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1.
Andrew hated Easthaven. Specifically, he hated group therapy in Easthaven. He was expected to talk about his feelings with complete strangers who supposedly “knew how he felt” and yet they all still looked at him as if he was the outsider. Not only that, but most people stared at his scars for far longer than they should have. It took him a couple of days to realize why. He was the only one there with self harm scars. Shocking, really, since a lot of his fellow patients had tried to off themselves. With the exception of one, they’d all tried for an overdose of some kind. The exception had tried to use car exhaust fumes while parked in a closed garage. Andrew thought they were all idiots, especially the latter.
He wasn’t a stranger to suicidal thoughts himself, and he didn’t think they were idiots for acting on those thoughts. He thought they were idiots because they’d all done such a poor job in their attempts. One of them had thought that Aspirin was something that they could easily overdose on, and he’d heard that they had only taken all of a half empty bottle. That was nothing compared to the person who’d tried to use car exhaust fumes, though. That one hadn’t even waited until the house was empty, so when they started the car and no one heard the garage door open, it didn’t take the rest of their family long to investigate what was going on. Truly, they were all idiots and he hated that people probably lumped him in with them.
No one outside of his therapists knew why he’d been sent to Easthaven and Andrew planned on keeping it that way. He didn't need more stares, and he would surely receive them as well as half hearted attempts at pity if any of the other patients found out he was a rape victim coming off the antipsychotic medication that made him laugh like a maniac at his own trauma. He also didn’t talk about his scars at all in group, much to the dismay of the therapist leading it. This therapist thought that if Andrew talked about why he’d mutilated himself so much it would somehow help him. He’d called bullshit the first day she’d asked him to and had refused to speak more about it since. Whenever it was his turn to share, he simply stared the therapist down until she accepted that he wasn't going to say anything and moved on to someone else.
It wasn't that Andrew necessarily hated his scars. He hated the looks they attracted, and he hated the reminder of what had happened to him to cause the scars in the first place, sure, but they also reminded him that he was still here. Still a part of the living despite what had happened to him. He didn't need to talk about why he had done it with this therapist because he'd already done so with Bee. She'd helped him come to view them as a sign of survival, rather than a hideous reminder. He still had bad days where he would resort back to that way of thinking, especially now after he hadn't been able to stop Drake again despite his best efforts, but he knew better than to let it consume him. Besides, talking about his scars to this therapist meant that he'd have to reveal why he'd made them in the first place and then everyone in the group would inevitably find out why he was here. As much as he hated being lumped in with the suicide cases, he would hate it even more if he simply became known as the rape victim.
This silence only lead to curiosity from the other patients, particularly his roommate. His nasally voice was enough to annoy Andrew regardless, and his breath always smelled foul enough that anyone with an unclogged nose could smell it from a respectable distance. He was constantly asking Andrew personal questions like “do you have a girlfriend? Or boyfriend? You don't look gay, but hey, no judgment if you are” and the amount of times Andrew had said “none of your fucking business” was in the double digits now.
It was inevitable that he would ask about Andrew's scars eventually. If Andrew had been allowed to bring his knives into the hospital, he would’ve held it to his roommate’s throat when the other had asked about his scars. Unfortunately, he wasn’t allowed knives, so he had to settle for a glare. It hadn’t worked.
He wished he had his knives.
“Really, dude, why do you have so many scars?” Andrew’s roommate had asked, a couple of days after his initial probing. Someone hadn’t learned his lesson, it seemed.
“None of your fucking business. Why do you keep talking to me?” Andrew replied, hoping that maybe the venom in his words might scare the guy off. How many times did he need to be shut down with that phrase before he finally learned his fucking lesson?
“We’re roommates. I figured we’d get to know each other, but you never answer my questions. Is it because you don't know something about me? Well, here, I'll tell you something. I’m here because I throw up everything I eat. I assume you’re here because you tried to off yourself.”
“Wrong. You have truly made an ass out of you and me, assuming shit like that. Well, mostly you, but that’s how the saying goes. If I’d tried to off myself the scars would be deeper. I’m not an idiot like the rest of the suicide cases here. I’m not your friend, either. I will never be your friend. I won’t answer any of your questions, so why don’t you go throw up your breakfast and leave me alone?”
His roommate sulked off after that, muttering something about how he'd already done that under his terribly smelling breath. He never tried to ask Andrew any more questions about himself after that, much to Andrew’s delight.
The attention paid to his scars didn’t stop there, though. About two weeks in, a girl from his group therapy sessions stopped him in the hallway to ask him a seemingly innocent question. He knew from her talks during group therapy that she was another eating disorder case, but unlike his roommate, she just never ate. It had gotten to the point where she looked like she was going to die at any minute from malnutrition. Her blonde hair seemed to be falling out in clumps, and her ribs were still visible through her shirt.
“I was wondering if you wanted to sit with me at lunch today,” she asked shyly.
“Why the fuck would I want to do that?” Andrew asked, confused as to why this girl wanted anything to do with him. For one thing, she probably didn’t even eat lunch so why was she asking him to accompany her? He clearly didn’t also have anorexia, so there was no bonding to be had there. That meant that she was probably asking him to do this for romantic reasons. Their lunch would be a date if he said yes, and she’d then expect him to kiss her at the very least. This was a problem for Andrew for multiple reasons. The simplest answer was because he wasn’t attracted to women at all. He had briefly thought about the possibility that he was bisexual, but he’d quickly realized that the thought of touching a woman made him want to vomit. The more complicated answer was that he hated romance, even when it came to guys. He had trouble separating it from sex in his mind and that meant that it was incredibly tainted by all of his past trauma. Part of him wondered if he could ever truly be on the receiving end of a consensual sexual encounter without flashing back to one of the countless times he'd had his consent taken away from him. If he couldn't do that, how could he hope to maintain a romantic relationship?
There was also the common belief that romantic partners were your “better half” and he thought that was complete bullshit considering he felt like he was perfectly whole, and didn't need someone else's flaws contributing to how fucked up he already was. He didn’t need someone else to be happy; he wasn’t even sure if happiness was attainable for him.
“I think you’re cute, despite your scars. My roommate doesn’t think so. She says that anyone who cuts themselves can’t love anyone because they don’t love themselves, but I think I can help you. I can fix you,” the girl answered, confirming his suspicions while digging her own grave at the same time.
