deep netting. It might make it easier even. He stalks around him, not giving him any sort of heads up.

It comes down on his legs. He sucks in a breath but doesn't let a single change show on his face, he doesn't fall forward like the momentum urges him to. Twice more, he assumes one for each goal he let in that he should have saved or for drills he did not do perfectly. It would take paying attention in practice to know, which evidently he did not. But then that's it. He is released and his racquet is returned.

"I expect you more focused in the morning. And do let Moreau know I hope his head is feeling better enough to join us." He slides in the comment before walking in the opposite direction where the East Tower is.

His legs burn from practice and sting from the hits that might eventually welt. Or it's just the aftershock. He'll take a look when he goes to shower and assess. Showers take a bit longer on days when a Moriyama wants his attention. Checking over his body, seeing what he will need help with, what can be left alone. Today he has the luxury of the team already clearing out so he can take his time to simply enjoy the hot water too.

He does. It's great. He's not keeping anyone waiting, Kevin likely went down to Jean as soon as they were dismissed. Checking on him constantly. Giving him physical comfort. They whisper to each other in French quite a bit, but he just tunes it out. Their conversations are none of his business if they are choosing to keep him out of it. He's gotten used to that.

Grabbing his clothes out of his locker he slips on black sweatpants and a simple black shirt. Same as always. It's either this, his gear and uniform, or black pants that are acceptable for class. Sometimes a sweatshirt with his name and number. Makes it easy enough, and he wore almost this same thing before too. A splash of grey or jeans sometimes. He's been given enough sets and washes everything often that he never runs out. Which is necessary because he wouldn't be able to nor want to borrow from anyone else.

The locker room is quiet. It's quiet until he hears footsteps approaching. He stays just as quiet, he's never been a loud person so that much is easy. Andrew goes to close his locker, but is met with a hand slamming it shut from behind him. Trapping him against it.

His heart beats out of his chest. Stay present stay present stay present. Disassociating will make now worse. Fuck. Okay no he can get out of this, he can slip out from under the arm and incapacitate them and make it back to the dorm the fastest he ever has.

A hand lands on the back of his thigh. Right where Tetsuji had hit him. This hand though grabs on, slides up toward his ass. Oh come on Andrew, you love this. No. No. Absolutely not. He can't let the memories creep in he can't let that take over. He unsuccessfully thrashes his arms to break free. Instead he tilts his head down and sees exactly where he can slam his foot down to make them yelp.

That gives him enough time to turn around and confirm what he already knew. Grayson. Lurking off to the side, Zane. They're both idiots. Andrew is not one to fuck with, which they seemed to know by the way they backed off of Jean once he caught them. Now though they are playing with fire. If only he kept his arm bands in his locker or had an extra set up knives up here. He wouldn't hesitate right now.

Grayson laughs and grabs hold again. "Where do you think you're going?"

One hand hooks under his thigh and tries to pull his leg up while the other has a thumb heading right to trace over his number. He's barely breathing. Slowing his body down as much as possible, conserving what energy he has left to get out of here. He's just not fast enough. Two bigger hands have hold of him and his stomach does flip after flip.

"Get off of me."

"Or what? This little number does nothing to protect you."

He swallows and feels himself slipping. Don't leave Andrew, we're just getting started. This is fun, right? His eyes glaze over, he doesn't look at either Raven, he doesn't look at anything at all. His vision is hardly there. A hand drags forcefully across his face and tugs at his bottom lip before landing tight on his neck. Be good for me. Stay still.

"Hold still. This is what you deserve."

Those words up against his ear pulls him back to reality. No he will not stay still. He did then, he couldn't do anything else but he can now. He can, and does, shove his knee up against Grayson's groin and he doubles over letting go with both hands. Reacher lurches forward, only now trying to do anything. Seemingly more of an observer than a participant. Distantly he thinks that he should make him watch while he kills Grayson, that's what he would want right?

The sprint from the locker room to the dorm has him almost falling down the stairs just the same as Jean did. He's flying and barely able to keep himself steady on his own two feet. A horrible combination. Still he doesn't let himself stop until he's behind a closed and lock door. The only one in the Nest that he even remotely trusts. It would be better if he could slip out of here entirely without being detected.

A foot from the door he pauses. Freezes really. Stops short and knows he has to compose himself. He's fine. He got away. It could have been much wore, but it's not so he can walk into his room without looking like he's halfway on his way to a panic attack. One deep breath after the other. Just a few. He's not dealing with this right now. He can't. Just lock it away with the rest of them.

The door pushes open easily, he turns and locks it before crossing to sit on his bed. Silent and with his head down. Biting on his lip and holding in the desire to throw up. His hands are shaking, he knows they are so he just shoves them in the pockets of his sweat pants. He's fine he can just go right to sleep and let today be over.

"Hey, you alright?" Kevin, who really is here more than he's not, stops him before he can crawl into bed.

"Fine." Andrew adds the only other thing he can without breaking himself open, "coach wants you at practice tomorrow."

If they would simply leave him be he could turn everything off and push himself out of his mind for the night. That's what he needs right now. He needs to be alone, but he can't be alone so silence around them will have to do. Except they whisper to each other in French and then Kevin can't leave anything alone.

"What happened?"

He sits back up, leans against the wall to give him some support with his knees tucked to his chest. "You've always known, haven't you?"

"What do you mean?" He's not even pretending to not understand, he just doesn't. That might even be worse than being able to assume from five words.

"What they had been doing to Jean. You knew the whole time. Everyone did." The accusatory anger spills out of him.

He knows he shouldn't talk about this for him. If Jean doesn't want to, that's up to him. Of course it is and it should be. Except Andrew can't talk about himself right now. This is all he's got. There's probably some information out there about him anyway, something from his time in the system that points to what he went through. But he's not talking about that and he's not definitely talking about tonight. He just wants this to fucking stop.

He cuts in, rightfully so, lifting his head from Kevin's shoulder. "Stop. Pl-"

"No. Don't say that word." His fingers fold into a tight fist a last ditch effort to remain in control. "Kevin you've known and… after— they… and they tried to…" Andrew's voice cracks and there's no stopping the pain from seeping out in the broken admittance he never meant to share.

Jean catches his gaze, looks right into his eyes and then down at where his hands are shaking again, unrestrained by anything. In that time he scrambles to pull his arm bands from under his pillow to give himself something to do. To put a barrier between him and the world. Keep any of his vulnerability that hasn't already spilled out locked inside.

"I didn't think they wou—" Kevin weakly defends, holding his grip tight on the other's hand.

"No you didn't." He cuts him off. He doesn't want to hear it.

He turns over and faces the wall now. Having his back exposed doesn't allow the pounding in his chest or head to settle at all. Alarm bells telling him to move, to keep an eye on his surroundings. Now more than ever. Except he can't, he can't look at them. He can't look at anyone without flashing back to a time when he was thirteen and looking at who would have been his mom with wide eyes and hope that it would be worth it. When he was seven and scared. When he was all the years in between, unable to stop the pattern.

They don't talk, and he thinks they let him just drift off. That's the most they can do right now. He starts to, it's difficult to close his eyes at first. It always has been. He doesn't frequently have nightmares. Sometimes, but more often the bad memories are lurking just behind his closed eyes. Half awake, trying and failing to sleep. A reminder from the depths of his mind.

It's the same tonight. He keeps his focus on a scuff on the wall instead. Counting his breaths. When that doesn't work he counts his breaths in German. It's all useless. Sleep will take him by force eventually, when he can't keep his eyes open. When he can fall fast enough that he doesn't have to see the scenes replaying behind his eyelids.

That doesn't happen by the time Kevin lifts off on Jean's bed. Time for him to return to his keeper. He's been gone a while. What will he say? What does he think about his pair's constant absence from his side? He wonders if it's building up to something more, if there have been cracks there for a long time now. Even Andrew the newest one here, can see them. Something pent up in Riko that requires his partner to stray.

The footsteps to the door are light. Too light that he doesn't realize they are heading for him until Kevin places a hand on the headboard.

"Don't touch me." He flinches, but doesn't lash out; there wasn't even a hand aimed at grabbing onto him.

"I won't. Just if you want…" He fumbles through whatever words get caught in the air. Then, "Jean's asleep so if you want to lock the door after I leave…"

He does. Even if locked doors never used to mean anything. Maybe this one is enough.

During the night he gets maybe twenty minutes of sleep. Not in a row. He may have nightmares, but nothing sits at the front of his mind when he opens his eyes. Each time Andrew attempts to drift off again, he has little to no success. It's too difficult. There's only a few hours for sleep now anyway, he's hardly missing much.

When there's an hour until practice he officially gives up. Gets out of bed and goes to the bathroom, knives in tow, and splashes his face with water. The mirror is not his friend, but he forgets until a stranger stares back at him. A number under his eye, a scratch tracing from the tattoo down to his neck. Faint discoloring around where his jaw meets his neck. He hadn't thought Grayson's grip was that hard. Good thing he would rather not see himself anyway. The best part of his reflection used to be seeing Aaron.

Half the remaining time passes before Jean rolls over. He's started feeling better. A normal coach or team nurse would have him benched until next week. Not messing around with concussions. These are not usual circumstances, and he's almost certain Ravens have played on broken bones and the like before. A concussion is hardly anything if he's able to stand up, hold a stick, and not throw up on the court.

Jean rubs the sleep out of his eyes and scans the room before finding him sitting in the back corner on his desk. Better than the bed right now. A view of the whole room and the once again locked door.

"I don't want to talk about it." Andrew starts before he can even find the words to ask.

"So you understand now."

He laughs, a laugh like the medication used to produce. "I've always understood. Did you think i keep such strict boundaries for fun? Oh Jean Jean Jean. I've understood for a long time."

Any chance at talking about it further dies with his laughter. For now at least. For now they move around this newfound knowing between them. A shared hatred. Not a shared helplessness though. No, they know better than to separate again even if one of them are injured. Andrew knows this, he knows he has to continue learning to accept his need for space and time alone now extends to Jean too. It has to. For both of them. They have to be one if they ever wants to make it out of here.

Chapter Text

Not the next day and not even for many days after. It takes weeks in fact. Weeks before the nightmares start to come back. They haven't been completely gone for good, but they haven't been frequent. Andrew will wake up and feel the way his body is frozen to the spot. Every joint and limb stiff from the torturous memories haunting his sleep rather than from stickball or worse. Nothing more than that, he blinks it all away and goes on like nothing happened. With ease.

They instead come for him when he lets his guard down. That's the worst part. He had come to accept the reality of Evermore, the high and lows. Able to anticipate everything to a certain degree, prepare for it even. Nothing he couldn't handle. Contrition on the court for a game he still couldn't bring himself to care about; whatever else however creative, Riko wanted to hurt him for his own made up reasons. He's long since stopped making sense of those, but he can read the psycho's mood enough to be ready for any of it.

He's surviving just like he always does. Weeks pass and he's surviving even after adding to the list of hands he wished never came near him. He gets through it as well as anyone can and thinks that this time he's lucky. Lucky that it didn't end worse than it had, lucky that he hasn't been seeing it replay behind his eyelids every night. Andrew thought he was lucky. He's always been the one that gets chosen after all, right?

It's cold when he wakes up. More than it usually is. Ice prickles through his veins. All where he can still feel hands ghosting over his skin. His throat closing, his jaw set in place and held there. One hand under his pillow fingers still able to move, just enough. There should be a knife there. Why isn't there a knife there? Why does his hand come up empty when he tries to close it around the handle of a blade? Why can't he get the hands off of him?

His chest doesn't heave, no he can't move too much. He needs to just stay still. It's easier if he's still. It hurts less if he's still. But the desire to claw everything away, to swing a blade out in front of him, do whatever he can to save himself is there anyway. As foolish and useless as it may be. Except his knife isn't where it should be so he can only be still. He can only stay glued to the freezing cold spot and let it take him. Holding his breath. Not moving a muscle.

The feeling of his arm bands shocks him under his finger tips. One hand, no matter how still he tries to be, still twitches. The soft fabric under the tip of his middle finger answers his questions. The knife isn't under the pillow, it's right here on his arm. With ease, with his eyes screwed shut, with the feeling of too many different hands from different years grabbing at him — his throat, his hip, his thigh, his hand, his— he slips the blade out and swipes in front of him.

It crashes through the weight Andrew had on him. Takes some of it down, enough to open his eyes. The Nest. Evermore. Not California, not juvie, not not not. Hardly a comfort. Somehow still enough to sheath the blade and pull himself up to sit tucked in the corner of the bed knees to chest.

He doesn't bother checking the time, he wouldn't be able to nor would he want to try going back to sleep. He knows what waits for him. Hands and more hands that were never invited into his space. Faces of people that never cared about that. Choking, gasping for breath, shaking alone once it's all over. Though it rarely ends in his mind. His memory only fails at reminding him how he always got away. Because in the end, he never did. The scenes only shift. The monsters only change faces.

It could be five minutes or five hours. Except he never has five spare hours here, so he decides it must be somewhere in between. He hasn't moved. Arms wrapped tight around his knees, fingers able to feel where the knives sit. His only solace should the hands find him again. His breathing is anything but regular.

For as long as he's been sitting up his eyes remain unfocused. There's nothing worth looking at, nothing that will convince him he's somewhere safe. He's not. Fingers flexing and then squeezing his own arms. But no— that's not right either. Andrew drops his hands to his sides. Even his own touch is ice and fire all at once.

"… to go," a voice.

Unaware, unintentionally because he's supposed to stay silent and still, he lets out a quiet, "What?"

The figure comes closer to him. Not too close. It stops before the bed. Hm… a safe distance. Safety. He won't fall for it though. That's how he ended up here isn't it?

No hand reaches out but a foot stomps on the ground snapping his eyes up. Jean. "Five minutes, then we need to go to practice." His voice is hoarse, distorted, he hates that.

He doesn't want to. There is no where that he wants to be right now. His choice would be fading away, not existing at all. Time and time again that has proven to never be an option. The closest he can get is avoiding, curling up under the covers and doing all that he can to remind himself that no one else is near. Also not an option.

"I—" he clamps his lips shut. No talking, he can't force any more words out of his throat.

Despite the need to protest, despite the need to find a way out of going upstairs to the court today, he stands. Shoving his mind into a state of detachment. Numbness washing over him. Andrew has to be a Raven, Andrew has to practice, Andrew has to go about the day like nothing is out of the ordinary. So Andrew will do that, but the inner sections of his brain will sever the connection. He's not doing anything, except simply going through the motions.

He misses one step that he shouldn't, but today he needs this more. His arm bands stay on his arms. Never once leaving his body. Jean gives him a look as he sucks in a tentative breath, but lets it go. Whether he sees the threat too or he doesn't want to fight him on anything, it doesn't really matter. He pulls his sweatshirt on over as one extra line of defense. Then Andrew walks out into the Nest with them on and with no intention of being any distance from the blades for as long as he can manage it.

