Nathaniel wouldn’t necessarily say his life got any better or worse after the whole shindig with Ichirou, Jean, and Riko… the priest, the rabbi, and the duck. And, of course, Andrew, though Nathaniel didn’t think he’d appreciate being called a priest, a rabbi, or a duck.
Nathaniel did, however, find it increasingly difficult to spend time in his room without Jean. He didn’t like sleeping in his own bed, for obvious reasons, and now he couldn’t sleep in Jean’s bed because it still smelled like him and all Nathaniel thought about was what he lost.
The worst part? It was his own fucking fault. It was his own fucking fault that Nathaniel single-handedly lost the best thing in his life since he’d been with Kevin. At least, with Kevin, Nathaniel could blame Riko for how he lost him. It was Nathaniel’s choice to take Jean out of the Nest. It was Nathaniel’s choice to burn the only support he had in a house built on ashes.
His plan for Jean wasn’t even done yet. He’d thought, stupidly, that the act of getting Jean out would be the hardest part. He was wrong. Some part of his mind knew that, and a smarter part blocked it out, and he was left with the knife to sever their tie together.
Jean would try to come back, if he hadn’t already. He was a French bastard who never left well enough alone when it came to Nathaniel. If Jean knew Nathaniel was the sole reason he got out, Jean would find his way back, even if it killed him. If Jean thought Nathaniel had nothing to do with it, then he’d look for ways to get Nathaniel out with him. If he thought Ichirou orchestrated it, he might kill himself outright.
Nathaniel had thought it through over and over and over. He had to sever his tie to Jean and make sure the damage was irrevocable. There was no way around it. The door was slightly ajar, and until Nathaniel slammed it closed, built a wall of bricks, and demolished the building it led to, Jean wouldn’t stop.
And, by God, Nathaniel was sick of thinking about it. Night after night, day after day. It’d barely been a week, and he was ready to tear his hair out.
He spent more time on the court with each passing day. He barely slept, and when he couldn’t, he’d practice exy. He spent his hours attempting infuriating, meticulous drills that took his entire concentration. Any thoughts that didn’t help the drill? Pointless. He’d forget about them as soon as they crossed his mind. It wasn’t for nothing, because his skills were skyrocketing. Nathaniel thought he had a heart attack when the Master said his performance was ‘acceptable.’ Acceptable.
Riko had been out of ear-shot, thank fuck. The spoiled psycho had been oddly tame over the past week, so Nathaniel knew that was coming.
Nathaniel also found himself spending more and more time in the East tower with Katsu. Ichirou had been attending meetings in New York since that night. Nathaniel didn’t question it when Katsu popped up every few nights to… just… hang out? Why Ichirou’s second took a private jet back to the Nest multiple times throughout the week, Nathaniel didn’t know.
That was how he ended up here, eating takeout on the floor of Ichriou’s room, watching the newest episode of some Japanese animated show. Nathaniel didn’t really know what it was about, though he was vaguely interested. They both spoke Japanese, so they didn’t need the subtitles, and Nathaniel could listen while he did video review.
Something small hit the side of Nathaniel’s face, pulling him out of his thoughts. Looking at the gummy worm on the floor, Nathaniel wiped excess sugar off his face and glared at Katsu.
“Stop pulling your hair,” he said, taking his eyes away from the screen. Apparently the episode ended. Nathaniel relaxed his left hand that had been locked in the hairs at his nape.
“I can’t believe you actually wasted a gummy worm on that,” Nathaniel said.
“Me either. I expect you at the funeral. Gifts are welcome, but not required,” he said, folding a slice of pizza with too many toppings to count. Nathaniel was convinced the guy had zero taste buds.
“If I grace you with my presence, that’s the only fucking gift you’re getting,” he responded.
“‘Grace’ is a very forgiving word for what it’s like to be around you. I’d err on the side of ‘plague,’ or ‘torture,’” Katsu said, reaching for the gummy worm and popping it in his mouth regardless. “Words you’d find in a Stephen King novel. It’s all work and no play. Have you ever seen The Shining?”
“Not yet,” Nathaniel started, “but you might want to remove that stick from your ass before we watch it so you’re more comfortable.”
“How altruistic of you.”
