Archive of Our Own

Andrew’s up much earlier than he’d like to be, but he needs this batch of calendula, and the best time to harvest them is in the morning. He’s in his greenhouse, a little glass dome no more than ten feet from his home, snipping the buds and carefully placing them in his basket. 

Aaron needs it for his patients, and Andrew is out of the balm that he rubs on his forearms every morning. His scars are softer now, no longer bumpy ridges but pale, slightly raised lines. They haven’t changed in years, but massaging the balm in the mornings is a routine for him. So, he needs more calendula. 

They’re just marigolds, he tells himself, asking may I? every time he finds a bud worth taking. He leaves some on the plants, setting his basket down to attend to the task of snipping stems shorter to avoid rot. The marigolds are tense beneath his hands, but he’s had these plants for years. They understand and bid him gentle farewells as he walks back inside, stopping in the backroom of the shop to spread the flowers out to dry. He’ll just get Kevin to stop by and radiate heat near it as he vehemently denies the fact that he’s mooning over Aaron. Fucker always runs warm, his control over fire leaking through his skin, and it’s becoming more and more welcomed as fall creeps through them, even if it comes with a side of Andrew being forced to watch Kevin deny that he’s head over heels for his brother. 

Once the flowers are spread out, Andrew efficiently sucks the last of their energy away. He’s been hearing their whispers as they fade out, sitting in the basket, and he explained to the plants that it’s common decency to end that part of their life quickly, rather than forcing them to lose their energy minute by minute. 

He would go back to bed, but the boost of energy has made him feel like he’s chugged a cup of coffee. The cold biting at his ankles, he climbs the stairs, curls up in bed, and begins to organize his day. There’s aloe that he needs to harvest for Aaron to mix and spell into a burn salve, and then there’s his ginkgo tree. It’s fall, so there are nuts that he has to get for a myriad of tinctures that Aaron swears by, but the tree isn’t really producing, citing a cold snap in September that set it back and a general issue with the soil. 

Andrew looked to the grass around the tree, and they said that there weren’t enough nutrients. No issue, he just needs to order some growth serum. In the meantime, he can persuade the tree to bend a branch down so he can grab a few handfuls of leaves, to turn into a tincture. They’re the keepers of the alcohol for parties, as Kevin made the call that keeping any sort of alcohol in his house was a bad idea, so Andrew has no issues with taking a bottle and steeping his leaves in it. 

For now, he needs growth serum. Wymack will surely have it, so Andrew scrawls a note on a piece of paper and hands it to the ivy that creeps from his window to every shop in town. He pushes a bit of the energy that the marigolds gave him into the ivy, telling it to drop the note on Wymack’s desk. The ivy whispers a thank you, and that reminds Andrew of another one of his tasks on the list - trimming the ivy around town, detangling it before winter comes and it goes dormant. That’s definitely something he’s not looking forward to, walking through town with a pair of shears and climbing on people’s roofs. 

The push of energy into the ivy leaves Andrew tired. Again. So he eyes his alarm clock and curls up, snuggling deeper into one of Renee’s blankets.

The clock is annoyingly chirpy, but Renee and Allison’s daughter painted it and gave it to him two New Years’ ago, so Andrew doesn’t throw a shoe at it. He can hear Aaron fussing about downstairs, getting ready for the shop to open, so Andrew pulls himself back out of bed to make the trek to the kitchen for coffee and then downstairs to man the front.

The regulars come in. Wilds and her husband, rubbing her pregnant belly and giving Andrew a wave that he doesn’t return, instead focusing on this goddamn aloe. Aaron’s giving the couple weekly checkups, his senses for feeling cell growth and death exponentially helpful in updating Dan on the status of her baby. 

Matt is glowing when he steps out of the exam room, Dan in tow. “All good,” he says to Andrew, smiling. Andrew waves him off, hands covered in sticky aloe gel. He’s glad for them, though. Dan had a hard time getting pregnant, and they’re both determined to raise a child who never has to see the same hardships they did growing up. Andrew couldn’t care less about the couple, but he’s never turned away a child. 

Andrew turns his attention back to the leaves in front of him. Harvesting aloe is a process, but it’s worth it since Aaron makes the best burn salve out of calendula and aloe, which brings a solid profit, what with the old ladies burning themselves cooking and young kids tossing Kevin’s firecracker spells at each other. 

