Chapter Text
On the way home to and from college, Link has to walk by Castle Evermore. He holds his breath for the time it takes to move past it and is ever so careful to keep his eyes averted. Every time, he wonders why his aunt chose to live so close to the exy court when they both know of her mostly ambivalent but sometimes hatred of the game and the place. Why she chooses to work for an institution that tried its best to bleed her dry.
Then again, he supposes she probably wonders why he would choose to study in a place that reveres a sport that had equally ruined his childhood. They are a little similar that way, picking at cuts and press on bruises. Reminders that they exist despite everything.
"Hey! Link!"
His head jerks up and for a moment his heart is racing. He is still unused to too loud noises and his name being yelled brings memories he would rather burn to ashes. It's been two years since he moved in with his aunt and his therapist tells him he might never be able to completely rid himself of the habit. Which is pretty pessimistic for a therapist but what does Link know.
His eyes register that it's only Jack, one of his few friends in college, but his heart takes a little longer to catch up. Breathing slow and deep like his therapist taught him, Link summons a smile. "Hey, didn't see you there."
Jack jogs up to him and slings an arm around his shoulder with a wide grin. Link has trained his body's reaction to stop flinching to touches but it never fails to make his freeze or fawn response flair up. He makes his smile wider and makes his mouth say, "What's up? You're looking way too happy for first day of class."
"We won the Kariya lottery, dude. Everyone's hyped."
"The what?"
Jack lets out a theatrical sigh. "One day I'll make an exy fan out of you. Benjamin Kariya, this generation's exy jesus chose Edgar Allen as his college of choice. There are literally hundreds of money betting on where he'd go. Everyone thought he'd go to the Trojans or somewhere with, you know, a fucking chance at the championship. But for some fucking reason, and like I'm not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth, he's chosen here. Everyone's going nuts."
"Oh," says Link, unsure of what else to say.
Jack doesn't notice his reticence. He's a good friend, but not the most observant. Which is why they're such good friends; habits or mannerisms of Jack's that might make some people side-eye him, Jack thinks is just him being quirky. "The whole fucking summer that's all people were talking about. News literally came out last night. Shit, it's gonna be so fucking surreal to see him around campus."
Link makes a noise that he hopes conveys agreement. The name is familiar, he probably heard about the guy in passing back when he used to care about exy. Now all he can think is this probably means exy will become more of a fucking thing than it was before. And it was a pretty big thing even with Edgar Allen regularly placing last in the division for the past five years.
"Well," Link says with a trace of irony, "Maybe the team might become known for more than possible mobster connections."
"Hey, that was never proven."
"Yeah, okay," Link says with a shrug. Sure, never proven. That's why his aunt got a squirelly look the one and only time Link asked her about it. Whatever, not like it's going to affect Link's life.
He's spent two years so far avoiding exy and exy avoiding him, he just has to keep his head down and get through the next two. Then he could go be a fucked up adult somewhere else.
Easy.
* * *
It is not easy.
It's not easy to avoid exy when it's fucking everywhere. People are talking about it, making bets about it, and there are fucking banners on every building. And that name, Kariya, keeps cropping up wherever Link goes. There are more Raven scarves around people's necks and Raven jerseys on people than Link has ever seen around the campus collectively over the two years he's been here.
His only safe haven is his home and he only gets a handful of awake hours there.
"Dude, you're gonna bust an aneurysm. You good?" Jack asks with sincere concern.
Link takes a deep breath and puts down the plastic fork he's using to eat lunch. It's meant to be chicken stroganoff, but it tastes no different to the cafeteria's chicken vindaloo or its chicken yellow curry they serve on other days. He's managed to stab a piece of chicken so hard he's broken through styrofoam and the sauce is leaking onto the table.
"I'm fine," Link grumbles and scrounges around for a napkin to soak up the mess. "Can we talk about something other than exy? I'm even happy to talk about the fucking midterm assignment that we haven't even got the instructions for, literally anything."