Andrew sighed, and fixed her with a glare worse than the one he’d given his roommate. “Fix yourself, bitch. And go fuck yourself,” he said and stormed off.
This was why he wore his armbands, for fuck sake. People suddenly seemed to forget basic human decency when he took them off to reveal the scars underneath, and he didn’t have the energy to deal with them even on a good day. He knew that Neil was keeping them safe while he was locked up in here, but that only made him feel marginally better.
Speaking of Neil, he wondered how Neil would deal with having his own scars visible all the time. People would surely ask about the scar in the shape of an iron at the very least and he knew that Neil would rather run than face any questions about his past. The fact that Neil had trusted him enough to let him feel those scars was something he didn't know how to feel about. Neil was supposed to be a side effect of the drugs and the fact that he felt the same about him sober was something he hated. He could never be with Neil, and Neil would never want to be with him. He was a pipe dream. A pipe dream who would never understand why he'd chose to scar himself since he assumed Neil would do anything not to have any of his own scars. However, there was still part of his brain that remembered what assuming usually lead to. The part that still said Neil could possibly say yes. He hated that part of his brain.
With his scars on display, people would continue to stare at him until he left this place, and he would be continuously pressured into talking about them during group therapy.
Now, these things weren’t the worst that had happened to Andrew at Easthaven; Riko had made sure of that. Proust made his life a living hell any chance he could, and he only survived it by thinking of all the ways he could murder Proust when he finally got out. The stares, comments, and prodding to share did solidify the fact that once he got out, he was never taking his armbands off again, though.
2.
It had been five months since Neil had gotten the scars, but you would think this was the first time his new teammates were hearing about them from the way they acted around him. They stared at them during warm ups, and continued to stare at the ones on his face when they moved onto drills. Neil had tolerated it for the first couple of weeks, but he was getting sick of it. To make matters worse, they’d started gossiping within earshot of him, instead of just talking when he had left the room. Did they realize he could hear everything they were saying? Who was to say.
“It’s a wonder that he even has a boyfriend,” one of the freshmen said. “I definitely wouldn’t want to fuck him.”
“I bet he has to turn the light off. It’s not like there’s anywhere to look without scars. And no one wants to see that while they’re getting off,” Jack replied, his disdain for Neil obvious in his tone.
Neil wanted to strangle both of them, but mostly Jack. They didn’t get along at all, and he didn’t feel like Jack’s skill on the court warranted his cocky nature. Jack couldn’t even score on Andrew yet. This wasn’t the first time he’d heard them talk shit, but this was the first time they’d mentioned his relationship with Andrew while they were. That bothered him much more than their generic comments involving only himself.
Up until recently he'd been able to hide his scars from prying eyes. He hadn't wanted to take the bandages off of his face and hands even when it was time for them to come off. They had made life a pain in the ass, but the reality of having the world see what had happened to him at any given point was not one he'd wanted to face. Andrew's gift of armbands had helped him, because at least he was able to hide some of the scars from prying eyes, but there was nothing to be done about his face or hands. Andrew had suggested that he talk to Bee about it, but Neil was a stubborn person. It had taken weeks of Andrew's reminders and the promise of an entire box of strawberries to get Neil to even go to Bee's office willingly. He didn't talk much, but Bee was able to work with what he gave her. Much like she had with Andrew, she told Neil that his scars meant that he was a survivor. There was no shame in the world knowing that too. However, it was Andrew who had really made him feel like coming out of his room each day. He was always there to remind Neil that his scars didn't make him hideous, and that while he might not be able to blend into a crowd anymore, he didn't need to. His father was dead, and Andrew was quick to remind him that he'd still take on the entire Japanese mafia if it came to that. That was why it bothered him so much when people shit talked Andrew.
Most everyone was on the “talk shit about Andrew” train because of his unruly and occasionally violent personality. None of them knew even half of the shit that Andrew had gone through, and Andrew preferred to keep it that way. Neil obviously respected Andrew’s wishes, and quite frankly, he believed that people shouldn’t have to know his tragic backstory to be able to treat him like a human being. Even if someone treated Andrew decently, chances were that they still didn’t understand why Neil had chosen to be with him. He honestly didn’t care if no one understood their relationship, but he hated when people treated Andrew like shit. These freshmen didn’t know the slightest thing about how they handled things within their relationship and yet here they were making these bold claims. Sometimes Neil felt that things would be better if they’d hid their relationship better, but he also knew that they shouldn’t have to do that. People should be able to be decent human beings about it.
Before anyone knew it, their break was almost over. Neil was ready to go back to the court when he saw Andrew leave his spot next to Renee and approach him.
“I bet Andrew doesn’t even touch his scars. He probably avoids them at all costs,” the first freshman replied, laughing. Apparently Jack’s comment hadn’t satisfied their need for gossip.
Andrew was close enough to overhear his name, and once he heard it he listened to the rest of the comment. He stopped in front of Neil, and glared at the group of freshmen.
“I’m going to kill them,” Andrew told Neil, waiting for one of the freshman to see his glare.
“Don’t. It wouldn’t be worth it. And I don’t think I could smuggle anything in my ass for you,” Neil replied, shaking his head. He followed Andrew’s gaze and let out a small sigh. “Maybe threatening them with one of your knives wouldn’t hurt, though.”
Andrew turned his eyes on Neil and gave him a small smirk. He thought about commenting on the remark about smuggling things into prison, but ultimately decided against it. It was rather lewd and he didn’t want anyone to overhear. “I can definitely do that,” he said instead.
Before Andrew could approach them, though, Wymack called an end to their break. Neil took Andrew’s hand and pulled him towards the court before Wymack could yell at them to hurry up. The group of freshmen followed behind them, having given up on gossiping for the time being. Everything would’ve been fine, if Jack hadn’t opened his stupid mouth again.
“He’s definitely avoiding the burns on Neil’s knuckles now. I guess he’s too much of a monster to find anyone else who’d love him or he would’ve dumped Neil by now.”
Neil felt Andrew pull away and sure enough, when he turned around, he saw that Jack had a knife at his throat.
“If you say one more fucking thing about us or his scars, I’ll slit your throat,” Andrew growled, holding the blade close enough so that it was touching Jack’s skin.
