Archive of Our Own ^beta

Neil wakes up to a strange rhythm: the familiar song playing from his phone, one he knows every word to, and the soft taps of something like rain on the window. He opens his eyes and looks at the table, the source of the ringtone, and sees that his phone is plugged to the charger. Neil can’t remember doing that- which means Andrew came here and plugged it. The thought of him doing that, and the thought of Andrew in general, immediately makes his stomach twist even though he woke up just a few seconds ago. As if his body is programmed to immediately react.

He gets up, misses the warmth of the soft blankets around him a little. Bare feet hitting the cold floor, he walks to the table. The curtains of the window above it move around stubbornly because of the wind, so Neil closes the window, catching glimpses of a gray sky and fat clouds.

Then he looks down at the phone, unplugs it, flips it open. The word ANDREW- all caps, so dramatic - is flashing on the small screen.

Neil can’t help but smile. He answers the call.

“Hi. Good morning,” he says, voice rough and very aware it isn’t morning. The bad taste in his mouth makes his expression crumble like a piece of paper.

“Unbelievable,” Andrew mutters back instead of a greeting, but Neil wonders if Andrew nodded when Neil said hello, one of his habits. “You wake up from a phone call and not the rain outside?”

Neil looks outside from between the curtains and doesn’t answer. Was it really that bad? Was he really that tired? He remembers sleeping with his mom as a kid, flinching whenever there was a loud thunder. Raindrops are bad when you’re on the run, because it makes it harder for you to hear footsteps. Come on, Abram, a little wet never hurt anyone.

“Oh,”

“Oh,” Andrew mimics him, voice blank, and it almost makes Neil laugh.

Instead, he lets out a loud breathe. When he inhales, Andrew says- “I don’t have an umbrella.”

Neil walks to the other side of the desk and peeks to look at the corner where it meets the wall. And there it is: Andrew’s black umbrella. There’s no way Andrew could forget to take it, so it probably means this storm started after he left. Neil reaches for it and takes it in his hand, holding it like an exy racquet.

“I’m coming,” Neil says, understating.

Andrew doesn’t say anything, but on the other side of the line Neil hears a chair moving, and faraway raindrops.

“I’m at the coffee shop,” Andrew mentions, and Neil tilts his head. He knows which coffee shop Andrew is talking about. It’s one of the only places Andrew almost never drives to, and one time when Neil joined him Andrew showed him why: if you take the right turns on the way there, there’s a long road that leads to the shop and cuts through a small park. There’s almost never anyone there, hidden by tall trees and bushes, and Neil remembers how Andrew’s walls fell a bit when they walked there. Remembers how there was the time Andrew let him put his hands on his hips, remember the way Andrew kissed him slowly.

It was like magic.

“Okay,” Neil says. He puts his phone between his cheek and shoulder and takes a coat from their dresser, puts it on, and then takes the other one. He revels in his soft and warm it is, and in the warmth that comes from them wearing matching coats.

“Umm,” Neil hums, “do you need anything else?”

Andrew is silent for a few seconds, then answers, “just you.”

“Okay,” Neil says, a small smile forms on his face and he almost brings a hand up to hide it. He nods to Kevin on his way out and locks the dorm behind him. Puts the coat and umbrella in one hand, and the phone in the other.

They don’t speak, not for a while. Neil doesn’t say a word when he’s in the elevator, or as he opens the umbrella and exits the tower, or when he starts running. It’s kind of silly, maybe, to stay on the line like this. Very un-Andrew like, but very Neil-like. The knowledge that Andrew is on the other side of the line. The warmth in his stomach whenever Andrew lets out a loud breath, or whenever Neil hears him moving a little, or that one sneeze he let out. He swallows all the sounds in as if they’re the last things he’ll ever hear.

“I’m almost there,” Neil says, and he’s in fact not really almost-there, but he wants to hear Andrew’s voice.

“Are you running?” Andrew answers, doesn’t disappoint. His voice is deep and calming, blank but warm, a mix Neil is so familiar with.

Neil stops in place, the puddle under his feet splashing. “Maybe so,” then he smiles and keeps going when Andrew sighs.

“Jock,” he mutters.

“Hypocrite,” Neil says back.

“You opened the umbrella?” Andrew asks. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you arrived here wet.”

“Of course I did,” Neil answers, looks up at it as if he can see the raindrops falling on it. “I wouldn’t want your coat to get wet.”

He switches the hands, umbrella to his left and phone to the right, the coat resting on his right shoulder. He wonders if Andrew found his joke okay, even though he hates it when Neil talks like that. Like he’s less important.

But Andrew just says, “I would’ve taken yours if you did that,” and then, “you’re fucking annoying,” because he knows that Neil would give him his coat, and Neil knows Andrew would refuse to. He smiles, then, unable to contain all this inside of him that he has to let something slip out. He wonders if the joke is even that funny, but that thought doesn’t stay for long. In the face of Andrew joking with him, does anything else even stand a chance?

