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If you had asked Andrew how he felt, he’d say that he felt as if he was floating.
There was no gravity in their shared living room; Everything felt like it was floating. The furniture they had bought together, the photo frames that held pictures gifted from Dan, the words they never shared.
His heart, however, felt heavy with lead as he gazed upon Neil, who stood with hands clenched white-knuckle tight as tears welled in blue eyes. He looks angry. He probably is. He deserved to be.
“Fuck you.” He spits the words, laced with venom, at him and Andrew hardly feels it.
He hardly feels anything anymore. He doesn’t know why Neil is making such a big deal of it now. He walked into this knowing that Andrew was broken, so why was he mad about the jagged edges of him now?
“This has always been nothing. Don’t try and make me feel guilty for something that’s always been nothing. I’ve never been your answer, Neil, don’t fool yourself into thinking I could be.”
He doesn’t say I love you even though I know it will kill me. They don’t say things like that. Andrew doesn’t deserve to say things like that. Not to Neil, not to himself.
He knows what Bee would say of this, but she isn’t here to extend her knowledge onto him. She isn’t going to be here to talk him down from his self-destruction. She isn’t there to say anything to him, not Recovery is tricky, Andrew, it isn’t always a straight line, not Everyone deserves to be happy, even you Andrew, not Sometimes life feels like you’re constantly taking steps backward, but you just have to wait for the day when you’re feeling strong enough to take a step forward. You can’t rush recovery, Andrew.
He is so tired of waiting for that step forward.
Neil, however, just can’t wait anymore, could he? Maybe he finally noticed that Andrew has always been the monster everyone called him. Maybe he finally noticed how broken he actually was.
Andrew watches the tears cluster in his eyelashes, falling down onto red cheeks only when he blinks. Absentmindedly, he notes that Neil probably never got to cry when he was younger. He probably doesn’t know how to.
“You don’t get to do this, Andrew.” He snarls, eyes rimmed red from tears but all of his fury is evident in those pools of blue. “You don’t get to give up on us, on yourself. You can’t walk away and keep telling yourself that this is nothing! This has never been nothing.”
Absentmindedly, Andrew notes that Neil’s hands don’t shake when he’s angry. It would probably be hard to hold a knife or a gun if they were. He wonders if that was taught by Nathan or Mary.
Andrew wonders what it’s like to be so angry. He’s felt so empty for so long now.
Instead of garnering a response, Andrew lets his eyes lock onto Neil’s as he pulls a keyring from his pocket. He doesn’t say anything as he carefully pulls the key for their house from the ring and drops it onto the floor at Neil’s feet.
Andrew might not have the same fixation on keys that Neil had, but he knew the gesture would be understood. This house was the first thing that was theirs and Andrew was giving it up. He was walking away from them and Neil knew it.
As he makes his way to the door, he ignores the ache in his chest that tells him that he’s making a mistake. He doesn’t believe in mistakes, he reminds himself as he opens the door to Neil’s house. He looks back once, eyes just as blank as he feels.
“Watch me.”
He imagines that the slam of the door is just the sound of gravity returning to their home, furniture slamming back onto the floor, picture frames shattering like his heart.
---
Andrew knows that he has been making backward progress and almost wants to do nothing about it.
He’s been having more bad days then good, saying No more than he was saying Yes. He can’t sleep without his knives under his pillow, a habit he thought he had put away years prior. He finds himself sleeping less and less and isolating himself more and more.
He knows that Neil is concerned. It’s the silent offer to drive on days when Andrew fascinates driving on the wrong side of the road. It’s the quiet ‘yes or no’ when he catches him up hours past when they had gone to sleep. It’s the way that, when Andrew says yes, he hands him freshly made hot chocolate and tucks himself against his side like he was meant to be there. It’s the way that, when Andrew says no, he sets the hot chocolate in his reach and pads into another room and lets him stew in his own misery for a couple of hours longer.
Neil has always known to fold his hands into a question and turn them away when the answer is no.
It’s on one of the better days when Neil says, “Call Betsy.” Neil, with his head against his shoulder, tea growing cold is his mug. He does not say please, but the plea is implied. “You trust her. She can help you through this.” The unspoken ‘I can’t help you through this’ is far too clear for Andrew to stomach.
Andrew knows that he’s the only one who can counteract this downwards slope of his mental health. He knows that he can call Bee and she’d answer. He knows that he can reach out to his friends, his family, and everyone who would tell him that he’s actually worth giving a shit over. He knows that he can say yes to Neil when he asks to sit with him. He knows that he can talk to Neil about all of this and not get turned away.
