— trente-trois ; thirty three —

HENRI WAS BACK under the spotlight, with lights and cameras from all directions pinned on him. Sitting on the couch with Mandy beaming at him from her desk, he wondered how he'd been talked into this talkshow again. Then he remembered the Master's cane and knew he would never have a choice about anything in his life again. The audience was a sea of indistinguishable faces staring up at him. Henri was alone this time and he felt even more underprepared than he had when he'd Jean at his side to fall back on.

"So, Henri." Mandy looked at him with an inquisitive smile. "How did it feel to watch your parents get shot in the head in front of you?"

Henri's breath caught in his throat. "I..."

"But more importantly," she said, leaning across the desk towards him. "How did it feel knowing you were the reason they had to die? That it was your fault?"

No one was clapping or cheering for him this time. The weight of Many's accusations, or the audience's cold stares, lay heavy on his shoulders and Henri stood up. He couldn't be here. Fuck the Master and his cane — he'd rather be beaten within an inch of his life than be here. But he'd barely gotten further then a step towards the wings of the stage before a hand grabbed his shoulder and shoved him back down on the sofa. It was Jean, dressed from head to toe in black and wearing a dark expression.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" he asked in cold French.

"Let me go," Henri said, his voice trembling in a way he couldn't control. "Let me go!"

"Sit down, Henri."

Henri felt his blood turn cold at the familiar low rumble of a voice and turned to see his father step out onto the stage. From the other side, his mother stepped out too, looking exactly how he remembered her with her slim figure and smoky grey eyes. His family was all together in a way they had never been during all of Henri's years in France. Both of his parents blocked off any chance of escape and Henri didn't bother resisting when Jean held him down with a firm hand, knowing he couldn't get away. This was karma finally catching up with him.

"Answer her question, Henri," his mother said in a hard voice she only ever reserved for when he'd done something wrong. "You're the reason we're dead. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I..." Henri felt like he was dying. "I'm sorry — "

"Sorry doesn't it cut," his father snarled. "This is life and death we're talking about. We died for you, but would you die for us?"

The audience were gone, the cameras were off, but the lights were still as bright and blinding as ever. They were all staring at him and he didn't know what he could say, how he could say anything to something like that. Would he die? He wanted to say yes, of course he did, but he didn't think it would be that simple if it came down to it. That's when he saw the mic in his father's hand, it was actually a gun. Pointed right at him with the safety already off. Henri barely had time to look up from the dark barrel into his father's eyes before the loud bang echoed through the room.

Henri bolted upright forgetting how to breath and in that blurry second between wakefulness and slumber, he felt a flash of blinding inexplicable panic. He could still hear the gunshot, ringing over and over in his ears. He couldn't see anything through the darkness surrounding and closing in on him, he couldn't catch his breath, and he felt like his heart was about to seconds from bursting. The panic that had seized him was spreading through his chest rather than fading away and Henri really thought he was going to die in that moment.

What the hell was happening to him? Was he having a heart attack?

He felt a warm hand against his cheek and instinctively flinched back. "Shhh," Soren said quietly, barely audible over the harsh breathing filling the room. Henri was distantly aware over the rush of blood through his ears that it was his breathing but he couldn't get it under control. "Shhh, Henri. You're going to wake someone up."

"I can't — " he gasped, in desperate French, curling his hands around Soren's wrists in a bruising grip out of sudden terror. "I can't...breathe — "

"Shit," he heard Soren mutter, but Henri's eyes were squeezed shut and he couldn't bring enough air into his lungs. "Henri, look at me. Open your eyes. Henri."

With some difficulty, he managed to force his eyes open and involuntarily tightened his hold on Soren when he met his wide green eyes. The world was spinning around him and Henri realised it wasn't the world shaking, it was him — tremors were racking through his body too hard for him to control. He was losing control over everything and he was breathing so hard he was certain he was going to tear something. He could hear Soren speaking, trying to tell him something, but Henri couldn't hear any of it. All he could hear was his heartbeat pounding wildly over every inch of his skin.

