About How Kerejeandreils Cope With Their Traumas

sometimes when I wanna make my self sad I just think about how the choking incident was quite possibly the most devastating way for Andrew and Kevin's deal to end

Kevin Day One-Shot

This is a little snippit of Kevin’s first couple of weeks living in dorms after leaving the nest (pre- the foxhole court). I’m just trying to get a grasp of Kevin and Andrew’s dynamic in the beginning and ended up writing a k about Kevin trying to cook eggs for the first time. I’m operating on the assumption that Kevin’s life was pretty strictly controlled in the nest.

CW: Discussion of disordered eating | food insecurity

Kevin was frozen in the kitchen and wasn’t that annoying. The pan was slowly getting hotter, the bottom burning some dark substance encrusted to the stove top where someone, probably Nicky had spilled something without bothering to clean up. The scent made him sick. He knew he should probably pour some oil in the pan or atleast take it off the heat so the non-stick coating wouldn’t be ruined, or at least that’s what Renne told him two weeks ago. The pan was smoking now.

A soft shuffling came from the doorway behind him. The sound didn’t startle him but the presence of another body was enough to break his trance, and he grabbed the pan with his right hand, moving it off the heat. Later, when Kevin met Neil and then Nathaniel and then Neil again, Kevin would learn how to be alone but for now he let himself be relieved at another person’s breathing softening the silence. People were Kevin’s first vice, before the vodka and maybe even before exy. He wasn’t certain that he existed when he was alone, sure that his body would disappear if no one’s eyes were constantly holding it down from slowly seeping away into the floorboards of the court and making sure his body was still made of flesh and bones instead of nylon lace and hardened plastic. The night time glow streaming through the window was an unfamiliar blue instead of red and wasn’t this whole thing annoying.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Andrew’s voice was rough with sleep.

 Kevin turned to him, hyper aware of his muscles forming the lost expression on his face. He was never good at hiding his reactions, especially from Riko, never from Riko. When Keven didn’t say anything, Andrew just stared back at him, unmedicated expression blank. 

After a while, Andrew hummed and walked around the counter into the kitchen. He didn’t look at Kevin as he grabbed the vegetable oil from its place on the second shelf. Kevin didn’t move even as Andrew reached across him, maintaining his prescribed two inches of space between skin, to grab the pan which was sitting uselessly on the cold backburner (And wasn’t that funny) and sit it back on the still hot burner. He turned the knob to medium heat. Reaching into the fridge, Andrew moved aside Nicky’s half full jug of orange juice and a couple beers to grab Kevin’s carton of eggs. It was full - he had just bought it today. 

He hadn’t even been planning to buy them. The Palmetto student athlete contract included full access to a dining plan with a wide variety of balanced nutritional options for him to properly fuel his body for exy. He had no reason to use the kitchen in their shared dorm room, but he had walked past the over priced campus grocery store on his way back from class and stopped. A sickening buzz of adrenaline had clawed its way up his throat when he pushed open the door. Entering a grocery store felt like falling off a cliff, the little door bell his last warning before free fall, and didn’t that just make Kevin want to break something. Instead he bought a carton of eggs at a 200% markup and now they sat on the counter in his dorm room kitchen at 2 in the morning. The nest didn’t have a kitchen.

Andrew grabbed an egg, still in silence, and expertly cracked it against the edge of the counter, then unceremoniously dropping the contents of the egg into the pan. He did this three more times in quick succession. They stood shoulder to shoulder listening to the sizzling cracking sound of the oil, not looking at each other. After about a minute or two, Andrew seemed to deem the eggs as “done”,  though Kevin didn’t know how Andrew could know, seeing as he didn’t even set a timer. He divided the eggs onto two plates. Two for himself and two for Kevin. Andrew walked over to the table and sat his plate in front of himself and then slid the other plate with perfect precision to rest in front of the seat across from him. The plate made sure to make a mocking scraping sound on the way over to its destination. 

Andrew devoured his eggs in seemingly two bites and then finally raised his eyes to meet Kevin’s. In the dim kitchen they were impossibly dark, not a hint of their usual gold. Kevin dropped the eye contact, he regretted it instantly and stared down at his eggs, ears burning. 

The thing was that Kevin hadn’t planned this far ahead. He’d already tried to make eggs twice. Once as soon as he had gotten back from class, still riding whatever nauseating delusion that had caused him to go into the store in the first place. He quickly realized that he didn’t know what temperature you were supposed to cook eggs at: was it a slow cook at low heat or a fast fry at high heat? And once the eggs start cooking, how long do you leave them for? And maybe he should separate out the yolks and just use the egg whites? His neck had started heating up and his knuckles turned white around the spatula, trying to stop himself from snapping it, not that he really cared if he broke the cousins’s shitty dollar store spatula. He ended up watching an old exy game instead.