“That’s me,” he said. “Always thinking of others.” Katsu snorted, and Nathaniel couldn’t even find it in himself to be offended. Turning back to the TV, Katsu pulled up an old YouTube video that seemed to be reviewing a chess match. Nathaniel narrowed his eyes at the ‘highly rewatched’ tag that appeared in the bottom right corner.
Not for the first time, Nathaniel wondered who the Hell Katsu was. It was more out of surprise than any judgment. He hadn’t expected the second to the heir of the Yakuza to be so… human? Casual? Normal? Katsu’s love for video games and YouTube videos and shitty take-out seemed to run deeper than a general fascination.
Nathaniel’s childhood was less than conventional, and from what he could tell, Katsu’s hadn’t been any better. It was easy to talk to him. It took the pressure off Nathaniel to explain any of his habits that were, as Katsu so eloquently put it, ‘more fucked than a couple trying to conceive.’
“What gives?” Katsu asked, gesturing to the phone clutched in Nathaniel’s right hand. “You’re looking at it like it’s Satan’s spawn.”
“You’re Satan’s spawn,” Nathaniel muttered. Katsu snorted.
“Where’d you learn that comeback? Elementary school?”
“You act like you actually went to grade school,” he said. When Katsu remained silent, Nathaniel looked over with an eyebrow raised in question. “You went to grade school?”
“Technically,” Katsu said. And there it was.
“School that wasn’t related to the Yakuza?” Katsu flipped him off.
“I didn’t learn about the Yakuza until I was seventeen. That’s not to say I had a very… consistent attendance streak in school, but it wasn’t because of the mafia.”
“Why?” Nathaniel asked.
“You’ll have to take me on another date before I show you the skeletons in my closet.” Katsu had a dullness in his eyes that Nathaniel recognized, but couldn’t name. He never shied away from Nathaniel’s stare and he knew how to easily redirect conversation. Considering Katsu was second to the heir of the Moriyamas, it wasn’t too shocking.
“Is that all you have in your closet, honey?” Nathaniel asked.
“You’ll have to wait and find out, love,” he said. Nathaniel was rolling his eyes before Katsu even finished speaking. “So, what has you staring at the phone like a high school prom date?”
“Okay, that’s pushing it. No way you went to high school,” Nathaniel said. Katsu didn’t take the bait and just continued to look at him. “Jean.”
“Moreau?” Katsu asked. “I thought this was already underway. Didn’t you call Knox?”
“I did,” he said, dropping his chin and letting his forehead land against his knee. “You never knew Jean.”
“Not well, no, but I talked to him a few times,” Katsu said. Nathaniel’s eyebrows shot up. He could count the number of times he and Jean weren’t together on one hand, and each of those situations almost always involved Riko. “Ichirou had me keeping tabs on him for a few years, then you, more recently.”
“Why Jean?” Katsu looked at him for a moment, contemplative. He wasn’t hesitating—Nathaniel didn’t think he was biologically capable of hesitating, whether that be a learned trait or a given one—though he wasn’t jumping at the bit to respond, either.
“He wanted to make sure his assets remained active,” Katsu said. It wasn’t rude or unkind, just factual. Nathaniel’s whole body went still when he put together what that meant, his lungs contracting but not expanding again.
Nathaniel knew, rationally, that the main branch had ways of discovering information that went far beyond the reach of his mother’s paranoia. Nathaniel knew, factually, that his partner was almost always severely low mentally. Nathaniel knew, understandably, that Jean saw little value in life. Nathaniel knew, realistically, that Jean cut into his veins and he planned multiple ways to kill himself.
And somewhere, hidden in the depths of Nathaniel’s mind, he knew Jean was only biding time until graduation for Nathaniel’s sake. But he didn’t want to know, and he didn’t want to see it, and he didn’t want to believe it.
There was no hiding from it anymore; not when Katsu confirmed that the main branch had Jean on some fucked up version of a suicide watch for years.
“How?” Nathaniel asked.
“Why are you calling him?” Nathaniel didn’t push the change in subject.
“I’m calling Kevin. Jean is going to try and come back, and I need to make sure he doesn’t.”
“Do you know if he tried already?”
“No, but it wouldn’t surprise me.” Katsu was quiet for a minute.