Moving through the Nest is like moving through molasses. Feet sticking at every turn, at every door. Making sure nothing is happening, wondering what creeps behind each door. He's not insane enough to ask questions, he simply continues on. Hoping no monsters jump out from behind any while they are on their way. Jean doesn't hesitate, he can't pinpoint any reason why.

The entire day he's elsewhere. What should be a reprieve from the hand that is Evermore closing around his throat, isn't much of that at all. It's not good for him to be like this. It makes him vulnerable. By halfway through the day he can sense the tension radiating off of Jean and knows that he needs to at least do something. Change his strategy a little.

By the time he's through with classes and back sitting in the dining hall with him, he's cleared his face. No trace of anything can be found. He's as stoic as ever. Dead eyes staring past everything. There aren't many people that would usually come by their table anyway, so it hardly matters. Those that do walk past see nothing out of the ordinary now.

He pulls his legs up to rest his arms on top of his knees as he leans back against the wall. Perk of sitting at this table. His breathing is still off. It's grating in his chest even though he's hiding that from everyone else. Another thing the large sweatshirt conceals.

Lunch they get to themselves. The only two Ravens on a drastically different class schedule, and the only ones who ever share their table, are still at class. They'll be back by the time practice starts though. Which gives him… an hour give or take to center himself.

In that hour, Andrew thinks about a lot of things that he would be better off forgetting. If only he could. The house in Columbia that was on its way to finally feeling safe, feeling like home. And he thinks of Nicky who taught him that a home could be something good. And he thinks about the roof on top of the high school that he could always escape to when someone brushed against him in the halls. And he thinks of the cool breeze that felt so good that the height hardly registered. And he thinks of Aaron — this he really shouldn't do — and pretends they are just apart for a short time like when he was in rehab. And he thinks about sitting behind the wheel when he finally won.

It doesn't fix anything. Of course it doesn't. He can't get back to any of it, but it keeps what could have been a look of fear off his face. A scowl that no one is surprised to see makes itself at home for the rest of the day. Armor. Protecting everyone from him or him from everyone. Could be either really. He may as well be just as much of a monster as everyone else.

That much gets him through the meal and then practice and right back into his bed. If anyone saw his arm bands or the knives sheathed in them, they didn't say. He sits on top of his bed and watches as Jean slides into his own. Part of him thinks he could sleep without the bands on tonight having felt the comfort all day. He would have to be willing to risk sleeping tonight though, which of course he isn't. So they stay on and his eyes stay open for the few hours that the Nest is quiet.

𓅂

Three weeks of barely getting any sleep go by. He can manage. He is managing. It hasn't effected him in any ways that matter. Andrew is irritable, but when is he not? Once or twice coach has him stay after practice because of drills he messed up. That's not even due to the tiredness, the drills are just stupid and tedious. He doesn't always care to put in the effort expected of him. The requests from Riko still come every so often.

Everything just continues. They have away games two weeks in a row, which is a welcome change. Leaving Evermore gives him something to look forward to in a way. Both times he grabs the still mostly full pack of cigarettes and brings it with him. Not knowing if there will be time to sneak away. In the end he never does even with perfectly empty pockets of time. His stomach dropped out for some reason when he looked toward the exit.

By the third week, two days before the next game he's sitting awake at whatever time it is. His body may be accustomed to the sixteen hour days but if he tries to think about it he gets lost. He hates not knowing and hates being lost. Easier to not think about it. Jean has been asleep for half an hour maybe. Curled in on himself so much that it would be impossible to tell how tall he actually is.

The door handle is grabbed roughly from the outside. It shakes and a jolt goes through his body. In a second he's pressed up against the back corner of the room. He listens. It's locked and no one can get in unless he lets them. Assuming no one has keys to all of the dorms, which is a foolish assumption to make. He can think of at least one person that would have made them up just for the fun of it. Just to say he can reach all of the Ravens at all times.

It only shakes the one time. Five, ten, thirty seconds pass in utter silence. Then, "Andrew? It's me… Kevin…"

Slowly his breathing comes back to normal. His hand lifts away from his arm bands, though his fingers still twitch as if to reach for a knife. Just in case it's more than just Kevin. He takes tentative steps toward the door, glancing at the fast asleep boy next to him. How does he manage to sleep without nightmares? A question for another time.

Andrew steps one foot just far enough away from the door to allow it to open slightly. Turns the lock and braces for the worst. He pulls it open jut enough to see — it's only him. Something lets go within him. "What?"

"So you're still not sleeping?"

"How do you—"

"You look like shit. You've been playing like shit. And I'm pretty sure you haven't mouthed off Riko in at least a week. I know you didn't develop self preservation instincts on that so that leaves not sleeping." He lists off things that he would much rather no one be able to notice about him. "Am I right?"

"What do you want?" Andrew will not tell him he's right in any world for any reason.

"Let's go up to the court."

He stares, the taller doesn't explain it away as a joke, so only then does he laugh. Kevin can't be serious. If he thinks Andrew is playing like shit because he's not sleeping then there is no reason to think that playing more instead of sleeping is the answer. They already practice for nearly half of their sixteen hour days. He doesn't need more. He hasn't slacked off during a game when Tetsuji puts him in for at least a half, so really this would be pointless.

This might even give him incentive to lay down and try closing his eyes. Let the nightmares come. Better than playing more fucking stickball.

"I'm not kidding. Jean too, we'll all go up. It'll be good I promise. Just trust me Andrew."

"I'm not looking to trust anyone." Not here. There's no way to trust anyone in here.

He shrugs. "Then don't trust me. Just come."

Looking between the sliver of the door that number two is visible in and number three laying still in bed, he groans. He hates that he's going to agree. Getting some of the twitchiness out of his bones would be nice. He can't do that when he's practicing around all of the Ravens, but with just these two… Maybe he could.

He turns and nudges the corner of the other bed and that's all it takes for Jean to wake up. A few blinks later he seems to know where he is though maybe not when. Now is his turn to look between the two staring at him and he wastes no more time in getting up and following bleary eyed. Just assuming they will explain on the way. Kevin leads them through the dark halls, knowing them forwards and backwards with or without lights. This has been his home for ten years. Unfathomable.

"Change out." He calls out to them when they get to the locker room, Jean only now understanding what they are doing.

"This is ridiculous. What if I don't want to? What are you gonna do?"

"I'm practicing. You can or don't. Stay jittery and sleep deprived."

Not exactly the response he expected. Of course Kevin would want to practice at all hours. Exy is all that he knows, it's his entire being. His life force. At least he is giving Andrew some form of a choice. Not much, but there's no threat behind any of it. Riko doesn't seem to be waiting behind one of the rows of lockers. It's just the three of them, as it tends to be more often than not these days. He sighs and stares at his gear.

Both the striker and backliner are out on the court before him. Starting whether he joins or not. How many times have the two of them come up here during what few hours they are given to sleep each day? He doubts it's the first time.

When he walks out he sees a smile, ever faint and rare, turn the corners of Kevin's lips up. Oh he's definitely going to aim all of the shots he blocks at his head. Just for looking smug about winning this.

So starts them practicing more when Andrew can't sleep. He hates it. More exy is not at all what he needs nor wants. It's not as if he needs to drastically improve. If anything this is more helpful for the other two. He watches for Jean to do most of the leg work as defense. Running wild trying to stop Kevin from getting close to the goal. Sometimes it works, and sometimes he blocks it and lobs it back at him. Mostly bored, but growing in intensity the more that come his way. A few go towards Jean to try and snap him back into it when he slows.

That first night, they go for an hour. When they go back downstairs the Nest is dead quiet. Often eerie, but it allows Andrew to know that nothing is lurking and he collapses onto his bed and is out almost immediately. No tossing and turning and a slumber so deep that it feels like he only blinks by the time an alarm goes off. Two hours of uninterrupted, dreamless sleep.

Fuck Kevin.

They continue doing this night after night. Sometimes just a quick run of drills, sometimes Kevin shooting on goal, sometimes whatever else the striker comes up with. To be clear, Andrew hates it. He just knows that this is the only thing allowing him to get any sleep. Even if it is counter productive in some ways by cutting into the four or six hours they get each night. It makes a difference though, somehow. He refuses to tell Kevin and glares at Jean when he looks like he might let it slip one night.

He never does, but the three of them keep this up. If he ever says no or more likely doesn't answer the door when Kevin comes knocking, that's that. They don't go up to the court, though he thinks Kevin still does. Once he gets it in his head he'll be there no matter what. Even if he were to lose a limb Andrew is certain that the freak would find a way to still play.

Whether or not Kevin goes, Jean only goes if Andrew does. He seems content to sleep or practice. Whatever comes with each night. Following blindly wherever he goes. Often without question. It's helpful, it's expected to have him present, though the backliner should learn to speak up. Make a choice for himself once in a while. Sleep if he's tired rather than practice more.

𓅂

The only times that Andrew and Jean are apart is still just class. There's no way around that. In the two or three months of the semester that have already passed, he's said fuck all to the other freshmen he goes to class with. They talk to each other quite a bit. What they could possibly have to say when all they do is play exy and go to class, is beyond Andrew. He stays out of it.

Even the opportunity to walk the short distance through campus with the fresh air on his face is not enough to enjoy it. He hates being around other people. It's not proper alone time and they irritate him as all people do. These aren't his friends, he doesn't want them to be. He doesn't even do the whole friend thing. But multiple times a week he trudges through the day with a bored stare until he gets back to the dorm and feels the tension ease from his shoulders.

Now that he's taking a new approach to sleeping, he wants to get back even quicker today to sneak in a nap before practice. An hour here and there whenever he finds the pockets of time around the typical Raven schedule and Kevin's idiotic extra practice. Andrew tries to find as many as he can and is just glad when he manages any sleep at all that isn't laced with nightmares. The one bad one seemed to open the flood gates. Unless he beats the dreams to deep sleep that he won't remember.

Today of all days he wants the rest. He wants peace. It's never been a good day and he had every intention of ignoring it this year. Easy enough considering he never knows what day it is. Except a professor had the date on the board. So now he wants to take a nap to avoid the gnawing itch to charge his phone just to send one text. He should get that much.

He doesn't run exactly, he never runs, but he does walk somewhat quickly. Needing a break off his feet and on his back before the hours of scrimmages they will have tonight. There's no point in staying out longer just to prolong the walk. No other reason, really.

Many of the Ravens are also out at their classes. Some sophomores, which he only knows due to Jean, will have another half hour before they get back. Of course this means very little because they would meet in their room before practice any way. The brief period of alone time should be nice. It never is. It is a rare occurrence that he should savor knowing how much he despises constantly being surrounded by people.

The moment they are through the doors to Castle Evermore, he turns down the hallway away from the others. They can stay in the buddy system if they like until they find their own partners, or whatever else they decide. Andrew could not be bothered to care even slightly.

Whether something feels off before or only after putting his hand on the handle to the door, he can't be too sure. There is a constant pit in his stomach these days. Often times he ignores it because what good does it do when he can't change much of what happens. And he already does as much as he can to make being a Raven bearable.

The feeling is confirmed, he knows something is wrong when his room is not empty. First as he nudges the door open, he hears whispering in French. Jean is not one to talk to himself, which leaves one other possibility. Kevin. Both the more unexpected and the vocal one present at the moment.

He has no idea how to understand any bit of French beyond the basic words like bonjour and merci, which give him no legs to stand on observing the interaction. Though he has seen the two of them together enough to deduce that his is trying to calm Jean down. Context clues would be enough to tell him that small fact too.

Andrew falls silent. His pair's eyes are drooping shut and it takes everything in his to not bolt across the room and rip the idiot away from him. He's seen this enough, he knows it's something that is asked for, he knows there has been approval, he knows that it is meant to be helpful. He settles for staring through Jean at the elder and silently urging him to confirm. He looks at him knowing that the younger is barely aware that another person came into the room.

"He— I asked before he laid on me like this. Jean was more aware a bit ago. I think he's finally falling asleep." Kevin helpfully switches to English and knows exactly the right things to say. None of which are lies, he can tell.

"What the fuck happened?" He grits out as quiet as he can.

Not quiet enough it seems. Jean's breathing grows into something gasped. Labored. Over and over again as if he can't get air into his lungs. A few months ago he would think the change in who is in the room, himself, would have triggered that. It would have if he was the one panicking. He knows better now and it makes his chest tighten.

Concern, a look he doesn't think often graces the son of exy's face, now floods it. One hand cards through Jean's hair while the other rubs soft circles into the front of his shoulder where his arm is bracketing him in. Holding him to his own chest. It almost seems like it helps. He can't imagine why, but perhaps it does something that he doesn't understand.

"Riko kept him from class. I-I don't know why, he told me to go get him and send the others off without him. I swear I still don't even know what the reason was he never said…"

"Spit it out Day. Sometime in the next ten seconds if you want to walk out of this room alive." Andrew cuts off his sputtering, there's no place for remorse and apologies and excuses right now.

"He nearly drowned him." He gives him a small squeeze, perhaps reassuring. "Over and over again. I just got him back here fifteen minutes before you got back."

"What the fuck…"

Well, hm. That explains what he thought was excess sweat sitting across the creases of his forehead. His hair weighed down and wet. The difficulty breathing. And the thing is he knows that Kevin knows better than to lie. He doesn't seem to want to lie either.

"He's done it before. I've ne-never seen it happen until today."

One arm stays around Jean, but the other roughly presses down on his own throat. Wondering what it feels like perhaps. Andrew watches, there's nothing he can do now. There are no wounds to clean or wrap, there are no injuries to prepare to play on, there's nothing. He just has to sit and watch him struggle through feeling like he can breathe again.

No matter how many breaths Jean takes in and out, a part of him is trained and expecting that to become difficult. Expecting the luxury of air in his lungs instead of water to suddenly change. He knows that the worst could come at any moment and over and over again it feels like it is.

Even just one time is enough to train reactions. All it takes is being waterboarded one time to wonder if air will ever come back. All it takes it one door to have its locks removed to think that he has no privacy. All it takes is one home to teach you that home is not safe. All it takes is one person who doesn't ask to make it feel like you will never have a choice again. All it takes is one time for something to turn your world on its axis.

"What do—" He can't even ask.

"This is all I do. I just— he likes being held. I think being in someone's arms grounds him. Keeps him remembering that breathing is possible — hearing someone else's heartbeat."

He hates the insinuation. Except Kevin doesn't try to pass responsibility off to him. He lets it be. There is no push when Andrew pulls his arm bands on, takes a sip of water and settles onto the middle of his bed. Staring across the small chasm at Jean. Barely there, fighting between breathing and sleeping.

"I can't…"

"I know. I've got him." He nods solemnly, trying to avoid jostling him too much in case he's drifted. "I'm always going to be here. He just needs time to remember to breathe again."

