Kevin Day had three secrets: his mother’s letter, French lessons, and Jeremy Knox.
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After a bad game with the Ravens, Kevin calls Jeremy. It doesn’t matter whether it’s for comfort or a distraction – all Kevin knows is that Jeremy is a temptation he shouldn’t give into and an indulgence he doesn’t deserve.
finally posting my pre-canon keremy one-shot ! this will most likely become a fully fledged, 100k+ fic later on (much later on), but i needed to type out at least one scene that's been rotating around in my head for months
[ read on ao3 ]
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It was definitely the worst game of the season, and probably the worst game of Kevin’s life.
They didn’t lose – the Ravens never lost – and Kevin knew what defeat felt like. He knew the ache of a lost game when he and Riko played for the Wildcats or US Court (though, admittedly, while he and Riko were on the US Court team, they’d only been subbed on once each, for ten minutes at most. It was the best ten minutes of their lives, even if Riko had been the only one to score). He knew the shame of failure when he couldn’t perfect a drill as fast as he wanted to. And he knew the grief of a misstep when he outshined Riko on the court.
It wasn’t intentional, but what did that matter? Riko had taken three shots on goal already and not one of them had managed to secure a point. It wasn’t Kevin’s place to then take the next attempt and score on his first try since coming on for the second half. Riko had been brought on first to raise the point gap between the Ravens and Penn State, but when Brayden had struggled to make any decent passes to Riko, the master had pulled him and put Kevin on instead. The crowd had screamed their approval, always longing to watch Kevin and Riko play together, but they didn’t understand. They thought Kevin had been brought on to score. He had been brought on to pass.
He’d snubbed Riko right in front of him. Right in front of the master.
Shame pooled low in his gut. He owed Riko everything, least of all the dignity of being passable as his mother’s son. Without Riko and the master to build him into the player he was now, Kayleigh Day would have been ashamed. How could the woman who’d invented exy ever accept a child who took two days to complete a rebound drill when it had only taken Riko one? Kevin was lucky to call Riko his friend, and look at what Kevin had done to repay that kindness.
Other than an icy cold look as the Ravens marched victoriously into the changing rooms, Riko had ignored Kevin. It wasn’t the punishment Kevin had expected – it was worse. Riko was his best friend, his brother, the most important person in his life. To receive a cold shoulder from him like that hurt more than most of Riko’s punishments.
Ten minutes had passed since Riko left him in their room to go find Jean. Kevin could only guess what Jean would suffer through, but all Kevin could focus on was the closing walls around him.
He wasn’t meant to be alone, and hadn’t been at length since he was twelve. Riko had always been at his side – to be by himself now was only further proof that Riko was upset with him.
And an upset Riko knew how to retaliate.
Sometimes he’d remind Kevin how useless he was by himself, how talentless and pitiful he would have been if Riko hadn’t personally seen to train him.
Sometimes he’d make Kevin hold Jean’s wrists still because he knew Kevin didn’t have the stomach for it.
And sometimes he’d tell Kevin to stay away, even though Kevin felt that his being there was better for Jean (it wasn’t – Jean thought that if Kevin wasn’t going to do anything about it, having a witness to the brutality inflicted upon him was humiliating. The fact that it was specifically Kevin as that witness was even worse. He thought Kevin was a soulless puppet, who would sooner gut himself than try to step in).
Today, after one-upping Riko on the court, Riko had decided upon the third option. They’d showered and headed back to the Black Hall as usual, but Riko didn’t even bother to sit down before turning back for the door. Kevin had thrown himself onto his bed to catch up on homework, but when Riko made to leave Kevin had automatically stood up to join him. One didn’t go without the other: that was one of the many Raven rules, and the one Kevin liked the most. He’d been an only child with a mother who travelled a lot for work – friends was one of the few things Kevin didn’t have in abundance. (Not until Riko. Who needed friends when you had a partner, someone who promised to stay by your side no matter what? If only Kevin had returned the favour.)
“Stay here,” Riko had said. He didn’t say anything else before slipping out the room and leaving Kevin behind.