He’s separating aloin from the gel itself, two large bowls in front of him filling up with slime, when someone knocks on the door. “Come in,” Andrew says, his hands covered in goop. 

The door opens, and someone steps in. “Hi, uh,” they say. “You’re Andrew?” They’re new in town. Everyone knows who Andrew is, even if that knowledge is solely paired with the words don’t bother him.  

“Yep,” Andrew says, turning to face the newcomer. And immediately resents the fact that his hands are absolutely covered in goop. Wymack’s new hire, Andrew presumes, based on the bag slung over his shoulder, is gorgeous. His hair is windswept and his eyes are bright, but Andrew eyes the board tucked under his arm with suspicion. “You are?” he asks, wiping the aloe on his hands off with a towel. 

“Neil,” he says. “I work for Wymack.” Ah, so Andrew’s suspicions were correct. Wymack did find someone to replace Seth, after he found a more stable job two towns over, working for Rhemann as a carpenter. “I have the serum you ordered.” He rubs awkwardly at the side of his face, and Andrew focuses on the circular scars overlapping on his cheek, old dark magic, long since healed but impossible to remove. 

Andrew grunts and opens the register, pulling out a few bills and dropping them into Neil’s hand as Neil places the bag of bottles clinking merrily on the counter. “Tell the old fuck that I’ll have his goddamn milk thistle ready in a week.” Neil cocks his head at the strange plant name, but Andrew is far too used to it. 

“Got it,” Neil says, pocketing the cash and leaving quickly. Huh. Either he’s one flighty motherfucker or he picked up on the fact that today, Andrew just wants his plants. Well, that’s most days. 

Through the window, Andrew sees Neil flip the board down onto the ground and hop onto it. From what he saw, it’s Seth’s handiwork, cherry wood, sanded and polished to perfection. Neil rises into the air, only a few inches, and the board zips off, Neil leaning forward, the wind blowing his hood off as he leans into the acceleration. 

Andrew unpacks the growth serum, tucking it away under the counter for now, and resumes his work with the aloe. While he strips the gel out of the leaves, his mind is occupied with the newest arrival to Palmetto, an utter enigma, down to his magic. The plants tell him that Neil is safe, Neil is good, that Abby’s roses told the peonies told the ivy told the tulips told the cyclamen that he keeps his head low, that Matt and Dan have practically already adopted him. So Andrew works, and he thinks. 

---

Aaron watches Andrew diluting and spreading growth serum around the ginkgo tree in their backyard, pressing his hands to the ground and murmuring to the grass through the window of the small room that serves as his clinic. They’d eaten dinner in relative silence the night before, the both of them exhausted from the steps to prepare the salve, until Andrew had brought up Wymack’s new delivery boy. Neil, he had said the name was, and he had an honest-to-god hoverboard. Aaron’s intrigued since from Andrew’s description, this Neil character would have to be manipulating some field of energy, which Aaron expects Kevin is having a field day over.

Speaking of which. Aaron has the door open, so he hears Kevin clomp inside, boots heavy on the wood floor. Aaron finishes wiping down the table, no longer smelling like baby vomit after an unfortunate bout of stomach flu this morning, and walks into the back room, where Kevin’s getting comfy. Aaron joins him, rearranging things on the workbench to get started on some practice. Necromancy has always come easier to him than healing, and they’ve always wanted a cat, but are both allergic. So Aaron’s learning to reanimate bones, the same way he heals torn tissue, by feeling around for the cells and pushing some of his own energy into them. It’s exhausting, but in a good way, the way that lets him sleep without dreams and that leaves a comforting ache in his bones. And he gets to watch skeletons walk, observe them moving without any tendons or muscle. It’s intriguing. 

Kevin settles down in the armchair in the room, the one that Aaron and Andrew like to curl up in and read while the other works the front. “You’ve upgraded to mice,” Kevin comments as Aaron arranges the bones on the table.