He knows all of this, but he’s just so tired of trying to fight a thousand-year-old battle.
He had thought that after all of the shit life put him through, life after college would be easy. His mental health had been on a steady increase, his relationship with Neil was only getting better, his career was growing beneath him and creating a steady foundation for him to stand on.
This, of course, was not the case.
Nothing good lasts forever. He should have known that. He grew complacent with mediocrity and forgot to realize that it’s the small things that lead you in first. It’s the simple ideas that lure you into false safety.
After all, Cass Spear had been the best thing to happen to him and he let himself feel safe until Drake opened his door at night and ruined everything for him.
Andrew lets himself harden once more. He builds his walls up around his heart and forgets to forge a key for Neil to add to his collection. He tells himself that he is doing this to keep others away, to keep them from hurting him anymore, but is being protected from everyone else not just isolation?
Is he keeping everyone else out or just locking himself in?
---
Andrew, for what feels like the first time in his life, is contempt with how his life is.
That must be what this feeling is growing in his chest as he watches Neil from across their living room, surrounded by teammates, old and new alike. He feels the twitch of a smile on his lips as he watches him, tucked neatly against the wall with a glass of whiskey in hand. It was Neil’s idea to host a house warming party for their new home, after all, he didn’t need to go out of his way to socialize.
It’s odd, he muses, to consider this space as theirs. It isn’t the first home that either of them has had, but it is the first house and it is the first one to have both of their names on the lease.
There is something that grows in his chest when he clutches the key in his palm until the teeth dig into his flesh. He thinks that this is what a home should feel like.
He knows, better than most, the dangers of having something permanent. Neil knows, better than most, the dangers of having something permanent. And yet, they sign the dotted line together and hold keys to a home they never got to have when they were younger.
“Happiness is a good look on you, Andrew.”
It’s a habit to glance down to whatever drink Kevin holds in his hand and it still gives him a slight surprise when he sees water instead of vodka. He feels a twinge of guilt at the mere thought of assuming that his former teammate was breaking his nearly six-year sobriety, but he tucks it away and instead draws his eyes up to meet Kevin’s.
Even at thirty-two, Kevin looks the same. Or, rather, he looks older, creases lining his face to take away the harsh edge, and he looks tired, the product of too many late nights practicing or panicking, but his green eyes are the same and his small smile is the same.
Absentmindedly, Andrew notes that somehow, in the years of them knowing each other, he cares about him.
“I’m surprised you didn’t lead with how I should’ve blocked that shot from McConnell during last Tuesday’s game. That’s normally how our conversations start these days.” He’s partially joking, but he knows that exy is a social clutch that Kevin has yet to give up on. Andrew is not yet cruel enough to take it away from him either.
Making comment about his play is Kevin’s typical way of letting Andrew know he watches his games. It’s how Kevin lets him know that he checks on him when he can because they were never the type for random afternoon calls or texts to check on each other.
Kevin huffs and rolls his eyes, arms crossing over his chest but making no move to correct him. “Don’t deflect, Andrew. I mean it. You’ve got a house, you’ve got cats, you’ve got a career. You’ve finally got the life you wanted. I couldn’t keep my promise to give you something to build your life around, but you found it without me.”
Absentmindedly, he notes that Kevin does not say that he is sorry, but the words are clear as day.
Andrew spares a glance over to the striker and places his hand slowly, deliberately onto his shoulder and squeezes once. A hug would still be too casual for Andrew to stomach, too close and too much contact, but at least this way he can try to show Kevin that he appreciates him. Kevin knows that he does not give touch easily, even with the maturity and acceptance that comes with age.
“Guilt isn’t a good look on you, Day.” He offers instead of saying he forgives him, hand dropping back to his side. “And don’t be an idiot. You might have tried to build my life around exy, but in the end, you brought me Neil.”
As if at the sound of his name, the auburn-haired man turns to look at Andrew, a smile on his face that fills his heart with a warm feeling. He wonders, absentmindedly, if this is love.
He wonders, absentmindedly, if this will be his downfall.
---
Andrew does not forget easily.
As he grew older, if twenty-eight could be called old, he holds his grudges even harder.
He watches from his spot on the bench as Neil is all but carried off the court after a nasty check that left his ankle crushed under the weight of the backliner who ‘tripped’ into him.