The second time, he made it as far as the fridge, before he realized he was wasting time. He wasn’t at Palmetto state to make eggs. He went back to his dorm bed to do some grip strengthening exercises and review some outlines he’d made for the team’s Friday practice.

So now he was sitting staring at two fried eggs with round unbroken yokes glaring back at him and for some reason he couldn’t even remember if he really liked eggs. He took a bite anyway, knife scratching against the ceramic plate in the silence. He met Andrew’s eyes again, still engulfed in darkness. Andrew sneered at him. He tilted his chair back, resting on the back two legs and lazily nodded his head towards the kitchen. Bored. Always bored.

“Don’t forget to clean up.”

Kevin scowled at Andrew’s retreating form. Kevin didn’t finish his eggs, simply scraping them into the garbage, but he did clean up. Afterall, Kevin was well practiced at existing in a shared space, even if he could count the times he’s had to wash dishes on one hand.

Andrew didn’t do anything and he didn’t want anything. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. But he made him eggs. Kevin knew he was getting distracted - he’s been unfocused for a while. This is why the nest operated with strict rules and clear outlines with harsh but immediate consequences. Without a structure, he started trying to build meaning out of groceries. He thought about Andrew’s dark eyes and how they looked like dark rooms and he felt nauseous again. After he finished cleaning, Kevin always completed his work, he grabbed the entire carton of eggs and dumped the whole thing in the trash. 

nathaniel wesninski had been dead for years before they left him buried in baltimore. he had been dead, but he’d also been ever-present, pacing in the muffled beat of alex’s footsteps, crouching beneath the hooded circles under stefan’s eyes, twitching at the base of chris’s trigger finger. pulsing in the pit of abram’s throat as he stuck a lighter to the hood of his mother’s car. he crawled into bed at neil’s side when he tucked away his brown contacts and pulled out his binder. but neil, abram, alex-stefan-chris, weren’t the only ones he haunted, because he haunted evermore too. he was the silhouette that sat on the edge of the bed opposite jean’s when zane wasn’t in the room. he was the phantom that drew cold fingers over the number that should have been his scrawled on the face of the boy he should have been able to save. he was the speck of light jean saw when he opened his eyes underwater long enough he forgot how to breathe. he was the glinting edge of a box-cutter and the creaking floor of a wooden box and the stale air in jean’s lungs from 48 hours in hell. the point separating 11.9 from 1.19. misplaced forever partners united by being haunted by the same ghost.

People on Twitter pissed me off, so now I need to talk about Kevin Day. With a new wave of "Kevin was selfish for leaving" discourse happening, I legitimately have to ask, do you all understand what a cult is??

Even putting the psychological effects being in a cult had on him aside, Kevin is not a perfect person. Nobody in the aftg series is perfect, characters are not black and white. This is one of the big points of the series. You have got to put yourself in his shoes. Imagine this:

You are 19 years old. Your mother was killed when you were a child by someone involved in this cult; even if you do not know this for a fact, you have a suspicion. The identity of your father is kept from you in an effort to keep you where you are. You are number 2, supposed second in command of the other members. You can not piss off number 1; you have seen what he does to number 3 when he is angry. You are challenged to fight number 1 and know that if you win, he will be irrationally angry, so you pull the fight and let him win. He knows you did this. He attacks you, and you start begging. First in English, your native tongue, then in Japanese, his native tongue, and then in French, the language you should not know. This implicates number 3, and number 1 lashes out and crushes your hand almost beyond repair.

You are left alone with number 3 there to pick up the pieces. Your mind is absolutely reeling; you are no longer useful to the cult like this, and you know what they do to things they do not deem useful. 3 will do anything for you. You know this to be true. You have to get out, and a solution comes to your mind: number 3 distracts number 1. It is your only opportunity. Do you take it?

Personally, I don't understand how you can read this series and not come out of it feeling incredibly sorry for Jean and Kevin. Should Kevin have used Jean's feelings for him to get out of the nest? In a perfect world, no, but this is not a perfect world. He was desperate, and scared, and vulnerable, and he did whatever he could to get away. If he was selfish, he would not have felt the insane amounts of regret we can practically feel radiating off of him during the series. Kevin is a victim, and I need y'all to stop overlooking that.