It's awful. It's been happening and he's just never seen it. It could keep happening and there's not a fucking thing he can do to stop it. Andrew's chest constricts and its almost like he's the one that can't breathe now. Mirror symptoms. Another thing he hates.

Curled against Kevin he can hear whispers and sounds coming from Jean, nothing of substance. Nothing much at all. But it's better than gasps. It's assurance that at least he knows he's okay and that he can breathe.

He won't sleep now. He can't. The third presence in the room is going no where. Kevin clings to the body in his arms almost equally. Though protective rather than pleading. Or hiding. He won't turn to look at Andrew anymore though. He's left just watching the two of them try and fail to perfectly provide any comfort. They're holding each other together, but just enough and never enough all at the same time.

Just closing his eyes for a too long blink, greets him with water. Andrew has never drowned, he's hardly swam. Not something he cares for all that much. This was not something done to him, and yet he still can feel water in his lungs. He sees Jean gasping one too many times and he starts to second guess his own ability to breathe.

At practice that night he thinks he hardly breathes at all. Without straying from the goal at all, he's heaving. Clutching at his chest. Just in front of him on the defense line Jean does the same thing. He holds it together as much as he can but there is a haze over his eyes.

He doesn't come back to himself fully until the next afternoon. Kevin hardly leaves either of their sides. They manage, and as soon as they can, everything is back to normal, Jean pretends like nothing happened. For now it's Andrew that finds his pair already awake and attempting to regulate his breathing each morning.

𓅂

The further into the season they get, the more games they win - all of them - the less corrections Andrew gets during practice. He's improving it seems. Whether it's the extra practice time with Kevin that he only puts up with to get more sleep or it's simply the fact that he play at least a full half every game. It's not like Andrew actually cares to improve. He doesn't. Sometimes he still plays badly during a scrimmage just to rile Riko up.

An awful habit. He's well aware of it. But this is Andrew and he's self destructive at the best of times. This is mostly just entertainment rather than punishing himself. His fate has already been sealed by a mark on his face, so what is the point in anything else. This way he can get a laugh in, behind his helmet on the court, but still a laugh.

His skill is most evident during games. The Penn State game in mid November, nearing the end of the fall season, solidifies that. He doesn't start. Tetsuji almost never starts him and he has yet to figure out why. Jean and Kevin start, of course they do. In goal is the senior whose name he literally cannot remember. It doesn't matter anyway, he'll be gone soon enough there would be no point in learning it. He can't even teach anything to Andrew so it would be a waste for everyone.

Watching from the bench his hands twitch when Johnson is swapped on to play next to Jean. He wouldn't do anything here, away in fucking Happy Valley as the fans in the crowd continuously call it. He wouldn't do anything while they are playing on the same side of a game against one of the big three. He wouldn't do anything where anyone could see and let them find out that Jean isn't the only one who may be queer. None of that provides all that much reassurance, but it keeps him sat and watching the game.

Most shots barely make it pass the defensive line, of the twenty or so that do, all but three are blocked. Maybe this goalkeeper isn't useless and Andrew could bank more time on the bench. On the other end of the court, where the ball spends quite a bit more time, Kevin and Riko pass back and forth, almost taking turns with who gets to shoot on goal each time. It's natural for the two of them to be on court together, they sickeningly know each other best.

So of course Andrew laughs from the bench when Riko gets called off to trade by his uncle. One of the few girls on the team, Colleen or Courtney or something, goes out to meet Kevin. They play nearly as seamlessly. He makes more of the goals for the rest of the half, but if he notices a change in who he's playing with, he doesn't let on one bit.

Interesting. He's been wondering, he's been trying to figure it out, but this builds the story in his head. The tether is more a leash. One hand holding the rope, one tied to it trying to pull away. Would if he could.

Held back. Not reaching as far as he could. One needs the other more, one would be nothing without the other. While the other would be free without the One.

Halftime comes and goes and before he can pay any attention to finishing that thought, he's ushered onto the court. Pleased to see Jean as one of the backliners. The other girl of the team by his side. Kevin up at the first fourth line, still getting more court time than his partner in hell.

The Ravens are up 7-3. If he had been paying attention to the talk during halftime, he would know anything about the game or the team they are playing. Vaguely he heard that they saved their better players for the second half after seeing the twin sons of exy playing at the start. Which must explain why Andrew was held.

Kevin shoots him a look before the dealer tosses the ball down the court. He shrugs in return, but finds that what he wants would be entertaining tonight. He shuts down the goal against Penn State's starting line. Their seniors set for pro teams in six months. Demolished by a freshman with uninhibited violent tendencies.

At the end of the game he just walks off and changes. Ready to sleep on the drive back. If he knows where everyone is and knows that it will be safe to do so. One look from Jean and he can see how exhausted he is, so he picks a seat near but not next to any of the known threats and gives Andrew the window. Silently telling him that he can sleep for now and they can trade when he wakes up. Simple enough.

It helps, he sleeps a little more than half of the drive. They trade seats so that he's on the aisle now and the backliner leans on the window and drifts off just the same.

Their next practice, his skill is brought up as a whole conversation for the team. He would much rather not be part of it. Let everyone talk however they like. Leave him out of it. Except it starts as all conversations during practice do and he can't sneak away.

They start with a scrimmage oddly. It goes how it goes. Drills come after. Not their usual Raven drills, but something different. He's sent to the goal and all of the strikers line up ready to shoot. Off to the side he hears Tetsuji explain that they all have to make four shots on him before they can move on to the locker room and change out for meals.

He already knows that he's going to be here for a long time. The other goalies are with the backliners and dealers running the typical drills. For once he sees this for what it is, he's being used as a piece rather than being seen as himself. This exercise hardly helps him to get better. But as established, he already has. This is just for the strikers.

Oddly enough though, Andrew feels fully in control. He could let it whatever shots he wants to. Knowing that if he does Tetsuji will hold him back to discuss contrition. A gamble he may be willing to take depending on how this goes.

Very quickly it turns into far too much exercise. Not at first, not with the weakest of the offensive line. He knows their shots well enough to block them without a second thought. And then they are told to try new shots. To trick him, to find his weak spots. He doesn't have weak spots.

It's boring to block all of the shots. Even racing to cover the full goal gets old. His shoulder gets a tinge in it after about fifteen minutes and two or three rounds of everyone shooting. So far no one has made a single shot. It's hard to read how this will go over, but when he does see coach's eye he looks almost approving, but when he looks to his strikers it's all disappointment.

"Day, show them how it's done." He casually waves him to the front of the line.

He scoffs, Kevin has already shot and been blocked a few times today. Now standing face to face staring each other down, he's all the more determined to keep blocking them. They've done this countless times, it's child's play. Andrew blocks one, two, th—… Not three.

The third whizzes past him and the goal lights up red. His brow knits together against his will. Off to the side Riko laughs, he's the only one to laugh so callously here. It gives him an idea. A potentially stupid idea, but all in the name of the game. He gets a glint in his eye, though the rest of his face remains as blank as ever.

"Block this one." Kevin doesn't know the game, but he will pick up soon enough. Andrew blocks it.

"Now you make this one." He lets it in, though extra effort was put into the shot to fake him out as if it would be necessary. As if it would work on him.

"Two down, two to go. Your call Day." For the first time in a while, he almost understands why the fool loves exy.

They continue this until his four have gotten past Andrew. One he let in on purpose, the other three he genuinely failed to block. Not that anyone needs to know that. No one else on the team has gotten one past him, three or four goals is practically nothing.

The line goes in rotation again. A few shots collide with his racquet a little too hard and he can feel it shock through his body. Not enough to knock him off his feet and not enough to start letting in mediocre shots. But he will feel that later and it will be enough to tell Kevin no to night practice. He doesn't get a choice with playing through it now or tomorrow, but tonight he is in control at least.

No one is successful even with getting pointers from Kevin who is off to the side next to Tetsuji. It's obvious he was raised in this place, he stands as though he was. He was raised into this sport and this position. Except he's not captain or coach. He's simply the best striker on the team.

Speaking of which, the one who thinks he holds that title steps up and aggressively shoots ball after ball all in different pockets of the goal. Surprise could be on his side and Riko still wouldn't make any. He can't get a single ball past Andrew. He doesn't need to know that he's putting in a little extra effort to keep it this way. He only needs to see that his number two is better than him. That he can break Andrew's shut down streak, but not Riko. That he's no better than the freshman striker nobodies despite growing up and being told the world should kiss the ground he walks on.

"Are you even trying?" He stares, bored naturally.

The entire court turns to watch. Riko pulls ten balls to sit at his feet ready for him to pick up and throw in quick succession. None go in. He can't get past Andrew. It's the best feeling he's had in months. Coach looks conflicted. Pleased in one direction and perhaps embarrassed in the other. His own blood, the team captain, the future of exy or whatever other fuck ass name he likes to give himself, is worthless. All he has is intimidation and pain to get people to call him king and bow at his feet, but it seems there is nothing to back him up.

He ignores, though does not miss, the way all of the attention is on him. He would hate it, part of him does. Makes him feel exposed and vulnerable. Except in this stand off, he comes out on top. He's not the weak link.

"Riko, again." His uncle instructs mechanically.

He goes again without a break. Off to the side Kevin falls in line next to coach and they discuss while watching the drill. Are they critiquing him together or determining a new strategy? Or something else entirely. He focuses instead on anticipating Riko's moves, which are given away by the step of his feet and the turn of his wrist. Top left, then center, then bottom right, and back to the top corner.

By the time he stops, any number of shots could have been taken. All he knows is that the goal never lit up red once for him. Andrew can feel his knees weakening. Sudden movement could have him toppling over, but he can't let it.

"That's enough." Coach calls out when he sees Riko's face. There's not enough to give anything away, but under the death grip on his racquet and behind the mask he's put on, his arms must be shaking and his blood is boiling.

Guess he should try a little harder if he wants to actually be number one.

𓅂

Somehow that night he got off without so much as seeing Riko in the hall. A miracle by Evermore standards. He could guess as to why, but being wrong would only disappoint him. Instead he basks in it for just a bit. Ruined by Jean very quickly. He hadn't even got past the initial memory of seeing his face crack to show the smallest flicker of humiliation playing through his mind.

The door locks behind them and then, "that was reckless."

"I simply put in a little effort." Admitting that tastes like bile even still, but for this? He can try.

"You're going to get hurt. I'm going to get hurt."

He falls back onto his bed almost laughing. "Do you see him here now? If anyone is getting hurt tonight, you already know who my bet is on Jean."

"Idiot," he mutters before climbing into his own bed.

The next night, nothing happens again. Another few days go by and he relaxes. Since the season has started, whenever Riko is upset he holds it in. At least with the perfect court. He waits until after a game knowing that he cannot risk them not playing. It's the only restraint he seems to show and it's for the benefit of the team. Nothing else.

There's two games left. The next one passes that week and of course they win that too. It's expected then that the next day Riko will find him. He was the star striker during the game, he's feeling on top of the world. He played more than Kevin did, he scored more than Kevin did, he should be content at the very least.

His footsteps tip him off in the halls. Andrew braces and turns to find a hand already reaching out to grab him, he dodges. Riko's gaze narrows, lips turning up into something devious. As he always does, he holds himself well, he erases anything from his face. Especially now standing with Riko out in the open he will not look weak.

Riko stands tall over him and roughly places a hand on his shoulder. He has a death wish. "Come. Both of you."

He had forgotten Jean was right next to him. It would be better if he wasn't, then Andrew could handle this alone. There's no reason for them to both be hurt. They share a look and in moments like this it's frustrating and annoys him to no end that they cannot speak without him over hearing. Kevin is sitting in the room when they get there, he won't look up to meet either of their eyes.

Long ago Andrew trained himself to pull away from himself when he couldn't control anything. Force his body to go numb. Lock his mind up tight to keep anything from getting in. He hesitates now, he's not on his own. He can't control this for anyone else either and… A promise to himself without another end of a deal tugs at him. He doesn't go away now.

"On your knees."

Andrew stays standing. Maybe it makes it harder on himself, but he will not listen to him. Not like this.

A foot collides with his stomach and he doubles over, head down long enough to be pushed to the ground. He hears a snapping noise coming now from behind him. Jean stiffens but remains silent. He quickly learns that it was string from the netting that he he heard, now being tied around his wrists. The contact brings dots to his vision, breath hitching and choosing a new faster pace to hold.

Kevin is left unrestrained, though it hardly reassures him. The ties are digging into his skin, very likely going to rip open a scar. To deal with later.

When a hand grabs his jaw his entire body freezes. Locks up. He can't move even if he wants to. He can barely breathe. The options left are disassociating or panicking outwardly. He can feel it coming on and nothing about this is a safe environment to do that in. Even his own dorm room isn't good for it.

A gasp escapes Jean's mouth next to him when a bucket is placed in front of them. The hand moves from his jaw to the back of his head. This isn't him, but it may as well be. This is no one from his past, but this is his present. His head goes under and he understands why Jean needed to hear another person's breath to come back from this. Andrew doesn't stick around long enough to find out what else is going to happen to him.

Faintly he hears where this is going. "Who is the best? Who is your king?" All that Riko has demanded from them before. All that Andrew will not give in to. The difference now is that there is an urgency to it. He's frantic in this room in ways that he hasn't been before. He can feel his footing as number one slipping. And what would he be if even his own perfect court don't think the best of him?

He pulls back from reality first, then he passes out.

When he wakes up he's on top of his bed, wrists no longer restrained, and everything else otherwise the same. Just like over the summer. He has no idea what happened, but any new wounds will tell that story. For now he just aches.

"Are you awake?" He says without looking the other way.

"Yes."

He rolls over and doesn't stop his eyes from growing wide. Kevin is lying down looking smaller than ever. Shaking. Bruises already starting to bloom on his shoulder and face and neck. Even Jean looks better where he sits up against the wall rubbing circles on his back. Only his wrists are raw and there may be other scars. But he's breathing normally. That's good.

Slowly he moves around Kevin to the edge of the bed. He's out, he doesn't notice. "Your wrists,"

Not quite a question, but he understands the short hand they have come to operate with. "Yes."

He cross the room, wipes them clean and wraps gauze around them. Nothing too bad. He still can't quite breathe or is this the pace he breathes at now? How long are normal breaths? Is his heart even still beating? One wrist has a deeper line, a bright angry red with flecks of darkness hours old surrounding it.

"Breathe, Andrew."

"I can't," he whispers not daring to look at him as he does. The only other place to focus is on Kevin which does nothing to help. He's never seen him beaten up like that, at least Andrew is used to this.

"Can I? It helps me." Jean extends his arms, but he shakes his head. The brief touch to his wrist was as much as he can take already tonight.

"No," a verbal addition just to be sure.

With that he crosses back to his bed and climbs over Kevin. Who seems to be sleeping here for the night. Andrew would never oppose that, not knowing what waits for him down the hall. He can hear their breaths, so maybe it helps. A sound different than just Jean that he has grown accustomed to hearing. That's enough to ground him a fraction more.

