Chapter Text
The Foxes' house was rarely quiet.
Even when no one was talking, there was always something filling the silence. Kevin criticizing a play from an old Exy replay. Nicky humming whatever song had gotten stuck in his head that morning. Dan and Matt arguing over next week's practice schedule. Allison scrolling through her phone with only half her attention on the room. Renee reading by the window.
Neil sat at one end of the couch, watching the familiar chaos unfold around him.
Andrew occupied the other couch, eyes closed, lazily spinning one of his knives between his fingers.
Aaron wasn't there.
"I'll be with Katelyn."
That was all he'd said before slipping on his jacket and walking out the front door.
No explanation.
No details.
Just gone.
No one questioned it.
Aaron disappeared every now and then, usually with a vague excuse and an expression that warned everyone not to ask twice. Eventually, the Foxes had learned to let him come and go without making a fuss.
At least, that was what Aaron believed.
Nicky flipped through another channel.
A cooking show.
A documentary.
Another Exy replay that Kevin insisted they should watch.
A commercial.
Then snow filled the screen.
Matt frowned.
"What's this?"
"Freestyle skiing," Kevin answered automatically, though he barely looked away from the notebook in his lap.
Nicky shrugged.
"Looks fun."
The broadcast showed the top of a mountain, buried beneath fresh snow. Wind swept across the ridge, carrying loose powder into the air.
One skier stood alone at the starting platform.
Black helmet.
Mirrored goggles.
Dark gear.
Perfectly still.
The commentator's voice carried a familiar excitement.
"And now, the reigning national champion returns for his final run. If he lands the line we've seen in training, we may witness one of the best performances of the season."
Matt let out a low whistle.
"National champion?"
The starting signal sounded.
The skier pushed off.
For a few seconds, it was nothing but speed.
Then the first jump appeared.
He launched himself into the air.
One rotation.
Two.
Three.
Four.
He twisted off-axis so effortlessly it barely looked human. His skis crossed in midair before uncrossing again with impossible precision.
He landed as if gravity had simply agreed to cooperate.
Not a wobble.
Not a single mistake.
The crowd erupted.
"My God..." Dan whispered.
The commentator nearly shouted.
"An unbelievable opening! Perfect execution!"
The skier didn't slow down.
Another jump.
Higher.
This time he seemed to disappear against the gray winter sky before reappearing in another series of rotations, grabbing one ski for the briefest moment and releasing it just before landing.
Neil blinked.
He knew nothing about skiing.
He didn't need to.
Anyone could tell this wasn't normal.
The slow-motion replay made it look even more unreal. Snow scattered behind him like glitter while he floated through the air far longer than seemed possible.
Matt leaned forward.
"Is... is that even safe?"
Kevin finally looked up.
"No."
A third jump towered ahead.
The skier hit it with even more speed.
For one impossible second, he seemed suspended between earth and sky.
He spun again.
And again.
His body folded and unfolded with impossible control before his skis met the snow in a landing so smooth it looked rehearsed.
The commentator laughed in disbelief.
"Absolutely flawless! Very few athletes in the world are willing to attempt a line like this!"
The camera zoomed in as the skier removed his goggles.
Neil felt his stomach drop.
A name appeared across the bottom of the screen.
AARON MINYARD
Silence swallowed the room.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
Matt looked at the television.
Then at Aaron's empty spot on the couch.
Then back again.
"...No way," Allison said quietly.
The replay began.
Blond hair escaped from beneath the helmet.
Sharp features.
Pale eyes.
The same expression Aaron wore after every Exy practice.
There was no mistaking him.
"There has to be another Aaron Minyard," Nicky laughed nervously.
"No," Dan murmured.
"There isn't."
Kevin stared at the screen.
"He never mentioned this."
Neil slowly turned his head.
"Andrew."
The knife had stopped moving.
Andrew's expression hadn't changed.
His face was as unreadable as ever.
Cold.
Calm.
Empty.
But his hand had gone completely still.
Neil knew him too well to miss it.
Andrew wasn't watching anymore.
He was staring.
The broadcast continued.
Aaron stood at the top of one final course while the commentator spoke over footage from his previous runs.
"Three consecutive national titles. Multiple international podiums. Widely considered one of the most technically gifted freestyle skiers competing today."
Nicky blinked.
"...Three?"
Aaron pushed off again.
He became nothing more than a blur cutting through untouched snow.
The first jump sent him impossibly high into the air.
The second looked even worse.
For a heartbeat, Neil genuinely thought Aaron had gone too high.
Too fast.
Too far.
His entire body twisted through the air in movements that looked completely impossible before he found the ground again with terrifying precision.
The crowd exploded.
Aaron didn't celebrate.
He simply slowed to a stop.
Removed his goggles.
Ran one gloved hand through his messy blond hair.
And waited.
The scoreboard flashed across the screen.
98.4
1st Place
The commentator's voice echoed through the stunned silence of the living room.
"Another title for Aaron Minyard! Four consecutive championships! Once again proving why he's considered one of the greatest freestyle skiers of his generation!"
No one said anything.
Finally, Nicky spoke.
"He... lied?"
No one answered.
Neil wasn't looking at the television anymore.
He was watching Andrew.
The change was almost invisible.
His jaw had tightened.
Barely.
His grip around the knife had become just a little firmer.
No one else in the room would have noticed.
Neil did.
Andrew wasn't angry because Aaron had lied.
Aaron lied all the time.
He lied when he wanted distance.
He lied when he didn't want questions.
That wasn't new.
What mattered was everything Andrew had just watched.
Aaron throwing himself dozens of feet into the air.
Twisting over empty space.
Landing within inches of a mistake that could have killed him.
How many weekends?
How many times had Aaron quietly walked out of the house saying he was meeting Katelyn...
...only to disappear into the mountains?
How many injuries had he hidden?
How many bruises had everyone ignored because Aaron always looked exhausted anyway?
Because Andrew had ignored them?
Andrew kept staring at the television long after Aaron disappeared backstage.
He didn't say a word.
He didn't have to.
Neil watched his fingers slowly tighten around the knife.
And for the first time in a long while, Andrew's silence felt far more dangerous than any threat he could have spoken.
Aaron had no idea what was waiting for him.
But when he finally came home...
He was going to have a lot of explaining to do.