He was going to die, he was going to die, he was going to die —

"Henri," Soren said sharply, cutting through the haze surrounding his brain. Soren knelt on the bed in front of him and caught Henri's face between his hands, forcing him to drag his gaze back up him. "Listen to me. You're having a panic attack, okay? It'll be over soon. I know it feels like you're going to die, but you won't."

Panic attack. Not a heart attack. He'd heard of them but he'd never experienced one before. Those words didn't bring him any comfort when he still felt like his heart was about to burst out of his chest and he was too scared to try speaking between his breaths, that he'd somehow choke on the disjointed words. But he managed a nod with Soren's hands still against his feverish cheeks, to show he understood what Soren was saying. He felt like he was going to die, but he wouldn't. Even in his panic, Henri trusted him.

"Okay, you need to breathe. You need to bring your breathing back under control and it'll end. Breathe in, breathe out," Soren instructed, demonstrating with his own breaths. Henri tried to mimic the slow rise and fall of his chest but he was still sucking in too many breaths. "In, out, in, out..."

Gradually, Henri managed to bring three breaths for Soren's every one to two breaths, and then breathing almost in time with him. He had no clue how long they sat like that with Henri's fingers curled around his wrists and Soren staring at him with a steady gaze as he breathed slowly. Henri knew it couldn't have been more than ten minutes but it felt like an eternity stretched through their dark room before he finally stopped trembling and his heart slowed down to regular speed. Henri drew in a shuddery breath and released it in a shaky exhale.

"Is it over?" Soren asked.

Henri nodded and saw the tense set to Soren's shoulders relax. They didn't speak for a moment while Henri tried to recollect himself. It was clearly the middle of the night, but he couldn't make out Soren's clock from him here and it was dark in the room. They had practice in the morning but ever since the talkshow with Jean, nearly a week ago, Henri had been having nightmares every night. There was always some variation between them but they always ended with the gun, always aimed at him. They'd never continued after he woke, though — that was the first he'd ever experienced that.

"Fuck," Henri whispered, dropping his forehead against Soren's shoulder. "That was terrifying."

Soren ran his fingers through Henri's messy hair. "I know, but you're okay now."

"How did you know what to do?" Henri mumbled against his shoulder.

Soren responded by pulling back slightly and slipping off the bed. Henri barely had time to register the cold absence of his body before Soren reached over and threaded his fingers through Henri's, pulling him off the bed. Henri didn't ask where they were going, even when Soren slipped out of their room and down the dim Black Hall collecting shadows at every corner. Henri was too exhausted and drained to do anything more than blindly follow Soren. He could have led Henri into the middle of nowhere and he still would have followed Soren anywhere.

Turns out, they stopped in the kitchen and Soren flicked on the light. Henri could only watch, still feeling off-kilter, as Soren grabbed a glass and filled it with water. The glass felt cold against uhis too warm skin. Henri stared down at the clear water for a second before upending the contents over his head, soaking his hair in seconds and plastering it to his temples. It was deliciously cool and he felt slightly better as water dripped down his face. Soren looked like he wanted to say something about his strange actions, but just refilled the glass and pushed it into his hands with a pointed look.

"Drink it this time," Soren said.

Henri rolled his eyes and sipped at the water. He didn't realise how thirsty he was until he'd drained the glass and held on to it, steadying himself with the solid weight of it in his hands. The clock on the wall told him it was just past three in the morning and they'd have to be up in three hours. Not that it mattered. Henri couldn't remember the last time he'd had proper rest anyway — he was always woken up countless times a night from fractured nightmares and probably didn't get more than three hours a night. He was always tired, accidentally napping through classes and even one of his work shifts.

"I used to have them," Soren said, into the silence. He was leaning against the counter opposite Henri and staring blankly at the wall. "Panic attacks. That's how I knew what to do. They started when I was eight, after my dad died."