They don't talk about it. Kevin wakes up early and slips out, though Andrew sees him go. He's in and out of sleep all night. Each time gasping awake and immediately feeling eyes staring at him.

And as if nothing happened, they simply get up in the morning and go to practice. They have one more game to remain undefeated and this time, he really hopes they lose. He could make them lose. Except he won't for reasons he will not discuss.

𓅂

The last game is interesting. Something is clearly happening. Kevin and Riko are not put on at the same time for even a minute. They play entirely separate, though they don't take their eyes off each other when the other is on the court. All season they have played more together than apart. All their lives more likely.

Riko plays the first half. The entire first half. The rest of the team seems just as in the dark about this current line up as him, which is mostly just frustrating. He's used to knowing more. Kevin told him nothing about this. Did he know before now? Does it have to do with the other night?

No matter the line up the Ravens have no trouble taking the lead early and keeping it the entire game. Andrew plays an interesting set of shifts, the end of the first half and the end of the second. Not that any of it pushes him to play differently. He blocks everything he can. With this team, Cats or Knights or whoever they are, that's all of them. Their best strikers can't even stand up to the Ravens' worst.

Just before Andrew is called to switch with the junior goalie he hears the announcers. They're speculating about a rivalry. Day or Moriyama. Who is the better striker? Andrew knows the answer to that. It's obvious. It's Kevin, there really isn't competition. He's seen him play when he doesn't hold back and there's no one he's ever seen that could be better. Let alone Riko.

That's why they're playing separately. It must have been called into question. Absently, as he walks to the goal sure that nothing will happen in the time it takes to leisurely get there because Kevin is on the court, he wonders who thought this would be a good idea. Tetsuji, maybe. Kevin wouldn't have the guts. And if it's Riko… well he really does have a death wish. Or maybe a humiliation kink. One, or who knows maybe both in a way, of which he will happily help him out with.

The score at the half was 4-1. The score at the end is 9-2, Ravens win. Kevin wins.

And that should be that. In a perfect world it would be. Their tattoos stay, but the crown transfers. The torment ends.

They are the perfect court, but this is far from a perfect world. This is Evermore, this is the Nest.

The game ends, the away team leaves, they change out and retreat to the dorms. Andrew doesn't think he will be able to sleep. Pent up energy, a rock in his stomach, a knowing that Riko will be out for blood. Could be anything. After leaning back on his bed for what seems like an hour he throws a pillow at Jean. He's not asleep, he's just closing his eyes. By now it's easy to spot the difference.

"What do you want?" He peels his eyes open and glares.

"Get up. I can't sleep." Jean will know what he means without him saying. Which he will not say because the words night practice or I want to go to the court get utterly stuck in his throat.

"Kevin?"

He shrugs. "He'll come if he wants to." Andrew is not going to knock on that door tonight, he's not that reckless.

They slip out of the dorms and up to the court easily. They freeze in the door way of the locker room when voices echo. He holds his arm out to stop Jean from walking past him. Yelling is not something they need to walk into. At least not without knowing more. So they wait.

The voices start to get farther way, moving onto the court. And this is why he doesn't actively come up here of his own volition. They slip into the locker room and hesitantly walk to the court doors. It doesn't surprise either of them when they see their matching set standing face to face on center court. An arms length away. Riko's voice is the only one that can be heard.

"I am better than you. Moriyamas have always been better. My uncle is still here, where is your mother?"

They brace for more, Kevin doesn't move a muscle. He's holding his racquet upright on the ground, fingers flexing around it anxiously. His breath is uneven. If he was closer he might even see him shaking like he was the other night.

"You are nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing Kevin. You wouldn't be anything without me, and now you just are nothing."

It happens so quickly. There's no time to move or breathe or even blink. The racquet switches hands before coming down on the one that had just had a tight grip on it. From off the court they can hear the crack of bone. Jean's hand reaches out. For comfort, for support, to keep from falling, just for something. His hand hesitates, but Andrew is right there.

"Shoulder, here," and he leans on him ever so slightly.

Eyes wide and watching. Holding back from rushing out or throwing up. It's all a haze from there. Seconds feel like minutes and minutes feel like hours. Kevin is crumpled on the ground clutching his hand. For too long Riko, who has always been his brother, stands over him. Face blank. Unreadable.

Then he turns and walks off away from all of them.

Once he's far enough away they rush onto the court. Jean seems ready to collapse too, his hand started to shake while it was on his shoulder and it took every ounce of control to not throw him off. There's blood pooling on the court floor. He can see Kevin's wrist. The bone. Or is it his hand? He's no doctor but this is… It's not good. It's far from it.

"Kev? Moving to the locker room. Okay?" He waits for a nod, it takes a second longer than he thinks is good for any of them.

They manage to get him into the locker room, a trail of blood behind them. Though Riko will already be expecting it. He did this. They find gauze and a wrap. There's very little they can do for him here. This needs a doctor, they all know it. The other thing that they all know but won't say is that he can't play. This is his dominant hand, he may never play again.

One look in Kevin's eyes tells him that he knows it and it thinking it too. His eyes glaze over, most of his weight is held up by Jean. They do the best they can between them. He ends up doing most of the work, he's the most aware and able. The two of them have been in the Nest too long that they don't know how to operate any other way. Andrew knows how to rely on himself and no one else.

The bleeding slows, they stop having to add more clean gauze. Kevin starts to talk, his words are far from coherent. Mumbles and mutterings. The first thing he makes out is "I can't play."

"You will." Jean counters.

The panic doesn't subside, though his words do gain clarity. "No. No no no no no. I— fuck. What do I do? I can't stay here. He— Rik—"

"Will kill you," Andrew supplies, he's the only one who will. "I will kill him first."

Both sets of eyes look up at him from where they are sitting. Scared from one and sick from another. A strange opposition from their typical set up. He means it though. He will kill him if he tries to get to Kevin again. When he decided this, is anyone's guess. But Kevin is not Riko's to hurt. He will not get to hurt him again. The words don't provide comfort, they don't realize it's a promise.

Jean gets up without a word. Walks elsewhere in the room. No doors open or close so he's still close. He can only focus on so much right now and it has to be Kevin. He's in pieces. His pair will be here to be put together again later, the same may not be able to be said for the one in front of him.

"You're leaving," Andrew forces out next. Less a question and more a demand for answers.

"I— I can't play. I don't have a choice."

Idiot. He shakes his head, closing the gap between them and catching Kevin's shaking shattered hand in his once again, knowing he already has been told yes. He hardly hisses at the contact he initiated. A shadow reappears behind him to look. A year ago he would be whipping his head around to see what ghost is following him. To make sure it's not him. Now he doesn't flinch at Jean's presence wherever he goes, it's more concerning if he's not under foot.

"You can't." Jean counters, having found his voice wherever he wandered before. "You belong here, you are perfect court. You cannot leave Evermore, your place is here. You,"

"Stop." Andrew hisses. They all know this already, that doesn't mean it needs to be said.

No one argues, for the best. They don't have time. Riko will be back soon. There's no telling what he will be expecting but it's wise not to test it. They should be cleaning up, distracting, whatever they can while Kevin is already long gone. Idly he reaches a hand out and is met a moment later with the gauze he needs to wrap the injury. Their silent routine no matter who they are working on patching up.

The two exchange muttered words in French that he has still not learned. One look from Kevin at his dead stare has him switching back to English. "I can't play, I can't stay. You only heard part of it, but that was Riko's message. My… There is nothing to do." He falters, more than he has ever seen Kevin falter.

The clock ticks, metaphorically. His heart pounds. Of everyone in the Nest, Kevin knows the way out better than anyone. He has access that others do not. He just has to get to the stadium exit without being seen by anyone else and go. The nervous shifting from foot to foot next to him, the presence that usually eases the tension in his shoulders, only makes his grip on Kevin's wrist tighten. Making sure the tape is secure, not to cause more harm. Never to cause harm.

He's not sure why they aren't moving yet. His hand and wrist are wrapped as best as they can be. A doctor will need to look at it. Not like the nurse here, but a proper one. If he ever wants a chance at holding a racquet and walking on a court again. Much less the US Court. There could be a chance for him at that still, he's Kevin after all.

No bag is packed, even if these were Riko's intentions at the start. Leave it to him to make sure no one has time to grab their things before making their way out. Jean seems to think an exception would be made for Kevin, but oh how wrong he is. Interfering would only hurt them both, so Jean keeps his hands inside his own space. Removed from Kevin, there's just him. Everyone is hesitating.

"If you don't get out of here right now I will kill you myself before Riko has a chance." He refuses to glance back at Jean, he can't.

A strangled sound still comes from behind him. For later to deal with. He stares instead to Kevin waiting for his feet to move. On the court he is quick, agile, practically able to float. All things he should be focusing on replicating now. Leave all of this behind. Get out now before he doesn't have a choice. Get out now before it's in a body bag. This is not much of a choice but he would be infinitely more stupid to do anything else.

He crosses his arms over his chest, standing his ground. He never has to with Kevin, it's never been a question of wills between them. Numbers do not matter with them. Even without promises they have an understanding that he can't quite explain. He would much rather he doesn't die, not like this.

The door is right there, the cage is unlocked for only a moment. If he will not step out on his own, Andrew will force him out.

"Go," he snarls again.

"If you go I will not forgive you. I will sooner kill m—" Andrew reaches behind himself with perfect aim and yanks Jean's hand away from his throat where he knew it would be.

Opposite them he is the one to interrupt. "You promised me Jean. I'm holding you to that."

"Kevin," he warns. Pushing the other's words as far to the back of his mind as he can for now. Something to deal with later, something for when at least one of them is out of danger.

"I'm going, just pl—" he bites his tongue on the word remembering his audience and how that went over the last time he said it, retaining his attention. A misstep too focused on Jean's broken words. "A deal."

Those two words are enough to make him pause. One second of hesitation that could be the difference between Kevin getting out and Riko catching all three of them where they should not be. Andrew would deal with that if it comes. All of them worse off, but he would keep them alive. Six months or a bit more, nearly one Raven year, he knows what to expect from Riko. Never pleasant, but it gives him a sense of control just to know. To predict.

"Keep Jean safe," he breathes out already knowing what Kevin will ask of him. He couldn't expect anything else, a request he would uphold without a deal, but he only nods weakly to confirm.

No sound comes from Jean behind him now, he will keep it inside until they are back in their room after this. Kevin is leaving behind a wreck for him to clean up and they both know it. He doesn't have to know French to know he was begging him to stay. Jean will not have the chance to do anything with him around, he will keep him safe. A deal is a deal, a promise is a promise. Kevin will make it out now. Jean will be safe here even without.

"And for me? What can you do with only one hand and no one outside Evermore?"

"Anything."

He considers this for a moment. Fingers tracing over scars on his bare forearms, reminding himself which are old and fading as he avoids fresher ones that he did not ask for. A beat passes, still too much time since he first urged Kevin to go.

Air sharply fills his lungs, enough to say all he needs to. "Aaron."

"Okay." He agrees eagerly. "Can you keep your phone charged? I know you have it and I know you aren't supposed to, just…"

"Fine. Now get the fuck out of here Day. Hold up your end of the deal."

"I'll see you." Weak, empty words, but they could all foolishly hope they are true. One day.

Without hesitating any more, the fool would stay if he did, Kevin ducks out the door. Gone. Just like that and he's entirely out of reach. Next to him Jean stumbles, hands outstretched and coming up with nothing.

Chapter Text

One person shouldn't make that much of a difference. One person's absence from Evermore should not drastically change anything. Even if that one person is Kevin Day.

Except it does. His departure is immediately evident in every second of the day.

He notices it first with Jean, unsurprisingly. They are together as always, but he's different. Years of being by the other's side has left Jean without one of his lungs so he struggles to breathe. Andrew does not blame him, but he does not know how to help. They were not a pair, but they were perhaps the next closest thing. He won't begin to try to understand it, that won't make protecting Jean any easier or harder. It makes no difference to him for now.

There just is nothing to do. No comfort to be given. Andrew has been ripped from enough homes and had every almost good thing taken from him over the years to know that this is just another to add to the list. Another to push from the front of his mind knowing that he will never forget about it.

Part of him thinks this will be a tie severed. For good. He made a deal and he intends to keep that, but will he ever see Kevin again? It could go either way, and knowing Andrew's track record, it leans toward no. Kevin will go off and hopefully make sure that Aaron is safe and okay. Make sure that whatever Riko does never touches him. And Andrew will be chained to the Nest and will keep Jean under his watch.

And that will be that. Clean cut, simple.

The details are unnecessary. Andrew will protect him regardless of why, regardless of whatever promise that he made to Kevin. As long as it doesn't interfere, it doesn't matter. It all just gives him a little bit more of a reason to get out of bed each morning. Despite the nightmares that he can't quite shake again or the ache in his arms from too many practices. He gets up because Jean also does.

Even if he has an absent look in his eyes every day. Never quite present. He walks next to Andrew for the weeks between fall classes and spring classes without question. They never leave the other's side. Except Jean is barely even there. He's elsewhere, he's caught in his head, he's here but he really isn't. Andrew stays present enough for both of them.

Together, they wait for the other shoe to drop. They wait for the anger and wrath to reach them. It doesn't. Yet at least. One less thing to worry about. Riko seems to fall in line for his uncle more than he did before. He cost the Ravens their best striker, he can't afford to lose any one else. There is a chance that even his brain isn't too small to comprehend that. He was fucking reckless for what he did.

The tension seeping out of Jean as they walk through the halls continues to build. He thinks it will keep going until Riko does something. Until they know where they stand with him now that Kevin is gone. It doesn't make a difference to Andrew alone, but it does to Jean. So he waits and prepares. He has no intentions of letting Riko tear him down too.

Practices grow intense. With championships starting in January, not far off now, they have no room for error. Edgar Allen is the highest ranked team, but they still have to make it to the finals. Nothing changes for the defense line in his eyes. Andrew is still a better goal keeper than the others, whether he cares or not, and if he is in the goal it makes no difference who the backliners are during matches. He'd prefer Jean and anyone other than Grayson to be there when he is on the court. But that has nothing to do with skill.

The very first practice without Kevin brought murmurs. Eyes glancing at the other tattooed Ravens, getting no answers. The second day without him, Riko was gone too. After that Riko returned, but Kevin of course doesn't. So the rumors spread and the staring intensifies. It boils over when they are a week and a half, Evermore time, out from the first round game and a pair of seniors nudge at their respective freshman to ask coach.

"Where is Kevin, master?" One that he thinks he goes to classes with asks warily.

"He can no longer play." Tetsuji declares and the rest of the team tries to hold their jaws up. "There will be no further discussion about this. Now split off for drills. Minyard, come here."

He listens, knowing that with being down a striker he is going to be asked to challenge all of the remaining offensive players. Push them to make some damn goals. If they can score on him, they can score on other teams. Andrew can't fault that logic, he knows that it is true.

