Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Spotify - Recently Played - aminyard03 - Playlists: calm down, workout, chamomile

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The school year starts with not so much of a bang, but more a lead pipe crushed into Andrew’s diaphragm. It’s all about the budget. Again. Honestly, he doesn’t even need to care that the school board is planning on cutting funding to the art program, it’s not even his department. But it is Renee’s, and she loves it, so by extension, Andrew cares about it just a little bit. Only because Renee likes it. Not because it covers his “community supervision” requirement while letting him sit in a corner and work on lesson planning for the next week. Plus, the kids aren’t that bad. Most of the underclassmen are afraid to talk to him and the upperclassmen that he teaches know not to bother him. So it would be highly beneficial to him to keep the art classes and after-school clubs in session. He’s only at this goddamn meeting because Renee’s car is getting serviced and she needs a ride, anyway.

But he doesn’t say anything that he’s thinking. This meeting is for “public input,” or whatever. Overly passionate moms going on about how their darling children “blossomed” with the help of the arts programs. It’s all bullshit, of course. The kids didn’t “find themselves” or “learn confidence,” they had a safe place to express themselves without someone else breathing down their neck, telling them exactly what they should be doing with their lives. Andrew’s only speculating, of course, but the advantage of being quiet is that people ignore him, so he hears things. Out of all the faculty, he and Renee are likely in on the most drama. Who’s dating who, the people throwing the biggest parties, who hooked up in the bathroom last week ( gross ), the fights over social media that spread through the small school like wildfire. So he knows all these PTA moms are full of shit. 

After the fifth “Well, my child has been involved in the arts for so many years…” Andrew shuts his brain off and starts looking at everybody in the line, trying to see if he can connect the parent to the kid. The first two he gets, since he taught (and failed) both of their kids, who are both surprisingly tolerable out of the classroom. But the third person in line is someone Andrew can’t place. For one, he’s the only guy in line. Unfortunately, it’s more surprising than Andrew would like to admit. He also looks to be around Andrew’s age, which is strange. Palmetto isn’t really a town where teen parents thrive. He could be an alum, but again, Palmetto is one of those places where the kids who grow up there spend their entire adolescence wanting to get out. And then they never come back. Small towns like Palmetto are places to move to and retire in, not places to stay past eighteen. 

So what is up with this dude? He’s young, too pretty for his own good, all long legs and reddish curls, and as he turns his head Andrew can spot some weird scarring on his face. It’s old and faded but Andrew knows the shine of a burn scar. Definitely not the demographic for meetings like these. So Andrew keeps an eye on him, waits for him to take his turn. He’s a possible threat, Andrew rationalizes. That’s why he has to keep analyzing him. No other reason. 

The next two women go through their spiels just like the ones before them. Blah blah blah , I love my kid, blah blah blah , this has really brought them out of their shell, blah blah blah . The guy fidgets with the sleeves of his sweater, stretching the olive fabric across his fists. There’s even more scarring on his hands, nasty burns on each of his knuckles, Andrew notes. It’s cute, in a way that makes Andrew realize that everyone is just as human as he is. Sometimes, in a town of copy-paste houses and “happy” families of two point five kids and homeowners associations, Andrew forgets that he’s not the only fucked-up one. Renee helps, but sometimes he spends his days curled up in bed, wondering why he got saddled with bucketloads of trauma and mental health issues while everyone around him lives out their easy lives. But seeing other people fidget, seeing them slip up, and finding the cracks in the facade, it makes Andrew feel a little bit more settled. 

Shit. He needs to call Bee. He needs school to start up again. Teaching is a routine that summer rips away from him and the students remind him that the idyllic Palmetto life he imagines is a complete fabrication. But first, he needs to make it through this board meeting and sleep .

As the guy steps up to the mic, Andrew watches him go through a complete personality change. He rolls his shoulders back, tips his head up, gets this hungry look in his eyes and fuck, Andrew is gay. He’s gone from prey to predator in an instant, someone to keep an eye on to a threat in a flash. 

“Hello, distinguished school board,” he begins, tone serious and words mocking and Andrew huffs out a laugh, his first of the week. “My name is Neil Josten, and my daughter has been a part of the after-school visual art program for three years.” Goddamit. Neil falls into the same trap that every other parent has so far. Andrew’s reconsidering his “threat” designation. Maybe it’s all just an act for Neil. “I would go on about how it’s helped her and make a dispassionate plea to keep the funding so that she gets out of the house more, but I only told you that so I would have some authority to speak on this topic.” Oh. Well. Plot twist. 

Neil inclines his head at Renee, who is sitting at the end of the long table. She nods back, looking only the slightest bit satisfied. Do they know each other? What the fuck, Andrew’s brain helpfully supplies. Well, probably not a threat, then, if Renee is fine with him. “Since there has to be a reason for these budget cuts,” Neil continues, “I looked into where this money would be going since that’s all public domain. I noticed that while the arts are being defunded, you’ve planned to allocate even more money to your already-overinflated sports teams. As a former college athlete, I can tell you that pouring more money into a program won’t make your subpar teams win more, it’ll just make them lose with nicer equipment.” Finally, someone gets it. Andrew did the same research and came to the same conclusion, and now he’s mad that this guy is stupidly hot and also possesses critical thinking skills. And an ex-college athlete. A lot to unpack here. Andrew might need to lie down. 

“I get it, the sports teams have started losing more in the past few years, but if you invested more time and effort into actually training them, rather than throwing money at them and hoping that you can relive your incredibly underwhelming teenage years through their successes, you might actually see results, and none of us would have to be here on a Thursday night asking you to allocate enough money for Ms. Walker to buy paint without it coming out of her own paycheck.” Holy shit. Neil raises one eyebrow at the head of the school board, daring him to respond. When all they can manage is stunned, offended silence, Neil clears his throat and says, “Thank you for your time,” then turns and walks straight out of the room. Andrew might have to edit the dictionary definition of a power move to include this when he gets home. Neil cruel, but he was also completely correct in every statement he made, and the best part is that the meeting’s being broadcast on the local TV channel, for some fucking reason. 

He spends the rest of the meeting picking at a fraying thread on the hem of his sweatshirt, ignoring the whiny tones of each parent and the bickering between the board, focusing on how alive Neil looked, tearing down the school board’s biases. Once the meeting ends, he sits and waits for Renee to finish packing up her things before standing and making for the door. They don’t talk until they’re in Andrew’s car, driving across town to Renee’s house. It’s still a little bit light out, the dregs of summer clinging to Palmetto, honey-colored sun and sticky skin. 

“So, what did you think of Neil’s speech?” She asks, thumbing at her necklace. “I thought it was a bit crass, but he got his point across quite well.”

Andrew huffs. “He’s insufferable.” There are a million different words he could have used. Captivating, beautiful, ruthless, threat, even though he’s passed Renee’s test . But he doesn’t. Because today is not a day for vulnerability. It’s a day for going home and scratching Sir’s head and falling asleep as soon as he can. The pressure behind his eyelids is bad, right now. He needs to sleep it off. Too many whiny mothers, bright lights, arguing over things Andrew doesn’t care about. 

“He’s cute.” Ah, Renee. Astute as always. If they were in any other world, Andrew would ask her if she’s psychic, but he was also there to watch her dance around Allison for months even though the signs were clearly there that both parties were interested. This brings Andrew to his second issue with Renee’s statement.

“You’re a married lesbian.”

Renee pokes his shoulder. “That does not negate the fact that I have eyes, Andrew,” she says, her tone teasing and light. “I saw you watching him.” Fucker. Andrew was being discreet, sitting off to the side, pretending to not pay attention.

“I’ve never seen him pick up his kid,” Andrew says. He mostly knows which kids belong to what parents but there are a few that he doesn’t know. The mix of a young father and being suspiciously absent at pickup has the alarm bells in his head yelling neglectful, neglectful, find the kid and get them out. He’s not ready for this shit today, and Renee can tell.

“She stays later on most days,” she says gently, reassuring him, “and you happen to leave as soon as physically possible. I’m not surprised you haven’t met him.” Okay. The alarms in Andrew’s head shut off, but the need to double and triple check the safety net is still there, still intact.

Andrew nods once. “So what’s your read on him?” Something about the scars and viper-like smile puts Andrew off, still. Neil doesn’t belong in Palmetto, even if Renee feels like he does.

“His story is not mine to tell, but he’s safe. Not a threat, Andrew.” If Renee can vouch for him, then Andrew will let it go. She doesn’t lie to Andrew about anything, especially things like this. Doesn’t mean he’s no longer curious about Neil, though. As Bee would say, “there’s more to people than their likelihood of hurting others.” She’d be oh-so-proud of him. So Andrew turns up the music and Renee looks out the window, her face illuminated in flashes by the streetlights. It’s nice to share time with someone like Renee, where they can both exist in the same space, fulfilling the need for closeness without needing to talk.

When he pulls in to Renee’s driveway, she pauses with her hand on the door. “Want to spar this weekend?” Yeah, she’s totally psychic. Or maybe Andrew’s need for normalcy is just bleeding all over the place. Probably the latter. 

“Sure,” He says. “Sunday?”

“At three?” Andrew nods. “Alright. Take care, Andrew.”

He does, for once. When he gets home, he feeds Sir, reheats some pasta, watches a few episodes of some shitty cooking show on his laptop, and promptly passes out when the pressure behind his eyes gets to be too much.

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Spotify - Recently Played - aminyard03 - Playlists: sleep, too loud, end of summer

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The routine helps. They’re only two weeks in, but Andrew’s students are surprisingly… okay. For once. The juniors in his essay class are nervous but they pay attention, and the seniors in his seminar-style classes are more than happy to run wild with his questions, letting him save up his words for a time that matters, leading the discussions themselves. Still, there’s homework to grade and classes to plan and so Andrew is comfortably busy. 

That’s why he’s here, in the teachers’ lounge during his free period, giving feedback on the first drafts of some essays. He’s got one earbud in, playing instrumental versions of his favorite albums, and he’s half-listening to Jean complain to Jeremy, who’s sitting on his lap. It’s a bit annoying and makes Andrew feel a bit lonely, but it’s better than having to deal with them dancing around each other at every faculty meeting. Plus, Andrew has never complained about hearing gossip about the students. 

Jeremy runs his fingers through Jean’s hair. “Would it be fine if he was just blowing off class and not turning in work?” It’s hard for Andrew to not pay attention. Once an instigator, always an instigator, he supposes. Plus, this essay is surprisingly good. Andrew can just skim it and put checkmarks here, correct some syntax there, nothing that requires a significant amount of his attention.

“Yes, mon choux, but he’s also-” Jean sighs, defeated.

“Being homophobic. I know. He was like that when I taught him, too.” Jean presses a kiss to the side of Jeremy’s head and they both slump in the chair.  

Jean starts tracing shapes into Jeremy’s back. “And every time I tell them to find a lab partner, he forces one of the girls to be his partner and spends the entire lab ignoring the work and checking her out.” That has Andrew’s jaw tensing. But it’s not his conversation or his student. Fortunately, he teaches a seminar class that happens to be a graduation requirement, so Jack, the student they’re complaining about, will get what’s coming to him. Next semester, though. 

He slips in his other earbud and continues working. The next essay is a plagiarized version of one he read two years ago for this class, and when he checks the names in his mental catalog, he comes up with a younger sister of the original author. Perfect. He crosses out the entire front page, writing “something original next time,” and skips to the next essay. Honestly, he doesn’t understand how his eidetic memory isn’t something new students of his are warned about, after five years of teaching the same classes. 

