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justimajin · 4 years

Text

It’s a Reverse Basket ◍ Part 7

⇝ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

⇝ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst

↳ Basketball AU, Crossdressing AU

⇝ Words: 4.5k

⇝ Summary: Basketball is your everything; your passion for it running deep and wanting nothing more then to play the sport. Problem is, the sport isn't offered competitively to girls and with that, all your hopes immediately fizzle away... ...but who ever said that was going to stop you?

⇝ Warnings: pg13 (please check out the disclaimer on the first part); this part will specifically revolve around Y/N trying to hide her secret of being a girl (pls do not read if you are uncomfortable)

gif credit.

⇝ Previous Parts: Moodboard Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

⇝ Next Update: Tuesday, April 28

The chair squeaks when he leans back, resting his legs against the couch and folding his arms behind his head. There’s a deep frown settled on his lips, thoughts running astray as he stares into empty space.

“You know, sometimes I feel like Y/N’s hiding something....”

Jungkook side-eyes him strangely, letting out a grunt as he roughly tightens his shoelace.

“Like what? The fact that he probably finds you annoying?”

There’s a scowl on Taehyung’s lips, offense written all over him.

“I’m being serious here.” He huffs, twisting to face him as his mind churns, “The other day he came up to me and told me three times that he was going to shower and not to barge in! Three times!”

Taehyung holds up three fingers as if they emphasized the situation more, but Jungkook’s lips tug up into mere annoyance.

“So? Last time I showered you barged in after five minutes claiming you needed to pee.” He scoffs, hands landing firmly against his hips, “You know knocking is a thing, right?”

“That’s not the point!” Taehyung nearly shouts, hands outstretched as he tries to reason with his roommate, “The point is, I think he’s hiding something.” He snaps his fingers, like he’s just had another epiphany again, “There was even this one time when I grabbed onto his hand and it felt so... soft, for a basketball player.”

He remembers it vividly, his puzzled eyes suddenly becoming confused when you snatched your hand away from his naive inquiry, changing the topic immediately.

Jungkook narrows his eyes, “Skin care routines are a thing. Maybe you should try it out sometime.”

A loud groan leaves Taehyung, slapping a hand against his head as he shrivels up in his seat.

“I swear I’m surrounded by morons!”

“In case you haven’t noticed, you’re not so bright yourself.” Jungkook clicks his tongue, throwing his jersey on and hoisting a bag across his shoulder, “I’m off to training, see ya.”

The door closes and Taehyung is left alone in the empty room. His hand rests against his cheek, the frown on his lips becoming deeper and deeper when there’s been too many instances about you brewing in his mind.

Maybe he’s being irrational at this point, daydreaming to the point of overthinking. It could be the fact that you’re definitely unique, different from other guys he’s met.

Yet there’s a certain hunch he has that he can’t quite put his finger on, almost as if you were hiding a secret.

But with what it is; he doesn’t have the answer. In order to find it, he’s going to be needing to do some investigating.

A small smile quips on his lips, a bulb flashing in his mind when all that’s left in the room is his now empty seat.

***

The large gymnasium comes into view, void of anyone except the duo in front of the basket.

“Keep your feet apart, switch your hand after one minute.” Yoongi mutters, sitting on the benches with crossed legs and a hand resting against his face. You nod, quickly following his instructions and successfully changing hands.

Yoongi hums, still watching you as he leans back. “Now try increasing your speed.”

The ball sways when you accelerate, gritting your teeth to maintain balance and luckily keeping a strong grasp on it before it slips away. Getting up from his spot, Yoongi strolls over and raises his empty hands.

You look up, bouncing the ball over to him and he smoothly catches it.

“You’re too light on your feet.” He begins to dribble the ball, “You need to know when to apply enough force.”

You watch him glide across the court as if he was ice skating, noticing that he didn’t have the characteristic light feet he was pointing out, but instead was balancing the speed he was using out with the force being applied to his heels. Absentmindedly, you follow along with his steps from a distance and realize you’ve been mistaking the need to be faster with being easier to lose your footing.

He jogs back, basketball still in hand as he gestures over to you observing him.

“Get it?”

You nod and he sits back down. “Good, keep practicing.”

As you mimic the previous demonstration he gave you, Taehyung dashes into the court. He darts his eyes around, halting when they land on you and Yoongi right away.

His feet shuffle as he draws closer, noticing that you were dribbling a basketball and Yoongi was staring at you from his spot on the bench. The whole situation appears to be considerably normal to him and it isn’t so much the aspect that causes him to frown.

It’s more so how Yoongi softly smiles when you peer at him for an answer to your attempts, giving you a slight nod of his head that causes you to grow more confident.

The nature of the captain by default is to always ensure his team is working to their best capacity – Taehyung admits, but he’s only ever known his captain to be attentive and by the minimum, somewhat stray away from that nature once he’s been around someone for a long amount of time.

Which is why seeing him so casually get up from the bench and trudge over to guide you with a warm look in his eyes, is downright weird for Taehyung.

He blinks as if trying to get rid of the image before a smile stretches across his features, “Hey Y/N!”

Pausing your dribbling, you whirl around to see him approaching you, “Oh, hi Taehyung!”

“You’re practicing? Can I join in?” Although it’s a question directed towards you, Taehyung’s eyes are drawn to the ominous presence behind you instead.

After a moment, Yoongi nods, “We were working on dribbling but you two can start on passing.”

He leaves when you face Taehyung, letting the ball thump against the ground before sending it over to him. He snatches it right away, eyes still dazed that causes you to pursue your lips, but then he passes the ball back.