This wasn’t the first time, and realistically Kevin knew it wouldn’t be the last. After staring at the closed door for two solid minutes, regreting everything and stewing in guilt, he’d tried to focus on his homework. He had an essay due for their history class, and he’d promised Riko he would write his for him (after all, Riko didn’t like history at all, but he’d agreed to take the elective just because Kevin wanted to – that was what good friends did. A good friend wouldn’t outshine the other during a game, but Jean had told Kevin enough times that he wasn’t a good friend, so Kevin had long accepted this as fact).
Papers rustled as Kevin flipped back and forth through his notes, but it was a lost cause. He couldn’t concentrate like this. The room was too quiet, too still, too empty. Where was Riko now? Had he gone straight to Jean and Zane’s room or did he take a detour? It was hard to picture Riko someplace Kevin was not, harder to imagine him when Kevin didn’t know exactly what he was doing.
But it was a cruel fact how easy it was to guess what Riko was doing. After all, Kevin was usually in the room when it happened. He would be forbidden to leave, and he couldn’t help but step back as far as he could and pretend like everything was normal, okay, expected. If he found himself looking at the burns pressed into Jean’s skin or the washcloth soaked over Jean’s face or the trails of blood dripping down Jean’s flesh, he’d battle nausea just as much as he battled guilt. So, instead, he latched onto the only comfort he had and argued exy drills and statistics with Riko, desperately hoping to distract both himself and Riko and end those awful moments behind closed doors.
Kevin reread his essay question: Throughout history, powerful elites have dominated (socially, politically, economically). How do the relatively less powerful and the truly disenfranchised (as variously defined, depending on the era and region in question) fit into history? To what degree are they merely victims or puppets of the elite? To what extent are they active shapers of history? Explain the most salient examples over time.
Hopefully Riko didn’t punish Jean too much. Jean had played well tonight – Riko knew that. And so had Zane, so Riko wouldn’t blame them for how close they’d been to a draw. Kevin was the only one at fault – why couldn’t Riko take it out on him instead? Why Jean? And why did he leave Kevin behind?
It was worse when Jean lived with them in Black Hall. The dormitory rooms at Edgar Allan were already cramped and dark (and home), and it was worse with a third bed. Before he moved to Zane’s room, before he officially joined the Raven lineup, Riko had no reason to leave their room. He could take out his frustrations with the upmost convenience. Kevin hated it. Jean hadn’t yet learned that submitting was always easier, and he’d spit and cursed and dragged himself off the ground no matter what Riko did to him. His resilience only made Riko angrier and crueller. It was better after Jean had lost the strength to fight back.
Promise me you won’t try again. Promise me, Jean. I don’t want to—
It was too quiet, and even rustling paper and tapping his pencil against his notebook did nothing to fill the stretch of silence. He tried stretching his aching muscles, but that didn’t shake out the buzz under his veins. He tried jumping jacks and burpees. Still, that edge of anxiety. He would go to the court to run drills, but he couldn’t go without Riko. Maybe he could ask Sergio or Colleen, but then they would know that Riko wasn’t speaking to him. Maybe they’d ask what Riko was doing that he hadn’t brought Kevin along, and Kevin couldn’t let them know about Jean, not when Jean looked so deeply ashamed whenever Kevin saw his scrapes and bruises. Gossip was one of an athlete’s many opponents, and it was no different in the Nest. Kevin had no choice but to distract the rest of the Ravens from Jean’s misery – there was no chance that it wouldn’t somehow get back to the master, and if Riko found out that Kevin had been so careless then he would never forgive him.
He went back to his homework. How do the relatively less powerful and the truly disenfranchised fit into history?
Kevin rummaged around his stack of loose sheets of paper, and checked the spine of his notebook.
“Do you know where I put my—”
The room’s following silence was answer enough.
