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The first time it happens is because of a nightmare. Normally, when Andrew wakes up in the night, skin feeling raw and throat hoarse from a withheld scream, he can’t stand to be touched. He’ll retreat for a cigarette before curling back under the covers, Neil always at his side but never touching.
But tonight is different. There aren’t any phantom hands clawing their way through his dreams. He jolts awake with the words Thank you, you were amazing echoing in his thoughts.
It isn’t the first time he’s dreamt about Baltimore, about what would’ve happened if Neil hadn’t gotten out in time, or if the FBI had taken him away as planned. He doesn’t like to admit how much the thought of losing Neil that day had genuinely scared him, but he can’t forget the almost suffocating fear that had taken over him when he found Neil’s bag abandoned at the stadium.
Nightmares like this don’t happen often, not anymore. And when they do, it’s usually enough for Andrew to see Neil sleeping beside him, his steady breathing a reassurance that he’s still here, still safe. But tonight he still feels restless, panicked.
Neil rouses beside him like he always does when Andrew has a nightmare, like Andrew always does for Neil in return.
“Drew?”
But Andrew doesn’t have it in him to speak right now. He is still choking on the lingering fear. Instead, he eases himself back under the covers and gently pushes Neil’s shoulder in a silent request.
Neil does as asked without hesitating, turning on his side away from Andrew. Andrew closes the small gap between their bodies, snaking an arm around Neil’s chest, holding his hand directly over Neil’s steadily beating heart. He lets out a slow, shaky breath and pulls Neil closer to him.
This. This is enough.
Eventually he’s able to drift back to sleep, comforted by Neil’s heartbeat, evidence that he’s alive, he’s safe, he’s home.