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Magic isn't supposed to be real. It certainly isn't supposed to exist in this way, in spells that loosen your tongue and remove your inhibitions - that's what alcohol is for, after all. But from the moment Andrew sees actual sparkles flying around one of the freshman's head, and the moment that they start flying towards him, he gets the feeling that he's been wrong about a lot of things. The fact that they flew towards him, too, seems like it's going to be a problem.
Sure enough, as soon as the other Foxes start filing in, his thoughts are spilling from his lips without a second thought: "God, you stink, Wilds. Take a shower.";
"Reynolds, are you a different shade of blonde today than you were yesterday?"; "Kevin, where the fuck did you leave my boyfriend? I thought he was training with you."
The last one was the worst. He is actively unable to forget the loud gasp from the freshmen at the sound of the b-word. It isn't just the freshmen either - none of the Foxes have heard him saying the b-word yet, largely because he doesn't even use the b-word yet. Not out loud, anyway. Instead of facing it, though, he turns back and crowds the freshman who'd attacked him - Bryce Howard - against the wall, loosening one of his knives from its sheath.
"Andrew!"
"What the fuck did you do?"
Howard has to be at least a little bit concerned about the knife in his gut, but to be fair to him, he hardly shows it. Andrew has to respect that, even if he's mildly pissed and perfectly willing to stab him at a moment's notice. Still, he decides that waiting for an explanation, whilst the longer and more odious task, is probably the sensible thing to do and so he holds back.
"It wasn't meant to hit you," he says and though his voice betrays nothing, Andrew can feel the way his pulse skips under his hand. "It was just - a little - inhibition spell."
The room felt deathly silent. The sort of thick silence that clogs your veins and tightens your throat until you can't breathe anymore. "What the fuck does that mean?"
"Spell?" Kevin must've walked forward as he spoke, because Andrew can hear his footsteps approaching. "There's no such thing as magic."
"I think we're a little fucking past that, Kevin," says Andrew through gritted teeth, and it's enough to make his footsteps halt. "What the fuck does that mean? An inhibition spell?"
"Exactly what it sounds like." Howard shuffles in Andrew's grip. "I was just pissing around. I didn't expect anyone to walk in."
"Inhibition spell?" Andrew turns his head ever so slightly to catch the way that Reynolds' eyes light up. "As in, he's going to speak his thoughts?"
Andrew looks back at Howard, a darker note in his eyes now as he presses him further into the wall. "Remove it." He's gotten better at showing people what he's feeling, but spilling all of the thoughts in his head is a dangerous game and frankly, he's not quite ready to confess to murder just yet. Not to the freshmen, at least.
"I can't," sighs Howard. "I'm not - that good yet." Andrew growls but Howard holds up his hands defensively. "No, but that's - that's good for you! It won't last very long. Maybe a few hours? My spells never do because I'm not very well-practised."
He can't see any hint of a lie in his eyes so he steps forward and replaces his knife beneath his bands. He turns to face the room again, and his eyes land on Kevin.
"Seriously, Kevin, did you kill my boyfriend or something?" He sighs. "Shit. I wasn't mean to say that."
"He went up to the roof," says Nicky, but from the look in his eyes, he has no intention of letting Andrew follow any time soon. "So Neil is your boyfriend, is he?"
"Nicky, it's not a fucking truth spell," says Andrew, hand flicking towards his bands. "I just have no brain-to-mouth filter and am going to say whatever I'm thinking. And what I'm thinking is that I carry knives and if you have one in your throat it'll make you a lot quieter."
Nicky says nothing, and Andrew is almost amused. An old conversation with Neil - not so old, really, a few weeks at most - rings through from his subconscious.
"God, Neil's going to have to pay me so much money when I tell him how I got you to shut up," he says absently, and does his best to budge past the Foxes. Instead of Nicky, though, now Allison is in his way. "I could stab you as well."
"But Neil wouldn't like that," says Allison and the look in her eyes is as innocent as Andrew thinks she can achieve. "You wouldn't do anything to upset your boyfriend now, would you?"
"My boyfriend needs to get a grip," he responds. "You people and your feelings. Disgusting. I have only one feeling and that is rage." But thinking about Neil is clearly a bad idea, because now he has no inhibitions. "Or I guess two, because I feel so fucking much for that dumbass."
"Such as?"
"You have no idea how many times a day I think about murdering him." Andrew clicked his tongue once. "Forty two, by the way. At the last count."
"And why do you want to murder him?"
"That, Reynolds, is none of your business." At that, he finally pushes past her and heads up to the roof. The door has been propped open and when he steps out, his eyes find Neil's frame resting against the wall. He actually wishes he could help the low whistle that leaves his mouth and startles Neil into dropping his cigarette over the edge of the building. "Fuck. You're so fucking... Ugh, I fucking hate you Josten. You're too pretty for your own damn good."