“You have to cut ties with him,” Katsu ventured. Nathaniel didn’t answer. “But even if you tell him not to, he’ll still come back. Considering that and the look on your face, this has to be something crueler.”
After a few minutes of silence, Nathaniel picked his head up to look at Katsu.
“You’re going to sever your relationship with him, aren’t you?” Katsu asked.
Nathaniel didn’t say anything; he didn’t need to. Katsu was clearly more than capable of figuring it out on his own.
“You knew him for—what? Eleven years?” Nathaniel nodded. “It’s never easy to weaponize yourself for other people.” That got Nathaniel’s attention, whether to ignore his impending phone call or genuine interest, Nathaniel didn’t know.
“Speaking from experience?” Katsu gave him a bland, empty smile.
“There aren’t many ways to get your biological family to stop looking for you,” Katsu said, reverent. “For you, faking your death isn’t an option, and that leaves you with one.”
Katsu reached over to the side table and opened a drawer Nathaniel hadn’t noticed. Without a handle, it didn’t seem like the drawer came built-in.
Leaning back against the couch with a new pack of Trolli gummy worms, Katsu kicked the drawer shut with his foot and turned his attention back to the TV. He opened the pack and offered some to Nathaniel who just shook his head while grabbing a handful. Katsu tossed him a side glance and a small smirk.
“Don’t tell Ichirou,” he said, not looking apologetic in the slightest.
Nathaniel sighed and slouched down next to Katsu. Picking up his phone and tossing a worm into his mouth, Nathaniel pressed ‘call.’
—
Pass the locker room. Take a right. Up the stairs. Left. Lap the academic wing. Up the stairs. Right. Through the medical wing. Down two flights. Left. Pass the ‘away’ locker room. Right. Lap the outside court. Lap the inside court. Lap outside again.
Pass the locker room. Take a right.
Again and again, over and over. If Nathaniel hadn’t been inside the Nest since he was five years old, the monotonous lap probably would’ve become boring. Stifling, even. The thing is, he didn't have many memories of what it was like to run outside. If he’d known the feeling, it was long gone by then. The loop was calming, borderline freeing, because Nathaniel had only ever known the Nest.
If he had a normal childhood, it wouldn’t be as enjoyable.
Lucky him.
Another benefit was the design of the Nest. It was built to be a home—prison—where the people it housed rarely left. Despite away games and interviews, Nathaniel rarely did. Even the players who got recruited into the Nest only left for a few days around the holidays and two weeks during the summer.
The Nest was big enough that the loop was 5K. The staff knew Nathaniel well enough to not even acknowledge his presence each time he passed them. Professors typically shut their door after the first loop, the nurses couldn’t care less, and the janitorial staff simply stepped out of his way.
Nathaniel had nearly six and a half miles of bliss before his mind zeroed in on a new set of demons.
Help him, Kevin.
Up the stairs.
Then help me help him.
Left.
He can’t talk to me, Kevin, or he’s going to be so mad he might kill me himself.
Lap the academic wing.
I don’t care if it’s fair or not. If you won’t tell him, then I’ll ask Andrew to. You and I both know he doesn’t give a flying fuck about Jean as long as you’re safe.
Up the stairs.
I know I’m asking a lot but he needs to believe it. Tell him I don’t want him, tell him I don’t need him, and t- tell him I was just waiting to get him out so I don’t have to deal with him anymore.
Right.
I can’t talk to him. He won’t believe me.
Through the medical wing.
I don’t fucking know, Kev. Tell him that he’s only hurting me when he’s here and I can’t take it anymore.
Down two flights.
Thank you.
Left.
Stop. We’re not having this conversation in the middle of night.
Pass the ‘away’ locker room.
Kevin, are you still playing in the Spring? Then we are where we are, accept it.
Right.
exy isn’t a fix for us like it is for him. It’s our lives, you know this. We’re doing what we have to do to keep it, and never fucking apologize for that.
Lap the outside court.
Don’t you understand that I can’t do this right now?
Lap the inside court.
Because talking to you hurts. Talking to you really hurts, don’t you understand that?
Lap outside again.
No, Kev. I would have shot you if you came back.
Pass the locker room.
Glad we’re in agreement with that.
Take a right. Up the stairs.