“So you’re practicing with Yoongi now?”

There’s a light smile on your lips, “I’ve been trying to improve since our last game since I’ve never played competitively before. The captain is a great teacher.”

Taehyung notices the fondness you hold in your gaze, delight overcoming your features. A frown lines his lips at the gesture, wondering since when you had become so enamoured by the captain.

“I see…” He mumbles, “You know Y/N….if there’s anything that’s on your mind, you can tell me.”

You tilt your head, “Hm?”

“Like anything, an argument that happened, a problem you’re facing….” The suspicion in his eyes is obvious, but it's underlined with the playful tone he uses, “something you’re hiding…”

It’s only for the briefest of moments, but Taehyung can easily capture the slight crack that occurs; a glimmer of fear sparking from your eyes.

“O-Oh…uh, well there’s nothing for me to say right now, but thanks for the thought Taehyung.”

Your smile is strained, resuming back to dribbling the basketball as you avoid his gaze completely. Yoongi comes strolling back to the benches, carrying a couple of water bottles in his hands. His eyes waver over to you and Taehyung for a second, making him wonder if there were tricks being played on his mind or was there truly something dwelling in the air.

He notices your eyes glimmer with his return, whirling around the basketball to hand back to Taehyung.

“I’ll be right back!” You hurriedly mutter, heading over to where Yoongi stands, “Captain?”

Yoongi glances up from the bench, handing you a water bottle that you gratefully accept, “Um, I didn’t get the chance to thank you…” You timidly smile, a hue of pink on your complexion, “With our last game…when you changed the strategy…”

He hums, cracking open a bottle and taking a sip, “You don’t have to thank me. Part of a coach’s job is to direct their team to cover up any weak spots.” He lets out a chuckle, a small smile on his lips, “Namjoon though, he sometimes has a hard time with it, so I try to make sure things run smoothly with whatever I can see.”

You nod and Yoongi narrows his eyes, “Are you okay now?”

“I am!” You promptly reassure, hands instantly raised up and on guard. A nervous laugh leaves you, shoulders hiked up, “I was just having some i-issues before….”

Yoongi hums, taking another sip of his water. He doesn’t say anything after that, only gestures for you to drink some water from the bottle he’s given you.

In the meantime, Taehyung watches the entire interaction play out in front of his eyes. He keeps wondering how you had managed to get so friendly with the captain, when it was obvious since day one that he scared the living daylights out of you (and truthfully, sometimes Taehyung himself as well). His eyes linger, his vision darting over to how much smaller you seemed next to the captain….actually all the other member’s too now that he thinks about it….

An arm hooks on top of his shoulder, “Sooo… why are we staring at Yoongi and Y/N?”

Taehyung tilts his head to see Jimin standing with a finger pressed against his pouting lips. Hoseok approaches from behind them, a bag slung across his torso.

“Yah! I want to go home already.” Hoseok whines and Taehyung snickers, “Hey, I just did a sweaty cardio session and I seriously want a shower.”

He swipes a hand across his forehead, only to see a trail of water come off of him, “Ugh, scratch that – I need a shower and my skin care routine.”

Jimin giggles but the words manage to tug Taehyung out of it, his eyes drifting back to you.

“Do you guys think it’s strange how different the Captain is around Y/N?”

“Different?” Jimin questions, squinting his eyes, “Uhh…maybe?”

“I think the only difference is that Yoongi’s smiling. The man has a sense of humour, you know, it just comes out with certain types of jokes and–“ Hoseok continues to ramble on as Taehyung sighs, grabbing Jimin’s attention.

“Why? Something about Yoongi bothering you?”

Taehyung ticks, “Not so much him…more Y/N.” He frowns, “Tell me if I’m reading too much into this, but sometimes I feel like there’s something different about Y/N.”

“Different?” Taehyung nods, “Maybe it’s because your roommates?”

“That’s a good point. You’ve been living with Jungkook for years that anyone could tell the difference between Y/N and that muscle pig.” Hoseok chimes, but Taehyung shakes his head.

“No it’s not because of that…” Taehyung bites down on his lip, “I actually think….that Y/N’s hiding something…”

“Woah, like a secret?” Hoseok’s eyes are wide when Taehyung nods, causing the latter to chuckle. “Maybe he has a secret identity and is actually a spy in real life.”

Taehyung pouts, “How did you even come up with a scenario like that?”

“It’s plausible!” Hoseok protests, “The whole basketball passion could be like a cover-up for an undercover mission.”

He suddenly gasps, “Maybe his target is Yoongi!”

Taehyung solemnly shakes his head, not even bothering to retort when Jimin looks at him concerned, “If it’s really bothering you, why don’t you just ask him?”

“Ask him?” Taehyung raises his eyebrows and Jimin nods, “I don’t know…”

“Don’t ask! Spies can’t tell anyone about their identities!” Hoseok whispers, causing Taehyung to glance at Jimin with a ‘is he actually being serious right now’ look and Jimin shrugs.

“He’s been reading a lot of books lately.” Jimin offers but Taehyung simply rolls his eyes in response.

***

Despite having made the decision to simply let it go, Taehyung knows he’s incapable of doing exactly that. It doesn’t help that Jimin wouldn’t let him leave without talking it through first, a conversation that honestly spurred a thought both of them couldn’t agree on.

“You know what?” Hoseok adds in, halting them in their thoughts. He cheerily chuckles, snickering when both of them eye him in curiosity. “You know what would be really funny? If the secret is that Y/N is a girl or something.”

He breaks down into a string of laughter, holding onto his stomach when he catches sight of his and Jimin’s bewildered expressions, “I know, I know, it’s impossible but it would actually be hilarious!”