He’s almost, almost done when he stretches, looking out the window, and sees someone walking across the basketball court, hands stuffed in their pockets, too small to be a senior who signed themselves out. Whatever, he’s subbing for a study hall at the end of the day. The essays can wait until then. 

He makes his way outside, grabbing his keys from his pile of stuff on the table. Getting locked out would not be a good move. The door slams as he lets himself out and the kid freezes then turns to face him.

It’s Robin. She’s a freshman, quiet, and generally a good student, according to Andrew’s colleagues. He says generally because while her grades are good, her attendance isn’t. Andrew’s watched his classes turn to start gossiping when they hear “Robin Cross, please report to the front office.” She’s a runaway, rumor has it she was kidnapped when she was younger, no one knows where she lives but apparently, Sarah from B period calc saw her dad and he’s terrifying.  

But Andrew knows Robin. She’s quiet because she has anxiety (and probably PTSD), which is what causes her to run, most likely. She sits near him after school during art, since the other students give Andrew a wide berth, so she spreads out on an empty table near him. She asks for his input on her sculptures occasionally and actually integrates his feedback. So Andrew’s glad he saw her first, instead of some hardass who will give her detention. Contrary to popular belief, while Andrew is harsh in class, he doesn’t give detention for attendance. In his own personal experience, detention solves nothing. 

“Oh. Hi Andrew,” she says, and Andrew is so fucking glad she actually adheres to his request to be called by his first name. He doesn’t like the power imbalance that “Mr. Minyard” carries. 

Andrew salutes her. “Hey. Mind telling me what you’re doing?”

She blushes, caught in the act of escaping. “I, uh, left my backpack out here during lunch.”

“You’re wearing your backpack,” Andrew notes, and Robin blushes harder. “Come sit,” he says, gesturing to one of the picnic tables. He hops up, sitting on the table and putting his feet on the bench. Sue him. Being tall is nice. Robin hops up beside him, staring at her feet. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t call me crazy,” she says. “Okay?”

“Okay.” As if Andrew has the right to call anyone crazy. But Robin doesn’t know about his years of mania and anxiety and depression, how it still gnaws at the back of his brain, maintained by years of therapy and the right meds. No one here knows, save for Renee. So Andrew would never call Robin crazy.

“Sometimes, I’ll be in class, and I’ll just feel like someone is chasing me and it won’t go away until I’m out of the building,” Robin says, rubbing her hands up and down her thighs, kneading at the flesh until her skin goes white. “And it sucks, going to the office afterward, but if I stay in class I feel like I’m gonna puke. I did, once.” She laughs weakly. “I just- I don’t know how to fix it.”

Andrew’s no therapist, but Bee, and he’s done enough therapy concerning his own PTSD, so he has some authority here. “Are you seeing anyone about this?” Bee’s the one that’s good at subtlety, she’s better suited to handling someone like Robin. Andrew is blunt and factual, while Bee is better with gently talking through problems, the way that would best suit Robin. Which gives Andrew an idea.

Robin shakes her head. “No, money’s kinda tight right now, my… dad’s been trying to find somewhere affordable, but it’s hard.” Andrew knows how hard it is. At least her dad (father figure? Guardian?) is trying. That’s more than Andrew got from any of his foster parents. However, “trying” is a relative term, that stretches from actually trying to saying they’ll do something, then promptly forgetting their kid has a problem. 

The idea’s worth a shot. “Would you be comfortable bringing him to meet with me sometime this week? I have some links to affordable youth therapists that I can share with him.” Robin nods quickly and stands up, shaking out her limbs. She’s visibly more settled now, her stance stable and her hands still. 

“Sure. He takes Wednesday afternoons off, is that okay?” Well, Andrew did have plans for Wednesday, which included doing more lesson planning and watching cooking shows in bed, but he can make some space in his schedule. 

Andrew nods once. “Okay. Right after school, my room. Can you go back to class? It’s not late enough that they’ll think you’re skipping.” Robin nods, takes a deep breath, smooths down her shirt, and starts jogging back across the basketball court to the door. Andrew huffs and gets up to follow her, and sure enough, when he makes it to the door, she’s waiting sheepishly. He unlocks it without a word and lets her back inside. 

Jean and Jeremy are done having their bitchfest when he gets back to the teachers’ lounge. Instead, Jean is working on his computer while Jeremy seems to nap. Oh, what Andrew would give to teach middle-schoolers math, instead of teaching advanced English classes. But then he’d have to interact with middle-schoolers, who he avoids like the plague. 

It doesn’t really matter, though. Andrew has other things to focus on. He has someone he can help, some way to finally feel useful. Bee would tell him that he’s incredibly useful, teaching English and by extension, how to find meaning in the mundane to the next generation. But she doesn’t control his brain, so he’s allowed to feel better about this, so pulls out his phone and shoots off a text to her.

[1:26 P.M.] Andrew: I have a potential client for you. Shaky on the family situation but seems safe. Meeting her dad tomorrow. Do you have an opening?

[1:28 P.M.] Bee: I have a time slot on Thursdays if she ends up needing it. Keep me updated. Are you still good for family dinner on Friday?

[1:31 P.M.] Andrew: Yes. 

And just like that, Andrew’s found a way to protect another person. His reputation for being a ruthless teacher is true, but he gives credit where it’s due and there is a big difference between being harsh on an essay and wanting to keep a student mentally stable. 

He spends the afternoon teaching his back-to-back seminar classes, letting his seniors puzzle their way through the commentary of The Scarlet Letter and stifling his laugh at the way they make fun of Dimmesdale’s weak constitution, before going home and curling up in bed, scrolling on his phone as Sir settles on his stomach.

It occurs to Andrew that he’s lonely. He’s always aware of it, of course, the crushing loneliness that comes with having precisely two friends and an empty house, but sometimes, when he hears people talk about their families, it all comes rushing at him in a wave. Today is one of those days.

But he’s got work to do. So he puts on some music, grabs his laptop, and starts in on the monotonous task of uploading grades to the portal. After something like twenty students, he switches from music to YouTube, letting other people’s lives wash over him.

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Spotify - Recently Played - aminyard03 - Playlists: hold me, september, designated work vibes

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Andrew spends all of his free time on Wednesday running through scenarios of how his meeting with Robin’s dad is going to go. He first lets his brain run wild with progressively crazier what-ifs and then dials back to the most likely outcomes, of which there are two. Option one: he gives them Bee’s number and they take it. Option two: they refuse Bee’s number and Andrew doesn’t have to deal with them ever again. There’s nothing to be worried about, he tells himself. Absolutely nothing can catch him off guard. 

At lunch in the teachers’ lounge, Renee can tell something’s off with Andrew, but she doesn’t push. The other teachers are used to Andrew’s silence, leaving him to spectate their conversations, jumping from sports to TV to books to weird shit that happened in their classes. Andrew just sits and eats his sandwich, ripping it into pieces in front of him. 

His classes are easy today, mostly small group work which he only checks in on to make sure they’re not going on tangents about completely off-topic things (they are, and he really doesn’t care). But it’s fine, they’re ahead anyway, and apparently, Jean’s been ruthless with chem homework. They deserve a bit of a break.

Three o’clock rolls around and Andrew finds himself at his desk, door open, waiting for Robin. His brain has conveniently skipped over the fact that Robin might completely blow him off, skip the meeting out of anxiety, and make Andrew sit in his classroom alone for an hour. While he waits, he grabs a book off his desk. It’s one that Nicky sent him, a young adult novel about a pair of twins, featuring a lot of art-heavy metaphor. Could be worse.

He’s made it halfway through the second chapter when someone knocks on the doorframe. It’s Robin, standing sheepishly, so Andrew puts his book down and waves her in, standing up and walking out from behind his desk. He hates meeting with students while he sits behind his desk. It gives him space, yes, but it establishes some seniority that he hated being on the receiving end of in high school. So, he makes his way to a table and sits down on it, kicking his legs up onto a chair. 

It occurs to him that Robin’s never been in his classroom before. She has no reason to be, she won’t be taking classes with him for another two or three years, and the art rooms where they normally interact are on the other side of the school. So seeing Andrew’s room, the lights dimmed, packed with books and a corner completely devoted to beanbag chairs must be a bit of a shock for her, but she just takes a seat. Her dad follows her in.

And isn’t that fucking delightful. Andrew’s overactive brain didn’t even stop to consider scenario three: Robin’s dad and Neil Josten, who ripped the school board apart at that meeting a month ago, are one and the same. It’s like if the universe turned all of the possible versions of Andrew’s life into a multiple-choice test, then disregarded the rules and started writing in its own answers. Moments from his life should not intersect like this. 

Robin goes to perch on one of the stools nearby while Neil walks up to Andrew and holds out his hand, looking vaguely uncomfortable, not at all the viper he saw at the meeting. “Hi,” he says. “I’m Neil, Robin’s dad.” Andrew just stares his hand down, then gestures vaguely to himself.

“Andrew.” Neil visibly relaxes at Andrew’s lack of decorum, pulls out a chair, and sits on it backward, leaning his forearms on the back. “So, Robin, how much did you tell Neil?” Andrew asks.

She tenses a bit but then responds. “He knows I’m skipping class because I get anxious and he knows you wanted to meet with us, but not much more than that. I wanted to let you explain.”

“Alright. Robin told me that you’re trying to find a therapist for her but money is an issue.” Andrew’s aware of how that comes across, what with his shiny car and liveable salary and zero children, but he’s just trying to get the facts. He knows what it was like, watching Nicky struggle through high school, trying to take care of the cost of Andrew’s many therapists before Bee took them in a few years after Andrew finished his term in juvie. Neil doesn’t look offended, if anything, he’s a bit sheepish.

“Yeah. We’re doing our best but insurance is being shitty with mental health coverage, saying she needs a diagnosis before they’ll cover anything. I’ve been looking into more affordable therapy but most people are either booked for months or they don’t work with teenagers.”

Mental health services around Palmetto are abysmal, Andrew knows. “I’m going to recommend Betsy Dobson. She specializes in teens and I know she has an opening right now, plus she’s flexible with her rates and I have no doubt she would accommodate your needs.”

Neil glares at him. “Why should I trust you? You don’t even teach Robin’s grade, why do you care?” It’s like a switch has been flipped in Neil, he’s in guard dog mode, ready to lock down and protect if need be. 

Robin clears her throat, and Neil visibly relaxes. “He supervises after-school art, Neil.” They clearly trust each other. It makes Andrew feel a bit better, that Neil actually cares about Robin. 

“Oh, this is Andrew.” What the fuck does that mean? Does Robin talk about him? What does she say? Andrew’s barely spoken to her all year. “Still doesn’t explain why you care about Robin.”

Andrew crosses his arms, bracing for another attack. “Because I caught Robin trying to run off yesterday. Tell me, is the lack of trust genetic?”

“No. I adopted Robin when I was 24 and she was nine.” Ah, so that explains the discrepancy in last names. Another one of Andrew’s lingering questions answered. They also don’t look similar, at all, but their mother looked nothing like them, so he wasn’t going to pass judgment. 

“Haven’t you heard the rumors?” Robin asks disparagingly. “I was kidnapped. No one missed me then and they hardly miss me when I skip now.” She’s not biologically related to Neil, but she does a good impression of Neil’s cruel smile. 