Kevin stared hard at the question again, his own handwriting mocking him. Riko had been sat next to him when he wrote these notes, on his right side in their usual set up for their mandatory classes. Kevin wrote with his left hand, Riko with his right – if they sat side by side, they had clear view of each other’s papers without anyone being the wiser. It wasn’t cheating if they were partners: that was what Riko told him, and who was Kevin to question the king? It wasn’t against the rules if no one saw them.
Will you teach me when he’s not watching? It could be our—
Kevin considered going to the dining hall and see if dinner had been prepared yet. He dismissed the idea as quickly as it came – it wasn’t due for another hour and a half, since everyone who’d played tonight had already been given their post-match, high-protein recovery snack. It was unlikely they would be early today when they had never been early (or late) before.
He should start keeping a spare racquet and ball in their room, maybe hidden under his bed. He could practice throwing and catching to himself.
But no, that would mean he anticipated Riko leaving him behind again, and he only did that when Kevin had done something to upset him. It was awful to imagine hurting Riko again, let alone preparing for it. That made it seem like it was inevitable, and Kevin knew he should have more self-control. He just needed to be more disciplined, more attuned to how others perceived him and how his instincts got the better of him.
But Kevin rarely prided himself on self-control and curbing his instincts. For all he presented to the world, he was still impulsive and reckless and stupid. It was with this impulsivity and recklessness and stupidity that Kevin reached for the phone he’d left on his bedside table.
Kevin Day had three secrets: his mother’s letter, French lessons, and Jeremy Knox.
Jeremy’s voice was more stabilising than it had any right to be. He should have had some obnoxious West Coast drawl. He should have been too loud, the kind of man who’d call Kevin “dude” and say “gnarly” and breathe too hard into his phone. Instead his greeting rolled off Jeremy’s tongue like the perfect pass – confident, immediate, effortless yet perfectly controlled. Kevin felt his chest tighten and his shoulders relax, like racquet strings shifting to accept the ball. It was the kind of voice you lean into, and Kevin wasn’t stupid enough to think that any of this would be allowed.
Queers do not belong on my perfect Court. I will bleed this out of him within a week—
Kevin’s voice was more stable than it had any right to be.
Jeremy should have hung up on him for such a lacklustre response. He didn’t. “Hard game tonight,” he said, because they only ever spoke of exy. “We almost thought you’d draw.”
“Of course we wouldn’t draw,” Kevin said. “We always win.”
There was a smile in Jeremy’s reply: “You say that now, but we’re catching up.”
Kevin knew that the Trojans were catching up – he’d followed every USC season for as long as they’d been consecutively winning his mother’s Day Spirit Award. But catching up and winning were two different things. He knew that better than anyone. He should have remembered it earlier that evening.
“Your fifth years are graduating in a few months,” he pointed out. “You don’t have time to catch-up before you’ve lost half of your team.”
Jeremy huffed a laugh. “And the Ravens are any better off? You’ll be losing Ellison and Shetfield and both your starting dealers.”
“Insignificant players,” Kevin said truthfully, not bothering to mince his words. He knew that he wasn’t supposed to talk like this to anyone outside of the Nest. It was unforgivable to discuss the Ravens to a non-Raven exy player. But this was Jeremy, and it was hard to be dishonest around him. Jeremy was the kind of man who teased the truth from you like it was his god-given right.
“Remind me that I’ll need thicker skin if we ever end up on the same pro team.”
Kevin could hear the grin in Jeremy’s reply, like it was his god-given right to know the tone of Jeremy’s voice so well. It wasn’t his right – he’d earned this skill from innumerable secret phone calls over the years. And it wasn’t god-given, either. He’d carved out a spot in hell for how much and how often he’d betrayed Riko for this. It was supposed to be him and Riko against the world, but Kevin had been greedy and asked for Jeremy as well.
“You wouldn’t need to,” Kevin said. The ‘you’re not insignificant’ went unsaid, where it was safe and hidden from Riko’s prying eyes and the floodgates of Kevin’s guilt.