There’s a smile on Jimin’s lips from where he’s seated next to Taehyung, “I don’t think that’s the case.”

However, through the entirety of Hoseok’s bursting chaotic laughter and Jimin’s inclination of disagreeing right away, Taehyung is silent.

He sighs, shaking his head as to get rid of the thoughts completely as he jabs his keys into the dorm room. The door opens and Taehyung steps in, leaning down to take off his shoes.

“Is it okay if I go first?”

Taehyung glances up and catches a glimpse of you looking at Jungkook, a towel in your hands.

“I need to get to class soon, but by all means.” He replies, a small smirk on his lips, “At least you don’t have to wait for Taehyung this time.”

You laugh, padding over to the bathroom with a giant smile on your lips. When you reach the door though, your eyes immediately dart around, as if peering around to see if there was anyone nearby.

Taehyung furrows his brows, Hoseok’s small joke ringing so daunting heavily through his ears in that one single second. Yet, he swats it away as easily, dismissing it when the absurd concept wouldn’t even make sense in the first place.

“You’ve been showering at the gym this whole time?” He questions, slightly startling you with his abrupt entrance.

“Uh yeah…” You nervously laugh, “The bathroom was always occupied so I just...”

“Let’s go.” He states and your eyes widen.

“H-Huh?”

“You always go alone, so let’s go together this time.” Taehyung says again, causing you to almost sputter at the notion.

To be honest, it dawned to him of how unfair it must have been. The change rooms are usually public and crowded with not the nicest people, making him feel incredibly bad that you’ve been going there all by yourself this whole time and that he’s actually the reason why.

“That’s not a bad idea.” You whirl to see Jungkook drawing up behind Taehyung, who stares at his watch, “If you guys go now, then I can shower and run over to class.”

Your eyes dart between them, realizing how unfazed Jungkook appears to be and how Taehyung beams that the latter agrees with him.

When Taehyung grabs onto your hand and waves Jungkook goodbye, your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach.

***

A basketball dribbles against the ground, Jimin hoisting himself as the ball escapes from his hands and is aimed for the hoop. It sinks in, bouncing onto the ground and Jimin follows to retrieve it again.

“I don’t think any of that makes sense Hoseok,” He leans down, hands gripping onto the basketball as he sighs, “Why would Y/N come to this school for a secret mission?”

“So he can get to Yoongi of course!” When Jimin quirks an eyebrow at him like he’s insane, Hoseok exasperatedly groans at his reluctance. From afar, the tired captain overhears the two conversing and he draws closer intrigued, a basketball bouncing in his hands.

“What’s going on here?” He wonders, causing Hoseok to shriek and cover his mouth. Yoongi arches a brow, but Jimin raises his hands.

“We were just talking about Y/N.”

Yoongi narrows his eyes, “Y/N? Why?”

“Well…” Jimin darts his eyes over at Hoseok, deciding it would be the best to skip out on the latter’s absurd theory entirely, “Taehyung was saying something about how he thinks there’s something different about Y/N.”

Jimin doesn’t notice how Yoongi’s eyes flicker at the mention, continuing to explain to him, “He almost thinks that Y/N’s hiding a secret.”

At that, Yoongi nearly chokes, “Right?! I don’t think he’s hiding anything at all!”

He clears his throat, bringing his hand away from his mouth slowly. But then he sharply turns, eyes tracing all over Jimin, “Where is Taehyung?”

“He left after I joked about Y/N being a girl.” Hoseok mentions, coming closer to the two as he eyes Jimin, “But I still think my spy theory is pretty plausible.”

Jimin lets out a lengthy sigh, facing Yoongi, “He went back to his dorm.”

His breath hitches, the basketball in his hands abruptly meeting the ground as he hurriedly shuffles over to the benches. Grabbing his bag and hosting it over his shoulder, he glances back at the befuddled duo and quickly mutters the words.

“I-I need to go.”

A cool breeze passes by when the door shuts, neither of them having the chance to question anything and simply being left to exchange confused looks amongst themselves.

***

A tick leaves Yoongi when he trudges around the empty hallway, eyes staring at the many room numbers. There's a layer of glistening sweat sticking to his forehead and neck, breaths coming out heavy as he had nearly half ran-half sprinted across the school. However to his dismay, his memory betrays him when he can’t seem to recall the room number Taehyung had once loosely tossed into the air.

He whirls around when the sound of a door creaking meets his ears, eyes coming into contact with one of his team players.

“Captain?” Jungkook questions, standing at the door frame with freshly soaked locks and adorned in a giant grey hoodie. Yoongi pays no mind to his current state, a frantic question resting on the tip of his tongue.

“Where’s Y/N?”

“Y/N?” Jungkook ponders, lips pursuing, “He just went to the gym showers with Taehyung.”

“The showers?” Yoongi spits out the words as if they were targeted towards him. Jungkook frowns, wondering why there was so much immense panic radiating off the marron haired man’s form. “When did they leave?”

“About five minutes ago….” Jungkook mumbles, still puzzled with the display as Yoongi nods, harshly gritting his teeth. Before he knows it, the man dashes away at a speed Jungkook only ever seen him pull during intense games, gone within the blink of an eye.

***

The change room is how it usually is – filled with flocking individuals that are either occupied with conversing with one another, replacing worn out clothes with new ones or scrubbing away the layer of grime that’s collected over the span of a couple of hours. With time, you’ve gotten accustomed to the setting and proudly can state that you’ve walked through the entirety of the place with your eyes no longer closed. However, this pride vanishes and is exchanged for a packet of jittery nerves, especially when there’s a familiar boxy grin that’s so graciously decided to accompany you.