Standing in front of Tetsuji he waits for direction, just in case he's wrong. "In the goal. Do not go easy on anyone. If I see you let in any that you should be able to block you will be staying back after practice." He's not wrong.

Andrew nods, knowing better than to speak to coach. There's no entertainment in pissing him off. A sneaking suspicion tells him he does anyway by refusing to talk, refusing to call him master. But that is still not going to happen. He picks up his racquet and pulls his helmet down over his face and stands bored in the goal.

They aren't given a goal for how many shots to make, the strikers are just told to do it. See what happens if they can't make any. They go for half an hour of non stop shooting. Almost the length of a full half, so logically he knows that he has played for longer without a break. Except usually he gets a break when the Ravens have the ball and are on the other end of the court. This is relentless.

The weight of the racquet in his hands grows heavy. He has to step further to block shots that he could usually just extend his arm to knock out of the way. His teeth grit at the fact that he catches himself trying. Putting in effort for exy. If only Kevin could see it for himself. He might even bite his tongue on any critiques. He might even be proud.

"You're getting sloppy." Riko taunts just before his turn comes up again. He's shot at least fifteen his way today, all of them blocked.

"My bad, I didn't mean to give off the impression I care." His eyes roll behind his helmet.

This turn is no different. They are on the same team, but he's made it a promise to himself to never let in a goal from him. Andrew will keep that promise. Today that means he stores the last of his energy knowing that Riko is the last to go before they switch to other drills. The goal lights up red from a senior striker - he missed it by the smallest margin, but he couldn't extend his arm any further without possibly tripping over his tired feet.

No praise is given from coach, but the successful Raven strides off to the side with a sense of accomplishment. Congrats you scored one single goal on a freshman goalie that hates this sport and this place. Do you want a trophy? Will that be enough for you to be goo enough to win finals? Andrew taunts them in his mind before clearing his face and standing off against Riko.

"Try me, second best."

And try he does. Unsuccessfully. Andrew pulls all he has in him just to keep him from scoring. Every last bit of energy, more than he can recall ever putting into exy. It makes him sick, something he can deal with or ignore in the dorm. Now on the court, he just has to focus. He keeps shooting until he runs out of balls. The second to last one he turns and aims just off to the side. Where the backliners have started to cross and line up for the next drills.

How he makes it, he's not really sure. But his racquet ends up with a ball in the net just inches from Jean's back. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Riko aim at the now empty goal. Which he can't have happen either. So he dives for it, lucking out — not that anyone else will ever know it's luck — that the shot was aimed at the bottom left corner. It doesn't go in, the goal remains neutral.

"I thought you were going to try. Maybe next time." He shrugs, ignoring the burn in his arms and legs and the desire to collapse as soon as possible. His racquet keeps him standing upright.

"Fuck you Doe." He bites back.

And well. He doesn't even care. He's riled up the child it seems. He's assumed that research was done on him before coming here. Being a doe was never what shaped his past or who he is. He may as well be a doe again since he's cut those ties. Ravens don't have family, so he hardly is a Minyard anymore, not like he was for very long anyway. It doesn't effect him the way Riko wants it to, he lets it roll off.

He doesn't examine the tug in his chest any further.

Full team drills run for the remainder of practice. Shooting at cones, footwork, all things that he just barely gets through. Even on days that he isn't exhausted from shutting down the goal, he puts minimal effort into these. They do not impact his game and he wouldn't care if they did.

When everyone is dismissed, coach gives him a look, but nothing more. A long enough stare, but then dismissal. Others had far worse offenses than letting in one goal during practice today. Far worse things that he deems in need of contrition. He slowly walks through the locker room and right to the showers. He picks one as isolated as he can and with place to lean without seeming like he is. Out of view.

He barely stays upright while showering. Most everyone comes and goes before he makes it back out to pull on his clothes. When he does get to his locker, Jean is already sitting and waiting. Staring off into space, still not wholly present. He used up what focus he had during practice and he will fall onto his bed after this. Not to sleep though. He's hardly sleeping these days.

Before he makes it there multiple Ravens crowd around him. Andrew's fist clenches and he regrets leaving his arm bands where they always are under his pillow. This is a time that he needs them. He would be more prepared with them, whether or not a knife is needed.

As he approaches he can hear the flurry of questions that just swarms around Jean's head. He hears all of it, he's almost certain, but he answers nothing. He makes no indication that he hears. Silently he's thankful that among the group are neither Zane nor Grayson, though he assumes there are threats everywhere. One person to push Jean too far, push Jean at all, while he's like this.

"Where did he go?"

"We know you have answers."

"Just tell us."

"You can tell me later if you don't want the whole team to know…" A voice says too close to Jean's ear,the rest which he only hears because he's finally stepped within orbit. "I'll even f—"

"No." Andrew crosses his arms and stares at the group of them. The only one to not flinch is Jean. "Get out of his face."

"You're having him fight your battles for you? Come on we were just talking Johnny."

He doesn't budge. They aren't as intimidated as he thinks they would be if he had his knives, but his performance in practice helps. Some of them at least respect him. Which is better than nothing. He'll take what he can get.

One of them, a junior striker perhaps, steps back. "Alright. Just let Riko know if he's looking to replace him, I'm right here."

And oh what a foolish thing to say. There's no replacing Kevin Day. Not on the team, not as a striker, not by Riko's side. They shouldn't want to be him either. But they don't know that. None of them know that. They are all fools. Hoping to be chosen. Hoping to be perfect. A waste. A nightmare more than a dream.

𓅂

Three days before the first game of the spring season, neither of them sleep. That has absolutely nothing to do with the upcoming match and they both know it. Andrew can't stand to be curled up under the covers when he's awake. Whether he is jolted out of sleep from a nightmare or he simply hasn't been able to get his eyes to close, he would much rather be sitting up. In control.

He's found that Jean makes himself smaller. There have been many nights that they both have not slept, Andrew realizes belatedly. He just never noticed unless he really looked. Tonight it's easy, he sees the other shrink into himself, pulling his legs up closer to his chest and tugging the pillow one arm grasps closer to him.

"Staring," he points out when he catches the open grey eyes.

"You have not slept. Or tried to."

He debates this, knowing with most people he would ignore or deny. Though here in this room, he shakes his head in confirmation. There's no harm in that. Jean would see through it anyway.

For an hour at least, he's been messing with his arm bands. fingers catching at the hem and tugging on it lightly, nails grazing the closest scars. He's antsy, but not in a way one of Kevin's stupid night practices would help. He just wants to be out of here. He wants to have some control over something. Andrew chose not to attempt sleeping tonight, he chose not to eat the vegetables on his plate at dinner, he chose to start this conversation with Jean. That's all he's got.

Still, his mind is aware of the knives right along his arms. Sheathed so they can't accidentally break skin, but they are right there. It would take seconds to slip one out. It would take another few seconds to drag it along his arm. It would be easy enough and it would be his choice. The eyes on him make him pause.

"You should sleep. You've been out of it for weeks." He contemplates throwing a pillow, but he only has the one and doesn't want to have to get up to get it back in case he chooses to sleep later.

"I—" Jean's mouth opens and closes. Hesitant, tentative. "Yes."

"Yes? Nothing else? I thought I was the quiet one."

"He's gone…" Ah, that will do it. They have not dared to talk about it.

Andrew nods. He waits for more, he knows that there is more. Months of seeing Kevin and Jean around each other, tells him there is something more. It could be anything, but there is more under the surface. More than Andrew would know how to handle. Or he might just be wrong, he could manage.

"I will do better. I will not fail us." Jean settles for instead and he almost laughs.

The room falls back into the eerie silence. It's only eerie because they are in the Nest. He can't breathe as well here. The thing that kills him is that there is no escape. Nothing that's a good enough release. He just has to suffer through this and Jean does too. No amount of practice would fix the ache or the unease. And really that's the only option here.

Andrew's fingers still twitch. He feels it too. Under his skin something is wrong. It's not fair for him to feel it, he only just got here. He only had so many months with Kevin. The grief holding Jean up is not his to share, but he should help. He understands this he understands change and he can push it aside. It just won't go easily. Why won't it go easily? Why does letting blood drip down his arm feel like the answer right now?

"Stop that." He yanks his own hands away from his arm bands, though the message was for Jean. He listens too. "I don't care about that. If you… fail", he mimics incredulously, "I will deal with it."

"We both will."

There's nothing he can say to dissuade the pair system out of Jean's head, so he leaves it. If he can do anything about it when Riko finally comes for them, he will. He made a promise. He intends to keep that promise.

That's that. He lets Jean drift off again knowing that they only have an hour or so until they need to get up for the day. Some sleep is better than none for him. Andrew has given up. He will crash after practice most likely, if it goes as the majority of recent practices have. Every striker shooting on him for as long as it takes for a goal to go in. He'll collapse as soon as possible.

They have championship games to train for after all. He knows that no one will admit it out in the open, least of all a Moriyama, but they're nervous. No one knows how exactly this will go without Kevin. Which is laughable really. This is meant to be the best team in the league, one player should not make that much of a difference. But he does.

He makes a world of a difference, despite the fact that the Ravens had won without him before he was officially a Raven. They had won for years prior and they presumably plan to win for years after. Perhaps it's just the mid season shift, or maybe it's the fact that their other star striker is not all that he claims to be and is fraying at the edges without his pair. Perhaps Andrew will get the satisfaction of seeing Riko lose, seeing him be the downfall of the team all on his own.

Twenty minutes go by before Jean jerks awake. He sits all the way up and freezes there, hand reaching toward his neck. "Jean," he commands and the boy looks at him. "Only twenty minutes, you can sleep more. It's only us, the door is locked."

He nods but doesn't sleep again. Doesn't bother trying and Andrew understands. Sleeping after a nightmare is a dangerous gamble. One he rarely takes himself. He stays sitting against the wall with his head tilted back and knees drawn up to his chest. In the time that Jean was asleep he pulled one of his knives out and is twirling it between his fingers. He should put it away, he almost does when Jean's eyes catch on it. He doesn't.

More than once he sees his mouth open to say something before closing again. After the third time he's had enough. "Spit it out."

"He's really gone."

"Yes."

"He was supposed to protect me." And isn't that interesting. Consider his attention piqued.

Andrew hums. "That promise he mentioned." Part question, part assumption.

His eyes focus on the knife rather than him, he should probably put it away. The way he looks at it is good for no one. Definitely not his own current deal.

"I tried to kill myself." The words come out as stoically as saying they need to get up for practice. The following admission is much harder, even Andrew can feel its claws. "He made me promise I would not again."

It hangs there in the air. Jean promising to live. Jean promising to live despite all that has happened, all that will continue to happen. It's sick. He almost wants to choke Kevin for it. Except he's now taken over in effort to keep Jean alive and safe. So is he really any better? Is he not condemning him just as much?

"That promise means nothing anymore, but mine does."

Jean shrugs. "I have no choice. I will endure."

It's more than they usually say. It's more pieces of a puzzle that Andrew had resigned to never fully solving. He gave nothing first, he's giving nothing in return now. Though he never asked. Makes him wonder whether Jean only wanted someone to tell, someone to know now that Kevin is gone, or if he trusts him.

Trusting anyone in here is foolish. Kevin should be proof enough. Trusting anyone at all sets you up to be hurt.

Still, Andrew lets Jean fade away for a bit not disturbing him until they need to leave for practice. He tells him how long it's been, he walks in step with him, he doesn't leave him on his own for vultures to swoop in.

He won't admit that it's a comfort to him too, it's not. He's keeping a promise.

His unease, his fingers scratching his skin and reaching for knives, his eyes trained on Jean, is not at all affected by the unanswered text he sent as he sat on his bed ignoring sleep. One he sent long after he should have. Just a simple ?. The tension in his shoulders only drops slightly when he comes back unscathed after practice with Jean in tow to find a three word response. i've got him.

The breathe he takes is marginally better, could be unrelated. He doesn't ask for more, he doesn't deserve to get any more.

𓅂

The first game of championships is fine. Nothing special. Andrew let in one goal for the fun of it. They were already up and going to win the game, not by much but enough that he thought it might be fun to let Maryland score once in the second half. It ended at 4-2. Possibly the worst scoring game the Ravens have had in more than a year.

When the goal lit up red behind him, he could feel the eyes on him. Riko was on the bench at the time, but promptly swapped onto the court for the rest of the game. Only scoring once in those last five minutes. If he cared he would say the strikers needed to work harder. Instead he showers and waits to get back on the bus.

Jean is the last out to change and grab his bag, so their choice of seats on the bus is limited. They opt for near the front surrounded by Ravens he hardly knows. They're not direct threats though, and Jean looks ready to pass out. He fights it wordlessly when they sit, but eventually succumbs t sleep.

They don't bother splitting the trip to each get rest. It's less than six hours and they won't have practice until five hours after they return. Enough time for him to close his own eyes for a bit. For now Andrew sits and waits for the road to pass by. Breathing while he still can.

Ten minutes out from Edgar Allan a hand lands on his shoulder. Months ago he would be lashing out. He would already be swinging a fist back to hit whoever touched him while his other hand pulls a knife out. Even medicated he couldn't stand being touched, he still can't. Even medicated he would still lash out. Perhaps he's been accidentally swapped with the other twin without either knowing. He's been pacified.

He keeps his eyes trained on the seat in front of him. Jean has the window seat again, blocked in from the other Ravens. His fists were already closed so it's not even noticeable when he digs his nails in his palm. Hard enough that he might even draw a prick of blood.

"Minyard."

Without his expression shifting, he turns to look. Bored assessing eyes.

"Don't bother going to your room. Either of you. We have a long overdue conversation." It's the most Riko has said to them in weeks he thinks. Finally found his voice again it seems.

As soon as he walks away, not looking for confirmation only informing him of the expectation, Andrew steals a glance at his partner. Still asleep, good. They have evaded this for as long as they could. The other shoe is dropping and the little prince has been punished enough that he can strike. For something that was his fault, but why would anything be fair?

Fifteen minutes later brings them to the door of a room they both hate. Jean is stiff next to him, he's not much better himself. Fists clenched, nails further digging into his palms deepening the indents. It won't be comfortable at practice in the morning, but can that be worse than whatever is about to happen?

Jean is the one to push the door open. He's more used to it, he knows it better. Lately he has been the one to come out less harmed. As long as he's been a toy for Riko to break, he's no longer shiny. He's no longer the one that all of the attention is on. That falls to Andrew. Apparently he's more interesting, more fun to try to crack. His skin may break and bruise, but he's still whole. It would take a lot more to tear him down after all that he's been through. Riko isn't the worst of his demons.

A gasp falls from the mouth next to him. So small and quiet, lips sealed again less than a second later as if nothing happened. The room looks no different than it always has. One bed perfectly made, one with the covers strewn messily. One wall blank, one littered with postcards and pictures. One side Riko's, one still belonging to Kevin as if he never left.