This is the mood fellas

But yeah Andrew is the softer one in the relationship:

- This is a part of him he thinks must be in new bloom. The world says rough, the world says weapon, the world says joyless and so there must be some truth to it, right? Yet he finds himself wanting to cradle Neil’s hands to his chest when he needs steadying from a nightmare, have Neil’s bare wrist pressed flush against his ribs so that he can feel their pulses thrumming against one another. And he can’t sleep at night until he’s ran slow, deliberate fingers through Neil’s soft hair, every comb-through an indulgence, fingers massaging Neil’s delicate scalp, learning the structure, the very shape of it. He wants to press his lips to every scab, every contusion, everywhere Neil tore himself apart in hopes of survival. He wants to alleviate and cradle and absorb.  - Neil often ends up kicking his own blankets off of himself at night, and in the winters it drives Andrew absolutely crazy, so he’ll wake up a couple of times in the middle of the night just to fix Neil’s blanket and pull the covers back up over his shoulders to keep him from shivering too much, right before closing his arms down over Neil’s middle like a brace like a ring of fire. - Andrew likes to tease Neil about being clingy, but there are times when it’s difficult to say if there’s something wrong with his system or if being separated from Neil for longer than a few hours at a time has him emptied and aching in more ways than one. One particular evening at Sweetie’s, while watching Neil, Nicky and Kevin engage in some idle conversation he doesn’t remotely care to pay attention to, Andrew subtly tilts his cone in Neil’s direction. Neil regards it a moment before gladly accepting the soft serve and taking a small bite out of it. They share the rest of the cone together. Nicky attempts to tease them about it at one point, but stops mid sentence when he catches Andrew’s murder-glare from his periphery and changes topic. Andrew will never admit it, but once it becomes a quiet, shared ritual; he likes getting a little ice cream on his nose on purpose so that Neil has the urge to kiss it off. Slowly it becomes ok, even in  public. - There are nights when Andrew lets Neil wrap his arms around his stomach and pull him close, his chin on his shoulder, Andrew’s back digging into Neil’s chest. Andrew sleeps better when he can feel Neil’s heart beating against his spine. It leaves him strangely warm and punch-drunk.  - Sometimes in the midst of exploring, Andrew will take Neil’s hands and press them to his own diaphragm over his t-shirt so that Andrew’s breaths can do the speaking for the wordless, happy hum that he’s feeling. He likes Neil’s palm resting there, at the centre of him. - Andrew anchors his fingers in the back collar of Neil’s sweatshirt whenever he feels Neil tense by his side. As soon as Neil’s on edge, all it takes is for Andrew to hook his fingers and give a light tug on his clothes to reground him. Other times he’ll bunch his hand in the hem of Neil’s t-shirt and twist or press a steering hand around the back of his neck, but never to control. Always to guide. Neil will never not be amazed by the impact the slightest contact with Andrew can make on his nervous system. - Andrew strives to smoothen out his hard edges, catches tail ends of hushed conversations where the Foxes relay mutual shock at noticing the incurvated places where Andrew lets himself cave in, allowing himself to be vulnerable, allowing himself to be worshipped. The devotion and unrepentant trust that builds a monolith within him when Neil fiercely defends him. “I don’t need your useless concern,” he’ll mutter. “Too bad because you’ve got it,” Neil will usually reply. “They have to stop preying on you at every given chance. You’re not a monster to me. You shouldn’t be a monster to anyone. If they fail to understand that, they’ll be sorry.” Andrew’s tone is offhanded. “I don’t care about what they think. Nor should you.” Neil just shakes his head. “We’re family. We have to treat each other like one.” The words bite at the crumbs of Andrew’s nonchalant demeanor and he lets his guard down wholeheartedly. It’s an understanding. He and Neil have something that the rest of the world can only dream of, and nobody can take that away from them. - Neil often spends time bare-chested with Andrew so that he can further familiarize himself with the feel of Neil’s lacerated skin and by the time they’re falling asleep, Andrew almost invariably ends up wearing Neil’s oversized hoodie he shed earlier to bed.       - He doesn’t feel particularly gentle, but Neil insists that he is. “You’re always so careful,” Neil’s voice is thick with some unchained emotion, yet conversational as he runs fingers over Andrew’s split knuckles. The night air is humid and dark, rain-heavy clouds blot out the stars. They feel exhausted after a particularly grueling game, like battlefields after war, but the heat of Andrew’s body is lilting and makes Neil feel kind of dreamy. “With me, I mean. Nobody else has ever been that considerate.” Andrew’s blank amber eyes stare back at him, shone like opals in the campus lights reflecting from down below. “It’s not concern,” Neil nods in agreement. “No, it’s not.” Andrew then wordlessly takes their entwined hands and holds them against the side of his jaw, just below his cheek. Neil reacts with an elaboration. “Even though it’s always yes with you, you understand that some days it might be a difficult yes. You don’t touch to feast, you touch to steady. You make me feel safe and like I exist. You go about it like flower picking, if that even makes any sense. Cautious but hot, never incomplete and still somehow leaving me wanting more.” Now Neil’s smiling and nudging Andrew’s foot with his own. Their hands still twined at Andrew’s throat. “It’s really sweet.” Neil expects a comeback, an evasion, an immediate it is not but instead Andrew’s silence is pensive. Neil can feel him swallow against his fingers. The swift bob up and back down. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to.” He finally declares. Neil’s heart enflames as he leans in, close enough to Andrew’s mouth that he can taste his breath on his tongue, an inch keeping from tipping over into a kiss. “And I don’t ever want you to feel like I don’t want to. Because I do. I want so much it scares me. Pretty weird, right? Going from being nothing to wanting so much.” They gaze patiently at one another, not kissing, breaths spreading against lips like ripples in a pond. “What if I stopped asking?” Andrew’s voice is barely a whisper, hoarse; afraid almost. “I would like that, but only if you feel comfortable with a decision so big. You don’t have to make it now. Not for me.” Neil replies. Andrew closes his eyes. “Tell me one final time.” Neil traces one of Andrew’s eyelids with a barely-there finger and takes a breath. “Yes. Eternally yes.” Andrew crushes his lips hard against Neil’s: a chemical reaction. The kiss is a languid drink sipped by a man who’d been thirsting for years. The kiss is a game changer and Neil feels it in every single one of his arteries. If such a gesture could be measured, it’d stretch on for eternity. Neil is so thankful when they come apart for air that he’s stunted speechless. Andrew’s expression, once an uprising, now lays its armor down and then, the barest, shortest of burning smiles. Neil thinks he’ll forget how to inflate his lungs. And sitting there, atop their little pocket dimension of a rooftop, with Neil’s face moon-bright and stained red with surprise, Andrew thinks this gentleness will become a bad habit.

