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“Condolences on your father,” Neil said, respectfully with a gentle bow of his head.
He had not liked Kengo Moriyama. The man had been brusque and ruthless, and sickeningly traditional. In a way it was why he and Nathan had be been so well matched together.
“Condolences on yours,” said Kengo’s son, looking out across the sea of milling individuals, dabbing their eyes with napkins and clasping each other’s wrists. Kengo’s brother was down there, somewhere, but not his second son. Nor his wife, who was killed for allowing Riko to exist.
The funeral was plasticky. Neil had never actually been to a funeral, seeing as his mother had been thrown into the bottom of a lake and his father had died whilst incarcerated.
Neil hummed, settling down beside Ichirou.
“We need to talk about your security.”
Neil paused a moment before rolling his eyes. “This again?”
“Yes,” the man said, one eyebrow arched. “How do you expect to continue a dynasty without a child?”
“I’ll have a child,” Neil said offhandedly, even if the idea terrified him. Every day he walked around wondering if there was a switch in his body that’d turn him into Nathan, or at least open up and shove him down the path to become him. Perhaps having a child was that trigger. As a coddling infant, Neil could remember one or two moments of peace and joy with his father, before Nathan decided Neil was a good target for his anger. “Anyone can have a child.”
Neil had never, and would never, have sex with a woman, so long as he was still with Andrew. Which he fully intended to be. But he assumed that it was relatively simple.
“You need a wife,” Ichirou’s voice was cold. “There are many good candidates that you can evaluate -”
“I’m already married,” Neil blurted out. Oops. Andrew was not going to be pleased that Ichirou knew before even he did.
Ichirou finally turned from overseeing his father’s funeral, up on his prestigious balcony, to look at Neil. His eyes were impossibly narrowed. “You’re what?”
“My lord,” Neil said, emphatically. “It has been successfully strategic. This person diverts police attention away from me and the Wesninski name, which in turn includes your name. I do believe I avoided telling you because I didn’t want to trouble you whilst your father was ill.”
“Bullshit, Nathaniel,” Ichirou bulstered, his calm facade broken. He looked very tired and a little incredulous. “I can’t believe you’re married to that fucking cop. Seriously? I could have looked around him being a man, but a police officer?”
Neil shrugged. “It’s worked for us.” He jostled the man’s shoulder. “I forget you’re only a few years older than me, with the way you act like a wall.”
“Yeah, well,” Ichirou muttered. “Neither of us can live up to how our fathers wanted us to be, I suppose. Gay and married to a cop,” he scoffed, but it was almost a laugh. “Your father would’ve had an aneurysm.”
“Not gay,” Neil muttered. “And he did. That’s how he died.” Blunt trauma to the head, clotting, aneurysm, boom: no more Nathan. No one was sad about it.
“You need an heir of your blood and bone, still,” Ichirou insisted. “Not letting you get away with that one.”
Neil waved him off. “Surrogacy with Allison. We’re in the modern world, Ichirou. There’s always a solution.” He wasn’t about to say that he didn’t intend on sticking around for that long.
Ichirou considered him for a bit, before turning back with a resumed stony expression. “Don’t forget your place, Wesninski.” After a few moments, he added “Congratulations.”
Neil felt something settle in his stomach. Relief.
Now he just had to tell Andrew.
The apartment was dark when Neil arrived home, lugging his little suitcase through the door. He’d only gone to New York for the weekend, of which Andrew had been thoroughly peeved about: they both worked long hours during the week, and weekend were meant to be their time.
It was easier now that they lived together. They’d moved in a year ago: it meant Neil only needed heightened security detail on one place rather than two, the rent was cheaper together (not that Neil really needed to worry about that), and it was closer to Andrew’s precinct than his old place.
The dusty yellow lamp was still on in their bedroom despite the late (or early) hour. Neil left his suitcase out by the couch and tip-toed his way into their room.
He had fallen asleep reading, the book on his chest and head at an awkward angle on the pillow. Neil grinned: Nicky had given him a set of grinch-themed sleep clothes last year for Christmas. He wondered how many times Andrew would stab him if he took a photo and sent it to his cousin.
Andrew had to be up for work and Neil wanted to avoid waking him if he could, so he dressed in pyjamas as quietly as he could manage and eased himself onto the mattress. The bed was pushed up against the wall so that Andrew could sleep with his back curled against it, so Neil could easily relieve Andrew of his book, settle it on their one nightstand and switch off the lamp. Then he held Andrew’s shoulder lightly, and tried to ease him into a better position that wouldn’t hurt his neck.
Andrew made a few light noises before rolling and almost squishing Neil underneath him. Neil laughed as Andrew’s arm came around Neil’s chest, his face settling into the crook of Neil’s shoulder.
Neil twisted around till his back was against Andrew’s chest and let himself relax. He’d worry about the marriage proposal later.
Neil knew, objectively, that Andrew wouldn’t say no to marrying him. They were kind of a forever package: The four years since they’d first met and just over three years since they first got together have been as smooth as any relationship between a mobster and a police officer could be.
Neither of them had really sat down and said that out loud though: they each had their fair share of problems than inhibited any such emotional conversation. But Neil still knew.
