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Unzipping and shucking off his jacket, Neil spread it out over the gravel on the roof and raised an expectant eyebrow at the blond by his side. Andrew stared back over the glowing ember of a cigarette, the street light clawing at the sky and painting hazel eyes golden. Relenting and stretching out, he pillowed his head on the orange stripe of the jacket and folded an arm behind his head. Neil hid a smirk as he dropped down beside him, settling his head in the curve of Andrew’s armpit. Shadows crept along the defined line of his bicep, and Neil tilted his head back to admire the tanned skin stretching between a black armband and charcoal t-shirt.
“I thought you were coming out here to look at something more interesting than an Exy Court.” Andrew murmured around his cigarette, bending his knees and lifting his hips to get more comfortable on the thin fabric, gravel digging into the inch of exposed skin above his belt.
“I am,” Neil pointed out as his eyes traveled the bunched muscle, leaping between constellations of freckles he wanted to trace with a finger, running across the line where golden skin turned pale and the first tufts of darker hair crept out of a short sleeve. He was disorientated by the sudden urge to press fingers into Andrew’s armpit hair, to feel if it was coarse like the stubble stretching down to his adam’s apple, or softer, like the hair which flicked in teasing half-curls by his temple.
As if sensing his thoughts, Andrew turned his head and blew a cloud of smoke across Neil’s forehead, swirling like whirlpools in the dark sockets of his eyes and creeping up flared nostrils at a deep inhale. Neil’s eyes flickered open as the last of the smoke stroked his lungs, the startling blue near electric at this proximity.
“What am I supposed to do with you?” Andrew said, tone bland even as his pupils stretched wide.
“Kiss me, hopefully.” Neil admitted, pressing his lips to the dark fabric pulled taut over Andrew’s ribs.
“I don’t want to encourage this kind of behaviour.”
“Too bad, I think it’s terminal.”
“It better fucking not be.” Though his tone was contradicting in its indifference, Neil could see the tiniest quirk at the corner of his mouth, shadows deepening the curve.
“Can I tell you something?”
“What have you done now?”
“Hardy-har,” Neil muttered, pinching the fabric of Andrew's shirt. “Smart arse. I won’t bother then.”
“No, go on. I’m intrigued.” Andrew’s voice couldn’t have been less interested, but Neil relented because he was curious of the reaction.
“You’re very handsome.” The words were heavy in the air, elevated by the sudden tension in Andrew’s body. The hand holding his half-burnt cigarette paused several inches from his face, the only other sign that Neil had managed to surprise him.
“This coming from the man who doesn’t swing.” Andrew eventually said, the tension broken as he pulled smoke back into his lungs.
“Are you going to throw that in my face every time I compliment you?”
“What the fuck would I do with a compliment?” Andrew asked on the exhale.
“Accept it. Maybe return it.” Neil pushed, narrowing his eyes at the tiny huff of air that could very easily have been a laugh.”You could just say nothing. Or you could say ‘ why thank you Neil, that’s very kind of you, i also think you’re devastatingly handsome’.”
“You want me to lie?” Andrew bit out and Neil stiffened, eyes hooked on the sharp jut of Andrew’s jaw. Fighting a sigh he rolled onto his back and let his eyes dance between the few stars fighting to break through the light of the city. The silence stretched like taffy, thick and resistant, until Neil pushed through.
“Is it the scars?” He hated how ragged his voice sounded and blamed it on too much second-hand smoke.
“The scars don’t bother me.” Andrew said on an exhale, smoke obscuring the stars further.
“I understand if they do. It’s not like they’re attractive or - small.”
“Are you bothered by mine?”
“No.”
“Then shut up.”
“It’s different. I can’t hide all of mine.” Neil exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air in exasperation, pulling his fingers into fists and tracing the circular scarring over his knuckles, feeling the skin pull and stretch uncomfortably. It was easier to look in the mirror with the scars marring his face, separating him from his father even if they shared the same hair and eyes. The scars were a reminder that he was alive, that he had beaten his father. But they were also a reminder of a life spent running, of hours of pain and near fatality. They were a reminder that he had escaped by the skin of his teeth. He had no control over the pale, unfeeling skin. He had never been given a choice. His father’s brands; Lola’s and Riko’s and Mary’s and a hundred different faces who wanted him to bleed. To bend or break.
“I’ll get a bag for your head.” Neil sighed at Andrew’s blase tone and pulled his hands to his chest protectively. They lay together in silence for several stretched-out minutes, eyes on the sky following the flashing lights of airplanes, and the twinkling bursts of stars as clouds drifted overhead. Andrew lit a cigarette for Neil and went through another three himself before Neil’s was finished.
“They don’t make you look any less attractive.” Andrew finally said, voice husky and low. Neil pushed down the sudden spike of heat in his chest and rolled over to nuzzle back into the warmth of Andrew’s bent arm.
“Thank you.” Andrew tilted his head in acknowledgment and Neil watched the gentle flutter of the pulse below his jaw. “Can I kiss you?”
Smoke curled from Andrew’s nostrils on a long drawn-out sigh. “Yes.” he relented and Neil propped himself up on an elbow so he could bend down and press his mouth to Andrew’s. The kiss tasted like watermelon and cigarettes and home, and when Andrew settled his hand on the back of Neil’s neck he sighed, any remaining tension leaking from his body. When Andrew pushed him down and rolled on top of him, he went willingly.