The answering seconds of silence said Jeremy heard Kevin’s silent second clause, but they both knew it would be a dangerous path to go down. They had an unspoken rule about not asking for too much – they spoke about exy, and only exy. Jeremy didn’t know what went on in the Nest – and Kevin hoped that he’d never find out – and Kevin didn’t know anything about Jeremy’s private life. Personal topics were off limits. It was the only way Kevin could justify continuing this… whatever this was.
But they’d both spent too much time in the spotlight for things that were not exy. Kevin’s grief was a tagline to every match report. A single banquet after-party would haunt Jeremy’s entire career. They both knew that the vultures in the exy media circuits would have a field day if they caught one of the Sons of Exy flirting with the West Coast’s biggest PR disaster. It would be safer to openly admit to using steroids.
Jeremy didn’t go through the worst year of his life without learning a few tricks to neatly avoid dangerous topics, though. “You mean you wouldn’t offer up any of your famous criticisms in the name of improving my game?”
There was little Kevin could say to improve Jeremy’s game. He was a fast player with lightning reflexes, strong enough to withstand a brutal tackle, and had exceptional game sense. The latter was almost his downfall – he knew where each of his teammates were on the court without looking, as if it were an eerie sixth sense, and Kevin could almost argue that he passed more often than most strikers did, but Jeremy never made it seem like a fault. If anything, it just made him a better captain. If pressed, the only suggestion Kevin would have would be to switch to a heavier racquet.
But Jeremy wasn’t pressing now, so instead Kevin said, “If that sort of thing bruises your ego then you’re in the wrong line of work.”
“Maybe I should take the LSAT after all.”
Jeremy didn’t reply, which meant that he’d been considering it again. It had been the only time Jeremy had broken their rule, and it hadn’t even been his choice. One of his teammates had walked in on Jeremy when he’d been on the phone to Kevin, demanding to know why LSAT prep material had been mailed to her apartment. Jeremy had said that he’d meant to have it delivered to his step-father’s home, and didn’t offer any explanation as to why he’d ordered it at all. Kevin hadn’t asked. It wasn’t any of his business, and he’d shoved down all his curiosity and anger and jealousy deep enough until he was simply annoyed that Jeremy’s talent would go to waste. He’d then pretended that he didn’t spend the following week scouring every article he’d saved about the Trojans and their rising star, coming to the conclusion that Jeremy was considering the LSAT because his entire family had taken it.
Kevin knew he wasn’t in the position to offer condolences: he’d been following his family’s legacy every day of his life. The only thing left to pick up would be siding with every lost cause and supporting every social reject, but he didn’t think he’d ever inherit his father’s forgiving nature.
Though, in the dead of night, when Riko was too deep in the world of dreams to hear Kevin’s traitorous thoughts, Kevin would occasionally admit to himself that perhaps he’d been following his father’s footsteps in how he treated Jeremy. The rest of the world had sided against him, had called him awful names and conveniently forgot every ounce of respect they’d had for him as a player, and Kevin still texted him after most games and congratulated him and the Trojans. When they played against each other, when Kevin was feeling his most brave, Kevin had faith that Jeremy would go pro and had hope that one day they could play on the same team. He wanted to see how he could put those reflexes to use, to know whether Jeremy’s game sense would pin-point Kevin’s location and send him a blind pass. He wanted to know if Jeremy’s roar of victory sounded better at his side, with winning smiles pressed into a crushing hug.
It was not the dead of night now, though, and Kevin had not borrowed bravery from the court, so he would admit to no such thing.
Muffled background noise crackled from Jeremy’s end of the line – Kevin couldn’t hear individual voices, but he understood that Jeremy wasn’t going to be alone for long.
He wanted to savour the last few seconds of the call. If he were a braver man, he’d want Jeremy all to himself, but he was long out of practice. Bravery was the sort of thing that was contained in history books, and Kevin had never been able to absorb the trait like he’d memorised facts and dates.
He didn’t say anything, just breathed in and listened to Jeremy’s world as if that were enough.
“Cat says that you guys played well today,” Jeremy said.