"I..." Neil frowns at him. "Are you okay?"
"What a dumb question," says Andrew. "I just told you how fucking pretty you are. I'm pissed. Stupid fucking freshman. Did you know that magic is real?" He walks forward and sits himself down against the wall. "It's hardly fucking fair. I wished for years that magic would be real. Get me out of those fucking foster homes with fucking Drake. And then I give up all hope and it's just sitting in the palm of a fucking freshman."
"Magic?" Neil reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette, but when he lights it, he passes it to Andrew. "Like... actual magic?"
"Mmhm," he says and takes a drag. "Fuck. Smoking is actually kind of disgusting, huh?" He huffs. "But I've gotta get that sweet fucking nicotine. Addictions suck. I guess that's why I'm all scarred and-"
If Andrew was a bit younger - a bit less well-adjusted - he would've gotten angry at the way Neil reached out and clasped his hand over his mouth. But after years of therapy and months of casual touches, he is comfortable enough with Neil for it to be okay. At least, okay in that he understands why he's doing this, understands that Neil won't hurt him. He hates the unintentional swell of emotion that follows when he realises that he's doing this to stop Andrew from saying anything he doesn't want to.
"I believe you," says Neil after a moment. "You're talking too much for me to think magic wouldn't be involved."
"Aren't you a comedian?" The words are muffled by Neil's hand and, because all inhibitions have flown out the door, Andrew parts his lips and licks at the palm of his hand. Neil grimaces and takes it away, wiping it on his jeans.
"You're disgusting."
"And yet you still suck my dick," says Andrew simply, and relishes in the sight of Neil's cheeks flushing pink. "Are you shy, Neil?"
"Fuck off." Neil leans over and plucks the cigarette out of Andrew's hands. "I don't know how I feel about you being so..." He waves his hand vaguely.
"And of course, I know exactly what you mean by..." Andrew mimicks the movement, rolling his eyes. "Who knew you were such an expert at non-verbal communication? That really would've come in handy after the Binghampton-"
And then he cuts himself off, shoving his hands towards his own mouth as fast as he can, because even without inhibitions, he won't bring up Neil's pitiful goodbye, or whatever he seemed to think passed as a goodbye back then, and he won't let himself talk about how much it hurts to think about.
Before Andrew can do anything more, Neil gets to his feet, passing the cigarette back. "I'm going to go downstairs. You don't..." He seems lost for words for a moment, and Andrew is frustrated that it took an actual magic spell for him to finally shut up. "This is your business. I don't need to hear it."
"Fucking Neil..." Andrew shakes his head and pulls his hand away from his mouth as Neil heads towards the door. "I can't believe you're the one I fucking fell in love with."
Neil freezes, halfway out the door. Andrew isn't sure if he's about to come back, or if he's going to leave and he thinks that maybe Neil doesn't really know either, but after a minute he slips out and shuts the door behind him.
Andrew shifts a little and lays back, groaning. "Fucking Neil."
The spell wears off before practise the next day comes around, and if people notice that he's being a little more aggressive than usual, they don't mention it. He supposes that Wymack's been informed about what happened, because he doesn't bring it up after practise and yet again, nobody approaches Andrew.
But that won't last forever, because Neil can't meet his eyes and that's not acceptable. He refuses to be one of the things that Neil can't face - not after everything. Not after a year.
So he waits for Neil after his shower and watches the way that Neil pauses when he sees him. He's dressed, already, and setting the last of his gear in his locker when Andrew gets to his feet and approaches.
"Yes or no?"
Neil looks up and meets his eyes for the first time that day. "Do you want me to?"
"Would I have asked if I didn't?" Andrew glares.
"No." Andrew steps away and Neil takes a small breath. "I just-"
"You don't have to explain a no."
"I want to." When Andrew doesn't argue, Neil crosses his arms. "They shouldn't have forced you to say anything."
"They didn't. Nobody forces me to do anything." Andrew takes another step back. "They just took away my inhibitions."
Neil pauses, and Andrew thinks that he might get it. The way Neil was conflicted, how he thought that everything he'd said was just what he'd been forced to say.
"I didn't say anything that wasn't fucking true, though."
He still says nothing, but he holds Andrew's gaze now and if Andrew was a braver man, he might even tell Neil how his eyes make him feel like he's drowning. Instead, he reaches over and grabs Neil's bag.
"Are you fucking done with your little breakdown, yet?"
If Andrew walks a little closer to Neil on the way out than usual, he's not going to bring it up. He thinks maybe he's done enough talking for a lifetime.