"You used to?"

"They stopped after a few years," Soren said. "I haven't had one since I was fourteen."

Six years, then. And he'd only been a kid back then. Henri didn't know how he'd managed that — the only reason he hadn't completely freaked out was because Soren had been there and helped him.

"But I've never had one before," Henri murmured, turning the empty glass over in his hands. "I don't understand why I'd start now. What causes them?"

"Nothing. Anything," Soren shrugged. "Were you a nightmare before you woke up?"

"Maybe," Henri said reluctantly.

"About your parents?"

"Yeah. So?"

"They only died a few months ago," Soren said. "And in front of you. That's more than enough for a trigger and seeing Jean in real life probably finally pushed it."

Henri didn't reply because there was nothing to say. That made sense. But if Soren was right, then this was just the beginning and he could have more of them. The thought of going through that again was almost terrifying as the actual panic attack itself. What if he had one in the middle of class, where everyone would see him fall apart in a way he was always careful to keep hidden? Even worse — what if he had one during a game? He'd be a weak link and a risk that would have to be taken off the line up. That meant he'd lose his purpose to the Ravens and Ichirou would have no reason to keep him around.

"Henri," Soren said, and something in his tone made him look up. His green gaze was so intense Henri might have felt embarrassed if there was anyone else to see it. "I can't help you if I don't understand what's going on and I'll never understand without the truth. The whole truth. About you and Jean, how your parents died, what it has to do with the Master."

Henri swallowed and could already feel the words on the tip of his tongue. It felt too easy for him to reveal the secret world he had sworn to his parents he would go to the grave with. People like Soren, untouched by the bloodiness of the Moriyamas and their territories, shouldn't have anything to do with Henri's world. But Henri wanted someone to know everything even if he died and he was too weak to resist the temptation this time.

"What do you already know?" Henri asked.

"I know the Master has some kind of claim over you and Jean, same as he did over Kevin and Riko. I know that Riko is the one who destroyed Kevin's hand. I know someone has murdered your parents and you seem to blame yourself."

"Okay," Henri said, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "Then the first thing you should know is that Riko's death was not a suicide."

Soren just stared at him.

"Riko and Tetsuji are only one branch of the Moriyamas," Henri continued. "Their family are yakuza, Japanese mafia. The main branch is the more powerful one and is headed by Ichirou Moriyama, after his father Kengo died."

"Ichirou," Soren repeated, realisation flickering in his eyes. "Riko's older brother."

"Exactly. Ichirou inherited a multi-millionaire business as the first child and Riko was shipped off to his uncle at birth as the irrelevant second born. However, the business is simply a cover for the illegal and unsavoury world of blood money the Moriyamas deal over. Riko and Tetsuji were free to call the shots in the Exy world as long as they didn't interfere in Ichirou's affairs and allowed him to use games at Edgar Allan Stadium to do his own business."

"I don't understand how all of this leads back to Riko not being the one to kill himself," Soren said, with a hint of impatience.

"I'm giving you important backstory," Henri retorted, and ignored the flat look Soren shot him. "Just wait. Riko was free to do as he pleased, but he began toeing the line this past year. First with Kevin — ruining his playing hand was a matter of pride and lost the Ravens one of their best players — and then with Neil Josten. You remember the scandal surrounding him? How his father was involved in crime?"

Soren nodded.

"His father actually worked for the main branch Moriyamas. It meant a conflict of interest between Riko and Neil, on different teams," Henri said. "Riko wanted Neil with the Ravens, where he rightfully belonged according to Moriyama hierarchy, and Neil was crazy enough to defy him. He got away with it in the end — Riko left too many trails in his desperation to get revenge. When the Ravens lost to the Foxes, it was clear he was a loose end that had be gotten rid of. Ichirou allowed Neil to live as an asset to him and killed his brother."

"Killed his brother." Soren shook his head in faint disbelief. "You're joking."