“Anyways,” Neil sighs. “I found her in an alley because the cops were closing in on her kidnappers and I couldn’t just leave her there, you know?” Andrew does know. He’s got a bit of a habit of picking up strays. Sir has had a lot of foster siblings. “And it kind of felt like a sign from the universe,” Neil says, “like I had a reason to live this long, I had a purpose. Like I had endured all of this,” Neil gestures to the scars on his face, “because one day I was going to be the one to find Robin.” He smiles softly. It’s a good look on him, much better than his distrustful glare. “Like the universe wanted me to find her.”

Now that’s a load of horseshit if Andrew’s ever heard it. “The universe is a neutral force,” he says. “It doesn’t have a consciousness. It doesn’t care. Things don’t happen for any particular reason. You survived because you had to, you found Robin on chance. It’s up to us to find the meaning in that.”

Neil snorts. “You must be a nightmare of an English teacher if that’s how you analyze things.”

“So I’ve been told.” If Andrew was feeling optimistic, he’d think that this was some weird, unconventional flirting. Thankfully, he’s not. “So, are you interested in seeing Betsy?”

Neil looks to Robin, who shrugs. He fishes his keys out of his pocket and tosses them to her. “Ro, can you start up the car? I’ll be out in five minutes.” Without a word, Robin nods and leaves. Neil’s demeanor immediately shifts. Instead of the fondness he had shown for Robin, he’s dangerous, a predator, and Andrew is uncomfortably aware of the fact that he is likely the prey. “Listen, I don’t get your deal. I don’t get why you want to help Robin, but she trusts you. So why should I bring her to this therapist?”

Andrew allows his own hackles to raise, instinct left over from high school. If Neil wants to get aggressive, Andrew is confident he can go toe-to-toe. “Why don’t you trust my word?”

“Oh, I trust your word. I just have a natural distrust of therapists.” Well damn, if that wasn’t obvious. The scarring on Neil’s face is too precise to have been an accident, and he’s probably been through the wringer of shitty mental health “professionals.” Andrew has too. Thirteen, before Bee, and then another five after.

Thankfully, Bee is one of the best Andrew’s ever met. Plus, Andrew owes Neil for the story about finding Robin. Bee would say he doesn’t owe anyone anything, but he’ll feel irrationally guilty if he just takes that truth from Neil. “I can vouch for Bee. She was my therapist in juvie, and then she adopted me. She’s one of the good ones.”

“Okay.” Neil relaxes. It makes something flutter in Andrew’s chest, knowing that he made Neil comfortable like that. “Thank you for helping Robin. You’re the first person here to not give her detention.” Andrew’s not surprised. The other teachers mean well, but they’re inexperienced in recognizing more subtle forms of mental health issues, and some of them are really, really stuck up. 

“She’s good during art,” Andrew says. “She doesn’t deserve to be punished for her mental health.” Neil nods in understanding. “Give me your phone.”

Neil blinks, confused. “Why?” Oh no, he’s cute when he doesn’t understand something. 

“So I can text you Betsy’s number.” Andrew knows Bee’s number by heart, he remembers everything. But Bee’s been pushing him to reach out, to go for things that he wants, and be content with the fact that they might not be reciprocated. 

“Okay.” Neil unlocks his phone and hands it over. Andrew quickly types in his number and sends a text to himself. Score. Bee’s going to be proud. “Thanks again, Andrew,” Neil says. “Will you be at the fall art exhibition?” Okay, so maybe he misjudged the whole Neil isn’t flirting he should just give up thing. Unless this is just a courtesy or a way that Neil can avoid seeing Andrew again.

But Andrew tells the truth. “Most likely. Renee will probably ask me to supervise.” And he’ll say yes because he owes Renee many, many times over from college and some of the art that he’s seen the kids making is actually pretty impressive. Especially Robin’s. Plus, free food. 

“Alright.” Neil smiles, just a little. “See you then.” And just like that, he’s gone, leaving Andrew with a new number in his phone and a strong desire to get drunk. Or hook up with some random guy at a bar out of town. But that can wait until Friday. For now, Andrew wants to go home, bake something, put on comfier clothes, and take a long nap.

---

Spotify - Recently Played - aminyard03 - Playlists: not crushing (new), hoe jams, quiet

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Either Neil is entirely uninterested in Andrew or he straight-up couldn’t tell that Andrew was making some sort of move by exchanging numbers. Andrew can’t blame him. They’ve met exactly once, Andrew’s seen him twice, it was a spur of the moment idea on Andrew’s part, fueled by Bee and Renee telling him that only hooking up with random guys isn’t “emotionally fulfilling” or whatever. 

It seems like Neil takes Robin to meet Bee the week after Andrew gives him her number. After a week of radio silence, just Andrew sending Neil Bee’s number and getting a “thanks” with a thumbs-up emoji in return, Andrew’s phone goes off while he’s working through a pile of assignments.

[5:17] Neil: thanks 4 recommending bee. robin rlly seems to like her nd u were right about her being flexible with billing

Andrew lets it sit on his phone for a minute or two. He’s totally not reverting back to a blushy teenager. He has a house. He pays a mortgage. He arranges his own doctor’s appointments, for fuck’s sake. He’s not acting like a teenager.

Except for the fact that now, he can’t focus on the work he’s supposed to be grading because he’s counting the seconds until it won’t seem too soon to respond. Fuck. He used to tease Aaron over this kind of thing, back when he and Katelyn were dancing around each other. And so he becomes the fool. Poetic.

[5:20] Andrew: I would hope that I know my own mother well enough to know that she makes accommodations. 

That’s supposed to be it. Neil isn’t interested, he’s just following up with Andrew as any well-adjusted human being does. Andrew puts his phone on Do Not Disturb, flips it facedown, and gets back to reading over the same, hastily scribbled analyses of The Scarlet Letter. He hates teaching it, so most of the work he assigns is centered around the fact that it was written as a criticism of society at the time. It makes grading papers more fun, since his students are more open with their own criticisms of the story, and it’s a little bit harder to plagiarize from SparkNotes. 

He gets through his one pile of assignments (he strategically assigns them so that he also ends up doing minimal work every day) and flips his phone back over, planning to scroll through social media and watch mindless videos until Sir starts crying for dinner or his phone almost dies. 

He’s not expecting to see another text from Neil. From nearly forty minutes ago. Goddammit.

[5:22] Neil: o btw i saw a book on ur desk that looked interesting and i got it from the library

[5:23] Neil: i wasnt aware that youre into anarchist scifi

[5:56] Andrew: My cousin got that one for me. It’s weird.

[6:01] Neil: ok but just tell me does the dude end up banging the robot bc ive been told im oblivious but there is an uncomfortable amount of sexual tension in here

[6:02] Andrew: I said it’s a weird book.

[6:04] Neil: might abandon it :/

[6:04] Neil: do u have any recs that wont weird me out with human/robot sex?

[6:06] Andrew: I’m an English teacher. What do you think.

[6:07] Neil: cool

[6:08] Neil: n e ways hows your week been

Andrew understands that Neil wanted to thank him for Bee. He sort of gets how Neil would want to update him on the book he’s reading. He is utterly fucking baffled at why Neil would take any interest in him, his mundane life, where he does the same seven days again and again.

[6:10] Andrew: Boring. Sir just punched me because I didn’t feed him on time.

[6:10] Neil: sir?? 

Andrew snaps a pic of Sir, his pig head buried in his food bowl, and sends it to Neil before he can lose his nerve.

[6:10] Andrew: *image attached*

[6:10] Andrew: This is Sir. 

[6:11] Neil: u named ur cat sir?? who names their cat an honorific

[6:12] Andrew: His full name is Sir Fat Cat McCatterson. Blame my cousin.

[6:13] Neil: i dont even know ur cousin

[6:14] Neil: shit dinners ready talk later

[6:15] Andrew: Talk later. 

They do talk later, after Andrew finishes off some leftovers that have been in his fridge for almost too long. In “exchange” for the name of Andrew’s cat, Neil offers up his day job: doing the accounting for Allison Reynolds’ tailor shop. Andrew conveniently leaves out the fact that he has dinner with Renee and Allison every other week, because Neil doesn’t ask and those dinners are something special to Andrew, something private. He’s still keeping Neil on the outside of his life, even though his gut aches to get closer.

He can’t let himself get closer. It feels shitty and manipulative when he takes into account the way he got Neil’s number, how he wasn’t so much romantically interested as much as he was curious about what made Neil tick. Plus, Neil is completely oblivious to the subtle hints Andrew keeps laying down. Maybe he’s straight. Maybe he’s just stupid. Andrew is hoping for the latter.

They talk, on and off, for the next two weeks. Apparently, Neil works at a desk in the corner of Allison’s shop, something about “socializing and coming out of his hobbit-hole,” according to Allison. So whenever Andrew has a break to check his phone, more often than not, there’s an incredibly detailed story about some shitty customer that unsurprisingly lacks all punctuation. Neil’s bad grammar irked Andrew in the beginning, but he’s come to appreciate it. 

He’s back reading Neil’s rant about a bridezilla who doesn’t understand the concept of labor taking time and that labor requiring compensation by the hour during lunch when Renee plops down into the seat next to him. Andrew tilts the screen of his phone away and oh, no, wrong move. 

“So, Andrew, who are you talking to?” She asks, smiling serenely.

“Nobody.” It’s true. Neil’s a self-admitted nobody, content with a life of obscurity.

She cocks her head. “Did you reread the Odyssey or something? Andrew, all your students read that freshman year.” Andrew shoves her in retaliation for that abhorrent literature pun. “So who are you texting?”

Andrew huffs. “A guy.” Renee looks delighted, positively radiant. “It’s nothing. I referred his kid to Bee and now he won’t leave me alone.”

From across the table, Jeremy butts in. “Andrew, hate to break it to you, but if you wanted him to leave you alone, he wouldn’t be texting you.” Unfortunately, he has a point, Andrew is very good at being unlikeable. “What’s he like?” Jeremy asks. “Wait. No. Lemme guess. He’s an asshole, just like you.”

“Mon chéri, the saying is that opposites attract,” Jean teases. “But whoever he is, he seems good for you. I’ve only heard about you threatening your classes twice this week.”

“It’s Tuesday,” Andrew points out. “Plenty of time left.” Jean concedes with a nod.

Jeremy leans across the table. “Is he cute?”

“You’re married.”

Jean mirrors Jeremy, putting their wedding rings on display. “Andrew, is he cute?”

“He’s not bad to look at.” It’s the truth. Andrew would much rather say he’s absolutely fucking gorgeous, wearing the scars on his face without a trace of fear, something Andrew can’t even relate to. Even though he made a promise to not bring in his knives to school, he still wears his armbands every day. It doesn’t matter as much in the winter, because he wears hoodies and sweaters most days, but the thought of a student seeing his scars makes him want to curl up in a dark room for a very, very long time. He’s better now, though “better” is a relative term. He doesn’t have the urge to carve himself up anymore, which is some amount of progress. 

Wymack lets the door slam behind him on his way into the teacher’s lounge. “Stop bullying Minyard, idiots,” he grumbles. “I would be concerned that you don’t have anything better to do, but unfortunately, none of you can fix world hunger.” Renee purses her lips. “Renee, you tried, which is ten times better than any of you other jamokes can say.”

Jeremy giggles. “The wonderful, compassionate Principal Wymack, everybody,” he stage-whispers. He schools his expression and turns back to Wymack. “What’s up?”

