Chapter Text
neil is used to andrew burning rubber in the maserati, grabbing neil and pushing the gas hard enough to remind neil of a car chase as he drives like horsepower alone will help him outrun his demons.
neil is the perfect example of just how well that works, but andrew doesn’t need to win the race, he just needs to feel the adrenaline. he just needs to feel.
this isn’t that.
andrew on a rampage cuts an aimless path through the south carolinian countryside, marked by a trail of skidmarks and a exhaust.
this is andrew on a mission; looking up at road signs, obeying laws of traffic, pulling onto the main highways.
neil taps his fingers on the knuckles of the hand he’s holding between the seats. “where are we going?”
andrew keeps his eyes on the road, burning holes into the rear of the BMW in front of them. “nowhere, at this rate.”
neil has to agree. they’ve been in traffic long enough for neil to outlast one of his quiet days, a phenomenon that has happened often enough to gain a title.
if it isn’t easy enough to tell that neil is running out of words simply because he’s not already throwing them at the nearest target, andrew and neil now have a system.
when neil knows he is running low, he finds andrew as soon as he can, no matter where he is. andrew drops everything to tend to neil.
neil feels guilty about it, feels selfish. andrew has better things to do than to cater to someone who is too weak to function on his own. but this was the first decree in the name of their new deal: if neil is having a bad day, he must tell andrew the second he knows.
once he does, they find a way to be alone, find a way to escape to their dorms or to columbia. anywhere where neil can breathe easy and know no one else is around to see his weakness, no one can hurt him when he can’t fight back.
he curls up next to andrew on the couch or on their bed, holding his hand and anything else andrew will allow.
physical contact anchors neil and throws andrew off-balance. together, they are magnets of the same charge, trying to force closer together but only pushing each other farther away.
andrew makes a turn onto an exit that saves them both from snapping out of boredom, leading them through the backroads.
andrew pulls out his phone and holds it out to neil. “i doubt even you are so hopeless that you can’t type in an address.”
neil takes his phone, typing in the password— the day he met aaron— and opening up the maps app. “what is it?”
andrew rattles it off and neil enters it in, presses start, and hands it back to andrew to put in the holder attached to the dashboard.
immediately: the orders to make a U-turn and start heading back towards the highway.
andrew glares at his phone with more hate than neil has ever seen before in his gaze. neil is honestly surprised it doesn’t burst into flame. “fuck off.”
“yeah,” neil says, raising a fist in encouragement. “you tell her! fuck the system! she’s controlled our lives for long enough!”
andrew redirects his glare at neil. neil beams back at him, full force.
andrew keeps driving until the disembodied valley-girl changes directions to the highway to another, less cluttered road. neil sighs and slouches back in his seat.
“we should go on a road trip,” neil says, staring up at the roof of the car. “just us— no backseat drivers or bitchy GPSs. no one to tell us what to do or where to go, just driving.”
“sounds a lot like running away.”
neil shakes his head. “i wouldn’t be running away, you’d be there with me. there would be nothing to leave behind.”
andrew’s entire body stills, full stop. “you’re a problem.”
“so i’ve been told.” neil shrugs. “I was raised wrong.”
they arrive at andrew’s mystery destination a half an hour later; three hours away from palmetto state.
it isn’t much: a light blue house in a suburban development community with a hundred or so carbon copies lined up side-by-side.
neil raises an eyebrow. “what real housewives episode is this?”
“the one where you shut the fuck up,” Andrew says, and gets out of the car.
a woman answers the door; hair cut short and a gray vest over a long sleeved t-shirt. soccer mom.
“oh, hello! are you here about the persians?” she greets them, plastic smile on her face. neil’s brain immediately takes a detour to a late night documentary kevin made him watch. he looks to andrew in confusion.
andrew nods, causing her to sigh and for neil to become even further confused.
“i’m sorry, but all we have left is the runt of the litter.” she shakes her head, sighing again. Neil wonders if she even knows how to breathe normally at all. “i’m an accomplished breeder, my cats often go on to win worldwide competitions, but there is always one that comes out wrong. it’s an occupational hazard in this field, you know. there’s always a dud.”
“we’ll take the runt,” andrew says, already pulling out his wallet.
“oh no, i couldn’t possibly. an artist would never sell a work she was unsatisfied with—“
“you make cats have sex for a living,” andrew deadpans, holding out a stack of large bills. “we’ll take the runt.”
she takes the stack. they take the runt.
neil likes animals well enough. in his experience, they’re usually either disease ridden or covered in bugs or both, but he would always tear off bits of food for the strays he found in alleyways.
this is not an alley cat. this is the worst of a litter is prized showcats, bred only to be the best.
sadly, neil can relate.
“why?” he asks when andrew holds the kitten out for him to take.
“you need more friends,” andrew replies. “ones you don’t need to talk to to keep. ones that don’t have problems with touch.”
neil takes the runt. it’s soft and warm in his hands, mewling softly.
“oh.” neil whispers, holding it closer to his chest. “i love it.”
“it’s a she,” andrew corrects.
“does she have a name?”
“runt.”
neil shakes his head. “no, that’s your nickname. too confusing.”
“and I suppose you have something better?” andrew drawls, climbing into the car. neil jumps into the shotgun seat after him, kitten still in his arms.
“of course,” neil says, already knowing the perfect answer. “king fluffikins.”
a beat of silence passes. “you did hear me when i said it is a she, right?”
“yep.” neil nods.
andrew stares at him for a moment longer, then turns his attentions back to the road. “idiot.”
neil grins at him, then refocuses it down on the royalty in his arms for the rest of the ride. if his voice goes up an octave or two when fawning over her, then no one else in the world will ever have to know.
if andrew tears his eyes off the cars in front of him a few times during traffic just to stare at the sight, no one will be the wiser.
if neil kisses andrew across the seats, if he mouths his thanks against chapped lips, if he only pulls away to marvel at the kitten in his lap, then it is just between the three of them.
neil josten is a real person. he has a real boyfriend named andrew minyard who is a fake blonde. he has a real kitten in his arms with a real ridiculous name that helps him get through bad days and therapy sessions. he has real identification and documents and a real social security number.
to be real is to be believed in. to be a fact for others to place trust in. to be true.
here, cutting through the south carolinian countryside in a maserati with a kitten in his arms and his boyfriend in the driver’s seat, neil feels plenty real.
one day, he may even be real enough to say the three little words that andrew means in all of his actions. he might be able to voice what he has been trying to say all along, with kept promises and shared secrets. for now, this is enough.