His smile widens, and he ignores the looks people send him as he runs by. Andrew stays quiet on the other side, and Neil takes the turns he knows will bring him to Andrew fastest. The rain just keeps going, getting a little harsher.

And then he sees the all-black figure in the windows of the cafe.

“I’m here,” Neil says and walks over to stand under the small roof above the door. Andrew lowers the phone from his ear and hangs up. Neil smiles.

The door opens.

“Hi.”

Andrew nods and takes the coat from Neil’s shoulder. Neil puts his phone in his pocket, and Andrew does as well.

“Only one umbrella?”

Neil looks at the umbrella and then at Andrew again, doesn’t know if he should smile or apologize. There are two of them, and he only brought one.

He decides to do both. Neil forms a little smile and says, “sorry.” He almost pushes the umbrella into Andrew’s hands when he offers it to him. “Well, I don’t need to worry about your coat getting wet now.”

“I could only tolerate that joke once,” Andrew says, takes Neil’s hand and positions it so the umbrella will cover both of them. Their shoulders are touching, but he doesn’t seem to mind it, so Neil doesn’t as well.

“Okay,” Neil replies. The baristas in the cafe start walking toward the door, and Neil notices that it was supposed to close ten minutes ago. Andrew doesn’t waste time and starts walking, sure that Neil will follow, and Neil does. “Poor workers,” he says, and Andrew scoffs. The raindrops hit the the umbrella in that soft rhythm, and Neil wonders since when raindrops were something soft for him. Where storms would usually feel really annoying, with wet clothes and wind, this one is more… tolerable. Nice, maybe. Even with the cold. There are no footsteps he needs to look out for, anymore.

They walk silently, with Andrew sometimes glancing up to the sky. Neil makes a mental note to buy one of those transparent umbrellas later. When they reach the turn to the road Neil came from, Andrew tilts his head to another direction, and Neil understands that it’s a request to walk through the park. He nods and smiles a little, follows Andrew. The road is just as he remembers it, but prettier. The raindrops hit the leaves, harsh and unforgiving. The road is slippery, but shining. The grass in the sides of it move with the wind.

They both stop in their places, as if in synch. “It’s pretty,” Neil whispers before he knows what he’s saying, and then he turns his head to Andrew. Finds out Andrew’s already looking at him.

Andrew turns to the bushes at his right, “Yeah,” he says, and when he reaches out to one Neil steps closer so his arm wouldn’t get wet. Andrew eyes him and then tears a leaf. He plays with it between his fingers for a few seconds, then starts tearing it apart. “Yes or no?”

Neil smiles and brings the umbrella to his left hand, but puts it in middle and makes sure that it still covers both of them. “Yes,” he answers, and Andrew immediately reacts, drops the leaf and takes Neil’s hand in his.

It is a magical place.

Neil smiles a little, “we should come here more.”

“Yes,” Andrew says, but it’s a yes for something else. Neil understands and leans in, touches Andrew’s forehead with his for a few seconds before kissing him. Just a small, chaste thing. Andrew takes Neil’s chin in his other hand and brings him closer again. He kisses him slowly, thumb stroking Neil’s knuckles.

When they break apart, Neil huffs. Their shoulders are wet because he couldn’t keep the umbrella upright, and Andrew looks at them.

“A little wet never hurt anybody,” Neil shrugs. Andrew positions the umbrella again so it’ll cover them nicely, and steps even closer.

“Next year,” Andrew starts, and the spell is broken.

Neil doesn’t want to think about it, about Andrew leaving him here and graduating and going to live somewhere else. He doesn’t want to think of the possibility of not seeing Andrew for weeks, or days, or even hours.

“-you’re going to visit the apartment I’ll live in a lot. Come look at some with me.”

“Okay,” Neil mutters. Andrew pulls at his hand and puts his other hand on Neil’s hip.

“Stop it. You look like you’re dying.”

Neil bites his lip, and looks at the grass at the edge of the road. “Okay,” he replies. “I just don’t like. Thinking about that.”

“I know.”

“Yeah.” Neil leans down a little.

“It’s going to be fine,” Andrew says, with such certainty that Neil can’t not believe him. It’s final. They both know it, that this is what they both have. That they’ll never be this vulnerable with anyone else. Andrew clenches a part of Neil’s coat with his hand and pulls it, and Neil laughs, and Andrew’s eyes shine like the raindrops, diamonds in the sun. Neil nods in response and turns and they keep walking down the road, hand in hand.

And even when the umbrella flies from Neil’s hand because it couldn’t stand against the winds getting stronger, and even when they return to the dorm soaking wet with Kevin saying he’ll take pictures, Neil thinks he likes this. The soft rhythm of the life he built.