#ucent

[kickfoxing]

A reporter asks if he ships Kevriko? Whatever their ship name would be. Neil's response?

in which neil and i have the same response

[kickfoxing]

Yay prompts!!! Thanks for doing this your work is always great! Andreil, "how long have you been hiding this" ?

wait, i actually wrote something real, not an HC?? what! i got carried away with this so here you go :) [posted on AO3]

It’s after practice when Neil gets pulled into his coaches’ office. Being on a pro team was everything Neil had ever wanted, and playing with Andrew again after 2 years apart was a dream come true. But the coaches of his team weren’t Wymack. They cared for their players in a way different than Wymack but they still couldn’t replace the father figure Wymack was to all of the foxes. But the owner didn’t care about the players, besides the money they could bring in. Charles White was nothing more than a business man trying to make a living off of owning a professional exy team. Anything he could do for money, he would, even at the expense of his players.

The office was crowded when Neil walked in. “Please, take a seat Mr. Josten,” said Mr. White, gesturing to the only open seat in the room. Neil sat in front of the desk where Mr. White stood, attempting to make eye contact with the coach Miller and coach Jackson while they did everything in their power to avoid his piercing gaze.

“There’s no easy way to say this,” started Mr. White, “you’re being traded, Mr. Josten.”

Neil’s brain which had been running in circles only moments ago suddenly came to a stop. Where situation on situation had been flitting through his mind only moments ago stopped and repeated only one word: traded. He took a moment to collect himself, clenching his jaw in an attempt to control his anger and not lash out. Out of all the sentences that came to mind, the only word he could properly force out was, “Where.”

It wasn’t a question, but rather a statement, forced out in between clenched teeth and glaring eyes. If looks could kill, it would be very evident that Neil was indeed his father’s son.

The meeting didn’t last much longer after that and mostly consisted of Neil trying not to throttle someone while learning all the logistics of the trade he was now a part of.

When Neil left the coaches’ office, Andrew had already left the facility for the day. He had a weekly phone call with Bee to attend to so he headed home when Neil headed into the office. Neil didn’t think he could face Andrew just yet. After everything they’d been through, they had finally gotten into a groove.

They never told the team what they were to each other, but their teammates could tell. It wasn’t an overabundance of PDA that gave it away, this is Neil and Andrew after all, but rather a certain closeness the two had. When one walked into a room, the other seemed to be drawn to them, both visually and physically. The rest of the team knew they lived together as well, it wasn’t hard to fill in the pieces left over. And for those whose inherent heteronormativity was saying they were just friends, the rest of the team was there to gossip with them to convince them.

[ “Seriously, they have two cats together and even lived together when they were on separate teams in different cities. You can’t argue with logic, Johnson.”]

Neil decided that a run to clear his head was the best course to take. He didn’t run much anymore, not like he used to, but it was still a go to coping mechanism that today he was in much need of. He started in the facility, running laps around the indoor track. However, with each glance around, he was forced to remember the reason for his run every time he saw his team name and mascot.

He did lap after lap while his vision tunneled onto the paraphernalia all around. His breath was becoming labored from running, but suddenly his chest began constricting as well. For a pro athlete, this was uncommonly caused by being out of shape, and Neil knew exactly what was happening.

He knew what was happening like when he awoke in the middle of the night to Lola’s sick smile and her rough hands stroking his chin. He had experienced this feeling many times before, especially during his fifth year. Andrew was gone, his foxes were gone, and he was alone with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Well, the weight of his world.

The only thing that helped that year was the infrequent visits to and from Andrew as well as Bee. Neil hadn’t chosen to see Bee, but Wymack made it mandatory after one of Neil’s post game breakdowns. Bee reminded Neil of Andrew, after all, she was his most trusted confidant besides Neil himself.

Most would say what Neil did with Bee was not therapy. After four years of experience, Bee knew not to try and get Neil to talk. But to Neil, his sessions were the only time of piece he got. Together they would sit, Neil and Bee, and he wouldn’t have to think about exy or the Moriyamas or his future, but rather got to experience silence. His sessions were closer to meditation than to therapy, but in the moment, it was just what he needed.