Taehyung for the matter, appears to be completely unfazed. He has a huge smile on his lips as he grabs hold onto your hand, not wanting you to experience the harsh atmosphere alone. Leading the way, he feels like he’s doing you a huge favour and it's something you can only tiptoe around when the curtains come into view.

When Taehyung leans up to pull back the curtains, you feel as if you’re counting your last moments. Your mind is as blank as it can be, wondering what possible excuse is going to save you this time.

That’s exactly when he stomps in.

Wheezing for a moment, his hands are placed on his knees as a heavy layer of sweat plasters onto his forehead. You and Taehyung watch perplexed as he straightens up, eyes immediately darting between the two of you before his eyes lock onto yours.

He reaches his hand out, gaze stern, “Shampoo.”

“H-Huh?” It takes you a moment until you flicker out of the daze, “O-Oh….”

Rummaging through your bag, the green bottle is taken and placed into his outstretched palms. He grabs onto it right away, eyes wandering over to the pulled curtains.

“Are you two here to shower…?” He trails off, getting a confirmation when Taehyung nods.

Yoongi smirks, “How ironic, so am I.”

There’s a huge grin when he steps behind a certain curtain, coincidentally right beside the one you were going to take. After a moment, you hear the sound of water pitter pattering against the ground and you turn to Taehyung.

A harsh breath is taken by you, “Well...I guess we should get going now….”

He hums, stepping into one at the same time you do. Once the curtain is pulled close, you attempt to calm yourself down but fail miserably when you have no idea how to get out of this rut now that the captain has managed to join you as well.

As you ponder over potential options, you don’t notice the slight shift of your curtain until it’s too late and you come face to face with the new problem itself.

“C-Captain?” You harshly whisper, backing away until your back hits the wall. You notice the water dripping down from his red stained hair, his clothes thoroughly soaked.

Your mouth drops open, “I thought you were …t-the water…” You can’t seem to form coherent words when Yoongi pushes back his wet bangs, directing a serious gaze at you.

“Do you have a plan?”

“A-A plan?” You can only hug your bag tighter to your form when you dip into more confusion.

He hums, “Taehyung’s really affectionate and tends to barge in without asking first, do you have a plan so he doesn’t find out?”

“Find out? W-What are you talking about…?”

Yoongi sighs, pressing a hand against his forehead roughly before staring directly at you. You almost shrink from his gaze, back glued right up against the wall behind you when leans forward.

His voice drops into a whisper, “I know about your secret.”

Normally you would have asked what he meant by that, but when he leans back and gazes at you, the dots suddenly begin to connect.

“Y-You…k-know…”Your brows contort, hands moving to gesture to yourself as the words become firmer, “Y-You know that I’m a girl?”

His eyes widen for a moment, but he slowly nods in response.

Your hands move up to cover your mouth, “I-I….”

He grabs a hold of your hand as a way to tug you out of your horrific thoughts, only one problem blooming in his mind. “We don’t know if Taehyung knows, so let’s keep it that way.”

Although still appalled, you slowly nod and he pushes the curtain away. Before you can question him, he explains himself.

“Stay here. I’ll be standing outside so he doesn’t decide to get cozy.”

The curtains are pulled back as a drenched Yoongi crosses his arms, facing his back to you as he surveys the area – particularly the spot where Taehyung is. You’re still mind boggled by what just happened, heart racing by the second.

A million questions begin to spur from you, the most prominent one being how long he’s known about this. You almost want to ask him on the spot, but then you realize he’s waiting on the other side wearing wet clothes, a scenario you know far too well doesn’t end up with a good result.

So you hurriedly change, acknowledging that Taehyung will be done soon and the last thing you need, just as Yoongi had said, is for him to walk in or question why you’re taking so long. It’s also a little less daunting now that you know Yoongi’s outside, the tendency to repeatedly check around yourself not overtaking your mind anymore.

It’s strange, but somehow in that one moment…...you don’t mind that he knows.

***

Explaining why Yoongi’s absolutely doused in water is tough to elaborate to Taehyung, but when Yoongi simply shrugs it off, the latter doesn’t seem to question it either. You and Taehyung return back to your dorm and after handing Yoongi a towel and waving him goodbye, you watch him pad away as water soaks the carpet before giving one final look to you.

Everything seems to be back to normal and although you’re grateful, your mind still lingers on how the captain knew this whole time and it was a fact that seemingly slipped away from your grasp.

“Something wrong Y/N?” Jimin asks, noticing your daze-like expression. You tightly smile, shaking your head before noticing that Jimin’s head is popping out of your kitchen.

You take a step closer, seeing a couched Taehyung staring at the oven and Hoseok lingering next to him, “What are you guys doing here?”

“Oh, Taehyung wanted to try baking again so me and Hoseok are here to help.”

“And to make sure nothing burns down.” Hoseok pipes up, earning a glare from Taehyung. He straightens up, smiling at you.

“Did you need something from the kitchen Y/N?”

“Uh yeah, could someone pass me a juice box from the fridge?” Jimin nods, reaching over to open it as a cool breeze wafts over him. He hands the last one over to you, chuckling a little bit at the cute animal prints on it.

“It was on sale…” You pout, watching him shake his head with a smile.

When you walk away, Taehyung exchanges a quick look with Hoseok.

“He’s not a secret spy, okay?”

Hoseok scoffs and crosses his arms, “You have no imagination.”

“Did you ask him about it, Taehyung?” Jimin wonders.