Nathaniel kept running. It didn’t matter that he was on borrowed time and it was only a matter of hours, if that, until Riko or the Master came looking for him. It didn’t matter. If Nathaniel had time to run, he’d run, without a second thought.
There was one time Nathaniel could remember hesitating before he ran, and he had no one to blame but himself. It was his fault for ignoring everything his mother taught him; she had been right, in the end. Don’t look back, don’t stop, keep going. That was only possible if Nathaniel didn’t have anything he wanted to look back on.
A short, blond-haired, golden-eyed wrench had been thrown in that plan.
Nathaniel didn’t know how long he’d been running for. It was at least two hours, he assumed, because he passed the half-marathon distance a few laps ago. He slowed down the next time he passed the ‘away’ locker rooms. His body locked up and his lungs contracted the second he stopped moving. He didn’t want to stop because everything hurt. Nothing good had ever come from staying in one place, yet here he was.
Standing up, Nathaniel leaned against the court wall until his breathing leveled out. Glancing at the clock on the scoreboard, Nathaniel saw that he only had an hour before the other teams would arrive for the banquet. It kicked off the start of the Spring season, and because the Ravens were the reigning champions of their conference, it was hosted at the Nest. Nathaniel wasn’t sure how he missed the throng of people setting up the court, hustling chairs and tables onto it once they covered the flood. He didn’t think too long about it.
One thing he did think long on was Andrew. His unyielding presence. Some articles said Andrew was overbearing, while others labeled him as nonexistent. Nathaniel’s perception of him never faltered, never changed. He knew Andrew wasn’t the same person he met in juvie. He wouldn’t mourn that person; Nathaniel wanted to learn every part of Andrew—always had—but not the parts of him that didn’t exist. Not the parts of him the press confabulated. Not the parts of him he intentionally forced out.
In their brief interaction, Nathaniel saw that the ‘new’ Andrew wasn’t created by happenstance.
Pushing off the court wall, Nathaniel made his way to the red hallway. He briefly wondered where Riko was before continuing into his room. It didn’t matter anymore. Nathaniel didn’t care if this fake confidence came from his new standing with Ichirou or not. He only had to worry about himself. And even then, he didn’t have much of a choice. He would keep himself alive and functioning, more for the main branch rather than his own reasons, but that was water under the bridge.
Nathaniel grabbed his black suit and red fucking tie and stalked to the bathroom. He got nothing out of these banquets except two less hours of his life. The only benefit was that it coincided on the same night as the Ravens’ first pre-game of the season. He could get through anything if there was a game hanging in the balance, and that was much easier to think about than his new disgusting awareness that Ichirou was watching.
I will be back for the game at the end of next week.
He knew he’d been seeing Ichirou at some point tonight. For what, Nathaniel didn’t know. There was no point in worrying about it. Why suffer twice?
—
Heights? Andrew didn’t like them.
Flying? Not a fan.
Flying high? Severely unenjoyable.
Flying high while flying high? Ha. Not fun. Absolutely zero points in the ‘fun’ category.
His medication loved making sure he was having fun. All the time! In every situation! Cat got hit by a car? It was probably a green Kia Soul because anyone buying that car has to be blind as a fucking bat.
A smile pulled across his mouth. Andrew ran a hand over his face.
It was a shame only he heard his thoughts. He was often left laughing by himself. And he truly meant heard, because Andrew’s thoughts bordered on auditory hallucinations when he was medicated. That was the main indicator to sober Andrew that these meds were genuinely wrong for him.
And buzz buzz Bee knew it too, but there was nothing she could do.
Ha!
Long story short, he hated his meds. He couldn’t really hate them, no, no, not while he was on them.
Sober Andrew hated few things, but these fucking meds were one of them.
He almost always preferred being sober. Except for one situation. Not a fun situation. One situation. A not fun situation he was currently avoiding by being high before they physically went up and up, like the plane would.
Like Andrew was.
Everyone else was far behind.
The situation had negative points in the ‘fun’ category and a few hundred in the ‘I’d rather try to genuinely understand Kevin when he talks’ category. And, distinguished guests, the situation was withdrawals on a plane.
Withdrawals on a plane, withdrawals on a plane… snakes, snakes, Snakes on a Plane!
His meds were the culprit for both situations, but in this case, the monster he didn’t know was better than the monster he did. Andrew had little control when he was high, but he knew withdrawals on a plane.