"Kneel." He eyes the taller one, wanting them both to be physically lower.

Riko silently moves around the room grabbing whatever he wants to inflict pain on them today. He spots a knife, rope, handcuffs, a racquet. Nothing new. He can almost get himself to zone out, to block out all of this as he has time and time again.

"You cost me greatly. You need to better learn your place. Jean knows his, don't you?"

The fool breathes out, "yes, King." And how Andrew hates him for it.

"Not my fault Day is better than you. Not my fault you ruined that." He rolls his eyes.

As expected, Jean flinches. Expecting a hand to come down on him for his pair's words. Sometimes one does, but Riko takes too much pleasure in hurting Andrew. He learned this over time, the pairs mean more when you are not perfect court. When you are not already singled out by him. Sometimes it falls on Jean, but like this? It's always going to be him. And he takes it, he can easily take the little hits. He knows how to tell where the hand will be dealt.

He instructs Jean to get up and pull him to the rumpled bed. It's happened before, and they both know that Riko doesn't give a damn about whether he wants hands on him or not. Most of the time he pulls himself as far out of his mind as he can. When it's Jean being told to do any of it, they exchange wordless glances. Almost an ask for permission, enough that he won't hold it against him at least.

Handcuffs clamp around his wrists and he's stuck to the bed. He can't get away. Jean is pushed down to his knees again, his wrists tied with rope that seems to have come from an old racquet. How fitting to be chained by the very sport that already has a noose around their necks.

Glancing between them he holds the knife. It's a simple knife, not unlike the ones he has waiting back in the dorm in his arm bands. At least it is not one of his own. He knows how it will feel on his skin, just another scar to eventually add to the collection.

Without his arm bands on he knows that his uniform and meticulously placed cuts are on display. Not for the first time. These two have seen them more than anyone. His skin crawls, though he remains still. His expression gives nothing away. He may as well be sitting in one of his boring seminars for all that he is reacting.

With each drag of the knife across his chest or stomach he holds his breath. Only daring to exhale when the attention is turned off of him. Blood pools and drips down his sides. Nothing feels that deep, just deep enough. Later he may need stitches or they may be able to get away with plain bandages. Jean knows that better than him still.

"Hold still," hold still, Andy, just hold still, he hears a voice other than Riko say. Just be still, it will be easier if you just—"Jean hold this would you?" The point of the knife is in his shoulder. Sticking straight up, any movement would disturb the position.

As expected, Jean listens. He grips it tight enough to not lose hold, and if he's not mistaken, if the pain hasn't warped Andrew's perception, his partner is lifting it out of his muscle just a hair. Not enough to be noticeable, not enough to reverse the damage, but enough.

The footsteps away from the bed go and return. Andrew doesn't look. He refuses to. The familiar clank of a stick, a heavy one at that, tapping the ground is all the warning either punching bag gets. He swings and from the sound of Jean's grunt, he does not miss. Ribs he would have to guess. On the second one, it's clear that he's expecting it. Only a small huff passes through the air.

That and a jerk that moves the knife. If it were as deep as Riko lodged it before it would be excruciating. He would wonder if he would be able to lift his own racquet in the morning. It only elongated the gash toward the surface, nothing a few stitches won't fix.

He can't even find it in himself to care. He's still, he's doing as he was told. He's doing what he always told him to. His voice echoing louder than anything Riko is saying in the present. It will be better if you hold still. Andrew needs to throw up. A knife is not the same. Focus on the pain, it's better than that. This is easier to deal with.

It could be one more hit or ten, before he can understand any of the words being said presently. "You're lucky we need both of you on the court. Otherwise I could have so much more fun…"

"A compliment, pour moi?" He laughs, not unlike an old medicated version of himself, emphasizing the brief French knowing how much he must detest the language. "Have you no faith in your offensive line?"

His rough hand drops the racquet and grips onto his chin while the other slaps his cheek. It stings. A brief distraction from the knife that Jean is still holding. He won't dare drop it, and he doesn't blame him. This is not his fault, he does not want to be doing it.

"You will listen, you will obey. You are in my perfect court, you will do what is expected of you." Riko seethes.

The racquet comes down on Jean again, he's expecting it this time so the knife doesn't move at all. He keeps it still even as he bows his head. "Yes King."

It makes him sick. Eventually they are dismissed though, and Andrew opts to risk leaving his shirt off for the short walk to their door to allow it to soak up the blood. No one is awake, so he makes it without question. The shirt is a goner, luckily it's the same as every other shirt he owns here. Black and with Ravens printed somewhere in red.

They sigh stepping through the door one after the other. Not a good sigh. They both know any reprieve they had in the wake of Kevin is over. Rage and a stronger need for control have settled deep in Riko's gut and there is no more escape. He doesn't care enough about anyone else on the team to turn his attention on them. The pair of them are his sole focus, his sole voodoo dolls. Thinking hurting one will hurt the other.

"You will need stitches." Jean motions as he sits on his bed still prodding his shoulder with the now damp shirt.

"So it seems." A wave of a hand through the air. "Any for you or just bruises?"

"I am okay."

Andrew curtly nods. If he needed anything, he would say. He knows that it's very much not appreciated when he dismisses questions like this. He has found it's easier to treat a wound when it has not been opened and reopened over multiple days.

"Now?" Jean asks instead.

Sometimes he can't take any hands on him after. Even safe ones like Jean's, he can't do. It's far too much. The first time he shook his head and spit out a quick no and later, Andrew received a concerned look. Not quite understanding as all he had offered was to bandage a few cuts on his thigh.

That night once Jean had gone to sleep he pulled out the kit of supplies and did it himself. Not as clean or precise, but good enough. Even his own hands were too much. Stomach lurching anytime he brushed against his own leg where he couldn't see what he was doing.

A deep inhale through his nose centers him. "Okay, yes. Don't touch anywhere other than my shoulder."

"Your chest," he motions to the other angry red lines decorating him.

"Not too deep. I'll wash them."

And that's that. He bites the inside of his lip until Jean has given him the necessary ten stitches. Tied off as clean as possible. Wrapped with a bandage. He sleeps for at most an hour, head light and eyes heavy from the slight loss of blood.

𓅂

By the following week, they have been directed to Riko's haunting room no less than five times. Sometimes after practice, sometimes even before. The only thing that doesn't change is Kevin's side of the room. Save for new drops of blood that touch the sheets.

Each time they are met with something different. Sometimes they are forced into making it worse for the other, though they fight that as much as they can. It's not something they have to, nor do they have the opportunity to, talk about. It's the only time he sees Jean fight back.

They do not discuss it when they return to their room either. Though following the second game of the spring season, Andrew takes to keeping his arm bands on. Screw the consequences, it's not like he escapes them anyway. His existence seems to be enough to set Riko off. What is it about him? It's always him. Taking this means Jean is safer, which means… Kevin keeps his end.

This is nothing. Let him be the one. Riko will grow bored before the next three or four years pass by. He will come out the other side.

It's February so the chill in the air gives him cover for the long sleeves that cover his arm bands and therefore his knives. No one sees them. It's been too long since he wore them out and the weight pressed against his skin proves as a barrier from anything that could get him. Breathing more than usual.

He has no intention of pulling the knives from where they hide. Andrew doesn't like causing pain. He never wants harm to come from his hands. The knives stay tucked away unless they have to come out. Sometimes they do.

The week between the first round of championship games and the death matches, the Nest has a strange air to it. Everyone seems to be antsy. Not in an anxious for the next game way, excited or worried. Something just feels off. Like the short break between games is too much.

Though two weeks between games is really three weeks of Raven days. The restless energy gets worse each day.

This makes practices as violent as real matches are. Andrew remains safely, in the one place the players do not interfere with. The goal is sacred. Part of why he never bothered with any other position even when given the option after juvie at his high school. Best for everyone to leave him untouched and out of the way.

On the other hand, Jean seems to always end up in the firing line. Paired against Riko as his mark. On the court he doesn't use a racquet to hit him, saving that for the next time he drags them away. No, instead Andrew watches as he checks him against the plexiglass or knees him and trips him making sure to dig right in to the most recent, most sensitive, bruises he left.

It slows him down even more. He moves slowly through changing out and showering. Riko had them this morning, he will leave them be for now. Let them heal just enough that he can hurt them all over again. And then let them heal enough to do what is expected of them during the death match against Penn State. Their chance to knock them out before semi finals, another thing no one has shut up about when the focus is not on them.

Whispers are constant, some Raven's ability to talk among themselves would be a better use for Riko's frustrated urges. He could get some of it out on them instead of Andrew and Jean and shut everyone up in the process. He thinks they save certain topics for when they know he is in ear shot, though he never once lets his face give away that he hears.

Half of the time it's about Kevin. Still no one knows what has happened and no one has contact with him to ask. As far as he knows Andrew is the only one to get any texts from the missing striker at all. He's sure any news sources have not received accurate information about the incident either. Every announcer at the games so far has only said that he is injured and out for the season.

It's only a matter of time before more comes out. A half truth will be told at most. The Ravens can find out with the rest of the world, they're getting nothing from him.

The other half of the time, he hears about himself. That makes him itch to grab his knives, but none of what is said is all that bad. Too much of it is about exy. His ability to shut down a goal, whether or not he will for the death match, how he should start instead of the senior goal keeper. Among that is also talks of jealousy for his position again, even some (mostly freshman if he recalls correctly) intimidated whenever he is around. When those comments are made he cannot be seen from where he sits next to Jean in a common room.

Mostly he tunes it all out. He doesn't care. He's unlikely to shut down the goal again just because that would be giving Riko what he wants. They will end up delivering a win regardless of how he preforms, knowing coach will pull him and do much worse if he throw it. He has to find some entertainment even if it comes from exy, and watching Riko squirm as he lets a goal in next week will have to be enough.

Today though, they evade the whispers. They are the last to leave the locker room after evening practice and all that's left is to go back to the dorm and sleep until morning practice. Jean is dead on his feet, sporting more than a few discolored patches across his skin. His face is not free from bandages either, though the cut he sports now is actually from a scrimmage. Not even from Riko, just a simple sports injury.

The halls are meant to be quiet. Everyone already back and sleeping during the few hours they get. The first hallway is clear, as is the second they turn down. No matter what they expect the Nest to be like, Andrew walks as though he's observing for the first time. Turning to look in every hiding spot that he has already mapped out.

He should have learned by now that the monsters do not hide in dark corners here. They have never needed to. Out in the open is where the worst of them are.

Almost all of the lights are dimmed at this time. That doesn't stop him from seeing the figure leaning against the wall next to their door. Andrew stops in place. Needing a second, needing to prepare for whatever this is. Most likely Riko having changed his mind and itching to take it out on them.

Jean stops less than half a step ahead of him at the lack of sound of his steps. He cranes his neck and lifts a brow. Subtly, to not give away their shadows, he lifts a hand to say to wait.

The same hand unsheathes a knife and then tucks it away in the sleeve of his hoodie. Still concealed, the reflective blade protected from catching on the single light. He nods and they continue.

"Was wondering when you would get back." He drawls. "What were you getting up to, I wonder…"

"Choose your next words carefully." Andrew warns. "Better yet, just shut up."

"I think you should take that advice. I have some ideas for how to get you to listen and put your mouth to better use."

Nearby he can sense how Jean tenses, he can hear the slight hitch to his breathing, he wants to whip around and snap in front of his face to get him to focus on him instead. Grayson seems to not care, he only relishes in the frozen fawn in front of him. A hand reaches out, Andrew doesn't see the target of his grasp, but his knife is already out and pressed flat against his throat.

Finally feeling a sense of control. Short lived, though.

The same hand snakes up and he suppresses a shiver. Forces the bile to sit in his stomach. Seals off his airway. At the touch he presses the knife further in. A long line of red bubbling up and onto the knife. The hand leaves, voices start again, he hears none of it.

Not until he finally steps back. First wiping his knife off on Grayson's own shirt. The sleeve of his hoodie tugged when he doesn't step far enough. Jean says something that resembles a curse in French, and he still doesn't know the fucking language. He has no idea what he says, but he pretends that he does, nodding.

"Move." Andrew grits his teeth willing himself to stay present until he is behind the locked door.

"Does he know you carry those around with you?"

It catches him off guard. No one questions things around here. Sure the perfect court falls under topics of conversation, but never if they are allowed to be doing anything. To a majority of the Ravens, they can do whatever they like. They are viewed as above, better. Andrew knows it is bullshit, so he doesn't make a habit of paying attention to all of that. But he hears, he knows.

Jean is still frozen. Their door is blocked by him and he will not push past. He also will not lie, even for Andrew. Not against Riko. An annoying habit he's found he cannot convince him to break. On the other hand, he simply ignores it. What does it matter what is known and what Andrew does? It would not change things. He is not going to leave his arm bands in his room anymore. They have already come in handy.

The silence seems to push Grayson toward the answer he hoped for. He must be thinking that tattling on them will earn him points or at least knock Andrew down a peg. Unlucky for him, Andrew has never cared for his position, he is aware that nothing will change one way or the other. The only new possibility would be the familiar feeling of his own knives on his skin, only controlled by an enemy hand.

Speaking of, sending a chill through the hall, "He, is aware of this," Riko lies to save face. Any other motive unclear for now.

Chapter Text

He stops sleeping in his arm bands. He wears them enough throughout each day to not feel like he needs the extra barrier at night. Besides, of everyone here, Jean is at the bottom of the list of people that he thinks would use it against him as a weakness.

As he starts wearing them, knives included, wherever he goes around the Nest or at practice or at games, he feels more eyes on him. They have all seen the scars that these used to hide, they have seen what used to make him weak to most prying eyes. The change draws attention, tells them there is something to notice.

Quickly the rumor spreads.

That he carries knives on him — truth. But also that Riko gave him permission — lie.

Riko did not know before he got caught with them, only Jean did. But the fool needs to save face or admit that he doesn't actually have a leash on his court. Everyone seems to be wondering what changed or why he gets to do something like that.

The most common whispers are that he is Riko's dog. That he would only use them with permission.

How wrong they are. He hardly does what Riko wants or says when it's not violent. He's not going to act as an attack dog. There is not a leash on him, perhaps a noose, but not a leash.

The only other time he takes them off is around Riko. If they're alone he wouldn't dare have his knives. He knows the striker would use them on him and he doesn't want that. He doesn't want anyone other than himself to use his knives on his skin. It hardly makes a difference, he has his own.

The time that he and Jean spend in Riko's room becomes almost equal to that which they spend in their own room. It's not always Andrew who ends up in shreds, but all of them know that he takes longer and more to break. As long as he's conscious he will withstand any of it.

One night, or it might be morning, a week before their last semi final game of the season, Riko is carving into his arm. Not where he usually does. Andrew makes a point to not look at the growing number of scars on him more than he has to, but he can feel them. He knows that eventually the brat will run out of empty clean skin to trace through. Has that already happened?