A few of his teammates look back at Andrew as if expecting to see anything other than his emotionless façade at the sight of his could-be probably-is boyfriend, but sigh when he won’t even respond to them.
No, Andrew only has eyes for one person right now. Kyle Matthews, 23 years old, 185 pounds, 5 foot 11 inches, backliner. He spins his racquet lazily in his hands and wonders how much force he’d need to put behind a return to make him share Neil’s pain.
In the end, he doesn’t even break anyone’s ankle, unfortunately, but he shuts the goal down during the second half and sends all of his returns into the gaps of Kyle Matthews armor until he’s certain that the kid won’t be doing anything other than limping off the court.
During their good game lineup, he lets his lips curl into a smile as he shakes his hand. “Good game.” He snarls, squeezing just a hint too tight for good measure before he’s walking off to shake hands with the next player.
The lecture he gets from his coach is more than made up for by the sight of Neil curled up on their couch wearing one of Andrew’s sweatshirts with King sleeping easily on his stomach. He smiles and makes a move to try and get up, but either the pain of his ankle or the weight of the cat on his stomach stops him.
“I watched the rest of the game from home.” Neil hums, a twinkle of something in his eyes. “You were amazing in the goal during the second half.”
“Junkie.” He says once, both of their bags held on his shoulder as he toes his shoes off and shuts the door to their apartment. He ignores the warmth spreading through him. “I got Thai if you’re feeling up to it. And Kevin said to call him if you want a training regime for your ankle.”
Neil hums again, making grabby hands for the food in Andrew’s grasp. “Thank you for what you did to Matthews.” He says easily as if Andrew wasn’t trying to make sure that Matthews wouldn’t be able to play again.
Instead of replying, he whispers a soft ‘yes or no’ and settles himself against Neil so they can sit and eat in silence in together.
They do not speak but Andrew can feel the words scratching up through his throat anyway. He can feel the three words, eight letters, five vowels and three consonants.
He wants to say, ‘I love you,’ but they just don’t say that. Growing up, he never got to say or hear those words. He knows that Neil didn’t either. They don’t need those words, no matter how much he wants to say them.
Instead, he swallows the words down and shuts his eyes to sleep.
---
There were two years between graduation day and Nicky’s wedding.
There were two years between the now and the last time that Andrew had seen his brother.
Andrew nurses a glass of whiskey as he lets his eyes drink in the sight of his brother.
Aaron holds Katelyn next to him as he talks with people he must know from his weekly calls with Nicky. He looks good, he muses. He looks happy. He catches a glimmer of silver on Katelyn’s fourth finger and he fights the urge to imagine the gold band that his brother would one day wear.
Andrew wonders, absentmindedly, if he is happier with thousands of miles between them. Distance, he reminds himself, is good for him. Distance is good for them.
Their last meeting with Bee had been just as bad as the first.
He remembers how he sat on the couch, eyes distant as he sipped hot chocolate without even feeling the heat on his tongue.
“I guess this is goodbye,” he had said. “You got what you wanted, Aaron, congrats. You’re free from me, I bet you’re happy. You won’t have to see me anymore.”
His words are spoken with solemn acceptance. He knew that past graduation, his brother would want nothing to do with him. He would go off and play doctor with his cheerleader and Andrew would be nothing more than an unused contact. Nicky, he knows, will call him weekly because he’s Nicky, but Aaron would want to get rid of him. That much, at least, Andrew was certain of.
He hadn’t been expecting the way his brother swore under his breath, anger hard in his eyes as his hands shake with the urge to do…something. In hindsight, he might have wanted to hit him or grab his collar and shake some sense into him.
His words were cold when he spoke, but Andrew was already frozen solid by his own hand. “If you think you can get rid of me that easily, you must really be an idiot.”
In spite of his words that last Wednesday they spent together, Andrew had not seen his brother in two years.
His hair is longer, he notes. During the college and the years before that, Andrew had been the one to cut Aaron’s hair. He wonders who does it now.
He seems a lot brighter, more open. He lets his emotions tell stories in the hazel of his eyes, let’s his love show through arm he has wrapped around Katelyn’s waist, lets his happiness show through his smile.
He is everything that Andrew will never get the chance to be, and he is learning that that is okay.
Instead, he glances over as Neil excuses himself from speaking with Erik’s sister and sidles up to his side instead.
He curses Neil for being so perceptive as the other follows his line of vision and rolls his eyes.
“Go talk to him, Andrew.” He says, as if it’s just as simple as that. How does one begin to bridge two years of purposefully missed phone calls and ignored texts?