Such a pain, those withdrawals on a plane.
He could describe the JetBlue bathroom floor with award-winning clarity, where he’d knelt vomiting into the toilet during turbulence. Until the day came where he couldn’t do that, high on planes it was.
“Andrew,” Kevin said. Andrew turned away from the window, his eyes zeroing in on the bag Kevin held.
“Well, well, don’t you know the way to my heart,” Andrew said, wearing a grin that felt like it stretched from ear to ear.
“Do you want them or not?” he asked. Andrew snatched the bag of lollipops.
“Have you been taking dance classes?” Andrew asked. “Because the way you express yourself has gotten better.”
“Fuck off,” Kevin said, without much heat.
“Are there tootsie ro–”
“I’m not an idiot.”
“That’s up for debate,” Andrew quipped, and Kevin looked at him.
Kevin knew medicated Andrew and sober Andrew better than anyone. Kevin didn’t like his meds for two reasons—two reasons he said often and loudly, because he’s Kevin. One, he didn’t think Andrew liked them nor deserved them, and two, Kevin thought Andrew would put more effort towards stickball if he wasn’t high or crashing 24/7.
Andrew wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying he was right.
Alas, Kevin knew he hated flying, and Kevin knew he hated being high, and Kevin knew Andrew was there for him. Hence the lollipops with tootsie rolls, despite Kevin having more food issues than even Andrew did, and Andrew went a year and four months in juvie without candy.
Devastating. Even sober Andrew would agree.
Raising an eyebrow, Andrew said, “And you’re still in my space because…?”
Kevin rolled his eyes and made his way to the tall French latte with a three on his face. Wymack was somewhere around, likely buying a bottle of water and a granola bar for $40.
Mr. French Latte wasn’t as pissy as he’d been when they got him. After speaking with his caged redhead, Kevin said something to Jean that broke him and set him free. Not free like a fly-away Raven, but detached from a chain holding him down.
Somewhere in that 6’3” tall drink, Andrew knew Jean wasn’t upset about going to the West coast.
Kevin wasn’t either. He had a Knox obsession.
When they called boarding for their plane, Andrew waltzed over to Kevin with a lollipop in his mouth and two more in his hand.
“Oh loverboy,” Andrew called. He heard a very dramatic sigh before Kevin looked over at him. “Grab Mr. Latte. We’re boarding.”
Latte said some choice words in French, and Andrew just shrugged.
Andrew only had one loverboy in his mind, but his meds never liked to focus on one thing for too long.
—
“You really thought that was a good idea, Wesninski?” Riko’s words tore through his mind, adding salt to all the wounds that opened in the past few hours. Rolling his shoulders, Nathaniel continued to stare at the back of his locker as if he were doing something.
He didn’t have any regrets, really. It had been a long night, and all Nathaniel asked for was one exy game where he didn’t have to think. Where he didn’t need to worry about ruining Riko’s fragile pride. Where he didn’t need to hold his checks against Baustin because it might turn around on Jean. Where he could simply play.
Just play.
One focus.
One goal.
Just him.
In light of the shitstorm that today was, Nathaniel needed a moment to breathe. He knew playing exy was the only way to achieve that illusion in the Nest. Had Nathaniel spent another game planning his moves according to Riko’s position, contemplating the easiest way to win with Riko on top, and fucking thinking, he was going to lose it. It was suffocating.
He was suffocating.
He didn’t even want to think that Kevin had lived like this for years. How he still managed to love the sport was beyond Nathaniel, and that was saying something. The only person who understood his need for exy was Kevin. They both needed it like the blood in their veins, though they played differently.
For Kevin, training was practically another vital organ tied directly to exy. Kevin trained for exy. It was precise decisions, calculated maneuvers, and repetition. Nathaniel, however, was a junkie, playing on instinct and muscle memory. He was becoming acutely aware that luxury didn’t exist when he was alone in the Nest. He was starting to wonder if Kevin’s brand of playing didn’t come about naturally, but out of sheer necessity.
Riko always needed a dog to kick, and Nathaniel was a fucking idiot for ever thinking a deal with Ichirou and the fact that they played opposing positions would be enough to keep Riko off his back.
