Snapshots of Us
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Just a bit chaos, a tiny creature and usual Andreil banter.
Series
- Part 1 of Snapshots of Us
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“You’re going to catch a cold,” Andrew said finally, his voice breaking the silence. It was flat, matter-of-fact, but Neil could hear the undercurrent of something softer beneath it.
Neil glanced over his shoulder and shrugged. “The heater’s on.”
Andrew gave him a look. It wasn’t exactly a glare, but it was close enough to make Neil’s lips twitch in amusement. “It’s not the heater’s job to fix your stupidity,” Andrew said, but he was already moving, grabbing the blanket from the bed and crossing the room.
Before Neil could protest, Andrew draped the blanket over his shoulders. It wasn’t a grand gesture—nothing about Andrew ever was—but Neil felt a warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with the blanket or the heater.
Series
- Part 2 of Snapshots of Us
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Neil started to push himself up, but the hand on his waist tightened.
“I have to go for a run,” Neil said, though he didn’t make much of an effort to move again.
Andrew’s gaze finally shifted, sliding from the cat to him, unimpressed. “No, you don’t.”
Neil raised an eyebrow. “I do.”
Andrew didn’t argue. He didn’t have to. Instead, his thumb brushed absently against Neil’s bare skin, where his shirt had ridden up in sleep. The touch was light, barely there, a slow drag of warmth against the cool morning air.
But Neil felt it everywhere.
Series
- Part 3 of Snapshots of Us
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Neil rolled his eyes, stepping further into the room and tossing his bag onto his desk. “And you decided to celebrate by watching…” His voice trailed off as he leaned against the back of the couch, tilting his head at the screen.
On the TV, a man stumbled through a dimly lit alley, blood dripping dramatically from his side as ominous music swelled.
“…whatever this is?” Neil finished, vaguely amused.
“Background noise,” Andrew replied, completely uninterested.
Neil raised an eyebrow at the screen. “Is that guy supposed to be dying?”
Andrew didn’t bother to look up. “Go away.”
Series
- Part 4 of Snapshots of Us
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Neil crossed his arms. “Where is it?”
Andrew didn’t look concerned in the slightest, but his gaze flicked up, finally registering Neil’s frustration. He shut his book and sat up, “What are you talking about?”
Neil exhaled sharply. “The hoodie. It’s gone!”
Andrew’s brows furrowed slightly, and Neil knew that meant something. Andrew never forgot anything. If he had given the hoodie away, he would have remembered. But there was something else there, a calculation, a realization—
Andrew pushed himself to his feet and walked to the closet. When he opened the door and scanned the contents, Neil knew.
Andrew’s shoulders went stiff.
The hoodie was missing.
Series
- Part 5 of Snapshots of Us
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Neil, as usual, didn’t seem to notice or care. He was studying the display case, blue eyes scanning rows of pastries like he was analyzing game tape.
Andrew didn’t let him take long. “You’re getting the strawberry pastry.”
Neil huffed a quiet laugh but didn’t argue. “I was considering it.”
The cashier perked up at their exchange. “Awww, you’re one of those couples.”
Neil frowned. “One of what?”
Series
- Part 6 of Snapshots of Us
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A hum rumbled from Neil’s chest—content, unapologetic. Andrew watched him zone out, his eyes glazing just enough to betray the kind of trouble brewing behind them. Whatever he was thinking, Andrew knew instinctively it was going to be stupid.
And he was right.
When Neil leaned in again—but instead of a kiss, he burrowed into the crook of Andrew’s neck. The angle was awkward, the positioning all wrong, but Andrew didn’t shift. Didn’t correct it. He just let Neil stay.
Then, muffled and completely serious, Neil said, “We should get a cat.”
“No.”
“But you literally just compared me to one.”
“And I hate myself for it.”
Neil pressed an opened mouth kiss and Andrew shuddered. “ Neil .”
Series
- Part 7 of Snapshots of Us
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Yesterday’s memory stabbed him—Andrew tossing him the Maserati keys with a flat, “You’ll need to drive yourself soon.” A casual jab, but it had landed like a blade, slicing open the truth he couldn’t face: Andrew was leaving.
Five months until graduation, until the twins and Nicky walked away, until the foxes—his family dissolved, leaving Nathaniel behind, who’d never understood what the Foxes meant.
He wasn’t enough. Not for the Foxes, not for Andrew. The thought was a splinter, digging deeper with every breath.
Andrew, his steady point in the chaos, would be gone.
He pressed his palms to his eyes, willing his heart to slow. Andrew wasn’t gone yet. There’d be calls, texts, visits—Neil knew this, he’d memorized the way Andrew’s jaw had tightened when he promised, “I’m not leaving you.” But the rational part of his brain was drowning. The nightmares didn’t care about promises and neither did Nathaniel.
Series
- Part 8 of Snapshots of Us