“I didn’t. Even if Y/N’s hiding something or not, it’s up to him if he wants to talk about it.” Taehyung says, not really up for making you uncomfortable when you had clearly been going to the changerooms all by yourself.

They all collectively hum but then a loud yelp echoes nearby.

“Sorry!” Jungkook’s voice rings through and Hoseok peers into the living room, noticing that your juice box was now discarded onto the ground and your shirt was soaked with the sticky residue.

“It’s okay!” You hurriedly assure, though cringing when it seeps through your shirt further. With a sigh, you dash over to room to change out of it.

Jungkook leans down, placing the bag of garbage he was carrying out onto the ground and grabbing a paper towel from the kitchen to wipe down the slippery mess before someone decides to walk over it only to end up injuring themselves.

Hoseok glances at Jimin, “Wasn’t that the last one?”

Jimin nods and Jungkook stands up, appearing guilty, “Should I run down and buy him some more?”

Jimin’s eyes sparkle, “Let me ask!” He dashes over to the room, nearing the door he recalled he had first shown you when you moved in. His hand slips around the knob, only to discover that the door had been mistakenly left open.

“Hey Y/N–“ His excitement has no boundaries when he enters the room, eyes completely widening and feet stalling in place.

You instantly freeze; quickly grabbing onto the new shirt you had pulled out to cover yourself up – but you know the damage has been done when Jimin staggers, backing away from the door until he completely vanishes.

98 notes · View notes

ravenvsfox · 8 years

Note

You're my fav fic writer here

(i lov u thank you sm, also this prompt is fucked up I had FUN)

Neil’s face is so sunken with grief that he’s barely recognizable. Andrew watches cooly as Nicky jokes with him, the energy of the team cascading down and off of Neil, water off an indifferent umbrella. This is not the same man who was buoyant with a fresh win half an hour ago, who holds exy in higher regard than his own life, some days.

Andrew crosses to him, siphoning Neil’s attention away from the action of the room to him, just him, their eyes hooked together.

“Thank you,” Neil says, his mouth trembling. “You were amazing.”

Andrew searches his face, waiting for more. The room around them feels hazily separate, his attention is pulled to every flicker of Neil’s eyes, every shape his mouth makes. Something is giving out like a rotting support beam, Andrew can feel the collapse as if it were happening in his own body.

He catches Wymack gesturing from the corner of his eye, and the foxes fall into line. Neil keeps holding Andrew’s gaze the way someone might watch their home disappear on the horizon as they drive away.

He turns on command, though, body held too casually to be genuinely at ease, walking in tandem with the men bracketing him.

Andrew levels Wymack with a dismissive look and turns on his heel to follow Neil to the parking lot, his heartbeat out-pacing his footsteps.

He watches the bobbing heads of the man in the reflective vest and his colleague guiding the team through a simmering crowd. A bottle careens past Aaron’s head and Andrew looks blackly out in the direction it was thrown from. His eyes return to Neil, and because he’s watching, he sees the moment the crowd swells and Neil is grabbed hard by the wrist.

Andrew starts running immediately, pushing his way through a crowd that feels more like the tumultuous surface of an angry ocean. He trips over a slippery bottle and clips a 6 foot tall Bearcats fan, who tries to punch Andrew and gets his hand ripped at the seam of his fingers for his trouble. The crowd is a firing squad pointed at him, but Andrew braves it without hesitation.

He loses sight of the shiny vest and Neil’s flaming hair, almost tripping again on a duffel bag upended in the street. He kicks viciously at it before realizing it’s Neil’s, his racquet dropped two feet away. It’s like a crime scene, like the gunpowder left in the wake of a ripping bullet.

Andrew scoops the racquet up and breaks into a flat-out sprint with it held in front of him, using its length to rake the crowd out of the way. They break, more interested in self-preservation than the spirit of revenge. Andrew gets a clear view of Neil’s shoulder being wrenched around, his face contorting with anger as he’s stuffed into the back of a highway patrol car.

“Stop,” Andrew calls, voice raised. He skids into the parking lot just as the door is closing on Neil, and four sets of eyes swing towards Andrew. He sees Neil mouth ‘no’ as a woman with an unhinged grin cranes around Neil, sizing Andrew up.

“Who’s this, Junior?”

Andrew’s head ruffles memories like cards, and he picks out the blood on the changing room mirror. Happy 19th Birthday Jr. He’d suspected it wasn’t Riko’s style.

“No one,” Neil says. “A teammate.” He gives Andrew a vaguely dismissive look, a more complete lie than Andrew’s seen from him in a long time. Figures that do-or-die situations are the only ones Neil applies logic to.

“A teammate,” the woman mimics. “You tell him?”

“Am I an idiot? Of course not,” Neil says, and jerks his head to the side, telling Andrew quietly to run. The men from earlier are piling out of the car again, clearly on some invisible cue from the woman in charge. “He doesn’t know anything,” Neil says more firmly.

“I know that you’re not taking him,” Andrew says. The woman laughs.

“Sorry to say that you don’t get to decide much of anything, no one,” she mocks. “He is our problem, and it’s about time we solved it.”

Andrew steps forward. “He’s not your problem anymore. He’s mine.”

Her gaze flickers down and up his body, and one of the men closes in. It’s a quick fight. Andrew takes the guy down by the legs and then pins him by the throat with one booted foot. He wheels around for the next threat, and then Neil calls his name frantically.

He looks up at him for one suspended moment; Neil’s eyes swallowed by terror, something whistling close to his ear, and then he’s jolted forward impossibly hard by a blow to the head, and everything blinks out.