“...that’s fine, Nate,” Riko said, his words fading back into Nathaniel's awareness. “You don’t have to respond. Your voice just complicates things, really.”
Nathaniel slammed his locker shut and turned around. Riko was staring at him with that crooked, sadistic grin, flanked by Baustin and Taylor, and Nathaniel swallowed the urge to laugh. The fucker always liked to put on a show.
“Are the theatrics necessary?” he asked. “Do you like feeling put-together or does the power-trip get you off?”
“It’s not a power-trip, Wesninski. Any good captain would congratulate their teammate after your performance on the court tonight,” he said.
“I’m sorry I didn’t give you that last pass,” he said. Nathaniel felt a sick freedom every time the urge to seek Jean out washed over him. He didn’t like being alone, but he sure as Hell enjoyed being by himself. Nathaniel couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about it because he was fucking tired and he wanted the threats in the room to run their course already and be done with him. For better or for worse, Nathaniel liked not having to hold his tongue. “I didn’t know you needed an assist every time. I’ll adjust and plan accordingly.”
And there it is.
Nathaniel watched that flame behind Riko’s eyes ignite. The bastard would honestly be much smarter if he learned to not be affected by what others said. Not for the first time, Nathaniel wondered if Riko and Ichirou came from the same set of parents. He knew Kengo fathered them both, but for some reason, their discrepancies rubbed Nathaniel in the wrong way.
“I really hate that mouth of yours, Nate,” he said.
“That seems like a you-problem. I’m open to couples therapy if you think it’ll benefit the relationship,” Nathaniel responded. He heard a cough that sounded suspiciously like someone trying to cover up a laugh and his eyes snapped to Taylor. The backliner might be a dick, but he had a sense of humor on him. Unfortunately for Nathaniel, the slip-up didn’t go unnoticed.
“Let’s get one thing straight, Nathaniel,” Riko said, closing in on him. Nathaniel bit down on his urge to say ‘that you aren’t?’ with a decent amount of effort. “I have to finish a post-game interview soon, and by the time I get to your room, I don’t want to hear your voice for the rest of the night. Are we clear, number four?”
“Fucking crystal,” he mumbled. Within a second, Nathaniel was slammed against the lockers with a hand around his throat. Riko was close enough that Nathaniel could feel his breath coat his face. He knew this wasn’t a battle worth fighting. He didn’t have anyone else to fight for, anyways.
Did the amount of damage really matter?
“I don’t think you finished that sentence, Nate,” Riko said.
“This really does get you off,” he said, voice quiet from the lack of air. “Did your hand not do a good enough job this week?” God, even his French bastard of a partner would’ve laughed at that.
The fingers tightened as Riko’s thumb dug into the skin above Nathaniel's jugular vein.
“Last fucking chance, Nate,” Riko said. “You don’t have anyone to clean you up after this, so I would think long and hard before you answer me.” Nathaniel froze as his mind latched onto Riko’s words. He was very aware—today, more than anything—that he didn’t have anyone. Nathaniel left Andrew in juvie, he lost Kevin before he even left the Nest’s walls, and he sent Jean away without a shred of a salvageable relationship.
Maybe Nathaniel was playing right into Riko’s cards, but he didn’t care. Nathaniel really had no ground to stand on, did he?
Did the amount of damage really matter?
“You have daddy issues, Riko, but that doesn’t mean I have to call you ‘king.’ We all have fucking issues. You’re the only one throwing a tantrum that Daddy won’t even bother himself to come and deal with.”
Nathaniel thought he could nearly see the fumes coming off of Riko. There was half a second, maybe one, where Nathaniel allowed himself to enjoy the destruction of his words. Nathaniel rarely aimed to kill with what he said, even though sometimes he did. He was never one to sugarcoat things, and he didn’t necessarily feel anything when they affected others in ways he didn’t intend.
With Riko, however? Nathaniel didn’t have a bone in his body to feel bad about what he voiced. They were his father’s genes that relished in others’ pain, and he didn’t mind them. Nathan’s smile tugged on the corner of his lips and Nathaniel put in a feeble attempt to muffle it.
In all honesty, Riko wasn’t the worst monster out there. He was wasted energy. Nathaniel knew it. Jean knew it better than he did. Kevin never got a chance to learn it, thrown into Riko's world at too young an age. Nathaniel let his tongue loose with this pathetic human, but he might as well save his killing blows for someone a few pegs higher than Riko.