“Call off your fucking attack dog, Josten!” Jack yelled, the fear evident in his voice even though he’d tried to hide it.
Neil simply shrugged. “There are better strikers out there. We could easily replace you. Why should I tell him to stop?”
The upperclassmen looked at the scene, but they seemed downright bored compared to the horror on the freshmen’s faces. Wymack looked completely done with them, but that was nothing new. He wasn’t aware of the comments the freshmen had made, but he did know that Andrew didn’t hold knives to people’s throats unprovoked. Unfortunately, he still couldn’t let a murder happen on his watch.
“Andrew, get your ass back in goal. Jack, come here. We need to have a word,” Wymack said, hoping that Andrew might listen to him for once. Andrew looked over at Neil without moving his knife, his eyes asking a silent question. Neil shrugged in response and Andrew finally put the knife away.
“One more thing and-” he said, before miming slicing his own neck as he walked away from Jack.
Jack didn’t respond to him, and walked over to Wymack, who proceeded to tell him to stop whatever the fuck he’d done to cause Andrew’s wrath.
If Neil and Andrew had been a more affectionate couple in public, Neil would’ve pulled Andrew aside to kiss his cheek in thanks before the other made it to the goal. As it stood, though, Neil simply smiled to show his gratitude and relief. Andrew understood and simply nodded in acknowledgement, although Neil could see his lips twitch slightly in amusement.
“What the fuck did he say?” Kevin asked as Neil took his spot behind him for their practice drills.
“That Andrew should dump me because my scars are hideous, essentially.” Neil replied.
Matt overhead this, and proceeded to tell Dan, who told Allison, and Nicky and Aaron were in close enough proximity to Allison to hear it too. Everyone, including Aaron who typically couldn't care less about what anyone said about Andrew and Neil's relationship, was furious to some degree.
“I’m going to make his life fucking hell,” Kevin said, and everyone else nodded in agreement.
"And don't you dare believe you're anything less than a solid 9," Nicky added.
“Thanks, Kevin. You do know how to make people suffer in practice, don’t you? See if you can improve his game while you’re at it. And Nicky, please, I know I'm at least a 9.5,” Neil replied with a small grin.
"Damn straight," Allison agreed, to which Nicky laughed at and added "Even though he's anything but."
Neil rolled his eyes fondly. He hadn't discussed sexuality labels with anyone; he'd simply let his relationship with Andrew speak for itself. It didn't tell anyone the nuances of his sexuality, but that wasn't something he felt the need to discuss with anyone but Andrew, and even then it was simply a gentle reminder that he really wasn't attracted to anyone else at all.
Wymack signaled the beginning of the drills, and everyone went back to business, and focused on ways to torment Jack on the court. Jack failed to make a single goal, much to the delight of everyone but the freshmen. Jack glared at Neil as they passed each other on the field, but said nothing. In fact, he barely said anything at all to or about Neil that day. The freshmen still stared at his scars, and Neil still wanted to strangle them for it, but at least the gossiping had finally stopped where he could hear it. He wasn’t totally convinced that they didn’t still talk about it when they were alone outside of practice, but there wasn’t really anything Neil could do about that. If they wanted to become known as obnoxious gossips then that was on them, but that didn’t mean that Neil had to listen to them. His scars wouldn’t ever be completely gone, but that was fine. Andrew didn't mind them, and even if people continued to give him shit about them, Andrew would take care of that too if he didn't do so himself.
3.
It was the first day of practice with their new pro team. It was Andrew's second pro team actually, having gone on to play for the team closest to Palmetto State while Neil finished up, but this was Neil's first stint at professional exy and he was amazed at the fact that both him and Andrew had been able to get signed onto the same team without much hassle. Andrew hadn't meshed well with his old team so they had no problems giving him up. The coach had been a bit reluctant to sign Andrew considering his history, but the minute that Neil had told him that he could easily find another team that would sign them both, the coach had caved.
Andrew, who had previously been renting a room in a house full of other players on his old team, had hated apartment hunting but was ultimately satisfied with their one bedroom apartment on the third floor despite his fear of heights. It was much better than his shitty room at his old house and it also had the added benefit of coming with getting to live with his boyfriend instead of a bunch of idiots who only thought of him as "that asshole goalkeeper on our team." The apartment had a balcony that was a perfect substitution for the roof that had become their own little world in Palmetto, although they did significantly less making out on their balcony than they had on the roof of Fox Tower. Those sessions had moved into their cozy bedroom or to the couch in their living room. Neil had wanted to get used furniture to fill the space, but Andrew had refused to use a couch or a bed that they had no idea the history of. They'd settled with furnishing their entire apartment with IKEA furniture and they had plenty of arguments while trying to build all of it--all Neil’s fault, according to Andrew, though Neil disagreed. They had both settled into the new city fairly easily, and before long they had established their favorite coffee shop and park, their favourite late night grocery store. It was almost perfect.
“Are you actually going to try today?” Neil asked Andrew as they changed into their gear. After so many years in orange and white together, it was odd to see both himself and Andrew in the teal of their new team. He would still have a sentimental bias towards how Andrew looked in orange, obviously, but he had to admit that his boyfriend pulled off teal quite well and the color was much easier on the eyes than the glaring colours of the Foxes. Plus, Andrew always seemed to end up stealing Neil’s old Foxes hoodies anyways, so it wasn’t as if he never got to see Andrew in orange anymore. Not that Andrew would admit to that, of course.
“Hm. What will I get in return if I block all of their goals?” Andrew asked. The bored expression on his face was ruined by the small smirk that he usually got when something had sparked his interest--usually Neil, but not always. Neil had gotten a lot better on picking up the subtle hints Andrew dropped that showed his true intentions. It hadn't been easy in the beginning, which had led to several misunderstandings, but at this point Neil considered himself a bit of an expert in reading Andrew.
“The respect of our teammates and coach?” Neil answered.
“Pass.”
Neil rolled his eyes. He knew what Andrew was trying to get out of him, and while he had absolutely no problem giving it to him, he wanted to at least try to make it harder to get.
“I'll hold your hand on the drive home. You know, because you're a reckless sap,” Neil teased, a small smirk of his own on his face.
“I hate you,” Andrew replied, a glare on his face but there wasn’t any real anger behind it.
“Mm. I know. What percent am I at now? Definitely over 200, right?”
