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Someone was behind him, so close he could already feel their knives lapping at his ankles. Ready to cut and tear and destroy everything that he had built for himself. He was running, but something slowed him down, his limbs heavy and numb. He looked down—blood up to his waist, something around his legs. He was falling, falling into the red he couldn’t escape. He couldn’t breathe, a chokehold around his neck.
Neil shot up with a stifled gasp, heart still pounding. He looked to his side, hoping he hadn’t woken Andrew. Seeing him stare up at Neil through a half-open eye, all hopes of sneaking away without interrupting Andrew diminished.
Andrew sat up, his face, decorated with lines of his pillow, scrunched up in question.
“I need to… I need to get out of here.”
It wasn’t uncommon for Neil to shoot up from a nightmare and have the urge to move buzzing under his skin like a wasps’ nest, so Andrew wasn’t surprised when those words tumbled over Neil’s raw, bitten lips as he already stumbled out of the bed they shared. With a raised eyebrow, Andrew voiced his doubts about Neil’s plan.
“I sincerely hope you’re not considering going out to run.”
It had been raining nonstop since the previous day, and it was uncharacteristically cold for a South Carolina summer night. Neil would, with his luck, probably catch a cold that’d knock him out until after their next game in a week and a half. Not that Andrew cared all that much about the game, but he could already see Kevin going ballistic because Neil got sick. So, given that and the fact Andrew had a vested interest in ensuring Neil didn’t die because of his own idiocy and lack of self-preservation, he searched for an alternative while also dragging himself out of bed to make sure the idiot rabbit didn’t kill himself.
Neil threw him an exasperated look and sighed resignedly.
“Well, what would you suggest I do instead? If I stay here, I’m going to climb out the fucking window!”
With something that could almost be classified as a fond eye roll, Andrew replied, “I know, which is why we’re going to go down to the court, where you can run out your rabbity little heart without getting sick.”
And with that, Andrew grabbed the keys to the Maserati and an umbrella and ushered Neil, who quickly got his water bottle and the stadium keys, out of the dorm and into his car.
The drive to the stadium was quiet. Only the soft purring of the Maserati, the pounding rain against the windows, and Neil’s heart beating so fast he was scared it would jump right out of his chest broke the illusion of a peaceful night.
He didn’t know why this nightmare hit him so hard—God knows he’d had worse—but something about this one made him so uneasy, he simply couldn’t stand being stationary. Even the short drive from the dorm to the stadium left him feeling unbearably anxious to get out and just run.
His leg, which had started bouncing of its own accord, stilled, together with his nervously jittering hands, as Andrew pulled into the stadium parking lot.
Technically, they shouldn’t have been there; it was nearly 2 in the morning, and morning practice wouldn’t start for another three or four hours. But even through the heavy rain, what Neil could see of the stadium let some of the weight he had been carrying slump from his shoulders, leaving him only with the overwhelming desire to get inside the garishly orange building.
Pulling his keys out of his pocket and slightly shivering, despite the umbrella Andrew held protectively over their heads, he gently unlocked the door and entered the code to open it.
Stepping into the blessedly warm and dry corridor of the stadium that led directly to the dressing rooms, Neil’s breathing evened out. He knew that as soon as he stepped onto the court and started running, he wouldn’t stop until he dropped.
As Andrew hooked his phone up to the speakers that hung in the corners of the court, Neil began his stretching. He knew from experience that running until he couldn’t anymore would have fewer consequences if he didn’t start completely cold.
The music Andrew chose was bass-heavy with a fast rhythm, and as Neil stepped onto the court and began a slow warm-up jog, Andrew took his place in the stands and, purely out of boredom (of course and nothing else), began to time Neil’s laps.
As Neil began to run in earnest, letting every thought go and just concentrating on his breathing and the pounding of his shoes against the stadium floor, he upped his tempo and forgot everything.
.
.
.
Andrew grew increasingly fascinated, because sure, objectively, he knew that Neil was made for running and endurance interspersed with periods of fast movement. But what he was observing down on the court couldn’t be real. They’d been there for close to three hours, and Neil hadn’t stopped running once. It was nearly time for morning practice.
As if they had read his thoughts, the door to the court opened, and the rest of the Foxes came stumbling into the stadium. Kevin was loudly complaining that Neil and Andrew hadn’t been in their room when he’d tried to get them up for practice, while the rest more or less ignored him.
Of course, Kevin was the first to notice that the court was not as empty and silent as expected. The music was still pouring softly out of the speakers, and Neil was still running, his shoes hitting the ground in time with the fast-paced beat.
Noticing Andrew in the stands, Wymack walked over to him to ask, “What the hell is going on, and just how long have you been here? Josten looks like he’s run a marathon!”
With a sardonic smirk that hopefully overplayed how stunned he was feeling, Andrew replied, “Well, Coach, that would be because the idiot has been running for three hours.” At the incredulous looks of the peanut gallery, he just shrugged and said, “The rabbit was feeling restless, and given the state of the weather and Kevin’s inevitable nagging and complaining when he got sick, I decided the court was the better alternative.”
He looked back at Neil, who still hadn’t noticed the rest of the team arriving, which was quite a feat given how hyper-aware he usually was of his surroundings. Kevin would probably have to do without them this morning practice because Neil was drenched in sweat. He’d begun to slow down, a clearer expression replacing the storm on his face that had perfectly matched the weather before.
“What is that?” a curious Matt asked, pointing to the little stacks of scavenged paper Andrew had stolen out of Coach’s office.
“I timed him and counted the laps he did. We’ve been here for roughly three hours. His fastest mile was 3:53 minutes. He’s run one and a half marathons.”
A collective What the fuck? went through all their heads, because like Andrew, they were aware that Neil was fast. He wasn’t the fastest striker in collegiate Exy for nothing, but they didn’t think randomly running a marathon would be within his capabilities.
As Neil began his cool-down stretches and looked up into the stands, he finally took notice of the rest of the team standing next to Andrew, mouths open like a school of fish.
“Neil, come up here!” Wymack called to him, and as he slowly walked up the steps to where the team was congregating, Andrew disconnected his phone, stopping the music and ripping Neil out of the trance he’d been in since stumbling out of bed in the middle of the night.
Andrew gave him his water bottle, which he emptied in long drags, taking care not to swallow too much at once to avoid choking. Turning to Andrew, he asked, “How long have we been here?”
“Well, they’re here for morning practice, so a good three and a half hours. And no, you will not just change into your gear and continue for the next two hours of training. You’ll go shower, and then we’ll drive back to the dorms. No argument. I am tired, and we are going back the fuck to sleep.”
It was a testament to the state he was in that Neil didn’t disagree. Kevin’s beginning exclamation about missing training when they had a game in a short time was silenced by a look from Wymack that made it clear: if anyone said anything about Neil and Andrew skipping one practice, they’d be the ones running a marathon, which shut up everyone.
Andrew ushered Neil back to the changing rooms and under the hot spray of a shower. Neil stepped out of the shower room already dressed, his hair still damp. He walked over to Andrew, a soft look on his face.
“Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
The kiss was soft, just a small peck—a thank you for being there, for just being Andrew.
They linked their hands and walked through the corridor.
As they stepped out of the stadium, the sun was just over the horizon, bathing everything in a soft golden red.