“I did not,” came a faint reply, too far away to be considered part of the phone call. “I said that they—”
“—How did you know to aim for the bottom right corner?” Jeremy asked, cutting Cat off and drowning out her words. “Duffy had been playing her best game of the season but you went for an easily defended spot.”
The first truth was that despite the fact that Penn State’s goalie was playing her best, she had still been struggling to block any of the Ravens’ goals. It was only in the twenty minutes Kevin hadn’t been on the court that the tides had almost turned. The only reason Penn State had even come close was because Brayden couldn’t sync up with Riko and Grayson had let far too many opponents through the defense line – all three players would be punished tonight. They weren’t on the Ravens’ starting line-up, but they’d blown their chances for a do-over any time soon.
The second truth was that it was the corner Riko hadn’t tried yet.
The only truth that mattered was that Kevin couldn’t tell Jeremy any of this.
“I read the game,” Kevin said simply, as if it had ever been that simple.
Jeremy sighed like it was that simple, and that Kevin was just better at reading plays than he was. Kevin was better, but not by a considerable amount. Kevin was one of two players who’d learned to play exy as soon as they could walk; everyone else had to wait until it was a big enough sport for classes to open up. Sometimes Kevin wondered whether he was talented at all, or whether it was simply because he’d had a head start. It certainly felt like that was the only explanation for why he was representing the US Court as a nineteen year old.
“You’re a god amongst men,” Jeremy said, but there was a teasing lilt to his tone that said he was joking at least partly. It was the kind of compliment Kevin and Riko both received on a fairly regular basis, but Jeremy was one of the few people Kevin knew that treated him like a human being first, exy prodigy second. It was as unnerving as it was exhilarating. Kevin was nothing without exy – it was impossible to imagine that Jeremy could discern a person leftover if exy was taken away from him.
Somewhere further down the corridor, a door slammed. Kevin’s heart leapt into his throat and he snapped his phone shut to hang up the call, and slid the phone under his pillow. His heart was still racing as he propped up his history notes on his lap, but the footsteps that followed the door slam continued past Kevin and Riko’s room. A minute of silence passed before he dared to reach for his phone again.
He should clear his call history and leave it there. His calls with Jeremy were only ever a few minutes long, time snatched and borrowed and hidden. He had no right to ask for more.
He thumbed in the redial key.
“Sorry,” Kevin said. “I pressed the wrong button.”
Jeremy didn’t call him out on his lie. He never did. It was the only reason Kevin allowed himself to keep calling, again and again.
But then Jeremy broke one of their unspoken rules: “What would you do if you weren’t an exy player?”
“You’re too talented to stop playing,” Kevin said carefully, wondering if Jeremy was considering the LSAT again.
“Sure, sure,” Jeremy said, as if that were an easy thing to dismiss. “But if you had to choose.”
Kevin almost laughed. It would have been a broken, brittle thing, but only because Kevin rarely laughed. Not only was it not about exy – a tip-toe too close to a personal question – but it was also as pointless as it was impossible. Even if he did have a choice in his future – and he very much did not – he would have chosen exy. He would pick exy every time. It wasn’t just his mother’s legacy, or his relationship with Riko and the Moriyamas. Exy was… everything. It was the only thing in his life that made sense. It had rules and regulations that Kevin understood, it made his pulse race and his heart soar. It was the only thing he could be completely at ease with, totally confident about. With exy he was decisive, unfaltering, brave. He was almost another being when he played: he was no longer afraid of anything.
Kevin knew that his anxiety made him a better player. He was rarely anxious on the court – every thought of the outside world was always left on the other side of the court doors, and he only ever focused on the game at play – so it manifested everywhere else. He was afraid more often than not, and what he was afraid of most was letting Riko down, of failing, of being left behind. Fear made him train more, train harder, but unlike the rookies who were desperate to prove themselves by any means necessary, Kevin’s anxiety also made him take care of himself, stick to his dietary regime, take recovery time as gospel truth. Fear had been a constant thorn in his side, but it had also been his most consistent friend.
Without exy, who was he? He couldn’t be free, or brave, or happy.