Jack and Simone share a look. "I knew you didn't like exy but I thought it was like apathy and not sheer hate," she says, handing over more napkins.
"I don't hate it," Link lies. "I just don't get the whole…deal. So yeah you got one decent player. Big whoop? It's a team sport, right? So if the others are still shit then what does it matter?"
Simone shrugs. "I'm not as much of an exy freak as this guy but it's just the usual pre-season hype with a boost of adrenaline cos of name recognition. It'll die down in a bit."
"That can't happen soon enough," Link says with a roll of his eyes. "It's literally just a game with a ball and racquets, and not even the first game to have that requirement."
Because Jack is actually a good friend and one of the chillest people Link knows, he does change the subject. And it's fine, totally fine if he can just keep exy out of his immediate social circle. Except then fucking club fair happens.
Link doesn't really do clubs but Simone does. Simone does a lot of clubs for someone aiming to get summa cum laude. She's in the lgbtq+ support club, in the knitting club, in the hiking club, and in something called the diorama club. And those are her core ones. Every semester she'll try out a couple of new clubs and move on when she's gotten what she wants out of them. Link has no idea what it is she gets out of them, just that she says she does.
So of course there's the sports fan clubs and they are full of some of the most rabid people Link has ever met. They make merch, they wear merch, they track data like some national league analysts, and they try to lure more into their cults every single day. All of them have a handful of players hanging around to chat with people or play mini versions of their one chosen career path that they'll retire out of when they're not even halfway through their life and then have an existential crisis about what else is out there for them.
Simone and Link dutifully visit Jack at the lacrosse club table and they half-heartedly try to get a goal with racquets. Link is on edge the whole time, the weight of the racquet and the setting is completely different but it's close enough to exy to make him…not happy.
He might also be tense because the table two clubs down is the exy fanclub and he keeps hearing excited cheers from that area. Then Jack, chill Jack who can probably only hold one thought in his head at a time that isn't sports, goes, "Oh hey, I kinda made friends with some of the exy guys and I was like I wonder if lacrosse skills cross over to exy well, and they invited a bunch of us to come try out. Sims, you did field hockey right? Wanna see if you're any good at exy too?"
Simone gives Link a look but he can't read her face, he's too busy frozen by…not fear, fear implied that exy had hurt him and it's done plenty of things to him but never hurt him like it hurt--Link pushes down on the thought. I'm panicking, he thinks, as sweat gathers in his hairline and he can't seem to expand his lung. Simone is still throwing small looks at him but Jack has his arm slung over Link's shoulder and is leading him to the exy table, talking and talking but Link can't hear a word.
Before he knows it, he's automatically clasping hands with someone in that sports bro way athletes indulge in. His body, well trained in keeping moving when everything hurts, is going through the motions of greeting people and telling them his name, while his brain can't even register what they look like.
A clap of his shoulder brings him back to reality. Jack is laughingly telling them about Link's annoyance with exy talk, and most of the players are laughing along but a few look disgruntled. One of the laughing ones--tall, long hair in a ponytail and wearing some fuck-you heels--turns to Link and says, "I totally get it," he says, "Especially mid season. Like, my guys, we just spent two hours of video replay and strategy, can we just chill and not anymore?"
Link nods, hoping he's not broadcasting his discomfort. He doesn't even want to look over to the rack of racquets lined up to the side. There's a sort of mini exy court behind the group, open at one end with three targets painted on the glass on the opposing wall. There's a sign challenging people to bounce the balls off the walls or ceilings and hit all three targets. There's another sign with two columns drawn, one labelled success and the other labelled failure. There's a '5' in the success column and '31' in the failure.
One of the disgruntled ones snorts. "Shut up Andre, Some of us take this seriously you know."