Henri smiled grimly. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

"But he played for his brother's approval. All Riko wanted was for his brother to notice him."

"Now do you understand why he was so messed up?"

"Fine," Soren said, still looking a little sick at that revelation. Henri had never stopped to consider how messed up it really was, maybe because his own life was so messed up. "I understand all of that. Where do you and Jean come in?"

"The Moreaus owe the Moriayamas their lives. Put simply, they own us. My parents had little choice to give up Jean to the Ravens if they wanted him to live and tried to keep me hidden so I wouldn't end up with the same fate as him. I was taught Exy from a young age, just in case, but I did not exist as far as the Moriyamas were concerned. My parents kept me hidden in France with no intention of ever revealing who I was. Sixteen years of having no official records and being taught the only way to live was to not be found."

"But they found you," Soren said, not quite a question.

"Yeah." Henri gritted his teeth and looked away. "I still don't know how he found me, but I came home from practice one day to find Ichirou waiting in my house. They already had my parents tied up so there was no point running. Like my parents suspected, I was allowed to live on the condition I played for the Ravens and won us Championships next Spring. There was no choice — failure meant death. My parents had even less of a choice. Ichirou shot them in the head for daring to defy him with my existence, in front of me, as a warning.

"Then they stuffed me in a plane and shipped me off here. You know what happens from there," Henri said emptily.

Soren didn't say anything for a long time and when Henri finally raised his gaze to meet his, he expected to see sympathy and pity. There was none. It was almost a painful understanding, as if he was looking back to all the confusing moments Henri had been forced to lie over and seeing how it all made sense. Henri could assume he seemed like less of a puzzle with the proper truth.

"We have to win Championships?" Soren asked. "Or what?"

"I follow the same fate as Riko and my parents. I die," Henri said, studying Soren's face for a reaction. He hid his emotions well but couldn't quite mask the flicker of alarm in his eyes. "Jean and Kevin, they managed to escape. Even Neil Josten got away safely in the end. I'm the only one left and there's no way out for me. If for whatever reason I can't play or I don't play well enough, it won't be the Master waiting for me with a cane. It will be Ichirou with a gun."

"Why did you come here?" Soren narrowed his eyes slightly. "Why would you not run?"

Henri almost laughed. "Run? Where the hell would I run to, Soren? All the family waiting for me with open arms? No, running was never an option. Maybe Neil got away with it, but he had stolen money and his mother on his side. I'd be killed the instant I tried to leave so I might as well bide my time here. The Ravens are insufferable but they're a better alternative to death."

"You're not biding your time, idiot. You're not dying," Soren said, surprisingly fierce. "You think there's a chance we're not taking Championships home this time?"

"I think there's always a chance," Henri shrugged. "Just like last year."

"Last year was a train wreck that started with Kevin's leaving and ended with Riko going a little crazy. I'm not letting any of that happen as captain. We haven't lost a single game so far this season and I don't plan on breaking that streak."

"Good," Henri said, with a small smile. "Not dying is always good."

Soren came forward and took the glass from his hand, setting it aside on the counter where they couldn't knock it over. Henri already knew what this meant and brought his lips up to meet Soren's. Soren responded by gripping Henri's hips and lifting him up so he was perched on the edge of the counter, with Soren between his legs. He was still drained and exhausted and a little dead from how terrifying waking up had been, but he also felt better. Lighter. Not just because Soren's hands were tangled up in his hair and his hands were exploring the warm expanse of Soren's chest.

It was because the truth, whole ugly truth, was out there between them and Soren hadn't pulled away. He hadn't pushed Henri away. He'd just looked the bloody reality of his life in the eye and agreed to stand by his side anyway.

"You're not dying," Soren repeated, murmuring the words over and over against his lips. A promise or a prayer. "Do you understand, Henri Moreau? You're not fucking dying."

Maybe Henri wouldn't mind dying so much at the end of all of this knowing that Soren hadn't wanted him to.