But still, the impossibility of a choice. If it weren’t exy, what else could be left?
Kevin looked at his history notes again. How do the relatively less powerful and the truly disenfranchised fit into history? His handwriting was neat, because he’d always tried to make it clear enough for Riko to read without making it obvious that they were cheating (It wasn’t cheating if they were partners, he reminded himself). The master had let him sign up for a history major, even though the rest of the team had to take business. Hadn’t that been an impossibility, too? He tried to remember asking for it, how he’d phrased the request, but all he remembered was the feeling of his heart lodged in his throat.
Why did he enjoy history when all he was, all he had, was exy? What was the point in another interest, another passion? It should have been a distraction – whenever a similar extracurricular passion was mentioned by one of the talented but undisciplined first years, Kevin always dismissed this as a useless distraction. Why was history any different?
Maybe it wasn’t, maybe he’d been fooling himself to believe he could have something like this, something else. Maybe it was the same justification he had for calling Jeremy again and again. A distraction.
But maybe it wasn’t as simple as that. Maybe history was just something Kevin could enjoy alongside exy, something he could find interesting without revolving his entire life around it. Maybe Jeremy could be that, too – maybe Kevin could be interested without being obsessive. Maybe this would be allowed. The master had let him choose history, after all.
It was one of the stupidest ideas that had ever crossed his mind.
“I wouldn’t choose anything else,” Kevin said eventually. “Exy is all I will ever want.”
Death, was the obvious and most honest answer, but it wasn’t the kind of thing he could say aloud to anyone, let alone Jeremy. Jeremy had his entire life ahead of him. He was free to choose professional teams as much as any first class athlete has any choice in the draft lottery, free to retire whenever he wanted, free to choose another future when he could no longer play.
Athletes had short-lived careers, their legacy finite and brittle. Even Kevin and Riko, the so-called ‘Sons of Exy’ would no doubt be forgotten a decade after their retirement. Their names would be ostracised to archived articles, to Wikipedia pages and sports history books.
Again, history. Maybe he liked history was because even when the whole world forgot your name, when everyone you had ever known had died, there was still some record that you had existed. History.
“Coaching,” was what Kevin always said in interviews, and it’s what he says now. It was an answer the master had approved of – predictable and uncomplicated, and made the master come across as inspiring if Kevin phrased it well enough. The press lapped it up like everything else Kevin said, commenting on what an honour it would be to be coached by Kevin Day.
Jeremy, hearing this now, laughed.
It wasn’t a kind laugh, though its meanness wasn’t intentional.
“Sorry. Sorry, I don’t mean to—” He started again, boisterous with mirth like his life didn’t pass him by with a stopwatch. “Kevin. Be serious. You’d be an awful coach.”
Kevin’s jaw slackened and his eyebrows furrowed. “Excuse me?”
“You’re one of the most inspiring players I know, but you’re an insufferable asshole.” If it weren’t for the obvious smile in Jeremy’s voice and the breathlessness from laughter, Kevin would have snapped back something rude. “When you think someone isn’t trying hard enough, you get mean. If you were coaching someone who’s just having an off day, you’d cut them from the team and tell them to find another career path.”
Kevin pulled a face, even though Jeremy couldn’t see it. “There’s no such thing as an ‘off day’. People shouldn’t use such ridiculous excuses to justify laziness.”
Jeremy’s reply was, against all odds, fond. “I take it back. You’d obviously be a very patient and understanding coach.”
Although Kevin was by no means a natural when it came to social cues, it didn’t take long to pick up on Jeremy’s irony. Kevin snapped his mouth shut and pursed his lips in a scowl that he was glad Jeremy couldn’t see.
“Maybe commentary,” Kevin muttered.
“Oh, I can see that,” Jeremy said. “You’d be great at it. I’d tune in for every match, maybe dial in for the chance to discuss my own game with the great Kevin Day. You’d be ruthless, but I think I’d enjoy it.”