“302%. If you make it to 500% I'm revoking your kissing privileges.”
“You wouldn't dare. You enjoy my kisses far too much.”
Before Andrew had a chance to reply, one of their teammates popped his head into the locker room to ask what the fuck was taking them so long. Neil took Andrew's hand and dragged him out of the locker room and onto the court. The rest of their teammates were already in their starting positions for a scrimmage, chatting amongst themselves while they waited for the real practice to begin. A few of them took one look at Neil and Andrew's locked hands and rolled their eyes. They were expecting Neil and Andrew to be one of those obnoxiously in love couples who made practices unbearable- it showed just how little they knew about them, if nothing else. A few looked surprised to see Andrew Minyard, supposed psychopath, holding someone's hand. Neil and Andrew ignored them all and Neil left Andrew at the goal with a smile before he took his usual spot on the striker line.
Their first scrimmage was actually going quite well, unti lone of the more idiotic backliners had called Neil by Nathaniel. It was definitely done with malicious intent and Neil froze the minute he heard it. He hated that his old name still had this effect on him, but Andrew had a knife on the backliner in seconds. Neil felt relieved and able to move, but the coach saw it and immediately pulled Andrew off the backliner.
“Give me that. Now,” the coach said, holding his hand out for Andrew's knife. "Your old coaches probably let you get away with all kinds of shit, but that stops here. Take those armbands off. You can't bring knives on this court, I don’t care who you are.”
Andrew didn't give up his knife or his armbands. He glared at the coach for a moment before he walked off the court and went back to the locker room. The coach turned to Neil with a pained expression.
“Make sure he takes off those armbands before stepping on this court again, Josten.”
Neil let out a sigh, and a slightly irritated “Yes, coach” before he headed to the locker room.
Andrew was still in his gear when Neil reached him, but he was sitting down on the bench with no plans to get up any time soon. Neil entered the room and took a seat next to him. The locker room had a different feel to it than it had before when they were alone in it. The teal surrounding them was suddenly a solemn and sad color rather than a promise of something new and exciting. Andrew was fidgeting, and moving his leg up and down nervously--something he rarely did. Neil could see the frustration behind Andrew's usual apathetic expression that occurred when he was upset.
“We can find a new team. I won't ask you to take off your armbands for this,” Neil said softly, looking Andrew in the eyes with an honest expression.
Andrew held his gaze and let out a sigh. “We'd have to wait until next season unless we miraculously find a team that's somehow down both a striker and a goalkeeper this early in the season. And besides, we'd have to move to a new city and go apartment hunting all over again.” He shook his head. “I'm not doing that and I'm definitely not taking Exy away from you like that.”
“We have the money to survive until next season. We wouldn't have to move immediately. I could manage without Exy for a while.”
“Don't lie. You're a fucking junkie. You'd die from withdrawal before the Moriyamas have the chance to take you out." Andrew looked down at his armbands and let out another sigh as he slowly took the right one off, exposing the pale skin of his forearms to the harsh locker room lighting.
Neil saw what he was doing and immediately shook his head. “Andrew you don't have to--”
Andrew put his hand over Neil's mouth. “Stop. It's fine, alright? You're not giving up Exy for a whole season just because I have self image issues.” He removed his hand and took off the armband on his left arm as well.
Neil brought a hand up to hold Andrew's face. “Yes or no?” He asked, leaning in slightly to indicate his intention.
“Yes.”
Neil smiled and closed the distance between their lips in a soft kiss. He wasn't sure how to thank Andrew for doing this for him, but this was a start at least. Not that Andrew needed to be thanked, since he wouldn’t do anything unless he was comfortable, but still- he did it for Neil, and that meant something.
“I'm going to buy you all the ice cream you want after practice, and you can hold my hand all the way to the store and back home,” Neil murmured, pressing their foreheads together.
Andrew simply smiled, and rubbed his nose against Neil's. “We should probably get back before someone comes looking for us again.”
Neil sighed and pulled away. He grabbed Andrew's armbands and shoved them into the bag of his by the bench. “You're right. C’mon.” He got up from the bench and took Andrew’s hand once more to lead him out to the court.
“Fucking finally,” the coach muttered as Andrew and Neil took their spots on the court. He noticed the scars that covered Andrew's forearms but had the decency not to say anything about them. The same could not be said for his players.
“You think he did that to himself?” the backliner that had started this whole ordeal whispered to the defensive dealer as Andrew walked by.
“The chances of both of them being tortured? Slim to none. So yes, my money is on him doing that to himself,” the defensive dealer answered, unaware that Andrew was glaring at the two of them.
“Pretty pathetic if you ask me.” The backliner’s words were the last straw for Andrew. He didn't have his knives, but he did have a racquet and perfect aim.
For the rest of practice, Andrew reflected all of the shots made on him towards the feet of everyone but Neil. No one but the backliner and defensive dealer had said anything about his scars, but they had certainly stared more than he'd liked. Neil didn't play well with his teammates either because of the remarks he'd heard. He'd wanted to say something, but he knew that this was probably better than anything he could've said. He subtly tried to trip up his fellow players as well as hog the ball as much as he could so that Andrew could keep deflecting the balls easily. Not that Andrew really needed any help with that. He was so good at it, in fact, that it was a wonder he didn't do it more often.
The coach tried to put a stop to it, but there was nothing he could really do at this point. Neil was of no help and Andrew wouldn't listen to anyone else. All he could do was pray that his players didn't break anything important.
When practice was over, Andrew received plenty of glares as they headed back to the locker room to shower and change into their regular clothes. Andrew simply glared back, daring them to say something. No one was brave enough to take him up on it, not even the backliner. Everyone showered in relative silence and before long, Andrew and Neil were headed out of the stadium and to the nearest grocery store. Andrew insisted on getting three tubs of ice cream, and didn't let go of Neil's hand the entire time that they were in the car.
Once they arrived home, Andrew carried the ice cream in one hand, and held Neil's hand with the other. Really, Andrew was a huge sap when it came to hand holding. Neil unlocked their front door with his free hand and they entered their apartment. Andrew dropped off the ice cream in the kitchen and let go of Neil's hand to change into a pair of sweatpants and one of Neil's old Foxes hoodies. Neil followed and also changed into a pair of sweatpants and stole one of Andrew's countless black hoodies for himself.