____

He rouses to the smell of something burning, and he becomes aware, piece by piece, of how completely fucked they are.

There’s a cool leather chair-back pressed to his face and he can feel the clink of handcuffs elaborately pinning his wrists behind him, no slack to spare. He can move his head just enough to take stock of the car, what looks like an old cadillac interior, and that same woman in the seat across from him, carving pieces out of Neil’s arms.

Andrew jerks hard against the restraints and the woman turns, the knife slipping jaggedly in Neil’s blood-sloppy wrist. He catches a sweat-beaded expression of utter enjoyment on her face.

“We’ve got a live one,” she laughs to the driver. “Well. For now. How are you doing, Andrew?”

He knows the name drop is supposed to unnerve him but he’s busy straining full-body to get to Neil, kicking with bound feet. He takes furious inventory of Neil’s injuries. He hasn’t even noticed Andrew, he’s so wracked with agony, his body convulsing and ruining his wrists in the cuffs.

“Oh Andrew,” the woman’s voice singsongs, and her hand strokes his face.

“Don’t touch me,” he snarls. She looks delighted as she slaps him hard across the face.

“Feisty. We did a little research on you, AJ,” she coos, and he spits in her face. He hasn’t felt so out of control in years — his body is a thin skin over pure fire. She calmly wipes her face, tapping her knife on Neil’s hands as she tsk’s reprovingly.

“That’s pretty disrespectful,” she says, and accepts a dashboard lighter from the driver. “We kept you alive and everything.” Andrew ignores her, looking beyond her at Neil’s opening eyes, his clenched teeth. He’s more alert than most would be after the injuries he’s sustained. Andrew gets the full picture of Neil’s destroyed face, the blood and tears in his eyes and dripping down his chin. He can’t look away. He can’t.

“I’m Lola,” the woman introduces, clicking the lighter and digging her fingernails into Neil’s arm. “It seems only polite to let you in on the name of the woman who’s going to chop your boyfriend into little pieces.” She considers Neil weeping blood on the upholstery. “Well. Littler.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Andrew informs her. He holds Neil’s gaze and feels something huge and too late pass between them. The car is blazing red, it’s all he can see.

“Oh,” Lola says, interested, a little faux apologetic. “Let’s be adults, shall we? You’re going to be dead within the hour.”

She digs the lighter down into Neil’s forearm and Andrew struggles brutally again. It’s useless. It’s utterly useless, but he would die before he stopped trying.

“Neil,” he says, low and urgent. “Focus.”

“‘Neil’,” Lola laughs, reaching around the head rest to squish Neil’s burned cheeks. “Cute nickname, junior. Does he moan it when you’re fucking?”

“You already let me go,” Neil sobs, and Andrew becomes distantly aware that he’s talking to him. “You’re done. I’m nothing to you.” Neil’s so stupid, even now.

Andrew tests the handcuffs. He wishes he’d never woken up. He wishes he’d been faster back at the court. He wishes Neil could’ve been killed before Andrew had the opportunity to chain himself to him: the mast of a ship going down. His breath comes out like it’s going through a shredder.

They pull up to a rickety looking hotel moments later, and Neil’s head hangs, hair soaked through with sweat, hands twitching in handcuffs, blood masking the worst of his injuries. Andrew sinks lower, and panic seizes his lungs, pinching them like dry dish towels.

He knows some of Neil’s past and he knows his own, but it’s been so long since he’s had to see what complete destruction looks like from the outside.

They’re unhooked from the car one by one and ushered past two policemen who are watching them with wide eyes. Andrew doesn’t let them squirm away from their guilt, he pins them with his eyes like bugs under glasses.

“How much do my father’s people pay you to break your oaths?” Neil asks, voice familiar again, idiotic, brave, impossible.

“More than the state does,” one of them says, rubbing his arms against the cool night air. “Don’t take it personally.”

“I have to,” Neil says shakily, looking back at Andrew through a wince. “It’s our lives.”

“Should we kill him now?” the man who had been driving asks, nodding towards Andrew. Lola eyes him, considering. The officers jostle uncomfortably at the thought of directly viewing the products of their crime.

“We’ll let Nathan decide,” she announces after a beat, prodding Andrew’s back hard with the handle of her knife.

He fights against Lola and the driver but his arms are where all of his strength is, and they’re useless behind his back. He’s dumped headfirst into the trunk of a new police cruiser, and thumped in the chest so that he slips backwards, his back to the cabin of the car.

Neil’s pushed in next, his battered body snug to Andrew’s, blood seeping immediately through Andrew’s shirt and painting his fox jacket red. It’s a foolish comfort to have Neil near him, the living heat of his body and the persistent hammer of his heart. Andrew’s face is level with Neil’s neck, and he breathes into his collar, the only way he can touch him without his hands.

Impossibly, Lola climbs in after them both, pressing in close to Neil and sending shockwaves of utter hatred through Andrew.

“Cozy,” she says. “Good thing you’re both child-sized.” Andrew watches her nestle a gun at Neil’s side, a warning for both of them. She slings a leg over Neil’s and nuzzles in close. “Cute, too. Just like your father.” Her eyes are bright in the dark. “Andrew’s got a pretty face, too, don’t you think?”

“Get his name out of your mouth,” Neil grits. Andrew can feel the effort it takes not to try anything more, the tension in his shoulders. He feels it too.

“Don’t worry,” she purrs. “We’re almost at the end of the line.”

The car jostles as it gets moving again, and Andrew seethes at the thought of Lola rocking into Neil with the motion. He didn’t expect anything better from the police force, but the muffled sound of their voices so close to this is revolting.