Kevin felt his face start to heat up and his stomach tie itself in knots. It was the kind of reaction Thea used to give him, like when she once said ‘good game’ after his first official match as a Raven (she’d barely looked at him until then, and with a real collegiate game under his belt, he finally felt like he’d earned her attention). He wasn’t stupid. He knew that Jeremy was flirting with him – how could he be oblivious to it when half of the articles about him spoke more of the scandal of his first year than it did his stats or play style? Maybe it was harmless fun and didn’t mean anything, but everyone knew that Jeremy liked men.
No one knew that Kevin liked Jeremy. Not even Jean, even though they’d both poured over the same photos and articles covering Jeremy’s career. Kevin had always been a die-hard fan of the USC Trojans, even before Jeremy’s debut. It was probably the only reason he’d ever gotten away with his obsession with their star player.
There were times when Kevin figured Jeremy must have known – he was smart, after all. Even though the concept of it was offensive, Jeremy had to be smart if he was seriously considering taking the LSAT and not worrying too much about failing. And he wasn’t just book smart – he was people smart, too. There was no way that Jeremy didn’t know, not when Kevin kept in touch with him after whispers and gossip haunted Jeremy like a shadow, not when Kevin never cringed or complained or objected to Jeremy’s flirtations, not when Kevin kept calling back, again and again.
But even if Jeremy knew, even if Kevin accepted that this was the reality he lived in, he’d never do anything about it. It wasn’t allowed, it wasn’t safe, and he wasn’t even sure if he wanted it. These secret phone calls were – with the exception of playing exy with Riko on a good day – the best part of Kevin’s week. They were a constant, a comfort. He didn’t want to push it into something else – what it was already was enough, was more than enough. He had no right to ask for more, and no conception of what ‘more’ could even look like. He’d seen what the Ravens did to each other, did to Jean. He’d read the accounts of the party Jeremy went to in his first year. Why would he ever want that? It would be easier if things remained as they were.
And is calls with Jeremy were easy. They talked about exy, a solid foundation for every conversation to return to when they teetered too close to unfamiliar territory. Kevin liked familiar territory – off the court, it was the safest place he could be. Off the court, he wasn’t brave enough to want anything else.
He just wanted everything to stay the same. He wanted to play exy with the best team in the country, have Riko by his side where Kevin could keep him happy, and call Jeremy in stolen moments of solitude.
So, like usual, Kevin didn’t react to Jeremy’s flirting. “You would tune in to every match regardless,” he said, keeping his tone even with years of practice. “You’re as passionate as I am.”
“Cat would say ‘neurotic’.”
“Alvarez should focus less on diagnosing you and more on her receive time. How she’s a starting backliner for you, I have no idea.”
“She’s our best first year,” Jeremy said easily. “She’s got room to grow and she knows what she needs to work on.”
Kevin only acknowledged that with a quiet grunt. Compared to some other players Kevin had had to face on the court, Catalina Alvarez wasn’t bad for a first year. At least she wasn’t afraid to throw her wait around, unlike one of the Pittsburgh University rookie backliners Kevin had almost bowled over at the start of the season.
“You’ve got some good first years on your roster, too, you know,” Jeremy said, as if Kevin’s grunt could ever be interpreted as jealousy or insecurity about his team. Kevin almost rolled his eyes, but instead his stomach took a nauseous turn when Jeremy continued: “Moreau plays like he’s been on your team for years.”
“What would you do?” Kevin asked, swiftly changing topics as though a personal question wasn’t also forbidden. “If you couldn’t play exy?”
Jeremy didn’t acknowledge the deflection. “And I can’t just say ‘play exy anyway’?”
“Not if I can’t,” Kevin said, a twitch forming at the corner of his mouth. It was oddly satisfying to confirm that Jeremy was as devoted to exy as he was. It made him feel like they were two moons orbiting the same planet; they couldn’t touch, they couldn’t meet, but they would always remain in-sync, endlessly chasing the same goal: Court, Court, Court.
“Maybe I’d be a commentator, too,” Jeremy said eventually. A pause. “I think we’d make a good team.”