“That doesn't belong to you,” Andrew said as he turned around and saw Neil wearing his hoodie.
Neil raised an eyebrow. “And that doesn't belong to you. You're just jealous it looks better on me.”
Andrew rolled his eyes, and went out into the kitchen to get one of the tubs of ice cream they'd just bought. He took it to the couch and curled up with it under the fox paw throw blanket they had.
Neil followed quickly after and snuggled up beside him. He stole the spoon Andrew was about to use and took a bite of the ice cream.
“I don't get why you like this. It has nuts in it.”
Andrew stole the spoon back and took a bite himself. “The nuts are the good part. There's a sexual innuendo in there, but I'm too lazy to make it.”
Neil laughed and shook his head before snuggling closer to Andrew under the blanket. He noticed that Andrew had yet to put his armbands back on. He'd even braved the store without them on. Proud was probably the word that came closest to how Neil felt about it. His hand brushed across Andrew's exposed forearms as he brought it up from under the blanket, but he stopped as soon as he realized what he'd done.
“I'm sorry--” Neil started, but was interrupted by Andrew.
“Don't apologize. It's really fine. You can touch them, if you want to.”
Neil smiled as Andrew took another bite of ice cream and turned his arm so his scars were more exposed.
“I can touch them?”
“Yes.”
Neil ran a finger along one of the longer scars and pressed a kiss to Andrew's cold cheek. He loved Andrew's scars for the same reason he was trying to love his own--they were a sign of survival. However, as he looked at them more a wave of sadness hit him.Neil wished he could go back in time and make things better for Andrew, but Andrew had survived without his help and he'd be forever grateful for that.
They weren't a very affectionate couple in public, and no one really expected them to be, but at home they were softer than anyone else would have thought possible. A hint of a smile appeared on Andrew's face as he felt the kiss to his cheek, and he didn't even flinch as he felt Neil touch his exposed forearms. He'd come a long way, that was for sure.
They spent the rest of the night curled up on the couch, watching The Great British Bake Off while Andrew quickly demolished half of the tub of ice cream by himself. Occasionally Neil would run his fingers over Andrew's scars, getting used to the privilege of this specific trust. He wanted Andrew to have as many positive associations with his scars as possible, now that he would have to play without his armbands. In the end, Andrew never put his armbands back on that night, and left them at home when he faced the team the following morning.
4.
Neil hadn't seen the need to use Twitter, but apparently his contract demanded that he have some sort of social media presence to interact with his fans and increase engagement between young people and professional Exy. He didn't get Twitter, though, and he never really tweeted anything original. His feed was made up of retweets of game highlights and scores and the occasional retweet of an interview he'd done with a reporter that hadn't gone terribly.
Once the other Foxes found him, however, they were always tagging him in memes and jokes that he didn't understand. Matt and Nicky were the worst offenders. Matt tended to tag him in things that didn't make any kind of sense. Meanwhile, Nicky usually tagged him in almost everything, and while some of the things made some sense, Neil still didn't get why they were supposed to be funny. There was one time, though, that Neil had thought his old teammates had finally tagged him in something he understood. It was titled "Where the Infamous Foxes Ended Up" which sounded interesting enough to him- He didn’t care what everyone thought of him, but it didn’t hurt to know what they were saying either. However, he'd clicked the link only to be redirected to a video of Rick Astley singing "Never Gonna Give You Up." He thought it was a mistake until he was redirected to the same video after clicking on another interesting article he'd been tagged in.
"Why do I keep getting sent to the music video of "Never Gonna Give You Up" by Rick Astley?" He asked Andrew while they were spooning in their bed, about to fall asleep. Andrew tended to begrudgingly be the big spoon most nights. This was one of those nights.
"Why do you always ask such strange questions right before you fall asleep?" Andrew asked, his tone suggesting that he was tired but also a bit amused by Neil's train of thought. There had been one night where they had both been on the verge of sleep, but Neil decided he needed to know why sharks had such a bad reputation. It was always interesting to see what question Neil would come up with to disturb him from falling asleep.
"Shut up. I know you know what it means. Just tell me."
"It's a prank. Everyone calls it a rickroll. It's the lamest form of humor, in my opinion."
"Yeah...but why is it funny at all? I mean, it's a catchy song, but it's not funny? Is it like the so called "shit posts" that Matt tags me in?" Neil asked, his face scrunched up in confusion. Sometimes he wondered if he would ever understand what most people found funny or if he was doomed to be confused by it his whole life.
"No, it's not a shitpost. It's just like…I don't know. It's funny because you tricked the person, I guess. I don't know why that song in particular was chosen. But you're right, it is catchy."
Neil maneuvered himself so that he was facing Andrew, and grinned at him. "I'm never gonna give you up or let you down."
Andrew rolled his eyes, but let out a small laugh. "You're such a fucking dork. Will you go to sleep now?"
"If you keep holding me."
"You know how shitty it is to fall asleep as the big spoon? My arm falls asleep every time."
Neil, who was still facing Andrew, began to pout. Andrew rolled his eyes and let out a long sigh before agreeing to Neil's terms.
"Fine, but you have to be the big spoon tomorrow."
"Deal."
Neil turned back around and pressed closer to Andrew, feeling safe in his arms. It didn't take long for him to fall asleep, and luckily, the next day was their one day off from practices before their season started the following week so they could sleep in as long as they'd like.
Neil woke up around 10AM and looked to see if Andrew was still asleep. He was, and Neil watched him briefly. Was it a bit creepy? Probably, but he thought Andrew looked adorable when he wasn't having nightmares. His face was so peaceful that Neil could stare at it for hours and never get tired of it. Knowing that Andrew was at peace in his sleep made Neil happy because Andrew deserved at least some time to be at peace. After a few minutes, he figured he should probably check his phone to see if anything important had happened. There weren't any news notifications, which were really the only notifications he cared about, but he did have a notification from Twitter. It was from the user @neiljostenscars and it read "fuck, I want to lick every single one of @neiljosten's scars. they're so hot."
