Chapter Text
Neil let the cigarette burn down to ash.
The window was propped open, which took a maneuver of him scaling half up the staircase and wall, because he was pretty sure it was technically meant to remain shut. Probably also not meant to smoke indoors. No one ever came through this staircase, though. It was in a dead part of a low-traffic university building, and Neil let the silence and smell of smoke wrap around and around him until his eyes were drifting shut.
Waste of a cigarette, rabbit.
Neil’s fingers twitched over the cigarette. He let himself tip over until his shoulder and head hit the wall with a faint thud, the pain bursting through him. Heaviness seeped through his body.
“This is my spot.”
Neil cracked his eyes open. Two exits right near him– either up through the staircase or, if he was really in a bind, through the cracked window. The third exit, down at the bottom, was blocked by a tall, scowling man with hair as dark as a stormcloud to match his expression.
“Didn’t see a name on it,” Neil responded, letting his eyes go half-lidded again.
“It doesn’t need one. What are you, a freshman? I’m a junior, which means I’ve been here longer.”
“And I’m tired and don’t give a shit.”
You need someone around to watch that smart mouth, Abram. The heaviness sunk further, down to his bones. Into the marrow. Congealing in his bloodstream.
Footsteps thudded up the staircase, and that old survival instinct Neil had never managed to kick reared its head. He straightened up, pulling the guitar bag resting behind him closer to his body. The man paused his ascent, eyes flicking between Neil and the bag. He had his own guitar strapped to his back, and the sight of it had something stirring within Neil.
“You play?” The man demanded. Now that he was closer, Neil could make out the color of his eyes. Pale green. Sea glass and moss-covered water.
“No.”
His nose scrunched. “Don’t lie.”
Liar, liar, rabbit.
“I just have it,” Neil responded.
The man scoffed and crossed his arms. He was wearing an oversized black sweatshirt, and his skin was tanned a golden bronze. Neil noticed a strange tattoo up high on his cheekbone, incongruous with the princely, pompous sneer he wore.
“That’s a waste. A guitar should be with a guitarist.”
“And are you one?”
“Obviously.” The man flicked his fingers. “Do you even know who I am?”
Neil stared at him blankly.
“Kevin Day,” he supplied, before huffing. “Son of Kayleigh Day?”
“Congratulations.”
His eyes widened slightly before he frowned again. “So, you really don’t know how to play?”
“You seem a little stuck on that.”
“It’s wrong.” Kevin’s arms tightened. “Frankly, an abomination.”
Great, Neil thought, I’m dealing with a drama queen.
He stood up, hoisting the guitar bag over his shoulder. He made an exaggerated gesture towards the spot, before flicking his cigarette butt into the corner where all the other ones were. A sad little pile, like the world’s most fucked up funeral pyre.
“Have at it, son of Kayleigh Day.”
Neil brushed past him down the stairs and turned the corner. Just like that, his energy stalled out. He leaned heavily against the wall and pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes. Neil used to be so good at running. At fighting. It had been all he was good for.
And then…
And then–
Music drifted down the hallway. Just light guitar strumming, but it plucked at something in Neil’s chest and pulled. Neil pictured a set of pale hands, nails filed down to the quick, moving over strings. And then he pictured what must be Kevin, sitting up there on those steps, long limbs sprawled out and dark waves falling across his forehead.
Just simple guitar strumming, yet something within Neil broke clean apart.
--------------------
He started following Kevin.
It was laughably easy to do, actually. The prince seemed to have a routine he strictly stuck to. It consisted of a high-protein smoothie in the morning, an ugly shade of puke green. Then his first classes, lunch in the dining hall, a loping run in the afternoon, and more evenings than not heading back to the music building where he rented out a room with two other men.
The room was, annoyingly, sound proof. So Neil could do nothing but loiter outside with a cigarette on those nights, all that music trapped away.
He learned that Kevin was some type of music major and a massive type A personality. Always the first to answer in class, stayed up late to finish assignments, scribbling notes or lyrics down constantly in a notebook he had on him at all times. Kevin also, inexplicably, always stopped to pet the stray cats on campus. Or chased down someone who had dropped their student ID, running nearly halfway across campus to catch up with her. Neil knew, since he had sprinted too.
And Kevin always had his guitar.
Neil couldn’t exactly explain why he was following Kevin. It wasn’t normal behavior. (When have you ever been normal, Abram?) But he wasn’t too concerned about it, either. For the first time in awhile, the heaviness had lifted from his skin. That’s all that really mattered, not the why’s or how’s or is this moral behavior?
The routine broke, though, on Wednesday.