It wouldn’t change his fate, in the end. There were ways he could pull his punches to protect Jean, but when he was alone, Nathaniel knew he was a lost cause.
A growl slipped out of Riko’s mouth.
“Baustin,” Riko called. The senior made his way over and grabbed Nathaniel by his shoulders. Instincts taking over, Nathaniel let his left fist fly. He was smart enough to aim his aggression at his fellow teammate rather than his beloved king. Baustin ducked. Nathaniel felt his own reaction time short circuit, exhaustion making his limbs weigh thousands of pounds. Riko used his hesitation to throw a punch of his own. Nathaniel turned his head and Riko’s fist collided with his ear rather than his jaw.
God, Nathaniel was tired.
Baustin had Nathaniel’s head in a lock before he realized what’d happened. Nathaniel’s vision started to blur, and some part of him wondered if he’d pass out before they tortured him. He didn’t have much time to hope for it, though.
Nathaniel’s gulps of air became smaller and smaller as Baustin tightened his hold. The back of his left knee buckled, after someone kicked it in, and Nathaniel felt his body go slack in Baustin’s grip. Riko’s voice rang through the air. Nathaniel’s brain couldn’t process the words.
His eyes fixed on his shoes as they dragged him across the locker room. It was a weird thing to focus on in a time like that; Nathaniel always fought like a feral cat, acutely aware of everyone’s movement. Maybe Jean was the only reason Nathaniel had managed to stay in the present each time this happened. Maybe Jean kept him tethered. Maybe Nathaniel could convince himself that he didn’t hate being alone so much.
He felt Taylor grab his legs as Baustin dropped him on one of the benches. Nathaniel’s head cracked against the wood. Taylor was holding his legs down. Riko was fiddling with the strings of his own pants. Nathaniel didn’t know where Baustin went, but a few seconds later, he felt hands wrench his arms under the bench.
Nathaniel’s brain kick-started again.
He tried to sit up, but Baustin reached over his chest, using his extra fifty pounds of lean muscle to keep Nathaniel pinned. Baustin tied Nathaniel’s right wrist to his left elbow before moving to the other side. Nathaniel let his head drop against the wood.
“You little fuckers,” he said. He didn’t think anyone heard him.
Riko then stepped one leg over the bench, his pants hanging low on his hips and the strings brushing over Nathaniel’s face. Something in Nathaniel’s brain put together what was about to happen. His body ran cold as a strange sweat prickled across his skin.
Nathaniel saw Riko’s mouth moving, but he couldn’t hear anything. There were noises that weren’t words. Riko’s face seemed to twist in anger the longer Nathaniel stayed silent.
“...keep that mouth shut,” he said. Nathaniel blinked as Riko slipped his fingers into the waistband of his pants.
“Pl–” Nathaniel tried. He couldn’t figure out how to string sounds together to make a proper word. “D– Don–”
“What was that?” Riko asked, leaning down a bit. “Cat got your tongue, Nate?”
Nathaniel was shaking. His struggles pulled his shoulders until the point of pain because of how tightly his arms were tied.
“You are worthless, Nate,” Riko said. “I’ve always hated your fucking mouth, but I think I’ve finally found a purpose for it.”
He started to hyperventilate. Fingers threaded through his hair and pinned his head against the bench. Riko pulled his pants down and Nathaniel willed his eyes to close.
“Let’s see how good you are at sucking cock, Four. I’m sure Jean had you practice on him once or twice considering he is a fucking fa–”
“Don’t you say his fucking name,” Nathaniel hissed. “I’ll bite your dick off.”
“Are you sure about that?” Riko asked before pausing. Nathaniel knew the look he wore—the ‘I have something over Nathaniel’ look. He would know, because he’d lived with the sadist for years. “Take a look around the room.”
Nathaniel didn’t want to move his eyes off Riko, not trusting the bastard as far as he could throw him, but Riko relished in humiliation more than anything. He doubted he’d trick Nathaniel into looking away just to fuck him over. Riko was far too vain for that.
Taylor hadn’t moved from Nathaniel’s left side the entire time. He didn’t think Taylor respected Riko much—he was just there to get off. Not that it made anything better, but Nathaniel wasn’t blind to the way many Ravens ‘coped’ with the Nest. Consent was an abstract concept in their cult.