There were many things that Neil had expected to happen when he went pro, but the fetishization of his scars was not one of them. He clicked on the user's profile and was met with a picture of his chest scars. He panicked, wondering how anyone could've gotten a picture of those. He took a closer look and realized that he was in the process of removing a hoodie, and his shirt has risen with it. It must have been at one of their open practices where the paparazzi showed up in droves. His eyes ventured further down to see a pinned poll that showed that his iron scar was the "hottest" of all of his scars. He froze, unable to really process all of this. The fact that they even knew about his iron scar was a bit terrifying, and now they thought it was the hottest? He couldn't get out of his spiral thinking, and remained frozen--staring at his phone almost like he was lost in a trance--until he heard Andrew's voice.
"The cuts on your face are obviously the hottest, what kind of morons do you have for fans?"
Neil exhaled a sigh of relief; Andrew always had a way to calm him down or bring him out of his own head. He hadn't realized Andrew had been looking over his shoulder, but he was so glad for it. Andrew's ability to reach him in a bad headspace was one of the many reasons why he loved Andrew so much. He was still working on trying to voice that love--he didn't want to scare Andrew away and he'd never really said anything like it before, not really. He figured that Andrew knew his feelings, though, even if he never said those three words. He wasn't sure when Andrew had woken up, but it must have been soon because when he put his phone down, and turned to face the other, Andrew was yawning.
"Why are people such assholes? Did you read the tweet that they tagged me in?"
"Yeah, and it's fucking gross. I'm the only one allowed to put my tongue anywhere near you. People are assholes. That's just the way people are," Andrew replied, wiping the sleep from his eyes.
Neil, who had moved away to grab his phone, returned to his spot as the little spoon and nuzzled into Andrew’s chest. "Can you fix it to where I never have to see that shit again?"
Andrew ran a hand through Neil's hair, trying to comfort him in a way he knew Neil liked. "You're such a grandpa. You know you can google things, right?"
"Why google it when I can have my amazing boyfriend do it for me?"
Andrew rolled his eyes at that but inevitably agreed. "I can block them for you, but there could be others like them out there too."
"If there are can you block them too?"
"Of course, but I can only do that after they mention you in this shit."
Neil sighed and pressed further into Andrew, not wanting to think about what other grotesque things people might say. However, he then thought about all the other shit people said about him and really, this was no different. It was more sexual, yes, but if he thought about it like how he thought about people incessantly calling him the butcher's son, it was a bit easier to ignore.
"At least they're not saying this shit about you," Neil said at last.
"Oh, people mention me in this kind of shit all the time, it's just not about my scars specifically. I guess it's not hot if you made them yourself."
Neil looked up at Andrew, took one of his hands, and squeezed it.
"Can I fight them?"
"I think that's against your contract."
"Is that why you don't fight anyone on Twitter?"
"No, I don't care about that part of my contract. I just don't do it because it isn't worth it."
Neil took a moment to think and ended up nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I guess you're right. We should just block them and carry on with our lives."
"Exactly. Don't give them the attention they crave."
Neil moved his head up so that his nose was touching Andrew's.
"Yes or no?"
"Yes, even though neither of us have brushed our teeth and it's bound to be disgusting."
Neil grinned, and closed the distance between them in a soft kiss. It was a thank you and it wasn't disgusting to him. He was used to Andrew's morning breath and didn't mind it one bit. He pulled away after a short while and pressed their foreheads together.
"Didn't seem like you found it disgusting."
"Shut up and go brush your teeth so I can kiss you more."
"You need to practice good dental hygiene too with all the sugar you consume."
"Fine, we'll both go brush our teeth and come right back here for more kissing."
"Planning on spending the whole day in bed?"
"Perhaps. If that's what you want."
"I think I can manage being lazy for one day if it involves kissing you."
And so, the two of them went and brushed their teeth, only to return back to their bed and kiss each other with varying degrees of passion. The kisses helped Neil completely forget about the tweet from that morning, and Neil never paid any attention to the people who fetishisized his scars again.
5.
Now that Andrew no longer wore his armbands on the court, the public had found out about his scars. Andrew's scars weren't subtle; he'd obviously made them himself, and the media loved to speculate about what had caused him to act in such a way. The media knew that Aaron had killed Drake because Drake had been abusing Andrew, but it had been left at that and so the media really knew nothing of Andrew's history. Andrew planned to keep it that way.
Neil and Andrew were out on what Neil called a date, and Andrew called "literally anything but a date." They had decided to go out for a nice dinner and after some bickering, decided on a nice Italian place. Neil still ate pasta like he was on the run--shoveling it all in as fast as he could--but Andrew couldn't care less.
"You've got some sauce around your mouth," Andrew commented once Neil had inhaled his spaghetti.
"Want to lick it off of me?" Neil asked, a small smirk on his face.
"We're in public, Josten." And with that he threw a napkin at Neil. However, Neil didn't use the napkin and simply tried to lick it off himself, trying to tease Andrew the entire time.
"You missed a spot. And honestly, I know you can do better than that if you were aiming for sexy," Andrew deadpanned.
"Well, we are in public, Minyard," Neil replied. He did finally use the napkin to wipe the rest of the sauce off of his mouth, though.
Andrew rolled his eyes and continued to eat his food. He still had a pretty sizable amount of fettuccine alfredo left, as he didn't have a tendency to inhale his food, and was in the middle of taking a bite when a stranger approached their table.
"HI! I'm with the Exy Times and I was hoping I could ask you both a few questions?" The stranger said excitedly, seeming to not realize it was rude to interrupt a meal between two people.
"Uh, we're kind of in the middle of something--" Neil started, since Andrew's mouth was full of food and wouldn't have been nearly as nice.
"It'll only take a few minutes! And you're already done with your food!" The stranger interrupted, and continued without waiting for Neil's response. "How do you feel about your scars now? It's been a few years since you've received them, and the talk around them has mostly died down, but do you still feel self conscious about them? And how about you, Andrew? How do you feel about everyone knowing about your scars now?"
Neil glared at the reporter for a moment before looking to Andrew to see how he was doing. Andrew did not look well. He looked like he was ready to stab this reporter, but luckily he'd left his knives at home.
"What kind of fucking article are you writing?" Andrew seethed, looking very much like he was about to murder this reporter.
The reporter looked mildly terrified. "It's-It's on body positivity and acceptance…"
Neil grabbed Andrew's hand from across the table, trying to calm him down. He gave Andrew a look that said he would take care of this before he could be charged with assault.
"Look, that's great and all, but we're not interested in answering any of your questions so you'd be better off leaving us alone," Neil told the reporter.
