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When Neil climbed in the passenger seat, there was already a protein bar on his seat. Neil was not picky with his food, but this one blueberry-flavored protein bar was something tolerable he could chew between practice and class.
He glanced at Andrew, but didn’t say anything. It wasn’t until they hit the road and Neil had bitten a bite, that he asked, “Why do you always give?”
A full minute had passed and Neil didn’t expect an answer. But Andrew said, “I just feel like it.”
Neil remembered the clothes Andrew had given through Nicky, the phone, the keys, the drink… Neil could list them all one by one, from the first, to the last: this protein bar.
“Don’t.” Andrew said, as if he had known what Neil would say.
(And sometimes, Neil felt as if Andrew had known him more than Neil knew himself.)
(“Am I really that predictable?” he had asked, and Andrew blew the smoke to his face as his answer.)
“What would you want?” Neil asked.
“What would you give?” Andrew retorted. “Don’t overthink about it. It’s nothing.”
“I am nothing.”
“Yes.”
“And you want nothing.”
“Yes.”
Andrew mostly had gone through accepting all what Neil said to him, and sometimes it was fun to tease him, but mostly it was frustrating to hear no comebacks from Andrew, and all Neil wanted was a fun banter.
However, he knew this wasn’t a fun banter. This was one of the conversations that Neil literally ached to hear the continuations and would very much like to participate, except both of them were not good to voice out their feelings and affections.
“Read me the new one.” Andrew said.
Neil looked around, tried to find where he had put their books in the car. Neil only learned it later, but Andrew was an avid reader who spent his money buying fictions, and also spent his time reading until sunrise.
(Neil never said anything except those two times, when he asked Andrew why he didn’t just go to the library and borrow instead of buying them. It hadn’t occurred to him, until Andrew moved his gaze slightly at clueless Aaron, that Neil nodded in understanding. And one time when Neil pleaded Andrew to go to sleep already, only to be replied with, “Just one more chapter.” He always wondered how Andrew’s eyesight was still good.)
Neil’s job was to keep Andrew entertained through the ride. It wasn’t easy at first, and Andrew looked like he wanted to throw him out of the window when he heard Neil reading the first passage out loud. It was their first road trip to Andrew’s house in Columbia, and Neil tried again, and again, until Andrew looked like he actually paid attention.
They had gone through many other trips, until Neil could manage the pause in his voice to build up the tension, the shrill voice of the characters panicking, and the whispers in the plot twist. It was nothing and everything like playing Exy, except Neil was playing with his voice and tone, instead of racquet and ball.
Andrew had packed his books and left them scattered in his car. The day before they had just finished reading After Dark, that left Neil looking for more pages, and asked if Andrew somehow had got the wrong copy?
(Andrew didn’t; the story ended that way, Neil had looked through it on Google, and cursed.)
This time he picked up Blindness, and Neil never failed to be amused at how many books Andrew had been planning to read for his whole life. His books were never shown in plain sight in their dorm, but Andrew’s room in Columbia was full of books. When they moved in together, it took exactly twenty-five boxes for the books. Neil had given him a Kindle, which Andrew waved it off, but still let Neil bring it to the car.
Neil glanced at Andrew as he opened the book, to the first chapter, and started to read.
*
It was until sunrise that they found the motel to stay for the night, and Neil had stopped reading. His voice was hoarse, and he tried to clear his throat. Andrew handed him a bottle of water, and he accepted it.
“So,” Neil started as he put down the bottle. “Let’s play that game of ‘what-ifs’. What would you do if I turned blind?”
Andrew tilted his head, clearly bored and not in the mood to talk, but he played along. “I’d leave you — ”
“That’s harsh,” Neil replied. “If it were me I’d stay with you.”
“I’d leave you to watch your back and keep you out of trouble.” Andrew continued.
Neil stared at him. “Oh.”
Andrew opened the door and got out of the car; Neil followed. When they were in their room, Neil demanded to know why.
“You could’ve just let me know you were staying, why the hell would you pretend to leave me?”
Andrew sighed, and sat down on the bed. “Fine, I’ll humor you.” He continued, “It’s because you didn’t want me to see you in your weakest state, you didn’t want to be a burden to me, and you’d insist. We all know how you like playing to be a martyr.”