Wymack launches into a tirade about how the planning board is out of their goddamn minds, a bunch of parents who don’t even work at the school, and have no idea what they need. Andrew just tunes him out and goes back to reading Neil’s story. This bridezilla obviously has never worked a retail job in her life. Unfortunate. In Andrew’s opinion, working retail should be a requirement, just to learn basic human decency. 

Honestly, Andrew’s happy about the way everyone reacted to the fact that he can apparently form some sort of relationship of his own volition. There isn’t an issue with him being gay, nor is there any surprise. A few years ago, right after Jean and Jeremy got married, the GSA put out bracelets in different pride flag colors for the students and staff to take. Andrew grabbed a rainbow one and wore it all day, stark against his black ensemble. No one asked any questions, and he only got weird looks from four students. Honestly, it’s their fault for not realizing sooner. Whenever he hears asshole sophomores making jokingly homophobic comments, he slides close enough for them to realize that he’s within earshot. His reputation precedes him, after all.

Which is precisely why he can’t let himself get close to Neil. He accidentally caught a student in the solar plexus when they tapped him on the shoulder to ask about extra credit, he almost stabbed Jeremy on his first day teaching (which is why he’s not allowed to have his knives at school). He can’t trust Neil to obey his boundaries. He can’t trust Neil to wait for him if he has a mental breakdown. Yeah, Andrew’s lonely. His soul craves another person to be close with, to trust, but it’s safer for everyone involved if he just stays solo. He’s done with collateral damage. 

A few weeks go by. The only things that change are the colors of the leaves, the content Andrew teaches (though not by much), and the things he talks about with Neil. They spend six days discussing every apocalyptic scenario they can think of, another two days debating if sorbet counts as ice cream (even though it technically isn’t, Neil stands by his adamant yes. Andrew considers blocking his number eight times throughout that conversation).

Andrew hasn’t heard Robin be called to the office in a while. None of his students mention it, because they only gossip when something happens. Still, Robin’s showing up to after-school art, giving Andrew a small wave every time that he returns with a nod. So she hasn’t skipped town. Andrew doesn’t care. He’s not her dad, not even her teacher, but he has some secret satisfaction in knowing that something has changed for the better. He hopes it’s Bee’s influence. She was always most helpful with Andrew’s anxiety.

He gets an answer to his questions a few days later, on a Friday night that he’s spending baking cookies and watching Netflix. Ever since he and Neil started talking regularly, he can’t find the motivation to go out to a bar and hook up with a stranger. He can imagine the guilt that would settle in his stomach if he imagined some random guy was Neil. So he practices extreme self-control and stays in. He was also texting Neil (infinitely preferable to making out with a stranger while his shoes stick to the floor), but when one of his messages doesn’t get a response for close to ten minutes, he assumes the rabbit got sidetracked. Oh. Yeah. Ever since Neil admitted to running track in college, Andrew’s combined that with Neil’s flighty tendencies to come up with rabbit. And junkie, with the amount that Neil likes to run. 

He’s scooping cookie dough onto the baking sheet with his bare hands and a spoon when his phone goes off. Probably Neil. Unfortunately, he can’t answer, since his hands are covered in chocolate chip cookie dough, and he’s not going to smear his screen with butter and sugar. It’s fine. He’s trained anyone who has his number to not expect a response within the first ten minutes.

Once the cookies are in the oven and the butter and sugar is washed off his fingers, Andrew picks up his phone. It’s Neil, predictably.

[9:34] Neil: hey so dr. dobson has been rlly good for robin shes got regular appointments now nd dr dobson has been refusing to let me pay the full amount because you told her robin rlly needed it and moneys also kinda tight and so i feel bad abt so can i repay u?

If Andrew were a shitty, optimistic person who valued other people more than himself, he would say yes. He would ask Neil out to dinner as “repayment,” allow himself to indulge in the things he’s been wanting recently. But Andrew is all too good at refusing to take advantage of any situation, especially one like this. He needs Neil to come to him freely, otherwise, he’ll rip himself to shreds feeling like a liability. So he texts back.

[9:42] Andrew: You don’t need to repay me. I didn’t help Robin thinking I’d get anything out of it, there’s no debt owed. If you show up to school with money I will kick your ass.

[9:44] Neil: fiiine but i feel bad

[9:45] Neil: i just like waltzed into ur life because robin has anxiety and its really nice talking to you and i dont want you to feel obligated to talk to me

[9:46] Andrew: I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.

[9:48] Neil: so if i asked u to get dinner with me sometime u wouldnt say yes out of obligation?

Wow, Renee is going to laugh at him misreading this situation. Unless Neil is asking in the totally platonic, “just guys being dudes” kind of way. Which is entirely possible.

[9:48] Andrew: Are you asking?

[9:49] Neil: hypothetically 

Whatever. Fuck it. Bee’s been telling him for years that “hookups aren’t emotionally fulfilling, Andrew.” She would tell him to take this chance. The worst that could happen is Neil says no, or he says yes but doesn’t intend for it to be a date, which just means they get dinner and it gets awkward at some point. Plus, it seems like Neil isn’t going to ask him outright. So Andrew takes the plunge.

[9:51] Andrew: Neil. Will you go out and get dinner with me sometime?

[9:55] Neil: yes :)

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Chapter Text

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Neil drops his phone when Andrew asks him to get dinner. Allison has sat him through enough shitty movies and given him enough lectures on the nuances of texting that he understands what Andrew’s asking. Actually, what Neil’s asking. Asked. Hypothetically. It’s a date. Just to be sure, he screenshots it and sends it off to Allison.

[9:51] N: allison is this a date offer

[9:51] Alli: yeS YOU DUMBFUCK YOU MADE THE OFFER IN THE FIRST PLACE

Well, she’s got him there. But while he presented a complete and utter hypothetical (kind of), Andrew took the final step from them dancing around each other to actually asking. Allison responds almost immediately.

[9:52] Alli: is he hot??? gimme deeeeets

First of all, Neil doesn’t find people hot. Andrew isn’t hot, he’s steady and strong and could probably bench Neil despite the fact that he teaches literary analysis to teenagers. Shit. Maybe Neil does think he’s hot. He’s never thought about Matt like that, and Matt’s his closest male friend and is just as stable and physically stronger than Andrew. Andrew’s definitely different.

[9:52] N: i guess? hes a junior/senior english teacher at robins school

The three little dots on his screen disappear for a minute as Allison presumably stalks the school’s website to find a picture of Andrew. Neil knows that there are a few, but he guesses that Allison’s looking for the staff list, which conveniently contains pictures. Andrew’s picture isn’t bad, per se, but ID photos are never good. He looks washed out in it, the bags under his eyes more prominent, face shifted from a neutral stare to a disinterested frown. He’s so much more alive in real life. Yeah, okay, these aren’t normal feelings for Neil to have for someone platonically.

[9:53] Alli: okay YEAH HES HOT do u wanna go on a date with him????

Yes, Neil realizes. He really, really does. 

[9:54] N: yeah? even if it goes nowhere romantically hes nice to talk to ig

[9:54] Alli: then say fucking YES you idiot youve left him on READ

[9:55] N: just did

[9:56] Alli: oh my gOD maybe you wont die alone

[9:56] N: hey

[9:56] N: i have robin...

[9:57] Alli: thats different and you know it

Yeah, it is. Having an adopted daughter who feels more like a little sister is different from going on a date with the English teacher at her school. It’s a good difference, though. One that Neil really doesn’t mind. 

Then he realizes. This date only exists in hypotheticals. Shit.  

[9:58] N: i didnt???? ask for a time or date???? fuCK???

[9:58] Alli: neil you dumbass i love you but youre so fucking stupid

[9:59] Alli: just ask him abt logistics youll work it out i gotta go its date night :)

[9:59] N: okay night

He opens his conversation with Andrew back up.

[10:00] N: so uhh when are u free for dinner?

Allison is his boss, so his schedule is incredibly flexible. Also, both Allison and Matt have given him advice on dates and the like, and apparently giving the other person the choice of time and place is a good thing to do on a first date. Plus, Neil really doesn’t care and is terrible at making plans. Allison’s said more than once that it’s a miracle that she doesn’t need to dress him in the mornings ( anymore, she always tacks on).

[10:02] Andrew: Does next Friday at 6:30 work for you?

It works perfectly. Neil can bully Allison into letting Robin sleepover at her place (they do whatever girls do at sleepovers. Talk shit, watch movies, Neil doesn’t fucking know) and it doesn’t conflict with work or anything.

[10:03] N: sure

[10:03] N: u wanna meet at nina’s? they have good dessert

[10:04] Andrew: I feel like you are bribing me with the promise of chocolate. Sure. 

He could just leave it there. They have plans. But he needs the last word.

[10:05] N: okay its a date :)

The three dots appear on his screen, then disappear, then appear again before Andrew sends a text.

[10:06] Andrew: It’s a date.

The air whooshes out of Neil’s lungs when he reads that text. So he wasn’t misjudging Andrew’s texts. Good. He flops back on his bed and tosses his phone to the side, fully intending to pass out now and get up nice and early and go on a leisurely Saturday morning run, the air crisp and the leaves just starting to turn. Unfortunately, his phone decides to ding again. 

[10:08] Andrew: Go to bed, Neil. 

Is he fucking psychic? Is he spying on Neil? His skin starts to crawl with the need to check the locks, and then he realizes. Andrew has an incredibly good memory. Neil mentioned a few weeks ago that he goes to bed early on Friday nights so he can get up and run on Saturdays. Andrew’s not a stalker, he just remembers things about Neil. The most mundane things. That shouldn’t make him feel fuzzy inside, but it does. 

[10:09] N: okay i will gn andrew sleep well

[10:09] Andrew: Good night, Neil.

Neil falls asleep with a foreign feeling of warmth in his chest. He’s almost afraid to let his eyes close, like when he wakes up it’ll all have been a dream and there’s no date with Andrew and they’re still just talking like they’re vague friends. 

When he wakes up, bright and early, he checks his messages. It’s not a dream. He has a date in a week.

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Neil spends the entire week working himself to the bone. It’s not a healthy coping mechanism by far, but it’s better than running the equivalent of a marathon every two days, and it’s certainly better than succumbing to panic and texting Andrew to call it all off. 

So, that Thursday, Neil is impossibly productive. When he finishes up his actual work for the day, he gets up from his desk, tidies Allison’s office, sweeps the rest of the shop, tidies up the front, then looks up math problems on the internet to keep him occupied. When Allison sends him home, he cleans their entire apartment, deep cleans the bathroom and kitchen, then promptly gets the kitchen all kinds of messy while trying to cook something fancier than they usually have (it’s alright. Not perfect, but perfectly edible. Robin counts it as a win).

Robin notices because of course, she does. They orbit each other in the same 900 square feet, it would be hard for Neil to hide his nerves. She doesn’t say anything, because Neil’s knives stay firmly locked in their safe, proof that he isn’t nervous about anything actually bad happening.

Allison’s shop is relatively empty on Friday, so she sends him home early with instructions on what to wear and how to do his hair, forcing a few products on him. Neil has no idea why his hair is defined as a mess, but he learned a long time ago that it’s easier not to fight with Allison and most of the time, she knows what she’s talking about. 

Nina’s is “smart casual,” whatever the fuck that means, so after he gets out of the shower and begins the process of taming his hair from a frizzy mess to some sort of regular curl pattern, he walks over to his closet. Allison told him to wear his patterned dark red button-down, the one with the tiny leaves all over it, with black slacks and those black boots she picked up for him ages ago. He leaves the shirt unbuttoned before heading back to the bathroom to finish up his hair. It’s a shame that it feels like it takes forever to do because for once, Neil thinks he looks good.  