Neil knew that meditation, at this moment, was not an option. When his life plan, which had only just settled, had gotten thrown out of the way, meditation wouldn’t cut it. The rhythmic feeling of feet slapping against the group paired with the harsh vibrations of each step running through his body was all that could silence his thoughts. But now, that was failing.

His feet carried him away from the training facility, through the locker room and out the front doors. He passed by security, giving a slight nod as he continued to his destination. He ran through the city, the streets crowded with people making their way home.

Home, his heart ached. Home, a word he only has been able to define in the previous years of his life. A word once so foreign and out of place in his vocabulary that had weaseled it’s way in through a ragtag group of underdogs. Neil’s breath was not becoming easier. Every passing thought seemed to amplify through his body and leak out onto the pavement with each step. He kept running.

He had left all of his things back at the facility and wouldn’t be able to get back in without his ID. There was only one place for him to go, home. He slowed his pace as he drew closer to his and Andrew’s apartment building. A war waged within him, wanting to tell Andrew immediately while a part of him still didn’t believe it. After playing the truth game with Andrew so long ago, Neil didn’t think he would be able to hide. They one constant in their relationship was truth.

Neil waited outside until someone opened the door and snuck before it closed. He took the stairs, leaving him more time to think, and slowly made his ascent. Where before, each step was a rush of adrenaline, a feeling of anger and uncertainty, each stair felt like a nail in his coffin. Each step bringing him down from his panic induced cloud, falling closer to reality, falling closer to Andrew. Andrew is anything, if not real, in all senses of the word.

Once Neil reached their floor and made his way to the apartment door, his breath started to come in harder pants. Before, he could stave off the panic by running his brain as well as his body, but now there was no outlet for his excess emotion. He knocked on the door twice while gulping in air. Andrew opened the door, still on the phone with Bee before muttering, “One second,” and dragging Neil to the living room.

Neil let himself be manhandled into a sitting position on the couch with his head between his legs. This wasn’t the first time he had had a panic attack in front of Andrew and needed some assistance calming down. Andrew was not a comforter, and thus not equipped to handle the situation with calming words and hugs, but he knew what Neil needed. Neil needed to be reminded of who he was, and where he was from.

As Neil felt the lingering heat from Andrew’s hand on his back of his neck begin to vanish, he stared at his shoes. They weren’t old or worn down rather fairly new for the season. He thought about how far he had come since he met Andrew. Today, he had run countless miles to reach his home, his home that consisted of Andrew Minyard and their two cats. It was only several years ago he was just starting college and hitchhiked halfway across the state to get away from the man who was currently sitting next to him in silence as his breathing evened out.

Eventually, Neil looked up and his gaze met Andrew’s. They had been together long enough for Neil to unpack the seemingly bland look on Andrew’s face as concern. He saw it in the slight crinkle between his brows, lending in with the freckles that lived there. He saw it in the slight flare of Andrew’s nostrils as well as the clench of his teeth, defining his jaw a miniscule amount.

Before either of them broke the silence, Andrew’s phone pinged with an update. It seemed the news had already broke of the trade and was now just hitting the typical exy outlets. Andrew would never admit that he has a Neil Josten alert on his phone, but he definitely does. There across the screen were the words that drove Neil into a panicked state: Neil Josten Traded to the Panthers for the Rest of the Season.  

Andrew didn’t waste a second before scrolling through his contacts and calling coach Miller. As soon as the line was open, before a simple “hello” could be said, Andrew was already off. “How long have you been hiding this?” he growled into the mic. Neil couldn’t make out what was happening on the other end, but he could tell by the increased furrow in Andrew’s brow that he didn’t like the Answer.

