It had been two months since Kim had forced Kennedy into therapy, and in that time, Kennedy had started to change. The nightmares weren’t as frequent, and the rubber bands had disappeared from his wrist. His temper had softened, and there was a new clarity in his eyes. He had begrudgingly admitted to Kim one night that therapy was helping, especially since Kim had always been there to check up on him.
Kim, though, was struggling with something of his own. Over the past few weeks, he’d noticed a shift in how he felt around Kennedy. It wasn’t something he could easily name—at first, it had been frustration, annoyance even. He had always acted like he hated Kennedy, throwing sarcastic comments and jabs his way, but now he realized those feelings were masking something else, something deeper.
Whenever Kennedy was around, Kim felt something awaken in him, an energy that made it harder to keep his usual cool. It made him feel...alive, in a way that football never quite had. And that terrified him. He didn’t want to act on it, didn’t want to acknowledge it, but each time he saw Kennedy’s face—whether exhausted after a surgery or relaxed after another therapy session—the feeling stirred in him, stronger than before.
Kim had his own life to focus on. The season was heating up, and the Jets were pushing toward the playoffs. As the team’s star quarterback, he had games nearly every week, and the pressure to perform was immense. The media was constantly in his face, reporters asking questions about his future, about Chris playing wide receiver, about everything except the one thing that was occupying his mind—Kennedy.
On game days, Kim would arrive at the stadium early, headphones on, drowning out the noise as he prepared for another four quarters of grueling football. But even then, in those quiet moments before the game, he found his thoughts drifting back to Kennedy. He wondered how his therapy session had gone that morning, or if he had managed to get through a difficult surgery without falling back into old habits of self-blame.
Kennedy, meanwhile, had thrown himself back into his work at the hospital. As a cardiac surgeon, he was often called in for emergency cases, the kind that made his heart race in ways different from the trauma he’d faced with his mom’s death. Now, instead of guilt, there was focus. Therapy had helped him deal with the emotional weight, and while he wasn’t completely healed, he was stronger. He could save lives without feeling like he had to sacrifice himself in the process.
But there was something else in the air between them, something Kennedy couldn’t quite put his finger on. Kim had been checking in on him more than usual, even showing up at the hospital occasionally under the guise of grabbing lunch or needing medical advice. Kennedy had appreciated it at first, but now he could sense that Kim was...different. The sharp edge in his words had dulled, replaced by something softer. It was as if Kim was trying to distance himself emotionally, yet at the same time, couldn’t stay away.
One evening after a grueling surgery, Kennedy found Kim waiting for him outside the hospital. He was still in his scrubs, sweat beading on his forehead, and exhaustion was etched into his features. But when he saw Kim leaning against his car, arms crossed and eyes shadowed under the streetlights, Kennedy felt a flicker of warmth.
You look like hell, Kim said, but the usual bite in his tone wasn’t there. He was just...looking at him, in that way Kim did when he thought no one noticed.
Thanks, Kennedy muttered. Long surgery. What are you doing here? Adrian left early he's at home and don’t you have practice?
Kim shrugged. Practice ended early. Figured I’d check in on you not my little brother Kim said.
Kennedy raised an eyebrow. Since when do you care this much?
Kim smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.Since I made you go to therapy. Have to make sure it’s working. Your therapist says it is, I see improvement but I have to keep checking.
It is, Kennedy admitted, sighing as he leaned against the car next to Kim. Doesn’t mean I’m fixed, but I’m...better, and I am going to tell Adrian, soon not now but soon.
Kim nodded, a heavy silence falling between them. The sounds of the city buzzed in the background, but it was as if the world around them faded. Kennedy could sense something was off with Kim. He wasn’t usually this quiet.
Something on your mind? Kennedy asked.
Kim stiffened, his jaw tightening. For a moment, he considered brushing it off, but then the words came out before he could stop them.
You ever feel like...like you’re fighting something, but the more you fight it, the stronger it gets?
Kennedy frowned, turning to look at him. What do you mean?
Kim’s eyes stayed on the pavement, avoiding Kennedy’s gaze. Nothing. Forget it.
But Kennedy knew he wasn’t one to let things go. He studied Kim, noticing the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands flexed as if he were trying to control something.
Kim, what’s going on?
Kim finally met Kennedy’s eyes, and for the first time in weeks, he didn’t try to hide what he was feeling. His voice was low when he spoke, almost a whisper.
I don’t hate you, Kennedy. I never have.
Kennedy blinked, confused. I know that, Kim. You just like giving me a hard time.
No, Kim interrupted, shaking his head. I mean...I really don’t hate you.
The weight of his words hung in the air, and suddenly, everything made sense. The checking in, the way Kim had been acting lately, the frustration that wasn’t quite anger. Kennedy’s heart pounded in his chest, a mix of surprise and something else—something he hadn’t expected.
Kim... Kennedy began, but Kim held up a hand.
Don’t, he said quickly, stepping back. I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. I just...I needed to say it. I'm sorry I was a dick all these years, you are a good guy, a good friend to Adrian he's lucky to have you.
Kennedy nodded slowly, unsure of what to say.
Kim cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. Anyway, I’ve got another game this weekend, we are playing in LA so I'll be gone all week, Just...take care of yourself, alright?
With that, Kim turned and walked to his car, leaving Kennedy standing there, still processing what had just happened. He watched as Kim drove off, the weight of their conversation sinking in.
Whatever this was between them, it wasn’t simple. But then again, nothing ever was with him and Kennedy. He wondered if Kim meant he loved him but that couldn't be true, since Kim was straight and he was only looking after him so Adrian wouldn't hurt seeing his best friend in pain. Kennedy sighed.
I need to have sex it's been a long time, Kennedy said getting inside the car and driving off after Kim.
When he got home, he took a long shower and then wore his vest and shorts.
Just then, Adrian got inside his room and closed the door.
You never knock, Kennedy said.
Why should I knock when you never do Adrian asked.
Touché, so what's up Kennedy said sitting next to Adrian.
You know, where I'm from what's up means, let's fight, Adrian said.
Dude, Kennedy said.
I was just checking up on you. You seem better, healthier and , I don't know, I'm happy, seeing you like this, I'm happy therapy is working for you Adrian said.
I'm happy too, I sleep better now, Kennedy said.
Good, Kim is leaving for a week, Adrian said.
He told me, why are you telling me Kennedy asked.
Well you two are now best friends suddenly, and yes I've noticed.
Fuck off, he said he doesn't hate me, he never did.
I know that.
What do you mean.
I noticed years ago when crazy Lockhart appeared in my life again. I mean I wouldn't step in front of a gun for someone I hate, Adrian said.
That was seven years ago, Kennedy said.
He was ready to take a bullet for you, honey, Adrian said.