His curly hair looks messy but not disheveled, falling onto his forehead in a way that he really doesn’t mind. The red in his shirt brings out the warmer tones of his skin, and the slacks cling to his legs comfortably, not showing off his body but not obscuring it. He buttons the shirt and sends a picture off to Allison. 

[5:49] N: *image attached*

[5:49] N: questions comments concerns?

[5:51] Alli: holy FUCK neil undo the top button and do a french tuck and youre golden

Neil has to Google what a French tuck is and then watch a video of a very well-dressed British man explain how to do it before he figures it out. 

[5:57] N: *image attached*

[5:57] N: better?

[5:57] Alli: perf okay then wear that black denim jacket i got u and youll look like the sexiest vampire on the block

[5:58] Alli: btw robins doing great we’re watching clueless and cringing at the terrible acting now GET GOING pretty boy you dont wanna be LATE

[5:58] N: i thought being fashionably late was the thing to do

[5:59] Alli: yeah for PARTIES dumbfuck not DATES

[6:00] N: damn okay okay im going ill keep you updated

He puts on one of Robin’s playlists in the car, something about anxiety relief. It’s mostly classical music, not exactly Neil’s preferred genre, but it calms him down. He’s never been on a date before. He doesn’t know what to say, what to do, how to make Andrew like him. Neil’s been told more than once that he’s standoffish, rude, and blunt. How Andrew’s supposed to see anything in Neil, he doesn’t know. Texting has been so easy, since Neil can’t see Andrew’s face and can mask his own reactions, the pauses in between their messages being the only thing that gives away his giggles and times where he needs to take a moment to calm his blush down. But it’s Andrew. And Neil’s been honest and unfiltered so far. If Andrew decides that now, he doesn’t want it, then that’s okay. Neil’s been alone before, and he’s good at adapting. 

When he walks into Nina’s, Andrew is there, waiting. All of Neil’s worries temporarily go out the window, because he looks fucking edible. Neil hasn’t thought about anyone like this ever, but Andrew is fucking gorgeous. His hair is brushed back from his face, showing off the row of piercings in his cartilage. He’s wearing a leather jacket that looks a bit long on him but it’s still tight across his shoulders, and Neil almost considers finding a religion when he sees that Andrew’s in ripped black jeans. And combat boots that could probably break a bone. He looks bored, scrolling on his phone, but Neil feels downright captivated.

He would have a bit of a freakout over finding Andrew attractive if it hadn’t been building up like this. If he had walked into Nina’s with Allison and seen Andrew like this, he probably would’ve noted that he looked good, but he wouldn’t be staring like he is now.

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s been talking to Andrew for a few weeks now, knows how funny Andrew’s dry wit is, knows that beneath the bored expression in front of him is a fully fleshed-out person who really isn’t as scary as everyone makes him out to be. But that’s just a hypothetical. What matters is that Neil can’t stop staring at Andrew. 

Neil walks right up to him. “Breaking down the tweed-jacket English teacher stereotype, I see.” 

Andrew turns off his phone and slips it into his jacket, slowly looking Neil up and down. “Alas,” he sighs, “you still dress like an accountant, even off work.”

Neil huffs and undoes the top button on his shirt like Allison told him to. “Better?” He asks, preening under the weight of Andrew’s gaze. It appears Allison was right about the whole “undoing the top button” thing. The tips of Andrew’s ears are red, stark against his silver piercings.

Andrew licks his lips. “Yes.” He pushes off the wall and brushes by Neil, following the host to their table, a booth in the back corner. It’s not creepy for Neil to think Andrew smells good, right? Because he does. Neil wants to skip dinner, skip the formalities, and just curl up with Andrew. Not doing anything, just being in proximity to each other. Maybe watch a movie. 

Neil should be freaked out by that, he thinks as he sits down. He’s spent so long not trusting anyone, not trusting himself, but now he wants to be close with Andrew, wants to be near him, wants to learn how to make him happy and what his favorite things are because they’ve both been alone for so, so long. 

The waiter pours them glasses of water and when Neil declines a drink, Andrew does too. Funny, because Andrew mentioned that he likes whiskey. “You can get a drink,” Neil says, “just because I don’t really drink doesn’t mean you can’t.” He reaches forward to take a sip of his water. Fuck. When did his hands start sweating?

Andrew shrugs and takes a sip of his own water. “I know. I don’t feel like drinking tonight.”

“Oh. Okay.”

They sit in not-quite awkward, not-quite comfortable silence for a minute while they both pretend to study the menu. Andrew seems to get bored of it quickly, dropping his menu back on the table and leaning towards Neil. “So, did that bridezilla come back?”

Neil’s known what he was going to order as soon as he stepped inside, so he drops the act as well. “Which one?” He asks, huffing slightly. To be fair, there have been a lot of bridezillas that Neil has bitched to Andrew about. 

Andrew looks pained at the idea of dealing with multiple entitled brides-to-be. “The one who insinuated you were a cuck?”

Neil feels his eyes go wide at the memory. “Oh, yeah, her. Yeah, she came back,” he says, launching into a story about the threats she made that culminated in Allison kicking her out with a saccharine smile and an overly-bitchy wave goodbye. Andrew huffs out a laugh here and there, and a waiter takes their order just before Neil gets to the good part. It’s like their conversations over text but in person. Strangely, Neil doesn’t mind it. 

Once he’s finished with his story, he leans towards Andrew. “So, how are your students?”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “Menaces, all of them. You’d fit right in. Three-quarters of them are taller than you, anyway.” Neil flips him off with as much grace as he can manage, holding in a giggle. “One kid thought he could get away with plagiarizing poorly-written Hannibal fan-fiction for a short-story grade.”

Neil desperately needs water. “I understand all of those words separately.”

Any other person would laugh at Neil’s confusion and move on, but Andrew patiently explains everything. That’s the reason, Neil thinks. That’s the reason Andrew is so captivating. Because he can read Neil, make him feel known, and that isn’t scary. 

Plus, when Andrew’s done explaining and Neil gets the joke and giggles, Andrew blushes, warmth spreading across the apples of his cheeks. Pink might be Neil’s favorite color, now. 

They sit in silence for a moment, and Neil is happy to just exist. Lots of the time, silence is only okay when he’s with Allison or Robin, people he’s known for years, but being in the same space as Andrew just feels right. He doesn’t have a personality that makes Neil feel the need to talk, but his presence is definitely there. It’s like he expands or contracts according to the situation. It’s nice, being around another social chameleon. 

Andrew taps on the table. “Don’t be suspicious, but the guy two tables down is probably getting stood up right now.” Neil looks, as innocently as he can, and yeah, the dude is checking his phone and fidgeting, looking at the empty place setting across from him. 

Their completely subtle people-watching is interrupted by the waiter bringing them their food. When she leaves, they start eating and discussing what the guy’s absent date is doing right now. Neil suspects she just isn’t interested, but Andrew maintains that she’s on a date with another man, getting free dinner, and she did her scheduling wrong. Neil starts to debate with him, but then sees the glimmer in his eyes and realizes that Andrew’s joking.

So they go down the rows of tables, making up conversations between strangers and speculating what people are ordering based on their body language. It’s fun, and Andrew seems to have a knack for reading people, just like Neil, so there’s no need to heavily explain their thoughts. They just go back and forth, eating their pasta and trading fake gossip. 

At one point, Andrew sticks his fork onto Neil’s plate and steals a piece of chicken. In retaliation, Neil grabs a tomato off of Andrew’s plate, and they start a game of stealing bites when the other isn’t looking. It’s childish, it’s stupid, but it’s the most fun Neil’s had in a while. There’s still the lingering anxiety in the back of his mind, tossing the idea of being on a date back and forth, but it’s hard to be nervous when he’s doing the same thing he’s done with Andrew over texts for weeks now. 

Andrew orders dessert, some ice cream monstrosity that Neil is frankly scared of, but he takes the offered bite anyway, wrinkling his nose. It’s so sweet that it feels acidic in the back of his throat, and he needs a lot of water afterward. But it’s worth it to see Andrew’s self-satisfied grin when Neil drinks a glass of water without blinking.

Just to be a shit, Andrew eats the whole thing, making casual conversation with Neil as he does it. As he nears the end of the bowl, Neil starts asking him more involved questions, looking for more funny stories from his students’ lives. He just doesn’t want this to end. The dozens of therapists he’s seen are probably feeling something in the cosmos telling them that their most difficult patient finally can talk to other people. And Neil doesn’t want to stop. 

But the waiter brings them the check because the restaurant is a business and they need to turn over the table so they end up in the parking lot, standing comfortably close while Andrew smokes a cigarette. It’s dark enough that Neil can vaguely see the stars if he strains, but Andrew’s profile, half illuminated by the outdoor lights of the restaurant, is objectively more interesting. Without looking, Andrew reaches over and pushes Neil’s face away. 

“Staring.” Neil catches his hand on its way down, threads their fingers together, loose enough that Andrew can pull away. Andrew just holds on tighter, looking Neil in the eye, challenging him to commit to it.

Neil likes a challenge. “I know,” he says innocently, ducking forward to kiss Andrew’s cheek. When he pulls away, Andrew is bright fucking red and it’s cute. “This was nice.”

Andrew nods mutely. “It was.” Their fingers are still tangled together, and Neil focuses on how lovely their hands look intertwined, Andrew’s large palm against Neil’s long fingers. Andrew tugs on his hand. “Can I kiss you,” he says. 

Now Neil’s the one blushing. He’s only kissed a few people in his life, and none of them were particularly spectacular. Maybe he’s a bad kisser, maybe nothing’s going to happen, maybe it’s all a waste of time. 

Andrew tugs on his hand again, more insistently. “Yes or no. You can say no.” 

Neil shakes his head. “No, I don’t want to say no. I want to, it’s a yes, but I’m just-” 

He’s cut off by Andrew dropping his hand and grabbing the back of his neck, holding him securely. All of Neil’s muscles unlock like Andrew’s found the pressure point to make him melt. And then Andrew’s looking at Neil’s lips and Neil’s nodding and Andrew’s moving forward and oh.

It’s not exploratory, like some of Neil’s past kisses were. It’s not frustrated, not slimy and gross and full of tongue from the get-go, it’s chaste. More affirming than anything, it’s Neil knowing that Andrew felt this, too.  

Andrew pulls away after a split-second eternity, red from the tips of his ears down to his neck. Neil smiles, lets go of Andrew’s hand to wind his arms around Andrew’s neck and pulls him back in. They keep it short, kisses chaste since they’re in public and if they opened their mouths Neil would probably collapse, kissing until Neil is practically hugging Andrew and his hair is all messed up from Andrew’s hands running through it, but it’s okay. 

They break apart eventually, and Andrew pushes Neil away, palm flat against his chest. “Go home. It’s late.”

Neil catches Andrew’s hand in a moment of weakness and presses a kiss to his knuckles. “Okay. Drive safe.”

“I should be saying that to you, with the shitbox you drive,” Andrew says, and Neil starts walking to his car, letting his laugh resonate around the parking lot. 

“Bye Andrew!” He calls, getting into his car. As he pulls through the parking lot, Andrew gives him a two-finger salute and tilts his head back, blowing a mouthful of smoke up into the air. Cheap shot. Now all Neil’s going to think about tonight is the column of Andrew’s throat, the slight bob of his Adam’s apple as he blew out the smoke, his vague smile when he saluted Neil.