They weren’t moons anymore. Jeremy was a comet rocketing towards Kevin, only seconds before complete and total annihilation. Kevin could do nothing to step out of his path, but more horrifying was the fact that he didn’t want to.
“We’d balance each other out,” he said quietly, as if the walls were listening in.
“Because you’d dismantle a team within seconds and I’ll have to build them back up again?” Jeremy asked, his amused tone sending a shiver down Kevin’s spine.
Kevin shifted his weight to settle against his bedroom wall. He tilted his head back until it hit the painted surface with a light thunk, and he could pretend that his next words were the result of some lingering brain injury.
“Because you’re the only one I’d argue with and agree with in equal amounts. You’re the only one I’d ever listen to long enough to see your point.”
Because that’s what these calls were, weren’t they? Kevin didn’t call just so he could rant and rave and then hang up. He didn’t call so he could hear Jeremy’s endless praise and then switch off his phone. He spoke and he listened in equal amounts. He wanted to hear what Jeremy had to say; he wanted Jeremy to hear his thoughts.
“Well, with a promise like that,” Jeremy said, oddly quiet and with a new tone to his voice that Kevin hadn’t heard before, “I almost look forward to retirement.”
It wasn’t a promise – it couldn’t be – but Kevin almost imagined wrapping his pinky finger around Jeremy’s, desperation and hope murmured under his breath. Please. His hand curled around his history notes, and he let his pinky finger curl around the corner of his notebook.
“Not yet,” Kevin said, wanting to clear his throat but afraid that it would be too telling. “There’s too many games to play first.” I want to play against you, he wanted to say. Behind that thought followed, I want to play with you. He was too afraid to say either.
“Not enough,” Jeremy replied. Kevin wanted to peel back the layers of his words and find out if he meant in general, or if Jeremy had heard Kevin’s silent admissions and responded.
A few seconds later, Kevin could hear more noises in the background of the call. Someone yelled Jeremy’s name from a distance.
“I’m sorry,” Kevin said. “I didn’t mean to keep you.”
“Hey,” Jeremy said, almost chiding. “You didn’t. I like talking to you.” He paused for a second or two, as if considering something. “Let’s do this again, yeah? Next time you lose.”
The Ravens had another game in two weeks: the final game of the season. Against the USC Trojans, since they’d won their match the night before.
The Ravens would win, because they’d always win. After the match all the players would line up and shake hands. Riko would go find the Trojans’ captain and congratulate them on being second place – a worthy placement, since the Ravens would always become first. If Kevin were quick, he’d be able to seek out Jeremy and talk about the game for a minute or two. It wouldn’t nearly be long enough, but it would be in person. Kevin would be able to see that smile instead of just hear it around his words, to discuss the game without having to hide behind soundbites. He could do that, right? They weren’t quite friends, but the exy world was still small enough that teams played against each other again and again, year after year. It wasn’t impossible that players could become friendly. As long as he kept his usual stance in the post-match interview – congratulate the Trojans for a good game, but assure the world that the Ravens would always come out on top – he’d be granted a few moments of freedom, be allowed to smile with Jeremy and pretend that it was something he could keep, year after year. He would be allowed to clap Jeremy on the shoulder with a ‘good game’ and feel the tight stretch of a red and gold jersey over protective padding, the strength and firmness of muscles from years of training and discipline. Beneath it all, a heart thudding as they both cooled down from the thrill of a game. Impossibly alive, and impossibly close.
Two weeks felt too far away.
“Jeremy?” Kevin asked, knowing he only had time for one more question.
Kevin paused. He closed his eyes and pretended that he was on the court, pretended that his fear had been left outside the plexiglass walls, and that he wasn’t afraid anymore. He wanted to be the kind of man who took a leap of faith, who believed in the impossibility of a choice.
But time was running out, and Kevin hadn’t inherited his father’s unwavering optimism.
How do the relatively less powerful and the truly disenfranchised fit into history? He didn’t know the answer. Not yet. Another team would have to teach him.
“Never mind,” Kevin said. “I’ll see you on the court.”
