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“It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.”
It was just another sleepless night.
Until a sudden, loud crash sounded in the bedroom.
Andrew’s hand froze mid-pet.
Within seconds,
he had let go of his cat and grabbed hold of his knife.
Andrew listened for another sound.
There was a faint groan coming from his bedroom.
A person.
Andrew gripped the hilt of his knife tightly.
If the person didn’t have holes in them from the window,
they would soon.
On socked feet,
Andrew stalked towards his bedroom.
He could hear the groaning more clearly now.
Ever so slowly, Andrew turned the door knob,
and when it said click,
he kicked it open and burst inside.
The door thudded against someone
and that someone said, ‘Ow.’
Andrew looked down at the mess of a human scrawled on his bedroom floor,
dressed in formal clothes,
and surrounded by glass shards like they were wings.
Like an angel making a crash landing on earth.
‘I’m bleeding,’ the fallen angel said, ‘and you hit me with your door.’
‘What the fuck are you doing in my bedroom?’ Andrew asked.
The person on the floor groaned as they tried to push themselves up.
It was slow going.
‘This isn’t your bedroom,’ they said slowly.
‘Sure it is,’ Andrew said, watching the other sway as they finally sat somewhat upright.
Blood pooled between the person’s fingers,
but they didn’t seem to notice or care as they raked a shaky hand through their hair.
Now there was also blood in their auburn hair.
Andrew didn’t let his guard down,
but he did crouch to peer at the trespasser.
‘Are you drunk?’
‘I’m Neil,’ the person slurred slightly.
Yes.
Drunk.
‘Why are you breaking into my house, Neil?’ Andrew asked calmly but threateningly. ‘In a suit?’
‘I’m not breaking in,’ Neil slurred. ‘I’m breaking out.’
Andrew sighed.
Neil took the time to look down at himself,
which was a mistake,
because he swayed forward dangerously and then had to lurch back to save himself from falling on his face.
Instead,
he fell on his back.
‘Ow,’ Neil said. He stared up at Andrew’s ceiling. Then. ‘This isn’t my house.’
‘What, your ceiling has gold on it?’ Andrew asked.
‘Stains.’
Andrew looked up at his own ceiling.
White.
No stains.
Okay. So apparently this stranger thought he was breaking into his own apartment.
Which meant he wasn’t here to steal.
If he was speaking the tru—
‘My father’s dead,’ Neil said, voice emotionless.
What?
‘Just now?’
‘Yeah. Just came back from his funeral.’
Hence the suit.
And the drinking, probably.
‘Sucks,’ Andrew said. He didn’t really mean it.
‘No,’ Neil said, and tried to push himself up again. ‘I’m celebrating.’
Glass crunched and crushed beneath Neil’s already bloody fingers,
and Neil got halfway there before slipping and falling back on his elbows.
Andrew didn’t know what to think.
Only that the sooner the stranger was out of his house,
the better.
So he reached out his hand.
Neil looked at it warily. ‘I don’t need help.’
Fine.
Might as well enjoy the show, Andrew thought, as he sat on the ground with his back against the wall.
He watched this stranger try and fail to get to his feet for a good minute or so.
Only when Neil turned to the bed to lift himself up,
did Andrew move.
He quickly grasped his wrist and stopped him. ‘No. I don’t want blood on my sheets.’
‘Wha—’ Neil raised his hands and looked at them. A silence fell over him then, one that was almost too quiet.
‘They haven’t looked like that in a long time,’ Neil murmured.
And it was too honest.
Andrew didn’t want to know, didn’t want to know what this stranger, this… Neil had been through.
He didn’t want to recognise the silence in Neil’s eyes
or the slight shake of his hands.
‘You’re drunk,’ Andrew said, and without asking, hoisted Neil to his feet.
‘Can I have some vodka?’ Neil asked, swaying dangerously.
Ugh.
‘It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.’
Neil swore, nearly losing his balance when he tried to give Andrew the middle finger,
but after some struggling and manhandling, Neil was standing.
Somewhat.
‘You need to leave,’ Andrew said.
Neil frowned. ‘Shouldn’t I… Do something?’
Andrew was so done.
‘No. You’ve done enough.’
Of course King started complaining then.
Loudly.
‘Shut up,’ Andrew said, ‘You’ve already had something to eat.’
King didn’t shut up though.
He never did.
Andrew pushed the door to the living room open and glared at his cat. ‘You’re fat.’
‘Am not,’ Neil slurred as he shuffled behind Andrew. ‘Hey, is that a cat?’
‘No. It’s a dog.’
Neil ignored Andrew and crouched down—for fuck’s sake—in front of King, holding out his bloody hand.
‘Stop that,’ Andrew said, walking over to kick Neil in the side. ‘My cat doesn’t need STDs.’
In hindsight, the kicking had been a bad idea,
because Neil was nowhere near sober enough.
He fell over again, catching himself with his hands.
‘Ow,’ Neil said. ‘It hurts.’
‘I don’t care,’ Andrew said. ‘You need to leave.’
Neil was silent for a few seconds.
‘My mother left when I was six.’
Andrew repressed the urge to sigh.
Neil blinked hazily up at him,
but there was no silence in Neil’s eyes now, only confusion and surprise.