Shit. He’s in too far over his head.

The rest of his night is spent in the shower, and then he promptly conks out in bed. 

His dreams are filled with sweet, golden light, and a feeling of being held and kept safe, a phantom weight on the back of his neck. 

---

Spotify - Recently Played - njos10 - Playlists - for neil, Good Vibes Only, Ultimate Indie

---

Allison drops Robin off the next morning after Neil’s gone on his run and eaten breakfast. The neat freak gene in her dictates that she has to go and do laundry and Neil realizes his error when she pops her head into his bedroom, where he’s sitting on his shitty laptop, reading an article about the heat death of the universe. 

“Hey, why do you have nice clothes in the washing machine right now?” She asks.

Shit. Neil wasn’t planning on lying to Robin, but it seems a bit weird for him to go out with the teacher who found her a therapist. Robin might see it as some weird power dynamic, something transactional, which is the last thing Neil wants. “Uh,” he says eloquently. “I went out last night.”

“With who?”

“A friend.”

“Neil, you don’t have friends,” Robin starts, leaning on the doorframe. It’s mean, but she’s right. “You also avoid dressing up like it’s the plague.” Neil’s known her for long enough that he can see when she finally gets it. “You went on a date! How was it? Do I have to start thinking about getting a mom?”

Neil closes his computer as she flops onto his bed. They spend a lot of weekends like this, watching shitty shows as Neil tries to relax and Robin puzzles her way through math homework, Neil helping her when she gets stuck. “It was good, and I think he’d prefer being referred to as a dad, but I don’t think you have to consider that.” He’s never discussed sexuality with Robin, it’s never come up. Neil’s been single all his life, and Robin assured him that the sex-ed at school has covered everything she could possibly need to know, so they’ve given each other privacy. Still, it’s a bit nerve-wracking to say he was on a date with another man.

Robin takes it in stride. “So do I know him?” She kicks her legs back and forth, the perfect model of “gossipy teen.”

She’s always been so blunt, but Neil has over two decades of practice in evading questions. They’re each other’s perfect foils. “Why? Do you think you do?”

Robin nudges his shoulder. “Our social circles overlap because you only talk to new people through me,” she says, half-serious. It’s true. Neil talks to as few people as possible, partly because it’s an old habit he’s never kicked, partly because he has all the socializing he needs and Allison makes up for all of the drama he misses.

“Yes,” Neil sighs. “You know Andrew.”

“Andrew?” Robin looks confused. “The only Andrew I know is a year older than me and you’re not a pedophile-” She flicks him in the arm, hard. “You mean Andrew the teacher?”  

Well. Not the reaction he was expecting. “Is it weird? It’s not out of obligation or anything he and I have been talking for a few weeks now and decided to get dinner.” Robin’s mouth is hanging open. “What? What’s wrong?”

Robin shakes her head. “It’s nothing, nothing’s wrong at all! I just never expected him to get along with you or like, date anyone. He’s so,” she pauses, searching for the right word. Neil gets it. Andrew’s not warm and fuzzy, but he’s not mean either. “Prickly,” she finishes.

“I’ve been told I am also prickly,” Neil says. “By you.”

“That’s why you and Andrew must get along so well,” Robin teases. “You’re used to being around assholes because you live with yourselves.” Neil nods. He doesn’t know Andrew’s whole story, but he can guess at some of it, and he knows they both had to grow up too fast. So yeah, they fit. But Robin’s not done teasing him. “Wait. Are you his boyfriend now?”

Shit . Is he? What constitutes dating? Does Andrew have boyfriends? Neil really needs to call Allison for advice, but she’d just make it more confusing. “We went on one date, Robin. So no, not yet.”

“Do you want there to be a yet?” Robin asks gently, her teasing tone gone. Neil’s bad at expressing what he wants, sometimes doesn’t understand it himself, conditioned to push away everything that isn’t an absolute necessity. 

But does he want to spend time with Andrew? Does he want to sit together like they did last night and talk for hours and kiss and learn what makes Andrew tick? “Yes,” Neil realizes. “I do.”

“Cool.” Robin pokes his rib one last time and heaves herself out of bed. “Can I make pasta for dinner? If you want it I have to start now.” 

“Sounds great.” Robin’s homemade pasta is truly one of the better things Neil has experienced in his life. She flashes him a bright smile and bounces off to the kitchen. Neil opens up his computer and keeps reading about how one day, everything will be cold and quiet. How right now, existing with color and light and sound is a rebellion against the nature of the universe.

---

Spotify - Recently Played - njos10 - Playlists - stop listening to spotify mixes you idiot, for neil, Good Vibes Only

---

Neil texts Andrew pretty constantly over the next week. It’s kind of off-and-on, but they both work full-time jobs, so they talk when they can. During Andrew’s lunch break on Wednesday, they’re talking about the classes Andrew teaches, which are apparently pretty weird since Andrew doesn’t like half of the required readings so he finds more interesting ways to integrate them into the classes.

[12:32] N: so what are u teaching this semester?

[12:33] Andrew: It changes every semester, but currently a class on essay writing and another called Modern Religion

[12:34] N: that sounds like one of those frank ocean songs u put on the playlist

[12:34] N: i thought u were an english teacher that sounds like social studies

[12:36] Andrew: It’s a lit class. Reading books featuring different concepts of religion and exploring the narrative choices that give those religions power. Reading the Bible “as literature” is required and this is the only tolerable way to do it. It’s completely selfish for me to teach it this way.

[12:36] Andrew: What’s it like working at Allison’s?

[12:37] N: i just do accounting work but allisons drama makes it v lively

[12:37] Andrew: Allison has a habit of doing that. She makes dinner very interesting.

[12:37] N: wtf u know allison how

[12:39] Andrew: Her wife runs the art program at school and is also my best friend. How do you not know that?

[12:40] N: what the FUCK youre renees best friend???? shes terrifying HOW

[12:41] Andrew: Lunch is ending, I have to go, but come over on Saturday? It’s a long story.

[12:41] N: robins got art sat afternoon so sure

[12:41] Andrew: Bring snacks. I’m out. 

Neil shows up at Andrew’s house on Saturday around two, shortly after dropping off Robin at the school. He’s got Oreos, because he didn’t know if Andrew was joking about the snacks thing, and he stands awkwardly outside for a minute before ringing the doorbell. Andrew’s house is nice. It’s nothing special, but it’s better than Neil and Robin’s little apartment (which isn’t bad, but it’s small and a bit leaky and there’s some weird mold growing on the carpet in the closet that neither of them wants to touch). It’s kind of big for someone who lives alone, and Neil’s struck with the feeling that while his living space is cramped, he likes having the hustle and bustle around him, the proof that he’s concrete and real, living in a home, rather than drifting through a house that he doesn’t belong in. His father’s house was too large, too empty, too much space to hide all of the bad things that happened.

Andrew opens the door, and Neil is caught off guard by how soft he looks. He’s just in joggers and a hoodie, but it’s so much more casual than what Neil is used to seeing from Andrew. Neil isn’t particularly dressed up either, his outfit is the same as Andrew’s, except he’s in a sweater instead of a hoodie. They stand in the doorway, looking at each other until Andrew spots the Oreos in Neil’s hand.

“I didn’t think you would actually bring snacks,” he says. “I was joking.”

“You mentioned you were out,” Neil shrugs. “I was at the store anyway.”

“Oh. Well.” Andrew makes grabby hands for the Oreos. “Come in.”

The first thing that Neil notices walking into Andrew’s house is that it’s bigger on the outside. Inside the house is crammed with bookshelves and where there aren’t bookshelves, there are books. “Really living up to the English teacher stereotype with all the books,” he teases.

Andrew flops onto one of two couches. His house has an open floor plan, so the living room isn’t really a “room” and more of an area. “I live up to that stereotype in exactly one way.”

“Sure.” Neil settles onto the couch opposite Andrew. “I still get to tease you about it, though.”

Andrew arches an eyebrow at Neil and huffs. “I thought you wanted to know how I managed to become friends with Renee. I don’t know how you aren’t her friend.”

“She reminds me of some people from my past.” Specifically, Neil’s mother. Yes, Renee recovered from her trauma, but the glint in her eye paired with a serene smile is too eerily similar to Mary’s “everything is fine” face. It’s the one thing about her that Neil can’t seem to forget, and he wishes he could. 

Andrew nods in understanding. “I met her in college. I was,” he sighs, crossing his arms, “worse back then. More violent. Incredibly self-destructive. Renee helped me find some outlets for it and we stayed in contact while she was in the Peace Corps and I was getting a teaching degree. Wymack, the principal, has a thing for people who deserve second chances, and there was an opening for a social studies position coming up, so Renee got her degree and then got the job.” Andrew grabs an Oreo out of the package and splits it in half. “Your turn.”

“What?”

“Truth for a truth. Equal exchange, no feeling of debt.” Andrew licks some of the Oreo's cream off one half of the cookie, then pops it in his mouth. 

“Okay, Gollum,” Neil says, because Andrew confessed that the Lord of the Rings was one of his favorite books a few weeks ago, so Neil’s been reading them and updating Andrew on his thoughts. Andrew makes a funny noise around the Oreo in his mouth, and he’s almost smiling and all Neil wants is to make him do that again because that’s how Andrew laughs. “What do you want to know?”

“How do you know Allison?” Andrew asks. “That’s fair. A friend origin story for friend origin story.”

Fair enough. “I had a pretty shitty childhood.” He can admit this now, he can talk about it, but thinking about the house in Baltimore still makes his blood run cold. “Abusive doesn’t even begin to describe my father. My mom died when I was thirteen in an ‘accident,’” Neil says, making air-quotes with his hands. Andrew nods, completely seriously. Huh. Normally that gets more of a reaction, but then again, Andrew hasn’t blinked at Neil’s scars. “I emancipated at fifteen, ran from him. Lived on the streets for two years. I would break into rich people’s houses when they were away, squat there for a bit. One day I broke into Allison’s. She didn’t call the cops on me and offered me help instead, got me through graduating high school online, helped me get into college for a math degree so I could work as her accountant. Now I work for her, I have since I graduated, and you already know how I met Robin. So.”

Andrew stares at him, face neutral. Not judging, not offering condolences, just processing. “I made my birth mother’s death look like a car accident,” he offers, not even blinking when Neil’s eyes widen. “You told me some of your story beyond Allison. It wasn’t fair.” 

“Oh,” Neil says. Fairness really matters to Andrew, almost to an unhealthy degree. “So we’re even now?”

Andrew nods once. “We’re even.” He takes another Oreo out of the package and offers it to Neil. “Do you want one? You bought them.”

“I don’t like sweets.” Neil shrugs. “Guess that makes us incompatible.” It’s a weak play at a joke, but Neil’s been coming up with reasons that he and Andrew could never be together, justifying that he’s fine alone with Robin. He is. He’s survived alone before, he’ll do it again, he doesn’t need Andrew, he’s perfectly independent and can take care of himself. He doesn’t need anything except food and a dry place to sleep.

But he’s lonely. So, so, lonely. And slowly, with Robin and Allison’s help, he’s learned to want things. He wants to live a quiet life, wants Robin to go to college for art and find her place in the world, wants to watch the world roll by and feel settled, instead of on edge all the time. 

He wants Andrew. And it’s taken too much evading to get to that conclusion, because once he admits it he’s never going to be able to stop admitting it and it’s going to eat him up so he needs closure, needs an end to the madness, needs Andrew to affirm that all of this is a bad idea, that they’re too fucked up for each other. 