thinking about kevin day winning his first olympic gold medal.

kevin day who appears to the media as a confident athlete who knows how talented he is. everyone knew the gold medal was only a matter of when he’d get it and not if he gets it— he’s the son of exy after all. they might have seen him a bit stiff in his earlier years and people did not forget about his class i exy interviews in which he confirms he had never been skiing or that the palmetto state foxes’ coach is actually his father— but he has always maintained that kevin day winning smile and his polite composure with the perfect amount of charisma.

but then the US exy team wins the final game at the olympics. it’s the first time he has won the olympic medal and when the final whistle fills his ears, he quite literally drops to his knees, he yells out in celebration, and then when he takes off his helmet he is crying. he has finally done it. he has won the gold medal which he was so determined to win ever since he could remember.

and most people do not know the extend of what he had to sacrifice for it. they don’t realise the extend of how hard he had to work to get back to exy after his hand got broken— both mentally and physically. nor do they know the amount of panic attacks he had to deal with and the same amount of times he had to drown his feelings away with a bottle or three.

and he’s crying. the fans cheer him on. and it’s not just the USA fans— but it feels like the whole stadium starts cheering his name in celebration and support. because at the end of the day that’s kevin day and he has finally done it. he has gotten the medal and it’s literally going to be a historic moment.

andrew makes his way to kevin’s side and he helps kevin take off his gloves like he has done many times before. andrew wants to say something, maybe a remark that will get under kevin’s skin— but then he looks at kevin’s expression and he realises this is all they’ve been building up to for the past years.

and it’s not just kevin who has won the golden medal right now. it’s him too. his team. their team. and they’re all a bit speechless and astonished by this moment. so andrew helps kevin up and neither of them say a word to each other just yet, but kevin feels andrew’s weight shifting into him too— they’re both leaning onto each other; they’re both holding each other up.

Hey. Psst. You. Yes, you. You, who thinks that Andrew choking Kevin for Neil is sweet and romantic.

Yes, please, come closer.

*slams a rolled up newspaper on your face*

No.

It's not romantic. It's not sweet. It's not proof of Andrew's undying care and love for Neil. It's Andrew, going back on his promise to protect Kevin. It's Andrew, choking someone who trusted him and who had already been betrayed and abused by a person he once trusted in the past.

Loving a character doesn't mean you can't recognise they've made mistakes and shitty things. Especially when it comes to the AFTG ones.

rare sight: a peaceful afternoon