Neil could only mutter, “Huh.” As he sat next to Andrew. “Wow. You’re absolutely right.”
Andrew raised his eyebrow. “Should I mark today as a special date when you agree with me, for the first time?”
“Fuck you,” Neil replied without a beat. “This isn’t the first time.”
“My memory is bad, I should’ve marked afterall.”
“But what about you?” Neil insisted.
“You’ve already answered it.” Andrew said; it was rare to hear the patience tone in his voice, or maybe he had gotten used to keeping up with Neil’s trainwreck of thoughts. “You want to stay. And I can’t make you leave.” When Neil didn’t answer, he asked, “Are we done with this or do you want to continue?”
“Yes, one more question.” Neil said. “If I got bitten by a zombie, would you shoot me in the head?”
“Or what?” Andrew asked, but the patience had left him and he was once again the unimpressed Andrew that probably just wanted to go to bed already. “Or I’d keep you and feed you humans?”
Neil nodded. “I think I already know your answer.”
“Good.” Andrew stood up and left for the bathroom.
Neil heard the door clicked, but he also heard the door open a second later. He turned and saw Andrew by the door, looking at him.
“Oh. Oh. Okay.” Neil stood up and went to him.
*
Nei’s mind went to jumbled thoughts, as he almost drifted off, but he refused to sleep, and Andrew could see that.
Eyes wide watching him twitching under the blanket, Andrew finally said, “Go to sleep.” He put a hand on Neil’s nape. “What is it?”
“I was wondering…” Neil stopped, but continued as he tried to clear his mind, “... if Bee ever asked you to write.”
“Write.” Andrew repeated.
“Yes, keeping a diary, maybe? Or just, you know, write a short story or something.”
“Funny you asked that.” Andrew replied, except there was no hint of humor in his voice and expression. “Why?”
“No reason.” Neil said. “You could be a great writer.” He felt the fingers on his nape pressed onto his skin, but he continued, “When we read those books, you actually can guess where the story will be going. That’s impressive.”
“I read a lot. I’m an experienced reader. There is nothing new under the sun.”
“Tell me a story then.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t know, you decide. Consider this a bedtime story.”
“Once upon a time.”
“Wow. Didn’t someone say he’s an experienced reader? 0/10 will not be recommended. Try again.”
Andrew sighed, but not out of fatigue. Instead, Andrew said, “Going up to one hundred and ten.”
“You know, you can’t go up to a hundred.” Neil said. “If we’re talking about your… feelings, for the lack of better word, for me, that’s a big one. A hundred per a hundred. One. Let’s just say ninety percent of you hating me, you still have another ten to do whatever you want with it. But if you decide to move it up to more than a hundred, that means two. Two hundred per two hundred. You said one hundred and ten, that means there’s the other ninety, and that’s big.”
“I am pretty sure math doesn’t work that way.”
“It does, actually,” answered Neil. “Trust me, I’m a Math major.” He was sure his voice slurred, his eyes felt heavier, but the warm pressure on his nape felt safe. He closed his eyes, and for a few minutes before he finally drifted off, he heard Andrew’s voice, low, almost felt like a whisper, as if Andrew was telling a secret.
“There was a boy who always opened the wrong door.”
*
But Andrew’s secret was never told in a whisper. It was always there; not loud nor low, always there. Just like how Andrew was there whenever Neil asked him about his secrets.
*
They were back to their home. Their cats were still in Nicky’s, but they were not in a hurry to pick them up. Nicky, especially, had sent Neil a text that said, Not too worry!! They’re safe with us!! Ended with many emojis that were uncomprehended for Neil. What would eggplant emoji do with the cats? And the water emoji too?
Neil paid no mind to that, and decided to ask Nicky later.
*
Neil heard the printer was on, and a few minutes later Andrew came in with a stack of papers in his hand.
“You’re working?” Neil asked, as he tried to make himself comfortable in bed. He secretly dreaded the idea of Andrew not being in bed with him.
“No,” Andrew replied, “I want to tell you a story.”
Neil perked up, and sat. “A story?”
Andrew nodded. “You said something about writing and I… should’ve told you this ages ago.” He sighed. “But here we go.” He glared at Neil. “Lie down.”