Andrew just huffs. “They do say opposites attract,” he says, nonchalantly popping another Oreo in his mouth. He chews, swallows, takes in Neil’s stunned face. Andrew likes him. Or at least, Andrew’s attracted to him, even after Neil’s long tirades without punctuation over text, even after Neil bitched about how the burns on his hands stung on bad days and how that wasn’t even the worst of it, after all of that, Andrew still wants him. 

Andrew flicks a crumb of Oreo at him. “Neil. Can I kiss you, yes or no?”

Oh, if only everything was as simple as a yes or no question. 

And then, Neil realizes, it is. Andrew says what he means. Asking for a kiss isn’t an indirect way of asking for more, it’s just asking for a kiss. For this one thing. Neil gets the rules now, and he’s ready to play. Games have always been his strong suit. “No.”

If Andrew feels defeated by Neil’s refusal, he doesn’t show it. He just flops further into the couch and pops another Oreo in his mouth. If Neil didn’t know how much Andrew lifted, he’d be concerned. “Okay,” Andrew says. 

“No, I didn’t mean it like that.” One of Andrew’s eyebrows raises, his mouth full of Oreo. “You kissed me at Nina’s. Can I kiss you? Equal exchange, and all that.”

Andrew swallows. “If you’re doing this out of obligation-” He starts.

“I’m not.” Neil’s never been more sure of himself. 

“Then yes.” Andrew makes a show of slowly closing up the Oreos and putting them on the ground. He shifts himself upright and says, “Come over here and do it, then.”

He gets to the point where he’s standing over Andrew, and he doesn’t know what to do. So he freezes. Andrew raises his hands, hovers them over Neil’s hips, waits for Neil to nod before he lets his hands grip over the fabric of Neil’s sweats, tugging him down into Andrew’s lap. “Where can I touch you?” Neil asks, remembering how Andrew told him over text that he thrives on control, would die without it. He almost did, once. Neil hadn’t pressed. Equal exchange.

“Chest and up,” Andrew murmurs, craning his neck up at Neil. He pulls more on Neil’s hips until he’s properly straddling Andrew. Neil cups Andrew’s jaw with his hands, feather-light, and this time when Andrew nods, Neil takes the plunge and presses their lips together. This kiss isn’t innocent like the ones they traded outside of Nina’s. Andrew opens his mouth within two seconds of them colliding, pulling Neil closer and closer, winding his arms around Neil’s neck and anchoring him there, mapping out Neil’s mouth, smoothing his hands over his sides, dipping his fingers up under Neil’s shirt. Neil doesn’t like sweets, but the taste of them in Andrew’s mouth is addictive. 

His hands are in Andrew’s hair, then they’re tracing along his neck, then they’re holding on to his biceps for dear life because fuck, he thinks he’s going to fall over. But Andrew is a rock, letting him melt and holding him together, going the extra mile to take him apart and then put him back together.

And through it all, it’s slow. Like they’re exploding, in slow motion. Something so short, yet it feels infinite.

They break away for air and Neil finds himself laughing. “Fuck,” he breathes, right into Andrew’s mouth. “The date definitely wasn’t a fluke.”

Andrew blinks, borderline offended. “You’re so fucking stupid.” When Neil nods in confirmation, he says, “Kiss me again.”

Neil’s not going to deny him that. They kiss and kiss, somewhere along the way Andrew loses his shirt and Neil almost passes out after seeing Andrew’s forearms in just his armbands and his hands end up rucking Neil’s shirt up to his armpits, curled together on the couch like a couple of teenagers waiting to be walked in on. But they’re adults, in Andrew’s house with a door that locks and plenty of time.

Andrew breaks the kiss to yawn, and Neil proposes watching Netflix instead. They lie on the couch, Neil using Andrew as a body pillow, trading quick, soft kisses across each others’ faces (Neil discovers that Andrew goes pink when he gets kissed on the nose and subsequently does it ten more times) as some truly horrible cooking show plays as background noise. It’s nice. Really nice. Neil would be happy to spend every day like this, with Andrew’s fingers tracing his scars lightly, mapping them out, never asking their origin, or looking at them with disgust. They’re a part of Neil, now. They always will be. Andrew doesn’t ask, he just accepts them. 

So they laze about on the couch for two hours, predicting which chef is going to go home next and swapping kisses until Neil thinks he could find Andrew’s lips in the dark, in a maze, in the vacuum of space. He’s comfortable, secure in Andrew’s arms. It’s less scary to realize that than he thinks. It just feels so normal, he doesn’t know how he’s gone without it for so long. He didn’t realize how lonely he was until he stopped feeling that way. What a sad fucking thought. 

Neil’s phone buzzes where it’s trapped between them. He checks it, and it’s his reminder to go and pick up Robin. After being late three times in a row because he lost track of time doing menial tasks, he’s started setting reminders on Saturday to go pick her up. “Shit,” he mutters. “I gotta go get Robin.” Andrew shifts upright, forcing Neil to sit up. “She gets paranoid when I’m late and I have a habit of losing track of time.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Andrew says as he ducks forward to kiss the corner of Neil’s mouth. “You can stay for another ten minutes. My place is closer than yours to school.” He presses a kiss to Neil’s jaw. “Stay,” he mutters. Even if Neil wanted to say no, he probably couldn’t have. 

So Neil stays for another ten minutes. His mouth is sore in a good way and his entire body feels liquidy, but it doesn’t matter because Andrew’s on top of him now, pressing him down into the couch, and there’s no place he’d rather be. 

But time runs out, so they end up standing awkwardly in the doorway. “This was nice,” Neil says, and Andrew nods in assent. “I wish I could stay longer.”

“Robin has art class next Saturday at the same time,” Andrew points out. “And I don’t work on the weekends.”

“Unless the planning board decides to defund it.” Neil sighs. “It’s been so good for Robin, but all of the people on that board have kids in the sports programs and they can’t get their heads out of their asses for five fucking minutes to consider there are other kids in other extracurriculars.”

Andrew huffs. “You probably care more about the art program than Renee does. She didn’t even speak at that meeting back in September.”

Shit. “You were there?” Neil asks. “I looked like an idiot yelling at them.”

“I was Renee’s ride,” Andrew says, “and you did a good job of putting them in their place. Everyone else was thinking the same thing as you, but no one else said it.” He tugs on Neil’s sweater, pulling him down to press one last kiss to Neil’s lips. “You’re going to be late. Drive safe, idiot.”

Robin, bless her soul, doesn’t comment on the fact that Neil’s lips are kiss-bitten and red on the drive home, but he gets a barrage of texts later that night from Allison, demanding to know why he picked up Robin from art looking fucked out, and why Robin decided to text her instead of talk to him. That was fun to explain.

---

Spotify - Recently Played - njos10 - Playlists - junkie, Indie Kicks 150-155 bpm, neil’s music education

---

Things are good. Almost every Saturday, Neil will drop Robin off at the school and head over to Andrew’s house. Sometimes they go out, visiting the library or a park or one time going to the fair when it was in town. Other times, they stay in, lazily kissing or trying to bake something that Neil can stomach while satisfying Andrew’s sweet tooth. Neil meets Sir, Andrew’s fluffy fat cat, and immediately starts trying to win him over with treats, which works, to Neil’s astonishment and Andrew’s chagrin. 

It’s nice. Neil’s dreading the cliche “what are we” conversation, but it never happens. They exist in a nebulous space on those Saturdays, not defining anything because the two of them don’t need it, and no one else sees them together, and they’re both happy as is. Until Neil’s over at Allison’s one afternoon and she asks him how the “boyfriend” is. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Neil says. “We haven’t talked about that yet.”

Allison frowns from where she’s sketching a dress design on the floor. “Come on. You two do all of the boyfriend things together. You have a weekly date-afternoon, for fuck’s sake. You’re boyfriends in every sense of the word,” she says, turning back to her sketchbook. 

And just like that, Neil can’t stop thinking about it. Every day, when his mind is unoccupied, he mulls over the word in his head. Boyfriend. It’s the logical next step for them, but Andrew’s made it clear that there are no benchmarks to be reached, no necessary achievements in their- whatever they have. 

He’s at Andrew’s sitting on a counter, waiting for their banana bread to be done, when he finally gets the guts to ask, “Are we boyfriends?”

Andrew freezes for a split second at the sink, hot water running over his hands and the mixing bowl. “We do not need to label anything,” he says slowly. Carefully. 

Neil kicks his heels against the cabinet. “I know, but Allison said that we practically are and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

Andrew puts the bowl down in the sink and wipes off his hands. “Neil. We text constantly. You sleep over when you can get Allison to take Robin. It would be factually correct for you to refer to us as boyfriends.”

“Yeah, but-” Neil waves his hands around, trying to find the words to fit what he feels, “do you want us to be boyfriends?” It doesn’t matter how correctly the term fits them, this is one of the few things they can choose to define. And Andrew’s always been about choice.

Andrew walks over to stand between Neil’s legs, his thighs parting as Andrew approaches. It’s almost comical, Neil thinks, that they’ve learned how to dance around each other like this already. Andrew knows him, and that’s not a scary thing. “I am not opposed,” Andrew says casually, fingers rubbing circles into the fabric of Neil’s jeans, “but what do you want?”

“I like it,” Neil says, hooking his arms around Andrew’s neck. Their height difference is only further emphasized with Neil up on a countertop. He likes sitting up here. It makes him feel tall. “It makes this real.” That’s something he’s been working on, reality. Existing. Being a corporeal thing with attachments. “So can we be boyfriends?”

Andrew’s eyebrows raise, just a bit. “Kiss me and find out,” he says. And really, it’s a good thing that banana bread takes an hour to bake and that Andrew’s oven has a loud timer. 

The answer is a resounding yes, murmured into Neil’s mouth and across his skin.

And it’s good. Really, really good. For about two months.

Murphy’s law really is a bitch, huh? As the weather steadily gets colder and December nears, Neil’s car battery breaks, and replacing it costs 200 dollars, which means they’re tight on rent and it all has Neil stressed. And the heating bill’s steadily been creeping up which has Neil concerned because he’s not going to stop paying for heat or electricity. Yeah, he could live without it but he has Robin and everything just feels like it’s falling apart. He could ask Allison for help, she would totally spot him for rent this month but he needed help back in September to pay for some medication for Robin, and even after years of working on himself, he can’t bring himself to ask for help. 

Andrew probably notices, one Saturday, that Neil is simultaneously exhausted and full of anxiety, but he doesn’t comment until Neil shows up on Thursday afternoon at school to pick Robin up. That day, he’s barely functioning, head held low, eyes almost closed from exhaustion. He really shouldn’t have driven, really should’ve stayed home and taken a nap and asked Allison to pick Robin up, but he didn’t. 

Andrew comes outside to talk with Neil on the way to his own car. It’s another little routine that they’ve developed, another way to stay connected (as boyfriends, Neil reminds himself), a foil to Neil’s reclusive instincts and Andrew’s anti-social nature. Neil’s leaning against the steering wheel, eyes closed, when he hears Andrew’s distinctive taps on his window. 

He rolls the window down and Andrew immediately grabs his chin, looking him over for some invisible, not-there damage. When he’s satisfied with his assessment, no visible injuries, he says, “You look like shit.” Astute observation.