It was one of the days when Neil’s own classes conflicted with his stalking, something that made him mildly consider dropping the class. Unfortunately, it was needed for his scholarship. Still, he was considering it as he walked towards where he knew Kevin’s class let out, fingers fiddling with the cigarette box in his pocket and the guitar a heavy weight on his back.
“--thought one semester away and what? You’re better than me now? Covered up the number, but we both know it’s still there–”
Neil turned his feet towards the voice. It was snively and sharp, and Neil instantly disliked it. Disliked it even more when he noticed Kevin leaned back against the wall, sandwiched between two buildings, while that snively, sharp voice talked down on him. The other man was roughly Kevin’s height (around tall) yet Kevin’s shoulders were rounded and he was staring at the ground.
None of that princely air.
Just a beaten dog.
“We both know you’re going to come back to the Ravens, so stop beating around the bush with this little Eat, Pray, Love drama you have going on and–
“You think he’ll come back? I’ve spent one minute listening to you and I wish I could burst my eardrums.” Both men whipped their heads around to look at Neil. “Which, by the way, I’ve done before. Hurt like a bitch, but at least I wouldn’t have to listen to the sound of one.”
Kevin’s eyes widened and he shook his head slightly. The other man frowned, but it wasn’t a scowl like Kevin’s had been. It was the inverse of Neil’s father’s smile. Malicious, cruel, a look that only real monsters could share.
“And you are?”
“A concerned party.”
“Oh, Kevin.” The man shot Kevin a look. “This is one of your new bandmembers?” He gestured towards Neil’s guitar. “Is scarred and feral the new look? I’m embarrassed for you, truly.”
“Riko…” Kevin swallowed. His knuckles turned white around his own guitar, and he shot Neil a look again. Even had the audacity to make a shooing motion, like Neil really was a feral cat.
“I’m embarrassed you’re begging for someone who clearly doesn’t want or need you,” Neil inserted. “Or, wait. Let me say it in a language you might understand– I can see your daddy issues from a mile away, and that’s coming from this feral stray.”
Neil had sung the last part, mostly to be as obnoxious as possible, but both Kevin and Riko’s jaws dropped open. Whatever the reason for the reaction, it clearly finally put some steel back into Kevin’s spine because he shouldered past Riko, grabbed Neil by the hood of his sweatshirt, and dragged them down the path and back into the more crowded area.
Neil broke away easily. No one had touched him in… awhile. A long while.
“What the fuck was that?” Kevin demanded. “You didn’t tell me you sing.”
“Because I don’t.” Neil straightened out his sweatshirt and peered up at Kevin. He really was unnaturally tall, enough that Neil’s neck ached from staring at him. We should kill all the tall people, rabbit. Then it’d just be us.
“Yeah, you do.” Kevin took a step forward. “Congratulations. You’re in the band.”
“Thanks, but no.”
“Don’t just say no,” Kevin snapped. “Think about it.”
Neil tilted his head to the side. “Thinking… thinking… yeah– still no.”
“You fucking–” Kevin took a deep breath. “Listen. I’ve noticed you hanging around the past few days. I thought you were one of Riko’s lackeys, but that’s obviously not the case so… I’m willing to look past the obsessive fan behavior. Fuck it, I’ll even sign an autograph. Is that what it will take?”
Neil blinked, briefly wondering if Kevin was speaking another language. But nope– still English. Besides, even if he had been speaking another language, it would be unlikely it was one that Neil didn’t know. Which meant whatever was coming out of Kevin’s mouth just made literally no sense.
“You should go to the campus clinic. Might be having stroke symptoms.”
“Stroke–?” Kevin slapped a hand against his forehead. Neil carefully stepped out of the range of his arms. “Join the band.”
“Ok, I’ll– oh shit, is that Riko?”
Kevin whirled around, and Neil took his opportunity to slip away. By the time Kevin was yelling after him– hey, stray!-- since he didn’t know his actual name, Neil was already far enough away for it to be too late.
He ran the rest of the way back to his dorm, heart beat thudding in his chest. Neil had almost forgotten it was there, and not buried six feet under.
How poetic, Abram.
Neil rested his forehead against his door. He could pretend Andrew was there all he wanted, make up those little conversations, but it wasn’t true, was it?
Andrew was dead, had been for almost two years.
Andrew was dead. Neil was here.
And Neil had no idea what he was doing.
A familiar feeling, but for a little while there, with Andrew– for a moment, it had felt like someone had finally given him a map. Now Neil was left with no one to guide him. Sometimes, that simple fact left Neil more exhausted than miles of running ever did.