Flicking his eyes to the right, Nathaniel saw Baustin fiddling with… Nathaniel’s eyes widened.
There was a tripod and a camera pointed directly at him.
“Are you really going to incriminate yourself?” he asked.
Riko’s hand wrapped around Nathaniel’s jaw and forced his head back straight. Riko leaned down until they were nearly nose to nose, his eyes glinting in their own fucked up way.
“I’m not in the frame, Nate,” he said, hand tightening. “Besides, the person I’d send this to wouldn’t let it leak. I doubt he’d even show anyone.”
Wrong.
He had to be wrong. Nathaniel knew he was wrong. Riko’s perception of that person was very different from the one Nathaniel knew him as… but part of him wondered.
Would he do anything?
Would he say anything?
Would Nathaniel even want him to say anything?
Wrong. Riko had to be wrong, wrong, wrong.
“What’s the matter, Nate?” Riko whispered. “You don’t think Kevin would enjoy this?”
Nathaniel flinched. Truly terrified, he flinched.
Riko laughed.
“You know, I always asked him if he wanted to watch the other players use you. I never got an answer. He just grabbed a bottle of vodka and walked away.” Nathaniel didn’t want to hear it. Nathaniel didn’t want to hear this.
He knew Kevin fought. He’d heard it, he’d witnessed it, he’d nearly broke over it. Kevin broke over it. He was abused and he had to cope. Nathaniel didn’t want to think about how young Kevin was when he started drinking like that. Even though Nathaniel knew it wasn’t his fault, he didn’t want to think about his own involvement in it, either.
He didn’t want to. God, why wasn’t anyone listening?
“Kevin really turned into a selfish coward. Maybe this will get him to change.”
“Better a selfish coward than an egotistical cunt.”
Nathaniel’s head snapped to the side when Riko backhanded him.
“Keep your teeth off my dick while I fuck your mouth like the useless toy you are or your bitch of a boyfriend will get a front row seat to the show.”
Riko threaded his hands through Nathaniel’s hair and pulled until it hurt. Nathaniel’s heart picked up as Riko pushed in. He gagged before desperately trying to detach his mind from this goddamn situation. Riko got lost in it, pinning Nathaniel’s head against the bench.
Nathaniel wondered if Riko even remembered he was a person.
Riko was saying things, moaning like a five dollar whore. Nathaniel wasn’t listening.
Riko kept going. Nathaniel went nowhere.
Riko finished. Nathaniel wondered if any ring of Hell was worse than this.
Then Riko’s entire body stilled. Nathaniel felt Riko’s legs go rigid on either side of his body. The second Riko’s dick was out of his mouth, Nathaniel was dry-heaving over his right shoulder. If only his hands were undone and he could make himself throw it back up. As Nathaniel watched his saliva and tears gather on the locker room floor, he realized Riko still hadn’t moved.
There wasn’t any laughing or taunting. No humiliating insults or threats. Something was wrong.
What would make him stop–
Oh.
There was only one person who could make Riko freeze like that.
Nathaniel dragged his eyes off the tile and they zeroed in on perfectly polished Louboutin dress shoes. His eyes trailed up the pristine suit, past the unbuttoned black shirt, and locked gazes with Lord Ichirou. Nathaniel felt saliva and other substances drip from his mouth each time he sucked in a ragged breath.
Footsteps approached from down the hall and Ichirou silently stepped to the side.
Nathaniel didn’t crumble until Katsu walked in and he saw the man flinch. A man he had grown to care for in one screwed up way or another. A man who could torture with a straight face and laugh at Mario Kart and eat gummy worms off the ground as he threw them at Nathaniel. If he had any way of throwing up, he would’ve.
He watched as Katsu's eyes glazed over. Nathaniel idly wondered about Katsu’s relationship with anger, anything to keep him from living what was happening.
The reaction reminded him of Andrew, because no one was that calm by accident.
Katsu’s voice was deadly quiet when he spoke.
“May I?”
Ichirou’s response was short.
“Yes.”
CH10: Cold and Broken Hallelujah
“Sexier, just as sexy, or less sexy?” Katsu asked as he walked out of the closet.