Neil happily obliged, he lied on his side, one arm tucked under his head, and he listened to Andrew’s voice. The whisper felt nothing like the sarcasm Andrew always threw at him, nor it felt like a threat Andrew had said because that was all he knew to keep everyone safe. The whisper didn’t feel like a secret Andrew told him on the Fox Tower roof.
The whisper felt like Andrew. His other world, that he shared with Neil at the time being.
“The boy always stood in front of the door, and let anyone push, or pull the door, so he could slip in.”
There was a certainty in it, no matter how many times Neil watched Andrew scribble or cross out some words on the paper.
Neil listened, and watched. Andrew had moved from sitting up to laying on his back, squinting at the words. Neil closed his eyes, and let Andrew’s words in.
*
When Neil opened his eyes, Andrew had already looked back at him.
Neil said, “Which part I fell asleep to?”
Andrew replied, “The boy was just making a new friend.”
*
It later became a habit of theirs; Neil was in charge of keeping Andrew entertained during their ride from home to anywhere. When their ride never slowed down until sunrise, Neil pulled out their Kindle, and continued where he left off.
But at night when they had stopped, curled up in bed and close, Neil found Andrew through his whispered voice and a nameless protagonist and his quest through finding the right door. Neil listened, and listened, to the lull and rhyme of Andrew’s words, and Neil usually found himself drifting and falling.
*
One time, he woke up to the rustling of Andrew turning off the bed lamp beside him, and Andrew kissed his forehead. He closed his eyes, pretended to fall asleep, but Andrew’s hand stayed on his hair, and he heard Andrew saying, “I know you’re awake.”
Neil let out a small smile, without opening his eyes.
Andrew’s hand stayed.
*
No one knew about Andrew’s hobby, but Neil and Bee.
Neil took pride in knowing the exact words Andrew had. He accepted the words, he took them to the bed, and he held on to them to keep them safe.
*
It took weeks for Andrew to finish telling Neil his story. And when it ended, Neil could only stare at him, trying to ignore the ache in his chest that left him for wanting more of it.
He tried, “That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think he deserved it?”
Andrew considered the question a moment, before answering, “It’s for the best.”
Neil nodded, and nodded, as he closed his eyes, and he dreamed of Andrew standing in front of many doors.
*
The next morning, Neil found Andrew pouring coffee for both of them.
“Are you going to publish it or something?” He asked as he accepted the coffee.
“I’m going to edit and revise the plot.” Andrew replied, taking a sip of the coffee. Neil grimaced at Andrew’s numb tongue. “But if I were to publish it, it wouldn’t be under my name.”
Neil nodded in understanding; Andrew’s words were something personal, intimate in the way he chose them carefully, attentively. Because they were parts of him, somehow, even if the boy in his story was not him, he had some flaws and forte like Andrew had. Even if the boy didn’t have a twin like Andrew did, the boy acted on the possessiveness for his friends.
Neil reached out his hand, and Andrew didn’t take it, but he stepped closer, until he stood in front of Neil. He touched Neil’s face lightly, on his fingertips, as he leaned in.
*
Andrew worked really late, or very early. He went to bed when Neil had long gone asleep, and he rose when Neil had just gotten to his dream.
Neil whispered, “How is the boy doing?”
He couldn’t see Andrew clearly, but he felt his warmth and a hand on his nape, then he heard, “Pretty great.”
*
“A name?”
Andrew nodded.
“Are you sure? I asked cat name suggestions to Nicky and you know how it turned out.”
“That is why I asked you to think about it thoroughly. You. Don’t ask anyone else.”
Neil stared at him. “I’ll try.”
*
One time, during the late night work, Neil slipped out of their bedroom to stand beside Andrew. He put down a piece of paper. Andrew stared at it, picked it up, and read the words. He nodded.
“Perfect.” He said.
When Neil went to bed, he replayed Andrew’s smile over and over again.
*
It took a long time until Andrew finally got an agent and a publisher that were willing. Then it took another long time — lots of revision and Andrew cursing in front of his computer and if that one time Neil didn’t step in, Andrew wouldn’t have a computer — until a small box of the copies arrived in their house.
Andrew just shrugged when he saw it, and told Neil he could do whatever he wanted with it. Neil decided to give the box to the cats, and he picked one of the copies.
He opened the page, one by one, and he saw the dedication page.
For my pipe dream.
Without realizing, Neil smiled.