He feels it drag down his forearm. Where he keeps his own handy work covered. His eyes want to look, but he fights it. Gaze trained on the ceiling where there is nothing but darkness to look at. Somewhere a voice is talking to him. He ignores that too. If he's disassociated enough he can pretend it's his own hand doing the cutting.

His other fist clenches as if holding a knife. He stopped really feeling anything ten minutes ago, never a good sign. This should make him feel more, this should make him feel real. Though he's not. He's not real. He is only a Raven.

"Listen when I'm speaking." Riko seethes.

Fine, he can pull himself back to the present. A weight on his chest holds him down. Has that been there the whole time? It's a hand. It lightens when his breath picks up, becoming aware that others are touching him. He knows better than to think that it will disappear completely. His wrist is wet and sticky. Andrew twitches under the blade.

"I said, you should have kept your knives on you for this. We could test out which ones cut deeper. See if you're better behaved under your own."

Dizziness starts to hit him. He no longer knows the time and he lost track of how many times the knife dug into his skin. These will need stitches. None of the ones he did himself in these spots ever did. He didn't want to lose much blood, he just needed to feel, he needed to be in control of his body. Maybe he should have never done any of them, maybe he should have made them deeper in the first place. Then he wouldn't be here. But regret isn't something worth feeling.

𓅂

Some days neither of them say much at all. Going through the motions and surviving. Barely, but still. They don't want to talk about any of it. Especially not the worst of it. What is there to even say? There's no words.

Through the bad days, the ones where they spend hours upon hours with Riko, their routine after goes something like this: Leave the cursed dorm with a bit less blood than they came in with and with aching bones, return to their room with just enough time to stitch the other up, go to evening practice, and hold out hope that they get to go to sleep after. They are not always so lucky.

As has been typical for a few weeks now, Andrew gets the brunt of it. He takes it. There's nothing else to really do. It's what he's always done. This is not new. Just different than the treatment he's gotten in most of the places he has lived. Though at this point it's hardly even noticeable. He's already gotten used to this. It takes only a minute or so to clear his mind and stone wall his expression. Riko will not break him any further.

Next to him, often holding him down, Jean is hardly still. He wants to fight it but he gives in most of the time. Whatever Riko says. He's been doing this much longer, though he still doesn't know all of the details of what he's been through. Andrew will never ask that of him, not even to make them even for him seeing and knowing everything of his time here.

He's not sure how they got to this point. That Jean would be upset and shaken by him getting hurt. The taller leaving the room without a new scratch or bruise but feeling enough of the emotions for both of them. He shouldn't, he shouldn't let it effect him like this and he definitely shouldn't let Riko see it.

It's something he means to bring up. Talking may not be something either of them are good at here, but he knows this is making it worse for both of them. Jean needs more control. Scarce as it is in the Nest, he should take whatever he can get. It will be a push, he knows this. Andrew sees how he's defied Riko in small ways, a feat he never would have accomplished a year ago he thinks. But if they are going to survive this then he has to.

After a particularly bad time, one that left him battered and weak before practice, he doesn't have the energy to start a conversation. They had no time before practice today. Riko fetched them after classes and before practice. He opted for less messy forms of torture, seemingly just wanting to tire them out. It's been a long time since Andrew stopped trying to understand why monsters do what they do.

It never does him any good to speculate. More often than not his brain supplies himself as a reason for the pain, even if the monster would be a monster regardless of who they prey on.

He's kept out of the scrimmage when he visibly has a weak grip on his racquet. Tetsuji would normally hit him for it, but maybe he sees that's already been done for him today. More than happily he stays on the sidelines while the two upperclassmen goal keepers occupy either end of the court. He leans on the racquet to keep himself upright. His ribs ache and his lungs are still fighting for air.

The rest of the night and the following day he doesn't talk. Not for the first time and not for the last. By now he and Jean have figured out ways to communicate whatever is necessary when either of them can't talk. Small nods or shakes of heads, simply reading facial expressions. Little things that no one should be able to pick up on the meanings of beneath Andrew's surface. In the Nest is the last place he wants to be known so well, and yet… Regardless, there often is not anything to say, so they can make do when they need to.

It helps that talking is not necessary all the time anymore. Through the quiet days, Jean will talk more. He will fill silences until Andrew makes it clear that he would rather not hear anything on top of not saying anything.

Quick glances and confirmation before anything is a constant. A nod at the door when it's time to leave, raised brows in question, a point to the dining hall. Always done so small and as hidden as possible. This extends to when they are in front of Riko. Everything gets smaller though, at least from Jean.

Many times he's asked to hold Andrew down, demanded to hold a knife to him, sometimes worse. He fights as much as he can, but anyone can see there is only so much fight left in him after years under his thumb. The compromise, something Andrew still hates, is a weird form of communication. They can't talk, oh Riko would hate it if Jean asked consent before following any orders. Most of the time after it's put out what will happen, he looks at Andrew for a few extra seconds. Enough time to catch his eye, for him to brace for it, enough time for him to see that sick look swirling in Jean's eyes that tells him he would rather be anywhere else.

It's not a place he can say no in but it's the closest he gets to saying yes. That has to count for something. To him it does.

Around mid April, something actually surprises Andrew. He didn't think that possible. They are pulled after practice by Riko and he's pushed off to the side. It's been at least two days without a new scratch on him, only bruises and aches from practice as if he's simply a collegiate athlete. This should mean that he's itching to tear into him, it usually does. Though there are two clear indicators that disprove this today. Championships are in a week and Andrew is set to play half of the game, something he cannot do with deep healing wounds. And it's been a while since he so much as flinched at anything Riko does to him.

So tonight the focus shifts. His gut twists, as much as he would argue that it does not.

They make it back to their room that night with only thirty minutes before they are due to wake up. Jean hanging off his shoulder because he can hardly stand up on his own. His skin crawls but not as much as it does when he is the one unable to walk on his own. He drops him onto the edge of his bed and starts to check over for what injuries need attention.

A small bandage on his nose will do from a punch, maybe one on his leg, mostly he just needs to be cleaned off and time to catch his breath. Andrew can supply one of those. Sleep later will dull the rest.

"Good to clean the cuts?"

It takes a bit longer to get an answer, and when he does it's in French. "Oui."

He understands that much and it's enough for him to go off of, but the continued muttering from Jean is entirely lost on him. Every so often he pulls away for a second with the towel just to make sure that he's still present and aware. That nothing he's saying in a language he can't understand is asking him to stop. It doesn't seem to be the case but it gives him pause. By the time he's done there's no time at all to sleep before breakfast, so they sit opposite each other on their own beds.

"What do you need," Andrew throws into the air when he clearly can't settle his breathing.

All he gets back is a quick head shake. A dismissal, followed by him tearing his eyes away from him.

"He made it easier. He helped." He instead tests a different method to draw something, anything, out of him.

This does not have the intended effect. Once he would have been confused, but he knows better. Whatever comfort Jean drew from Kevin is soured now. It's a stab in the chest rather than a blanket around his shoulders. He's perfectly still across the room and for a moment he wonders if he is holding his breath. There was a point in mentioning the striker though. There has to be something in the way he would help that Andrew can take on without feeling sick.

Has Kevin texted him at all? Andrew is not looking at his phone, not since they exchanged the necessary confirmations for their deal. He was asked to keep it charged and on, so he does. But that doesn't mean he uses it. There's messages from other people that he can't stomach seeing even for long enough to delete them. He's not risking any bad news either. But it's possible that Jean has talked to him. Unlikely but possible. He doesn't ask.

"No." Jean directs at him rather than the air around himself.

"You could talk to him easier," he reasons down a different route. "Without Riko understanding."

This earns him eye contact. "I will not teach you French."

"Why not?"

"You can see how well it worked the last time I did. The answer is no." So that is that. Andrew will not be learning French.

He accepts that no easily and he is glad to almost. There have been so few times that Jean has said that, he hasn't asked for anything. Not that he's gotten, no space when wanted, not in the time that Andrew has known him. He accepts whatever is given, he endures. He doesn't seem to think he's worth more than that. So he gives him this. It's the least he can do.

But still, he will push just once more. "I know German."

"Congratulations," He quips. If he didn't look so dismal it would come off lighthearted. "Why does that matter?"

"I'll teach you. It won't be like with Kevin." Whatever that means, he hopes it assuages the hesitation.

His nod is slow and reluctant. Hesitant. There isn't time now, they are expected at breakfast. He would have about enough time to teach him a word or two at most. They'll start later. Use the free time they have to practice. Fill the time that classes will soon leave as holes in their schedules. Teaching will be tedious and frustrating, but part of him misses speaking the language.

Misses the easy way he used to switch between them. Treating it like a secret language to say the things that were harder to say in English. There was not often a need to avoid prying ears, but that's what it will do here. It will be a solace for them. A little taste of freedom that Riko can't take from them. One that they, or rather Andrew, can even rub in his face a bit.

It's a few days before Jean brings it up again and agrees. He wants to learn. Neither of them have the energy now between Riko and the extra practices gearing up for the championship game. It's on home court, against USC. No one seems surprised and from what he hears, they are the best teams in Class I exy. This still means nothing to him, but he's expected to play.

That comes and goes like any other game. That's all it is to Andrew. He plays because he has to, he keeps most shots out of the goal because he's proved previously that he can. It's just another game. Perhaps he could have made it even easier to win if he had looked at anything about about the Trojans before hand. If he knew how any of the strikers play and where they shoot, he would have anticipated all of it.

Doing that was not worth the effort. His free time was for sleeping and pretending that he was not at Evermore. Not looking up players of a team across the country led by a captain with more than one scandal to his name and a far too cheery demeanor that cannot possibly be anything other than a mask. Facts he unwillingly heard before promptly tuning everything about them out.

They win of course. The Ravens play a much more violent game, they land hits that are not necessary for scoring or defending because there are easy targets. Andrew is safe back in his goal and he is one of few that comes away both unscathed and a champion. Until later that night anyway. Even winning isn't enough to quell a so called King.

𓅂

Not long after the championship, the official word gets out where Kevin is. Everyone talks about it. Andrew keeps them sitting at their back table in the dining hall or being the first out of the locker room, anywhere the conversation is not. He's one of three Ravens who already knew where he had gone. At first he thought it was two, but it seems he under estimated Riko's breadth of knowledge.

With this also comes further news, the only kind they are able to get their hands on without issue in the Nest — Exy News — is that Kevin will be an assistant coach at Palmetto State. Already has been starting as a coach. While his hand heals he will coach. It's still unclear if he will ever play again. The brief clips they see about this in the lounge, according to what he hears in passing, are that everyone hopes his hand will heal from his skiing accident, but he's out of commission for now.

Months have gone by and his hand is still… not better. He must be faring awfully. Unable to play, in a place he's never been before with people he hardly knows. As least the exy obsessed boy has access to a court. Even if only to coach. He'll have his hands full coaching what Andrew knows of the team, maybe it would even qualify as fun for him.

What is decidedly not fun, is what comes after the reporting on where Kevin Day is now. The season is over, they have months before they have matches again. Andrew is not naive enough to think this will be an easy summer. It was not last year, and it will not be again. He knows what is coming though. He knows how to read Riko's moods and he's gotten quite good at shoving himself to the depths of his mind when he needs to. He's not a kid anymore, he doesn't let anyone see him break.

In a rare occurrence, they are given more warning than just an immediate invitation. "I am speaking with the Master in the East Tower right after practice. Be in my room after that."

As Riko walks away from them toward the court doors, the pair look at each other. He sounds much more level than he thought. After all his perfect pair may never play again because of him. There's a minuscule smirk on his face that could mean anything, but it's surely about this. They watch him to see if his mood will waver at all. To see what they can expect later.

His meetings with Tetsuji are more frequent these days. As they were in the fall. Perhaps preparing for the next unlucky set of freshman to come soon. Perhaps about Kevin and his part in it. There is no way that Tetsuji is not aware of his nephew's misdoings. He just looks away. Harsh, considering that Kevin was like a second son to him. He practically raised him.

Though Andrew is the first to know that those sorts of titles and relationships hardly mean a thing. It guarantees nothing, it protects you from nothing. It might as well be nothing.

"You're thinking."

He flicks his gaze over to Jean as he shoves his hands into his gloves. "Something is up." He's annoyed that they haven't gotten anywhere with him learning German yet. "He already knew where Kev went."

"Of course he did. He ran to his father." Jean dismisses it easily despite the sliver of shock slipping through his expression.

This is news, but in a way bodes well for him. For their deal. Riko knows one reason that he went there, he may not be aware of the other. The one that Andrew cares about. Parents are useless, and perhaps Kevin's dad is not but that's none of his concern. As long as he's holding up his end of their deal, they could both transfer to another university and it would make no difference.

The surprises continue through the day. Each one worse than the last. Andrew thinks, more often knows, he is good at anticipating things. Tracing patterns, reading people, anything of the sort. He is rarely caught off guard and when he is, he makes sure that no one can tell. But when people start coming near him and talking during practice, he is entirely taken aback.

Everyone is talking about him. Little comments between drills, even while on the court for a scrimmage. He's almost certain that none of them should be talking at all, let alone about Kevin. It's surely a touchy thing. He hears every comment that comes within earshot though. Those are not surprising. He expects them to be calling him a traitor, a cripple, useless. They don't know any better. They don't know who decided this, and who could very easily decide it for any of them next.

There's a, not totally mutually exclusive, group of Ravens that also ponder over what this may mean for the perfect court. A few bitter and idiotic enough to wonder if they could get a spot within their ranks.

On the way out of practice he and Jean fall in step as they always do. Majority of the team ahead of them filing back downstairs to their own corners of the Nest. They are afforded enough space around them that no one can over hear their conversations. Something that is either attributed to the now widespread knowledge of what his arm bands conceal or the increased tension Riko has been emitting that makes everyone keep their distance from any of the three. Even if the terror is still above ground.

He takes this time to look and search Jean's face for a sign of what the taller boy is thinking after what they've heard all day. His chest tightening by the second.

"He damned us by leaving."

"He had to leave." Andrew challenges.

His fists clench and there is a slight twitch to his face that is barely perceptible. "He did not have to leave the way he did. That only made it worse for me. For us. Do you regret your choice to come here yet?"

It's a calm anger. A storm that's stopped before it fully brews. A kettle taken off the flame before it can boil. Andrew understands what he is not saying.

Shoulders shrug and he looks up to him. Regret is a waste, still he asks, "do you?"

"I had no choice, my place is at Evermore."

As if that explains everything. This is not the time or place to push to learn what he has not said. What information he is withholding from him. Why he takes whatever is forced on him without much fight. Though Andrew knows, he understands even without words. A younger version of him learned that same mentality, but he is not that boy anymore.

What part in that did Kevin have? The question washes over his mind and he can't get rid of it. Of all the monsters he knows, Kevin doesn't compare. He wouldn't put him in the same category as any of his demons. He sickens at the thought that Jean might. He would have to hate Kevin for that, he might never understand though.