Andre smiles sweetly. "I do take it seriously but I'm also not going to obsess over it and make it my personality. I'd like to be something more than an exy girly, thanks. Have a life and all that, try not to peak in college."
The exchange sounds rehearsed, and this is evidenced by a third person sighing deeply and saying, "Andre. Sharna. Give it a rest. Don't make me send you to opposite corners."
The rest of the table doesn't seem too bothered by the caustic banter, except for one who is watching the whole interaction with analytical eyes. Link notices him because of the way he stands, loose-limbed and a slight upward tilt of his chin, a cool expression on his face, as if daring the world to impress him. Or a king surveying his subjects.
The man--well, boy, really with some baby fat still clinging desperately to his cheeks--meets Link's eyes and stares back with a challenging glint.
It's Link who looks away first.
Jack and Simone are talking to the others at the table, chatting about differences in exy and their respective sports. Link wonders if he can just slide out of the huddle, pretend he's going to get some food.
Sharna, stocky and square-jawed, says, "The big difference is the bounce," tilting her chin at the walls and ceiling. "Calculating angles and shit on the fly. Most people didn't even get one target."
"Well shit, now I gotta try," says Jack cheerfully.
He steps up first and fails spectacularly with the ball bouncing inside the box like a pinball machine. He only laughs and tries again. On his fourth go he gets the first target. Just as cheerful as when he began, he bows out, claiming the single success a fluke. Simone is more determined and she tries twenty times to get two targets one after another.
Link can't help it, can't help calculating trajectories and angles and exactly how he'd swing the racquet. His hands fold into loose fists as if to wrap around the handle of one, and a strange kind of hunger fills him. This is the longest and closest he's been to exy in what feels like forever. And he can almost recall the taste of victory when he'd won a game, or when he'd perfected a trick pass after hours of practising.
He wrenches his eyes away from box, where one of the Ravens is showing Jack and Simone how to do trick passes, to a pair of eyes still staring at him. It's the boy, who is now looking at him with a contemplative gaze. Link shifts in discomfort, straightening his back and shuffling his feet. It's the first time in a long while that anyone had paid sole attention to him. Even in one on ones with Jack and Simone, Link has never felt so seen.
"What?" Link grates out when it goes on for too long.
"You look familiar," the boy says. Around them, conversations quieten, as if the others are attuned to this one boy. Link can feel more attention on them, on him and he hates everything about it.
"We've never met," Link replies, pressing his index nail to the side of his thumb. A nervous habit he had never been able to erase.
The boy doesn't give up. "Have we played each other before?"
"I don't play exy."
"You must have. I don't tend to recall people that don't." Said with such casual arrogance.
Link scowls. "Well, I don't. Maybe I just have one of those faces. Also that's a fucked up thing to say. You just, what, decide to forget people who don't play exy?"
"I'm Benjamin Kariya, and so what if I do? Exy is the only thing that matters."
"Thats…wow," says Link. "So anyone who doesn't play exy is what? Unworthy?"
Kariya shrugs. "Uninteresting,"
It makes Link's skin crawl the careless and easy way this boy dismisses people. He is all too familiar with that attitude, having been on the other end of it far too often. So he's sharp when he retorts, "Jesus christ, that's messed up. People's worth doesn't depend on whether they play a sport or not. Even a five year old knows that."
Kariya nods, but not in agreement with Link, more as if to himself. He takes three big strides over to the racquet display and grabs one after a moment of contemplation. Then he turns and flings it at Link. It's only muscle memory that saves Link, who just manages to grab it before it hits his head.
"What the fuck?!" Link explodes. "That could have hit me, asshole! You might be some exy genius but that's assault, in case you didn't know."
Kariya then grabs a ball and pelts it in Link's direction. Link's eyes see the ball and he automatically catches it in the net with a flick of his wrist and a sastisfying thump.