It was in the way Andrew cooked him his favourite meal when he got home at eleven at night, exhausted and haunted by screams, continually scrubbing at his hands. It was in every sacrifice Andrew made for Neil, the faith he put into Neil’s promises that they wouldn’t have to live they way they did forever.
“You have something to tell me,” Andrew said the following night, when he’d arrived home from work. Neil put dinner down on the table - mac ‘n’ cheese, with nothing remotely healthy about it - and Andrew arched his eyebrow.
Neil sighed and slumped into his chair opposite him, tugging at the collar of his shirt. It was suddenly very warm. Had he turned the oven off?
“Neil,” Andrew warned. “Did something happen in New York?”
“Oh, you know,” Neil said, lightly. “Nothing really. I, uh,” Andrew leaned closer, eyes narrower. “I may have told Ichirou we’re married to get him off my back?”
For a moment, Andrew stared.
“So, what do you think?” Neil asked, voice reed-thin. “I’d change my vows to be ‘CI till death do us part’.”
It didn’t seem like the joke went down well: Andrew’s chair skidded back as the man stood, immediately vanishing from the living room. The bedroom door clicked firmly shut behind him and Neil put his head in his hands. It was too soon, or Andrew didn’t feel the same, or maybe this was Neil’s final straw and now he’d fucked up one too many times for Andrew to tolerate.
“Fuck,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Fuck.”
It’s not like Neil was hell-bent on marriage either - he’d seen the bloodied divorce between his own parents - but it put the two of them on a different page. There was no way that Neil would force Andrew into something he didn’t want - or that Andrew would let him - but it’d be a rift between them. Maybe even permanently.
Neil didn’t want to lose Andrew over this. He should have waited - it’s not like Ichirou would have actually checked legal records to see if they were properly married - they’d only been dating for three years, that wasn’t that long by modern standards, if Neil wasn’t so ridiculously irrational then this wouldn’t have been a problem. He wouldn’t lose Andrew over his loose tongue, when there were plenty of valid reasons for Andrew to leave him -
“Stop.”
Neil looked up, movements jerky and uncoordinated. His limbs felt dismembered. Andrew was stood by the table, watching him with hooded eyes and curled fists.
Neil made a weak noise of inquiry. It broke in his throat.
“Stop thinking,” Andrew clarified, slowly sitting back down on his chair. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
Neil snorted, rubbing the corner of his eye. After another moment of terse silence, Neil cleared his throat. “I can fix it. I shouldn’t have said anything, Andrew - ”
Lightning fast, Andrew reached over their food and put something on the table. For a moment the little velvet box didn’t register in Neil’s mind, but then his stomach was rolling on the floor, heart swooping and soaring. With careful fingers, he picked up the box and opened it.
Within were two silver bands, identical but for the size. Simple. Glossy. Neil took out the smaller one and slipped it on - it fit perfectly, of course. The new weight on his finger felt odd. Odd but good.
“How the fuck did you get my size?” Neil remarked, quiet. Everything was very quiet, but for his heart, which was probably thudding loud enough that even the corpses in Linkin Park could hear.
Splotches of colour appeared on Andrew’s cheeks. “You were napping.”
Neil laughed, admiring it. He wasn’t fussed about jewellery, or ceremonies, or titles or heirs or tradition. He just wanted to know that he’d go to sleep and wake up by Andrew’s side, every day that he could.
“Yes?” Andrew asked, just to be sure.
Neil took Andrew’s left hand where it was resting on the table top and slipped on his respective wrist, kissing his knuckles in lieu of an answer.
“You cannot have ‘Nathaniel Wesninski’ on your marriage papers, Andrew. Are you insane?”
“You’re not taking my name. Or hyphenating.”
Neil huffed out a laugh. “Wesninski-Minyard. No, thank you.”
Andrew scoffed. “I think you mean Minyard-Wesninski.”
Neil shook his head, leaning into Andrew’s shoulder. A lot of time had gone into not reacting to that name with visceral disgust, like it would have a few years ago. “I’ve been meaning to change my name for a while now. For real.”
Andrew looked at him. “They’d allow that?”
“Who cares about them?” Neil said, fierce. “It’s just a name. If they’re upset by that, they’ll be devastated by the knife in their stomach. Fuck them.”
Andrew hummed. “What will you change it to?”
Neil took the file of paperwork they were meant to fill out from Andrew’s la, already bored out of his skull. His legs filled the space, draped over Andrew’s lap. Neil pressed an open mouthed kiss to the corner of Andrew’s jaw, to which he rolled his eyes and muttered “Fine,” even though he was just as sick of the paperwork as Neil was.
“You already know what I’ll change it to,” Neil said, letting Andrew pick him up and carry him to their room.
“Neil Abram Hatford,” Andrew mumbled, laying Neil down atop of his side of the bed. It was unmade, as usual. He grinned and kicked the sheets away with two errant flicks of his feet, arms looped around Andrew’s neck. “Has a ring to it.”
“Hatford-Minyard? Minyard-Hatford?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Andrew muttered. Neil just laughed.