Quietly as they walk down the dormitory hallway, he speaks a promise. "He left you with me. Not Riko, not on your own. That counts for something."

"Perhaps. But it is still not a choice." Any further reasoning dies on his tongue with the finality of Jean's statement.

An hour late they are expected to be in Riko's room. They wait until the last possible second to get up and exchange few words before exiting to the hall. Words that they would not be able to say once they are there. Andrew nods and confirms that he can do what is asked of him, that he will not be angry with him for it. Whatever truth is in those promises does not actually matter. None of it does, but they go through the motions anyway. He slips his armbands off and under his pillow and follows Jean out the door.

Walking to their own doom. Idly he wonders if Kevin knew that he was walking to his own execution that night.

Or maybe it was a surprise to both of them. Riko has a temper, he's impossibly hard to estimate because his stupidity knows no bounds. Stupidity and impulsivity. Exactly what caused him to lose the best striker in the division. Kevin would be amazed to know that all that he's invested in this, that all Andrew needed to seem interested in exy was a scandal like this.

It brings a huff of laugh to him just before walking into their own pain for the night. He can't lie, he's curious what this will bring tonight. A meeting with his uncle is not very out of the norm, but the timing of it is suspicious.

"Good you know how to follow basic instructions." Riko wickedly smiles opening the door, then snarls. "Sit."

He receives a side eye from Jean telling him to simply listen to this. It's an innocent enough request. Fine, if only to save the hassle of a few extra injuries later. Not knowing yet who they would fall on plays a part as well. The recent weeks of Jean taking more than him stuck a pit in his stomach that he will not admit to.

It's quiet, Riko stands ominously over them with a devious scowl on his face. Clearly still with a fire under his ass like earlier but steadier. Not about to lash out. Surprisingly in control. Andrew studies it, and just waits. He's growing bored of analyzing him day after day.

"We are transferring districts. Edgar Allan is going to be in the South Eastern district beginning next year."

When neither of them respond, because honestly he doesn't care to, he steps closer and continues. "Do you know who else is in that district?"

"The Foxes," Jean breathes out next to him.

It's a punch straight to his lungs, all of the air leaving him in an instant. Somewhere in the depths of his mind he knew that, could have worked it out on his own with common sense, could have expected this. The thing is, he didn't. He filed it away under exy related information that is unimportant. Except now… It's bigger than that. His thoughts may be scrambled, but he is steady, he is focused, he is not thrown by this.

He can't be. If he is, Riko will know that he's gotten to both of them from different sides. He hasn't. He can't.

Andrew is stone faced as usual. "Okay. And your point is?"

"Kevin tried to run. See how well that worked for him? I can get him, I can always get to him." He's holding onto a racquet now, coming closer with it in taunt.

A fire lights inside him. Rage, an itch to lunge at the predator in front of him. He said he would if he tried to go after Kevin, he said he would kill him first. That one wasn't a deal, but it seems he may have two broken birds under his watch now. Neither able to fly from where they have landed. He'll have to keep an eye on both, step in when he must.

Next to him there's movement. Jean sucks in a breath but doesn't cry out when the racquet comes down on his foot. Just hard enough that it will bruise, but he won't have trouble walking. Nothing more than just uncomfortable. For now at least.

"Ah, that's the lesson here. You can't go anywhere. There is no where for you to run. Even if you could… I'd get to you. But you know that already don't you Jean?"

"Yes, my place is at Evermore," he bows his head looking to his feet.

His gaze shifts toward Andrew now, expecting… something. He should have learned by now folding to him is not something he does. Much more than he used to, he bends to the rules of the Ravens. He does so without question and without resistance. Riko does not have the same power over him, he's an overgrown child that even after the endless hours of psychological and physical torture, classifies as nothing more than a monster under yet another bed.

To Andrew that will always be manageable. Survivable.

"I hope you weren't planning on running there too. I know there are some people you might like to see that Day is growing close to…"

It's a split second decision, it's the only right thing to say right now, they aren't in any danger. "No one of importance."

"That's what I like to hear." His words are sickening. Both his own and Riko's, but it's enough to keep them safe. It doesn't matter if they may hurt, they may never talk again, but at least… No he can't think about it further. "There's no where else you could run. Unless…"

"There's no where else. I'm staying." He grinds the statement out. It's the truth this time.

Before he came here, it was Kevin who found him. Kevin who wanted him on the team. Kevin who knew anything at all about him. Clearly Riko did not care, he was barely interested in his exy skills let alone him as a person. It wasn't until he became interesting, until he let slip that there is anything under the surface, that he paid any attention. Or so he thought.

"I suppose you don't have anyone. Though there is that one foster mom of yours who almost adopted you. What was her name again?"

He stills, breath halting entirely. Andrew forces his eyes to unfocus and his walls to build taller around him. His fingers long to inch up and draw blood at the memory. She was a good mom, she could have given him a good life. Relative to all that he has known prior, ignoring one glaring problem. He could have had a family, however dysfunctional, however dismissive. Until they found out about Aaron.

It's always him, it all circles back to him which he shouldn't be surprised about. He didn't even know he existed for most of his life but spent that whole time protecting him anyway. Seeing his face every day without a clue only to have even that luxury taken from him now. Staying here will make sure that he's okay, it doesn't matter what happens to himself now.

"Cass." The name robotically comes out without a lick of positivity.

"Ah yes, Cass. I bet if you went running to her she might take you back. But you won't do that. No I know you're going to choose to stay here where it's better."

He keeps his stare level, bored, just to the right of Riko to avoid actively looking at the vermin. Grateful only that he doesn't seem to know his name.

"I even let you keep your knives on you. I bet we will need those one day, it's a win win. It's good here. Say thank you."

Andrew of course stays silent. Unwavering. It would almost seem as if he didn't hear the request. He's not that dense, he's not deaf. Out of his periphery he sees Riko take a step closer. A hand outstretched which he swats away.

"I will bite you." He answers instead, if only because his knives are safely stowed two rooms away.

For longer than he realized, he forgot Jean was right next to him. Listening and watching. He's reminded with the way he tenses. Enough for there to bit a dip in the bed. Flashes of a bandaged neck and the remnants below that he saw only once play in his mind. Even without a memory like his, he wouldn't be able to forget the image of indents resembling teeth on his neck.

"You're vile." Riko spits with ferocity. Repression or disgust aside, he seems more than content to throw them to the wolves. "Now now, if that's what you want… I could have some biting arranged. I imagine Gr—"

"We aren't running from Evermore. That's what you wanted, right? Us here and a way to get to Kevin. You have it." He bolts up from the bed, still well below eye level but closer to the door.

He half expects a hand to dart out to catch his wrist. To hold him back from whatever impulse he acts on next. Instead there are four taps of a foot just next to his. It distracts him as much as it shouldn't, giving him pause. A reprieve to take a breath, an ask to listen just this once, a pleading to not make this worse for either of them. Luckily Jean stands with him, ready to follow him out.

His wrist is snatched up, tight enough to leave a bruise. "Where do you think you're going? Not until I hear those two words."

It's only defeat if he admits it. He won't do that. The eyes burning a whole through his head are enough to concede. "Thank you."

They make a single detour on their way back to the room once Riko satisfactorily lets them leave without further attacks. Andrew empties the contents of his stomach to get rid of the awful taste left in his mouth. This feels worse than any of the words he despises. This makes his mind hungry for blood and control. Neither of which can be his when his guard has been torn away. When he needs to be on high alert.

𓅂

"Why are you teaching me that? I have no use for knowing how to say ice cream in German."

He shrugs, because it is an easy translation from English and because there is always a need for it. Ignoring the fact that it's now been over a year since he got to have any. That's an evil thought, he really needs to find a way to break out and get some fucking sugar in his body. Aside from that, it's simpler to teach Jean basics in a new language even if what they really need are much much heavier topics.

"I'm in charge of teaching. Your decision if you forgot." Andrew rolls his eyes.

Between summer practices they have much more free time. Relatively. Last year he spent these months transitioning to the Raven schedule and now he would rather not think about how accustomed to it he really is. Or about how having two free hours, where he's not sleeping eating practicing or being beaten, in a day is a lot. A luxury even.

It's become their time to practice German. In the quiet of their room they talk in broken sentences across languages. He's gotten rusty from having no one to talk with, but he still knows enough. The first phrases he taught Jean were yes, no, stop, and some other basics that they may need more urgently in front of Riko. Though there has yet to be a time that either of them have let slip that they have a shared language he is not part of.

"And you said you were doing it to be helpful, so we could talk without others listening."

"Talking about ice cream would be incredibly helpful to me. Best not to let anyone hear if we do find any or they might attack."

"You are an idiot." Jean throws the pillow off his bed across the room hitting him square in the chest.

His head shakes with a huff of air out his nose. Mouth pressed into a line he fires back with, "no, you are an idiot," in German though he's yet to teach him that phrase.

They had a rough practice this morning. After a rough discussion with Riko. His ribs are still sore. He was not awarded any break at all before having to walk up to the court. But at least he doesn't have to run around from the goal. He stayed put and could catch his breath between shots. He hasn't actually looked at the marks left yet, nothing was bleeding so he let it be.

Jean was not quite as lucky. He thinks his foot was slammed under a racquet again, but he ran it off like nothing happened. Knowing they had practice so soon Riko opted to bruise them rather than slice them open. He's refocused on keeping them able to play, while still getting in whatever hits he wants. Some days Andrew has stopped noticing, by the time it's over he's locked it up in his mind.

It's gotten easier. One year in and he knows he can make it through more. There's no where else for him to be and now he's locked in to be here. The web twists through his mind and he can't trace it fully. No longer even sure how he got to this point. Boredom, isolation, protection. Somewhere in between. But now he has an obligation to stay. To fulfill, to know that a few hundred miles away the other end of this deal is held up.

Andrew got himself into this, he got all of them into this shit, there's no one else to blame. Everything has always been his fault really. This wouldn't be any different.

"Did you check your ribs?" Jean turns his head toward him a bit later.

He sucks in a breath that feels a little too sharp. "Ask in German."

He does, though slowly and searching for the words. These are the things that would be helpful here, helpful if they need to ask the other on the court. He is trying to actually teach him, sometimes he just gets bored though. His ribs are fine enough. Not broken.

"Bruised, nothing more." He replies in the same language. "Your foot?"

Jean slips his sock off and examines the deep purple stretching from his toe back through half of his foot. "I can play."

With a grunt he lifts his shirt up to finally inspect. It hurts a bit to lift his arms over head, though they did come from a four hour practice. He's looked worse, they both know it. There isn't anything in their first aid kit to help with this, it will just have to heal over time. He yanks his shirt back down after he knows Jean saw what he wanted to. Andrew does not meet his eyes and instead lets the room dissolve into silence.

Despite the labor his breathing takes right now he finds in the idle time that he wants a cigarette. The idea of one, after over eight months since the last one now, tastes like freedom. He'd deal with the extra pain in his ribs if he could have one. He would cough up a lung if he could have one. There is still most of a pack at the bottom of his bag, but he has no where to go without prying eyes. He won't get rid of them even if he should, even if they will never be as good as they once were.

But they could be. He would get acquainted with the taste and the smoke again. It would welcome him like an old friend. Wrap around him while he sits out on a roof far away from here and send a whir to his brain that blocks out the memories of Evermore. Cigarette after cigarette making up for lost time and shrouding him in smoke forever hidden out of view.

He won't have one today, he will just sit with ribs that hurt and lungs that are clear. One day though perhaps.

A distant ringing pulls him back in. It's muffled, but still a new sound that it catches his ear. Jean's too by the way he perks up.

"What's that?"

Oh— he knows that sound. He never really thought he would hear it, not here. "My phone."

"It's never rung before." Jean points out cocking a brow.

"No one calls me."

"Seems like someone is now. Are you going to answer?" His voice is the same as always but this comes off like a challenge.

They are not meant to have phones. Or rather they can have them, most everyone does, but there is little to no point in using them. They have no time to keep up with anything happening in the world outside of Exy, though Andrew would happily take pop culture news over more fucking stick ball. Though there is no internet access available to them outside of for homework. They are not in contact with their families, and there is no point having friends outside if you never see them.

Neither of them use their phones. Jean has not pulled his out once in six months, he doesn't think he even saw it before them more than once or twice. His only comes out to see what Kevin has said. Just the once, there were no updates after that.

So there is no point for Ravens to use their phones and Andrew finds that with this one thing he agrees. His phone is shoved to the bottom of a duffel bag that only comes out from under his bed when he purposefully goes for it. Never.

He yanks it out now, the phone now on the third ring. If he lets it go just a little longer the call will be disconnected. It may ring again though, so he quickly looks at it and thinks about hitting decline.

The call connects. "What."

"Are you both there? Can you talk?" His stomach is in his throat just at the tone of Kevin's voice.

Reluctantly, after flicking his eyes over to the ever shrinking ever worried back-liner, he switches it to speaker. "Yes. What is it?"

Jean doesn't answer, somehow none of them expect him to. He listens silently and focuses on his chest rising and falling. This could be one thing, but if he asked for them both then it's the other.

"The district change, is it real? He—"

"Yes, Kev."

What goes unsaid between all three of them: Riko followed him, Riko is going after him, they already knew and didn't say anything, they are going to see each other again. And a million more implications that none of them want to think about. Andrew also does not ask about his hand, does not ask about South Carolina, does not ask any of the questions clawing their way up his throat. He seals them off.

It's quiet for a while. They don't end the call, he can practically feel Kevin's' grip slipping. They have time before evening practice, they can sit on the phone like this as long as they have. It's far from the first time the three of them have sat with the quiet of each other's breathing. There's nothing they can do from here, but he can do this.

Every few minutes he looks to see the time going up for the call, they're still on. He looks across the room at Jean, asking in the look if he wants to say anything. He does not. He rolls over to face the wall. Another minute goes by and the breathing on the speaker picks up. Ragged and uneasy.

"Fuck. I— I can't— This can't be—" It sounds similar enough to that night that Andrew knows he's panicking now that it's set in. Of course he is.

He's not with him now, he can't jump in and pull him out of the spiral he is quickly falling down. But he'll try while they are on the phone. Ignoring Jean's hitching breath he focuses in on the call.

"It's okay. You're going to be okay." Andrew starts. He doesn't get a response so he keeps trying. "Kev, listen to me. Can you hear me? Kev br—"

"Kevin? C'mon Kev, breathe." A familiar voice cuts through on the other end finishing his sentence for him.

Any other words die on his tongue. He ends the call without a second thought and tucks his head between his knees. Staving off a panic of his own. It wouldn't do him any good. He can feel Jean's eyes back on him and those are equally unhelpful. There's no reason to panic, he knew where Kevin was. He knew, he knew, he knew. He just didn't think, he wouldn't let himself think.