“Hand me to White… I don’t care if he’s in the Switzerland, give him the damn phone.” It was silent again and Andrew turned away from Neil. He stood up went into their office, Neil traipsing slowly behind. Andrew sat at the desk pulling open the file drawer and grabbing two thick packets from its depths. He flipped through the packets until he found what he was looking for. Neil could hear a faint “Hello, Mr. Minyard, to what to I owe the pleas-” make it’s way through the speaker before it was cut off by Andrew’s gruff tone.

“I won’t play without him,” was all Andrew said. In response there was a quite bit of sighing and talking, but again, Andrew cut it off, “I don’t think you seem to understand. I won’t play without him, and contractually, I don’t have to.”

Neil smirked at the scene unfolding before him.

“The trading clause,” was all Andrew had to say to get the other end of the line to go silent.

“Andrew,” Neil began, “you don’t have to-” but stopped at the bored glance Andrew shot him. Andrew lived to take care of his chosen few, his family, that included Neil. The trading clause was something Andrew tricked the team into agreeing to, since they owners wouldn’t have ever given it a second thought. After all, who would ever trade star forward Neil Josten, who was trained by the great Kevin Day and lead the underdog team of the NCAA to championship status his first year? Only an idiot would do that!

But if Neil has learned anything throughout his and Andrew’s relationship is Andrew never did anything he didn’t want to. Whatever Andrew did, he could justify to himself. The had placed the trading clause in Andrew’s contract, never thinking they would need it, but never wanting to go without. It is basically a clause that ensures should one be traded, the other would as well. If not, they were under no obligation to play for the team and their contract would be void. All in all, it was a terrible clause for the owners to sign, but again, they never thought they would be in this situation.

The phone was still silent as is was pressed against Andrew’s ear. His impatience was showing on his face. Without waiting for a response Andrew said, “You have 3 hours to figure it out,” before hanging up the phone and setting it on the desk.

Their eyes met as Neil walked further into the room. “Thank you,” was all he said as he approached Andrew. Andrew let out a huff as he stood up from the chair. Neil’s eyes flicked to Andrew’s mouth before meeting Andrew’s gaze again. Andrew gave a slight nod and Neil met him for a soft kiss. These days, there wasn’t as much verbal confirmation for intimate gestures, but the language was still there, hidden in their body language.

Neil backed away and placed his hands on Andrew’s shoulders before searching his eyes for an answer. Andrew gave his answer in the form of reciprocation and wrapped his arms around Neil’s waist. Neil’s arms encompassed Andrew’s shoulders, a task somewhat difficult because of their broadness. Neil rested his forehead against Andrew’s and closed his eyes for a moment, soaking in the reality.

Andrew was here, he wasn’t going anywhere. Andrew chose Neil and continues to choose Neil if the opportunity arises. Andrew would fight for Neil, has fought for Neil. Andrew was as real as Neil now was, nothing was going to change that.

Eventually they broke apart and went about the rest of their night. They didn’t discuss the antics of the day, but instead went back to their old ways of conversation and talked about the realities of a zombie apocalypse vs dystopian society. Andrew had left his phone in the office and they could hear it going off as they prepared dinner. First Kevin’s signature ringtone, then Matt’s, Renee’s, Wymack’s, Bee’s, and Dan’s.

As they settled into the couch and ate dinner, Neil flicked on the TV. Much to Andrew’s disgruntlement, the channel was typically left on some sort of exy network. Neither of them were looking forward to the top news story, but when the TV finally came to life, it was both of their names flashing across the screen and coming up in conversation. The newscasters were sitting at the table discussing the situation while the TV scrolled the same headline: Minyard and Josten Both Traded to the San Diego Panthers in Controversial Mid-Season Upset.

Neil peered over at Andrew and searched his face. There was a slight rise in one eyebrow and an indiscernible pitch to the side of his mouth. Neil felt content as he made to switch over to a channel that didn’t have his name plastered on it. He kicked at Andrew’s shin with his foot and caught his eyes for a moment before smiling. Andrew rolled his eyes before looking back at the TV and uttering, “turn this crap off,” and returning to his food.

Home.

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