"But--"
"Leave. Us. Alone." Andrew interrupted, his tone absolutely murderous.
The reporter walked away, their head down in shame. It wasn't until they were completely gone that Andrew spoke again.
"Well I'm not hungry anymore…"
"You can take the rest of it home. Let's just get the check and get out of here."
Andrew nodded and called over their server to get the check and they promptly left the restaurant before they could be harassed any further.
Once they got home, Andrew put his leftovers in the fridge. They wasted no time getting ready for bed. They were both tired and there was no point in pretending that they wouldn't fall asleep on the couch if they tried to do something else.
Neil climbed into the bed first, and patiently waited for Andrew to follow suit. Once Andrew had gotten into the bed, Neil moved so they were as close as possible without touching. He wasn't sure where Andrew stood on that matter at the moment so he erred on the side of caution.
"Do you still want to be the little spoon tonight?" Neil asked, knowing that Andrew might not want to be touched tonight.
"You think I'm giving up my one chance at being the little spoon just because some asshole ruined our dinner?" Andrew scoffed, and pressed back against Neil, closing the small space between them. "I still want to be the little spoon."
Neil smiled, even though this meant that his arms would most certainly fall asleep while he was holding Andrew. He was glad that Andrew trusted him enough with holding him while he slept. He knew it was kind of a big deal, but he didn't make it one. He simply wrapped his arms around Andrew and snuggled into him.
They both fell asleep rather quickly that night, and while they were both plagued by nightmares, they weren't bad enough to wake either person up.
+1
The morning after the disastrous run in with the reporter, both Andrew and Neil felt drained and neither was particularly eager to leave their bed. However, eventually they became hungry enough to go to the kitchen for breakfast. They both grabbed a bagel--Neil preferred plain bagels while Andrew loved cinnamon sugar bagels--and the container of cream cheese, planning on just dipping the bagel pieces into the cream cheese instead of dirtying up a knife. It was a depression meal if there ever was one.
Rather than head back to bed as they wanted to do, they settled onto the couch. Usually, Neil would be right in Andrew's lap, but since yesterday had not been kind to them regarding both the reporter and the nightmares, they were a little more withdrawn. Neil sat on one end of the couch, while Andrew sat on the other and they left the cream cheese between them. They turned on the morning news and ate in a silence that really told each other how bad of a headspace they really were in. Both of them figured that the other had had a bad night but neither of them broached the subject so it was never discussed. Bee wouldn't say it was the healthiest thing, but sometimes they just didn't want to talk about those things.
The news that day was relatively uneventful, and they tuned most of it out as background, absorbed in their own thoughts until a special on a burn victim came on. It explained how she had been caught in a house fire and barely escaped with her life. She required multiple skin grafts and there were some patches that would never look completely "normal."
This news segment got Neil thinking. His own burns hadn't required skin grafts, but they would never look "normal." The reporter hadn't approached the topic with tact, but the intent had been good. If he did the interview, provided the reporter didn't try to reword his answers to fit a different narrative, he might be able to help people like this burn victim be more comfortable with their scars. He thought back to how much it would've helped him to have someone else with scars as brutal as his speak out about how they didn't make you lesser.
"Maybe we should do the interview," Neil said quietly, looking over to Andrew. He was still working on his bagel--Neil had grown so used to eating as fast as he could on the run that he finished before everyone else.
"You're thinking about that burn victim they mentioned, aren't you?" Andrew said, and finished the last of his bagel in two bites.
"You were paying attention?"
"Not really. I watched the tail end of it, though, and figured you'd want to do something."
"You don't have to do anything, but can you imagine how much it would help kids out there with scars like mine to tell them that they aren't alone and their scars don't make them lesser?"
Andrew rolled his eyes fondly, but he knew Neil had a point. This was one of the reasons that he liked Neil so much. He still wasn't sure how he felt about the other L word.
"You're such a sap, I don't even know why I like you," Andrew teased, knowing that Neil wouldn't take him seriously. It had been a long time since those words had had any real meaning behind them.
Neil moved towards him, putting the cream cheese on the coffee table as he leaned in closer to Andrew.
"You like me," he hummed, inching closer to Andrew's face. "Yes or no?" He asked, when their noses were almost touching.
Andrew didn't even bother replying with "I hate you." He simply nodded, and closed the distance between their lips in a soft kiss. Neil ran his fingers gently through Andrew’s hair as he returned the soft kiss. They parted when the need for air was too great.
"Can I climb into your lap?" Neil asked, a soft smile on his face as he rubbed his nose against Andrew's.
"Yes," Andrew replied, and helped situate Neil into his lap so that they were facing each other. They enjoyed each other's presence, before Andrew looked up at Neil.
"Can I kiss your scars?" Andrew asked, looking Neil in the eyes and hoped his expression conveyed that he was okay with either answer. It was about what Neil was comfortable with.
"Yes," Neil replied, still a little surprised that Andrew would want to do such a thing despite his constant reassurance that he loved his scars.
When Andrew pressed a kiss to the burn on the left side of his face, Neil let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. Andrew pulled back and examined Neil's expression for signs of discomfort.
"Was that okay?"
"Yes. That was fine."
Andrew raised an eyebrow that said that he didn't believe him. Nothing was "fine" where Neil was concerned. Neil simply sighed and rolled his eyes.
"I mean it this time! Really, I liked it. It's just…new?"
"Would you like me to do it again?"
Neil nodded, and Andrew leaned in and pressed a kiss to the clump of scars from Lola's knife on the right side of his face. Neil let a small content sigh that time, and Andrew knew Neil enough to be able to tell the difference.
"Shall I continue?"
"Kissing my scars?"
"Yeah. Bee is always going on about positive associations."
"Are we including the ones all over my chest?"
"If that's okay with you."
Neil thought about it for a moment. This was usually an area that Andrew avoided kissing because Neil had told him earlier in their relationship that he wasn't ready for that kind of attention to be paid to his chest yet. He'd grown a lot since then, though.
"I think it's okay, if you want to do it."
"Are you kidding? I've been looking forward to being able to kiss your chest. I want to kiss every inch of you."
A small smirk formed on Neil's face. "That's a little sappy, don't you think?"
Andrew's face flushed just barely and he tried to hide it in Neil's neck as he mumbled "shut up."