The one who had broken up the previously impeding fight goes, "Whoa, Benjamin. C'mon that's--"
All of this seems to go over Kariya's head. He's looking at Link, a whisper of a smirk on his face, and says, "So you do know how to handle a racquet. Show me." And he tilts his head at the plexiglass box.
Link looks down at his hands which have fallen into a proper grip on the handle, loose in the elbows and shoulder, as if ready to swing back and throw the ball. Maybe in Kariya's fucking face.
"I'm not your performing monkey, so no." Link drops both racquet and ball on the ground.
He turns to leave and gets one step before there's a sharp pull on the back of his and he's stopped. Kariya slips around in front of him and stops him with a hand on his chest. "I don't care. Show me."
"Genuinely, what the fuck is wrong with you? Too many balls to the head? Only child who's never been told no?" Link tries to pull back but Kariya has a hand tangled in his shirt and intense murder eyes. Link isn't sure which of the two is what stops him.
"Benjamin, c'mon. Let him go," says the peacekeeper. Jack is right next to her and saying something too.
Kariya's face clearly states he gives no fucks but he lets go. "Oh, I get it," he says breezily. "You're one of the ones who couldn't make it. Not enough talent. Not enough determination. Always someone better than you."
Link barks out a laugh even as he feels the sting of the words. "Yeah, fuck off. I don't have time for that bullshit." And he steps around Kariya.
Behind him comes Kariya's voice, still so casual. "What are you so scared of? Not being good enough? Because if that's the case there's no one to blame but yourself."
Kariya couldn't have known it, he couldn't, but the deeply buried guilt and rage reared their ugly heads. It was all Link's fault. If he had been better. If he had been good enough, Liam would still be here. Any other time, in any other setting, Link could have corralled himself, could have taken a deep breath and walk away. But that unwanted hunger from before clashes with his guilt and rage, discombobulating him and all he can think is, I'll fucking show you good enough.
Teeth gritted, Link whirls around and marches back. He moves past Kariya, standing there with his cool, judgemental eyes and sweeps the racquet off the ground with the ball still in the net. He strides past Jack and Simone's concerned faces and the shocked faces of the other Ravens, and only comes to a stop at the marked line on the ground.
"How many goes do I get?" He asks without looking back, glaring at the targets.
"As many as you want," says Kariya, now sounding bored as if Link had already failed to impress him.
Spite had always been a good motivator for Link. He tosses the ball up and down as he contemplates the walls and targets. His first attempt goes wide but not by a lot. The second attempt goes better. He gets the first target on the third go.
Link doesn't know if anyone else is talking, doesn't care as he takes in slow deep breaths and pulls on all of his training. You could take the boy out of exy but you could never bleed the exy out of the boy.
The targets are about four or five inches in diameter and twelve feet away, bigger and closer than the targets Link had had to hit. He gets two in a row easy, but to switch it up on the third target he bounces the ball off the ceiling. It's harder, takes him seven throws to get it. Once he does he goes back to the start and hits the targets, one, two, three.
In all he had swung that racquet sixteen times total.
He feels his lips stretched into a victorious grin, one that he knows makes him look exactly like his mother. It's that grin he wears as he turns to Kariya, who is watching him with an intensity Link has never had directed at him before. Like Kariya wants to tear the flesh off of him all the way down, down, down to his core. Like he wants to dissect Link until he knew every part of him. Like he wants to devour Link.
Link is, in his heart of hearts, a dramatic shit so he makes a show out of bowing at Kariya. Then he throws the racquet at Kariya's feet and demands, "Happy?"
And he turns on his heels and leaves, the small crowd of Ravens watching him silently as Jack and Simone follow him. A burst of noise hits him as he escapes the bubble that had come over the exy table--everyone at the fair too caught up in their own affairs to have noticed the interaction.
"You okay," Jack asks in a low voice, jogging to keep up with Link.
"The fuck was that?" Simone hisses with equal mixture concern and anger.
"Nothing," says Link.
Fuck Benjamin Kariya and fuck exy too.