‘I never told anyone that,’ Neil said. ‘I must be drunk.’
Andrew sighed.
He grabbed Neil’s underarm and pulled him to his feet again. ‘You’re not a drinker, are you?’
Neil shook his head before groaning,
probably because the world was spinning.
‘If I fix your hand, you will leave,’ Andrew stated.
‘Okay,’ Neil said.
Walking around a whiny King, Andrew pulled Neil towards his bathroom.
He didn’t turn on the lights, instead letting the small mirror light illuminate his shelves and the sight of Neil sitting on the edge of the tub.
Neil was staring at his hands.
That silence was creeping in on him again,
and Andrew wondered briefly if it was trauma or grief.
No.
No, what the fuck.
He wasn’t wondering anything.
Andrew grabbed alcohol, a towel and bandages
and resolutely turned around.
‘This is going to hurt,’ Andrew said, uncorking the bottle of alcohol.
Neil held out his hands.
‘That’s what he said,’ he whispered.
A flare of hurt
pierced through Andrew’s chest,
and it was awful.
It was awful enough that Andrew had to force himself to move again,
to pour the alcohol on the towel.
He grabbed Neil’s hands and carefully wiped them clean.
Neil flinched once.
Just once.
By the time Andrew was done,
the haze had mostly left Neil’s eyes.
Pain did that to a person.
Pain and memories, probably.
Without a word, Andrew reached for the bandages, unwound them and then wrapped them around Neil’s left hand.
‘Thank you,’ Neil said, when Andrew was nearly done.
‘I’m doing this so you will leave,’ Andrew said.
‘Still.’
‘Don’t. Don’t make this into something it’s not.’
‘This?’ Neil asked, surprised.
Andrew stared emotionlessly at him.
And Neil had the fucking audacity to smile.
It was everything Andrew needed it to not be.
Andrew’s heart tripped in his chest, and he clenched his teeth as he tried to squash down the fact that Neil was
attractive.
‘You broke my window,’ Andrew said.
Neil’s smile disappeared. ‘Sorry. I thought this was my apartment.’
Andrew moved onto Neil’s right hand.
Neil didn’t flinch this time.
‘Do you know where you live, or do I need to call someone?’
Andrew stuck a bandage to make sure his work was secure, and Neil flexed his hand to try out the bandages.
They held.
Neil looked up at Andrew and their gazes met.
Neil’s eyes were less hazy than before.
‘Yeah, I know where I live.’
Now that the alcohol wasn’t blurring what was behind Neil’s eyes,
Andrew could focus on their intense blue colour.
Fuck.
He knew he should look away, but—
A whine announced King’s presence a second before he trotted inside the bathroom, tail raised.
Neil held up his bandaged hands. ‘Can I pet him now?’
‘You won’t even feel it,’ Andrew pointed out.
‘But he will,’ Neil said.
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Andrew picked up the first aid supplies and said, ‘Fine.’
Immediately, Neil was on his knees in front of the cat,
bandaged hands running over King’s back.
King purred happily,
spoiled brat that he was.
After Andrew had put away the supplies, he turned to observe Neil.
Neil wasn’t swaying anymore.
All of his almost-sober attention was focused on the cat, staring intensely at the chubby monster.
It was kind of strange.
Normally, people cooed or talked or played with a cat,
but Neil was just petting King.
Staring and petting.
Strange.
‘You’re not leaving,’ Andrew said eventually.
Neil sighed, almost disappointedly, then moved to his feet. His movements didn’t look as wonky as before, so Andrew didn’t have to feel bad about kicking him out.
So why was there a fucking pang in his chest?
They walked through the living room to the front door, and Andrew saw Neil noticing the tub of ice cream next to his laptop.
When they were in front of the door,
Neil turned around.
‘You were awake at 6 am,’ he said. ‘Do you need to go to work soon?’
‘No,’ Andrew said.
‘Oh.’
Just go, Andrew thought tiredly.
He hadn’t slept tonight, and he didn’t want to waste energy trying to figure out why it was so hard to push Neil out of his apartment
and close the door.
‘Thanks for the bandages,’ Neil said.
‘You broke my window,’ Andrew reminded him.
‘Still. You didn’t have to do that.’
‘Same goes for you.’
Neil smiled, just for a second, and then he opened the door and walked away.
Leaving it to Andrew to close the door.
But Andrew didn’t.
Instead, he peered around the corner,
and watched Neil’s figure get smaller and smaller the farther away he was.
Soon, Neil would be near the staircase.
Soon, he would disappear.
Andrew watched the sharp cut of Neil’s suit
and the stark white of the bandages around his hands.
‘Neil,’ he said, internally swearing.
Why the fuck did you speak up?
Neil turned around.
Those blue eyes were startlingly sober underneath the stark hallway lights.
Andrew ground his teeth together
and said fuck it.
‘Use the front door next time.’
Surprise crossed over Neil’s face.
‘Sure,’ he said. It sounded like a question.
Andrew quickly closed the door before he could give an answer.
Ugh.
King curled around his legs
while Andrew repeatedly knocked his head against the front door.
Now that Neil was gone,
the answer wasn’t so hard.
Maybe
it had just been nice
to not be alone on a sleepless night.
King bumped harder against Andrew’s leg, whining for attention, so Andrew reached down and petted him.