Andrew gives a hum of nonchalance as he downs the rest of his whiskey, loosening his tie in the same breath. “If he wants to speak to me, he’ll come over here himself.”
He spares a glance towards his brother and feels a jolt of surprise when he spies hazel eyes glancing back at him, a slight smile trying on his lips.
Andrew draws his gaze back to Neil, eyes narrowing at how Neil seems to find everything else far easier than him. “You talked to him, didn’t you?” His voice is not quite as cold as it is detached, voice a monotone he knew displayed his annoyance better than most.
“You need to talk to him. You can’t ignore him in person.” He is at least smart enough to make himself scarce when his brother starts to make his way over. Neil might have been an idiot, but he knew when to run.
“Aaron.” He says in lieu of a greeting. “You look nice.” Casual small talk is easy, he could do this for years.
Closer, it’s evident how the years of taken their toll on his brother. His skin is just a shade shy of too pale, there are bags under his eyes, his hair is mused in a way that shows just how many times he’s run his fingers through the strands. He looks tired, but he looks happy all the same.
“Andrew.” He returns, the air heavy around them as they struggle to understand how to work around each other again.
There is a measure of silence that rests too long between the two of them for Aaron to bare, apparently.
He clears his throat as he meets his eyes. “I proposed to Katelyn.” He offers.
“I know,” Andrew replies, eyes drifting to where his fingers are picking with a loose thread on his suit jacket, a calm navy that clashes with the harsh black that Andrew wears.
They slip into the restless silence once more. After two years of carefully maintained silence, you’d think they would be better at this.
“If your wedding is as grossly sappy as Nicky’s, I’m leaving halfway through.” He bites the bullet of conversation and veers into a territory he knows Aaron is comfortable in. It’s worth it to see the twitch of a smile on his brothers’ lips.
“Noted. I was thinking about it recently, but I haven’t found a best man yet. If you wanted to, I would like you to be it.” Aaron’s attempt at nonchalance falls on deaf ears, but Andrew isn’t worried about that.
No, instead he wonders if he could accept the position as best man when he’s certain he’s been one of the worst men in Aaron’s life. How could he dare to say yes to stand behind his brother on his most important day, just waiting to pick him back up again if he falls, to offer him a hand when he stumbles. He walked out on this opportunity when he silenced every phone call and deleted every text unopened.
His drags his gaze to his brother’s hopeful eyes and imagines a world where he could say yes to that.
---
Graduation is an affair Andrew couldn’t be bothered with.
He didn’t see the point of dressing up in a cap and gown to sit with people he knew nothing about and listen to long speeches about how it was time for the ‘real world’ now and how people who didn’t know any of their names believed that they could make it.
Instead of attending the ceremony with his cousin and his brother, he sits on the roof and smokes his concerns away. Anxiety curls in his chest at the idea of his cousin and brother being out of his sight for too long, but he can’t do anything about it now.
He has his cousins plane ticket to Germany memorized at this point and he’s driving his brother to his new apartment in fifteen hours, not like anyone’s counting.
Andrew can feel Neil’s gaze burning into his cheek, but he ignores it in favor of taking another drag from his cigarette. He imagines the smoke curling in his chest and igniting him from the inside out. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to worry about how lonely the next years are going to be.
Neil’s voice breaks the silence with a cadence Andrew didn’t want to hear right now. “Denver is only three hours by plane.” He states, voice wavering towards the end as Andrew finally lets his head turn towards him.
He watches how the way Neil’s fingers shake while he’s holding the cigarette. He’s looking at Andrew, but his eyes are distant, closed off, staring too far in the past or future to focus on the present.
“Unless this doesn’t last over 1,500 miles.”
Is he—Did Neil think that Andrew wanted to end this? Neil had kept him safe, kept him sane these last few years. He respected his lines and his boundaries and never asked for more than Andrew was ready to give to him. Did Neil want to end this?
“It’s not a no, Neil. Unless you want it to be over, then it’s not over yet.”
Andrew watches the way that emotion blooms its way onto Neil’s face and feels a surge of relief shoot through him.
Andrew thinks, absentmindedly, that he could never let himself give Neil up. Even on the good days, Andrew’s mind is a cloudy sky with rainclouds just threatening to pour, but Neil is the sun that clears it all away. Without Neil in his life, he isn’t sure how he could possibly go on.
If there nothing ever truly becomes nothing, Andrew is certain that it is because Neil will say no.
“It’s always a yes with you, Andrew.”