Neil ran a hand through Andrew’s hair, humming contently until Andrew pulled away and regarded Neil with slightly red cheeks.
"You'll have to move, though. I can't kiss your chest very well with you in my lap."
Neil whined softly, not wanting to leave, but eventually he slowly climbed out of Andrew's lap.
"I'm going to be on top of you soon, I wouldn't complain too much."
This time it was Neil who flushed, his cheeks growing a bright rosy red. "Shut up."
Andrew laughed and shook his head. "Don't steal my line. Do you need help taking off my hoodie?" He asked, nodding towards the Foxes hoodie with Andrew's old number on it that Neil had stolen. Neil flushed a bit more and shook his head. He quickly shed the hoodie and allowed Andrew to take a good look at all of the scars on his torso.
"Mind if I start with the iron?" Andrew asked, nodding towards the scar in question.
"That one is the worst, of course you'd start with that one." Neil let out a breath, readying himself for what was about to happen. "But yes, you may." He positioned himself on the couch so that Andrew could easily climb on top of him and have full access to his scars.
Andrew smiled and did just that. Their small size meant that they could fully lie down on the couch and have a bit of space at the end. There were some pros to being short. Andrew peppered kisses on the raised portions of the scar, and then scanned Neil's chest for the next scar he'd give attention to.
"I'm going to kiss the bullet one next, okay?" Andrew asked, allowing Neil to stop him if he wanted to.
Neil didn't want Andrew to stop though. He enjoyed kisses from Andrew and these were somehow better than regular ones. They were reassuring.
"Okay. I can't believe I even got that scar. I was wearing a fucking bullet proof vest and my father's men just had to shoot just far enough to the left that it missed it."
"I wish I could stab your father's men," Andrew replied, and pressed a kiss to the almost circular scar. "But I wouldn't have been able to do that if they'd missed."
Neil rolled his eyes fondly, and looked up at Andrew. "You're really enjoying this?"
"Immensely."
"Which one is next?"
"Hm. How about these knife wounds?" Andrew asked, gesturing towards the scars on Neil's abdomen.
"How do you know they're from a knife?"
Andrew simply raised an eyebrow and said nothing. He was all too familiar with the shape of knife wounds from his own scars. Neil seemed to realize this and looked slightly guilty.
"Right. Uh, yeah. You can kiss those."
Andrew pressed kisses all the way down the long scar before he came up to press kisses to the smaller ones in the area. Doing this gave him an idea, but he wasn't quite sure how comfortable he'd be with it. He wanted Neil to kiss his own scars, but the day before had taken so much out of him that he had put his armbands back on, not wanting to acknowledge their presence for a while. He looked to Neil, who seemed to be quite content with all of this, and then looked down at his own arms. With a reluctant sigh, he let Neil know what he'd been thinking about.
"You can kiss my scars…if you want…" He trailed off, avoiding Neil's eyes. Part of him still thought that Neil would say no despite how eager he'd been to take advantage of the privilege to simply touch them.
"You--you mean that?"
"Yeah. After I've kissed the rest of the ones on your chest, you can kiss mine." Andrew sounded resolute this time. There was no going back now.
"I'd love to," Neil replied with a small, reassuring smile. "You'd better finish with mine soon, though."
At that, Andrew started pressing kisses to the pale skin that extended down to Neil's navel. He wasn't sure how Neil had gotten this particular scar, but he could imagine how terrible it must have been and tried his very best to make better memories for Neil to associate with it. From there he kissed the other scars that were scattered along Neil's chest, and finished by pressing a kiss to Neil's neck.
Neil out a small noise of content, and grinned at Andrew. "Seems I'm not the only one with a neck fetish."
Andrew rolled his eyes, and sat up on the couch to allow Neil to sit up as well. Once Neil sat up, he looked over to Andrew with a calming smile.
"You know you don't have to let me kiss your scars just because I let you kiss mine, right?"
"I know. I want you to. Positive associations, right?"
"Yeah, but--"
"Neil. I want this."
There was a small silence as Neil watched Andrew take off his armbands and place them on the coffee table. He then caught Neil's eye, and offered his left arm. Neil scooted closer to Andrew and took his arm gently. He looked at Andrew for one last bit of reassurance. Andrew simply nodded, and Neil pressed a gentle kiss to Andrew's wrist.
Andrew felt many things in that moment, but mainly he felt relief. He wasn't repulsed by this, he just felt overwhelming fondness for Neil. Neil looked up at Andrew, checking to make sure that Andrew was still okay with this. Andrew simply smiled and nodded that he could continue. Neil pressed a kiss to each and every one of Andrew's scars.
"Are you really going to kiss all of them?" Andrew asked when Neil had kissed almost half of them.
"Yes. I want to kiss every inch of you."
Andrew let out a small laugh and shook his head.
"Because my arms are so sexy."
"Actually, they are. But it's not even about what's sexy."
"Then what's it about?"
"I care about you. And I want you to care about you."
"Such a fucking sap."
Neil had simply rolled his eyes and proceeded to kiss the last half of Andrew's scars without incident. Once he had done one arm, he sighed with content and snuggled into Andrew. "I'll get the other arm later if you'll let me," he said softly, making himself comfortable.
"Maybe. That was…nice. Even if you overdid it."
"Hey, you kissed all of the scars on my chest, you overdid it too."
"Maybe. But I plan on doing it again if you'll let me."
Neil laughed, and nodded his head. "Yeah, okay. You can kiss my chest whenever you want."
"Don't whenever I want me. It's about when you want it," Andrew replied, shaking his head. He refused to take advantage of Neil's tendency to give him whatever he wanted.
Neil rolled his eyes but amended his statement, knowing how important this type of thing was to Andrew. "I'll let you know when I want it, but don't be afraid to ask for it now, alright?"
Andrew nodded, and ran his hand through Neil's hair. They had both certainly come a long way. Andrew had stopped wearing his armbands entirely, and now Neil was okay with Andrew paying attention to his chest when it was once off limits. He let out a small content sigh, and pressed a kiss to the top of Neil's head.
Neil made a content noise and snuggled further into Andrew. They stayed like that for quite some time, just enjoying each other's company. A silence fell over them, but this time it was a comfortable silence. People would always give them shit for their scars, but they would always have each other's reassuring kisses, so having scars wasn't so bad after all.