The sirens kick up to full force after a few minutes, and Lola shushes the sound Neil makes with a nip at his burns. “Seems there’s been an incident at your father’s house. Perhaps some vandalism from lowlifes unwilling to have him back in their neighbourhood, fools who buy into the conspiracy theory that he killed his beloved wife and child.”

“People you paid to create a disturbance tonight,” Neil says resignedly, “so police could stop by unquestioned.”

“Ten points to Junior. He’s smart when he applies himself,” she whispers conspiratorially to Andrew. He ignores her. Neil’s rapid untangling of events, the rebellion in the face of certain death, the twitch in his legs to run, even now. This must have been his whole life, Andrew realizes. His whole time on the run fearing exactly this.

And you couldn’t keep him from it, something in him whispers. You’re both dead because you slipped on a beer bottle. Because you couldn’t part the crowd fast enough. Because you got distracted in a fight like Renee told you never to do.

It’s a bumpy ride, voices crescendoing outside the window but sirens petering out. Lola reaches over them both for something, and Neil’s bound hands clutch at Andrew’s jacket behind him, even though it must hurt.

“I’ll do your friend first,” Lola whispers to Neil, and Andrew smells the unmistakable tang of chloroform in the close, sweaty space. “I have a feeling he’ll make trouble.”

Andrew jerks back when she tries to close fabric over his face, bucking so that her hand slips in the dark. Neil whimpers in pain at being jostled and Andrew has no choice but to stop moving, to present his face to her and take it.

Even in this war zone, even watching Neil’s lies vomited up in the most violent way possible, submitting to Lola is one of the worst things he’s done today. He feels the drugs take him, resenting the horrible slither of them, the heaviness in his legs and arms. He hears Neil inhale, and then there’s nothing at all.

____

He wakes up on contact with unforgiving stone, the room spinning back and forth every time he moves his head. He closes his eyes against it, then opens them, searching for a splash of red in the monotonous grey. His eyes settle on Neil being manhandled down some sort of passageway, his body limp.

Andrew clings to consciousness, thinking idly of his tolerance for medication, his susceptibility to easy waking. He fluctuates between relief and impatience at Neil’s closed eyes. He doesn’t know where they are or what’s coming, and Neil’s the only one who can navigate their way out.

“Not much of a tolerance, hmm?” Lola remarks, toeing Neil’s slack face with her shoe. She looks back at Andrew and cocks her head, reaching one hand out expectantly to her side. He doesn’t know why until she accepts a heavy looking shovel and smashes it into his face.

____

He wades to consciousness for the third time in three hours, head screaming. Neil’s at the sink in the corner now, cradling his own hands, and Lola idly twirls her gun in his direction.

Neil meets Andrew’s eyes immediately when he turns around. He shakes his head so slightly that no one else would’ve caught it. Andrew knows in his gut that he has to feign unconsciousness, that there are two of them and one of Lola and they’re not even cuffed. His armbands are still on, a terrible oversight on Lola’s part. His knives are warm at his inner arm.

He doesn’t know his way out, but Neil must. Andrew’s fresh, strong, able, despite the ringing in his head, and Neil’s mind is a vault for whatever secrets landed him here.

“How much longer is this going to take?” Neil asks, doubtless for Andrew’s benefit.

Lola replies, transparently threatening, amused. She mentions ‘his’ style of killing and Andrew flips idly through the possibilities. Not Moriyamas, surely. Someone associated with Neil’s family, someone with connections. His head clangs like alarm bells, fake sleep slip-slides into real sleep and back again.

He tries to catch Neil’s hyper-alert gaze but each time he does he gets a head-shake for his trouble. Something upstairs is holding Neil down like a sword through his chest.

Time passes strangely, darkly. The room is quiet save for the muffle of voices above and the click of the gun as Lola flicks the safety on and off.

Maybe forty-five minutes have passed when everything abruptly shifts. Andrew slits his eyes and watches Neil’s face go dead cold as someone comes down the stairs, bare feet first, and then cuffed dark jeans, a neat shirt, a scowling face.

It’s so unquestionably Neil’s father that Andrew has to fight to keep his breathing even. He turns Neil’s story in Wymack’s apartment over in his head. It’s something that’s always been sour, lies that Andrew had fought hard to believe.

He feels white hot rage at everyone in the room, people he should’ve known to protect Neil from, people hidden by Neil’s own foolish self-preservation.

Someone else hulking follows Neil’s father — Nathan, Andrew remembers — down the stairs, and Andrew and Neil’s window to escape closes cleanly.

“On your feet,” Nathan says. “You know better than to sit in my presence.”

Andrew watches, sick, as Neil stands immediately, organizing his wrecked limbs like the injuries aren’t there. Andrew knows what it’s like to be so scared of being destroyed that you’ll do anything. He knows the feeling of choosing the pain you have over the threat of more. Lola laughs in the background.

“Hello, Junior,” Nathan says. His eyes slide beyond Neil, to Andrew’s slumped form. “Who’s this?”

“Collateral,” Lola says. “Shall we kill him?”

Nathan’s eyes narrow, so like Neil’s but so utterly unwanted. “You know he’s faking sleep, of course,” he says, and stalks closer. He lifts his foot up to stomp on Andrew’s face and Andrew catches it, twists. Nathan staggers but maintains his balance, and his smile is that of a starving lion.

“Oh you are dead.”

Andrew rolls onto his knees, and the big guy in the corner comes forward. Nathan waves him off.

“I don’t think he’ll fight.”

“You don’t know me,” Andrew says blankly. Neil’s eyes are huge, darting back and forth between Andrew and Nathan like he can’t believe what’s in front of him.