Neil lets his head fall back, and Andrew’s hand migrates up into his scalp, running through his hair. “I feel like it.” Andrew makes an inquisitive noise, tugging a bit on Neil’s hair. And Neil explains, closing his eyes and letting everything rush out. “I just don’t know what to do. I can survive like this, but it sucks, you know?” He opens one eye to see Andrew nodding. “ Fuck, ” he sighs. “Being an adult is hard.”

Andrew nods again. “Do you want help,” he asks, his voice a careful monotone.

“I don’t need help,” Neil says, crossing his arms. He can almost feel himself pouting. He’s making what Allison calls his “pissy child” face, where he gets all stubborn and refuses anyone trying to do something nice for him.

“I know that, idiot. Do you want help.” Andrew says. And fuck, Neil really, really does. Surviving on his own, making sure Robin has a good life, it’s almost too much. And Andrew’s right here, offering a hand and for once, Neil feels okay with taking it.

“Yeah,” Neil says, and the hand in his hair drops down to cradle the back of his neck. Andrew looks settled now, something in his face smoothed out at the prospect of Neil accepting what he’s offering. 

“Take Robin home, pack overnight bags for the both of you, and come to my house. You need to sleep in a proper bed and I’ll make dinner.” He taps Neil’s nose, lightly. “Text me when you’re on your way.”

He’s about to walk away when Neil finds his voice. “Are you sure?” He says hesitantly. “I don’t want to intrude on your space or anything.”

Andrew shakes his head. “If I was unsure,” he says slowly like Neil is a very dumb child, “I would not have offered. And I’m offering.”

“Oh. Uh.” How eloquent, Neil. “Okay. I’ll see you in a bit, then?”

Andrew, already walking away, turns and gives Neil a two-fingered salute. “See you in a bit,” he says.

To her credit, Robin doesn’t press why they’re packing bags to go and stay at Andrew’s for a bit. She knows they’re together, knows how stressed Neil’s been, and she’s a smart human being, she’ll put it together quickly enough that this is for Neil to relax, not her. Regardless, she seems excited to get out of their apartment. Neil is too. Every Saturday, Andrew’s house feels more and more like home.

Andrew’s house smells like heaven when they walk in, tomatoes and basil, and something sweet in the oven that Robin will probably love. Andrew introduces her to Sir, directs her to a guest room, shows her the bathroom down the hall, then comes back into the kitchen, Robin trailing behind him, running her hands over the books in the hallway. Neil just stands awkwardly in the kitchen, hand tight on his duffel, feeling too young and too old for everything happening to him. 

“So,” Andrew says, settling against the counter, “Robin. I am not going to lie to you. Neil and I have been in a relationship for several months. Did you know that?”

Robin elbows Neil and smiles. “He didn’t tell me, but Allison did.”

“That bitch, ” Neil huffs fondly. Robin had flung herself onto his bed, demanding all of the hot gossip after a night at Allison’s and promptly throwing herself back out of the room when Neil had brought up the fact that talking to his daughter (adoptive, but regardless) about his sex life was incredibly awkward and strange. 

“Back on topic,” Andrew says smoothly, too used to Neil’s bullshit comments, “I have two guest rooms that I do not need. They were originally for my brother and cousin who have since decided that I don’t need their regular supervision.” He waits for them to nod in understanding. “And no offense, but I have been to your apartment. It’s not a good place to raise a teenager.”

Neil makes an offended noise. “It’s-”

“What you can afford, I know,” Andrew says, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “Which is why I’m offering that you move in with me.” Neil can’t even slightly mask his surprise. He was expecting Andrew to suggest that they stay for a few days, a week at most, until Neil got his head on straight. He definitely wasn’t anticipating this. “Think about it logically, Neil.” Andrew’s voice is cool and calm, but there’s a blush on the tips of his ears and his eyes keep darting around Neil’s face, tracking all of his changes in expression. They’re both nervous, and it doesn’t help that Robin is watching them. “I have more than enough space, if Robin is anything like you then there’s nothing to worry about in terms of cohabitation, and Robin, if you’re okay with getting up earlier, I can drive you to school.” He crosses his arms and picks at a loose thread on the hem of his sleeve. “Up to you, though. I am not going to force anything.”

Neil looks at Robin. Of course he wants to, he feels so lonely when he leaves Andrew’s, feels empty and dark and his little apartment that used to feel homey is now cold and gross because for once, there’s something better within reach. And Neil isn’t going for it. 

Robin cocks her head at Andrew. I’m fine with it, the motion says. They’ve developed their own language, after years of being uncomfortable in public together, years of living together. Neil’s life depended on reading people for a while, so learning Robin’s body language was easy, and she’s learned his from years of proximity.

Neil raises an eyebrow. You sure? You can say no.

A roll of her eyes. You know I hate the apartment.

Neil shrugs. Yeah, okay, point. So it’s a yes?

Robin shoves him. “It’s a yes from me,” she says brightly, then goes off to the living room, presumably to annoy Sir under the premise of befriending him. She doesn’t know that the secret is treats. At least, not yet. 

“So,” Neil says, scratching at his neck, “you sure about this?”

Andrew stares him down. “I don’t believe in regret. Come on, you need to put your stuff down.” He turns on his heel and walks down the hallway. 

Neil follows him to the guest room, where Andrew’s staring at the dresser. He drops his duffel and unzips it so he can start unpacking. Andrew grabs his arm before he can pull some shirts out. “Not here, idiot. Help me move this to my room.”

Neil stands, stunned. “You want me to stay in your room?”

Andrew rolls his eyes like he’s talking to an idiot. Which, to be fair, Neil is. “Neil. You are my boyfriend. I am offering for you to move into my house. Yes, I want you to stay in my room. And share my bed with me. You know, things that people in relationships do.” If Neil had fewer self-preservation instincts, he’d say that Andrew was justifying it to himself, not Neil.

“Are you sure?” Neil asks. It’s all so fast. He wants it, yeah, but it’s Andrew’s choice in the end. Andrew revealed to him that having space, his space, a door that locks and the only copy of its key was the thing that cemented to him that he was safe. So yes, Neil wants to move into Andrew’s room. But it’s up to Andrew. “It’s a yes, but you need to say yes too.”

Andrew sighs and grabs Neil’s bag himself. “Yes. I don’t believe in regret,” he says, turning on his heel and walking to his room. “Start taking the drawers out of the dresser, it’s lighter that way.”

Neil does, and Andrew joins him shortly after to help him move the bulk of the dresser, slotting the drawers back into place once it’s next to Andrew’s. It fits. It makes the room just a little more full, but it looks like it belongs there. They still have to fine-tune the details of moving out of the apartment, have to actually do the moving out, but that’s okay. One step at a time. They’ll do that over the weekend.

Neil tosses the contents of his duffel into a drawer and straightens back up, directly into Andrew. “Oh,” he says. “Hi.”

Andrew uncrosses his arms and tentatively reaches towards Neil, wrapping his arms around Neil’s waist. “This okay?”

“Yes,” Neil sighs, resting his arms around Andrew’s neck, leaning his face into Andrew’s hair. They’ve hugged a few times, but it’s always been kind of awkward, light squeezes as a goodbye, not lingering on the contact. This is different. Andrew tightens his grip slightly and buries his face in Neil’s shoulder, and Neil feels like he’s melting, held up by Andrew’s strong arms and the overwhelming presence of finally being home.  

They stand like that for a minute, until they’re interrupted by the stove’s timer beeping at them from a few rooms away. Andrew tips his head to the side and presses a kiss to Neil’s neck before padding out of the room, back to the kitchen. 

No one’s very talkative while they eat dinner, partially because they’re all starving out of stress from the past day (and in Neil’s case, past two weeks), and partially because they’re not a talkative bunch. It’s comfortable, though. Homey. The pasta Andrew made is incredible and he even got fruit for Neil while he and Robin share brownies. 

Neil finally crashes from the adrenaline high he’s been riding the past week as he’s doing the dishes. He stands up from putting a plate in the dishwasher and nearly falls over, only because Andrew catches him. “Okay, idiot,” he says, pulling Neil upright. “You’re going to bed.”

“I’m fine,” Neil mumbles into Andrew’s shoulder. He’s soft and warm and Neil really, really, needs to go to bed, but these dishes really need to get done.

“Sure you are,” Andrew mutters. He slides his arms around Neil, rubbing the tension out of his back and shoulders. “Can I pick you up?”

“But the dishes,” Neil protests. 

“I’m perfectly capable of doing dishes, Neil.” Andrew digs his thumb into one of Neil’s vertebrae and it pops, more tension seeping out of his bones. 

“But I feel bad.” Seriously, Andrew let them move in, made dinner, practically flipped his life upside down to fit Neil and Robin into it, and Neil can’t do one night of dishes. He’s so utterly, completely useless.

Andrew shrugs. Neil can feel it because it jostles his head, and he grunts softly. “You can do them tomorrow night, then.” Andrew offers. “Can I pick you up? You’re not walking to bed on your own.”

That’s unfortunately true. “Yes,” Neil mutters sleepily. 

“Put your arms around my neck.” Neil lifts them from where they’ve been hanging at his sides and loops them around Andrew’s neck. Andrew shifts, threading one arm behind Neil’s back, under his armpits, and the other goes behind Neil’s knees. And suddenly, even though it feels like Andrew’s not straining at all, Neil’s feet are off the ground and his face is tucked into Andrew’s chest. 

Andrew’s warm and solid and Neil closes his eyes, jolting awake when Andrew dumps him on the bed. He’s too tired to move, and he only opens his eyes again when Andrew tosses a pair of sweats at him. “Brush your teeth,” he says, before leaving the bedroom. 

Neil allows himself thirty more seconds before forcing himself upright, ditching his shirt (everyone in the house has seen his scars, anyway) and changing into the sweats Andrew so kindly lobbed at his face. There’s no light coming from the crack under Robin’s door, but Neil knows that she’s on her phone, texting her friends. 

He brushes his teeth in the bathroom and is hit with the realization that this is his, now. He’s stayed over before, done this routine with Andrew before, but he’s always been anticipating leaving in the morning. But now, this is home, with Robin and Sir and Andrew, in a place that feels lived in, a place that feels permanent and real. He has a toothbrush by the sink, a dresser with his things in it, a side of the bed and a mug in the kitchen.

But he’s too tired to have a crisis over this, right now. It can wait until tomorrow. It can wait until they move out of the apartment and move in here. For now, Neil needs to sleep.

So he does, woken only when Andrew turns off the light and climbs into bed. He presses against Neil’s back and slips an arm around him, the way they’ve slept every time Neil’s stayed over. “I’m going to stay home tomorrow and help you pack up the apartment,” he says into Neil’s back. 

Neil stiffens, his brain automatically telling him that he’s fine, he doesn’t need help, moving is easy, he did nothing but move for almost all of his teenage years. “You shouldn’t skip work for me and Robin, you need to get paid.”

Andrew shakes his head as best he can with his face mushed between Neil’s shoulder blades. “Wymack will understand. Nothing special is happening tomorrow, anyway.” He huffs, pulling Neil closer. “No more talking. Sleep now.”

Neil puts one of his hands on top of Andrew’s hand, which is resting on the sheets, tracing each one of his knuckles. Andrew’s breathing is soft and slow, the only other sound in the room. 

Neil hasn’t been this calm in far too long. But he’s got a home now, he’s got someone who he can lean on and who he trusts to lean on him, he has a future, he has stability. 

He’s permanent. He’s real. And for once, he doesn’t feel dread at the thought. He doesn’t feel anything. It’s just true.

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