“I’ve got him,” Lola says, brandishing the gun and closing one eye, tongue out, a caricature of concentration. She shoots Andrew in the thigh.

He doesn’t make a sound, but his body crumples. His whole leg is lava; he’s shocked to find it in one piece when he looks down.

It’s difficult to focus on voices or things beyond the boundaries of his pain. Neil is getting punched somewhere in the room, looking his father in the eye and taking it. They’re discussing disappointments, dead mothers and broken people. The picture gets clearer, slowly, the right prescription settling in just when Andrew doesn’t want to see.

Andrew staunches the bleeding as best he can with his hand but it fountains past his fingers. It’s inconvenient, is the thing. It’s one leg less. He tries to look at Neil but Neil’s eyes are frozen on his father, his jaw down in utter submission. Andrew won’t forget that look on him, even if he sees it replaced by fire and smart comments a hundred times over.

Nathan rhapsodizes about his upcoming torture before he launches into it and Andrew really is bored of the way these people talk. “…you’re not going to run away this time, Nathaniel. I’m not going to let you.”

“Fuck you,” Neil says, back to himself as soon as Andrew could think to miss him. Neil glances at him, eyes dribbling down to his leg. His face is a wash of every bad emotion, like a slur of murky watercolour. “He’s going to bleed out,” Neil says. Nathan’s busy collecting his weapons, and he looks back at Andrew, unimpressed.

“He’s going to watch, first.” Nathan strolls up to Andrew and squats at his side, neatly avoiding the growing pool of blood. “What is my son to you?”

“An annoyance,” Andrew says, and thrusts a knife up into Nathan’s chest. His aim is off, but it’s enough to throw him backwards, and he slips in Andrew’s blood, toppling back to the floor hard.

Andrew looks up and finds Neil in the commotion that follows, both hands over his mouth.

A lot happens at once, then. Lola lunges for Nathan, clearly not quite sure whether she should do something for him without being asked.

The big man looms threateningly towards Andrew but Neil dives for the cleaver Nathan dropped and tosses it with deadly accuracy into the centre of the man’s chest.

Nathan struggles upright and grabs for his blunt axe, blood still gushing down his front, eyes wild. “Don’t let them leave.”

Neil holds the cleaver in front of him, a dangerous cornered animal with the skill to back his desperation up. Lola’s gun still outmatches him, in a distance fight.

Or would, if Andrew hadn’t grabbed the back of her knees and forced her down. “For a professional, you leave a lot of loose ends,” he says, and he scoops up the gun to give her a matching bullet hole in her leg. She howls, Nathan curses, Neil steps closer, shaking with relief.

“You’ve lost,” he says, and stares down his father, looking like a resurrected corpse, bloody and vengeful.

The ceiling opens to gunfire and shouts, and Andrew plasters himself to the floor. Neil drops beside him, hands over his head, and Nathan takes advantage of his weakness, hefting his axe up and aiming it at the back of Neil’s neck.

A bullet catches his hand, and the weapon clatters uselessly to the floor beside Neil’s head. People pack into the cellar, grim faces behind various weapons.

“Bloody hell. Nathaniel?” someone says, and Andrew glances up into an unfamiliar middle-aged face. He registers Neil nodding, Nathan cowering on the floor like an animal, the stranger moving close and smoothly cocking his gun at Andrew.

“No,” Neil says quickly, “he’s with me.”

Andrew has the strangest feeling of emotion leeching from him again, losing hours of saturated panic along with his blood.

The man says something to Neil that ends with: “don’t look. This will be over in a moment.” He turns on Nathan.

Andrew shoots Nathan before the stranger has the chance to, a bullet through his forehead, one good shot. He falls like a spent balloon, pathetic and wheezing.

There’s a stunned silence, and then Neil starts laughing behind his hands, wild, unfunny laughter.

“Stop that,” Andrew says, unnerved to his bones. Neil looks at Andrew and seems to sober immediately.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. The man speaks to Neil in hushed, frantic tones, and Andrew can pick out stray words. FBI. Moriyamas. Butcher.

They’re smuggled up a narrow passageway by rough guiding hands. Andrew limps heavily on his right leg and Neil favours different sides of his body from step to step. He is a balance in every injury, a symmetrical ruin.

They burst out into the night and there are police, again, hoisting them to their feet and pointing guns in their faces.

“You’re too late,” Neil says thickly, “my father is dead.”

Andrew watches the agents trying to get Neil’s attention, snapping in his face, but his eyes are unfocused and wandering. Andrew knows instinctively that he’s reliving his father’s death on loop.

“My name is Nathaniel Wesnisnski,” Neil says, eyes sliding to Andrew’s, chin high. “And my father is dead.”

He smiles, warped, and keels over in the bushes, throwing up violently with strange hands holding him upright. The sight spurs Andrew into motion, suddenly, unhindered by barrels of guns and clever cutting hands. He moves forward on one leg and slaps the agents’ hands away, grabbing Neil by the shoulders.

“Neil.”

He doesn’t look up, doesn’t seem to recognize the name.

“We won,” Andrew says, wiping blood from Neil’s eyelashes, holding him upright by his uninjured waist.

“We won,” Neil repeats, and his legs give out. Andrew goes down with him, not strong enough on one leg and 60% blood volume to take the full weight of Neil’s body.

They end up knotted together on the Wesninski lawn, both of them fading from blood loss but unflinchingly alive.

#they lived aren't u thrilled #aftg #andreil #the foxhole court #tfc fanfic #torture tw #abuse mention #violence tw #prompt #mine #Anonymous #ask

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