“Hello to you too, Kev. Make yourself useful and dehydrate those flowers,” Aaron says, gesturing to the marigold buds that Andrew spread out yesterday. He cups his hands loosely over the mouse skeleton and pushes, coaxing at the dead cells and reminding them of what they used to be. He’s used this skeleton before, and it remembers him, so he needs less and less energy every time. It’s a good sign, considering the fact that he’s drained after an hour of practice and they want a cat that’s more than a pile of bones all the time. Soon enough, the mouse is skittering across the table, up onto Aaron’s arms. It takes a tumble from his hand back to the surface of the table, and the bones scatter, still humming to Aaron with energy. He puts them back in place and the mouse slowly reanimates, making a more adventurous climb up into Aaron’s hair. 

He hears Kevin rubbing his hands together, then a deep exhale as the room begins to warm. Kevin admitted to liking it when they need his help with drying things out, as in the spring and summer he has to hold in the radiant heat that wants to escape from his body. Aaron shrugs off his sweater as the temperature creeps higher and higher. He’s got a lot of energy today, probably from all of the trees shedding their leaves. Decay, as gross as it may smell and look, brings him an added boost, so the fall months come with extra productivity for him. He grabs a second skeleton and animates a friend for his first mouse. 

“You’ve gotten good,” Kevin comments, tossing a spark back and forth between his fingertips. “You’re not straining as much.”

Aaron blinks away from the mice tumbling over each other. “What do you mean, I’m not straining anymore?” He asks. He’s never consciously noticed any sort of strain while he reanimates bones, just the core-deep exhaustion he feels when he reaches his limit. Everything’s fine until it’s not.

“Your shoulders are looser,” Kevin says, “and your jaw isn’t as clenched. And you don’t look like you need a nap after ten minutes of working.” Aaron blushes and scratches at his bicep. It’s one thing for Kevin to hang out with him while he practices, another thing entirely for him to notice Aaron’s habits. 

“Yeah, well,” Aaron huffs. “I’ve been practicing every day.” Kevin hums, and they both go back to their work. Well, Aaron goes back to focusing on the mice, and Kevin closes his eyes, radiating heat through the room. 

Aaron gets in about twenty more minutes of practice until he’s decently tired from pushing and pulling energy from the mice when Andrew steps inside, stomping his boots by the front door to brush off the dirt he collected from the garden. “Bee came by,” he half yells at Aaron. “She brought honey cake.” 

Aaron coaxes the mice to separate from one another and tucks each skeleton back into a small, cloth-lined box, to protect their fragile ribs and limbs. “Kev,” he says, suppressing a smile as Kevin blinks and yawns, drowsy in the warmth of the room, “you want honey cake?” 

Kevin stands up and stretches, nose scrunching as his spine pops and cracks. “Sure,” he says, making his way to the kitchen.

Andrew already has three plates out, loading honey cake onto them, three layers with sweet whipped cream in the middle. Bee, the goddamn psychic, must have seen three people in their house, as there’s more than enough cake for all of them, plus leftovers that Andrew puts in the fridge. 

Aaron grabs forks from a drawer and distributes them. Andrew takes his plate and leaves, headed upstairs, likely going to check on his other plants that adorn their staircase, making their house feel like a jungle. Or he’s going to nap. Probably both.

Kevin makes it through about five bites of cake, leaning against the counter, before he drops his fork and hisses. “Shit,” he mutters. “ Ow.”

Aaron puts down his plate. “What’s up?” He can feel the slightest energy draining out of Kevin’s fingers, the teeniest amounts of death pushing his way. 

“Nothing,” Kevin says, wincing. “I just. Forgot to pull back and the fork is metal and it heated up and burned me and I normally use wooden forks to avoid this kind of stuff. I wasn’t paying attention.” He shakes his head. “It was a stupid mistake.”

Aaron grabs his burned hand. “Nothing stupid about it,” he says, gently probing at the energy coming from the tissue, redirecting the heat elsewhere, allowing it to disperse through his own hand at a rate that won’t cause any damage. For added measure, he pushes a bit of his own energy into Kevin’s fingertips, speeding up cell growth for a few hours, preventing Kevin’s hand from blistering. “Anyways, this is my job. Don’t apologize for taking a nap and forgetting things. It happens to all of us.” He tugs Kevin over to the sink, sticks his hand under cold water, and starts rummaging around for the tin of burn cream in the cabinet. “Gimme,” he says, grabbing Kevin’s hand again and rubbing some burn cream into it. “You just have to manage the burn before it damages tissue deeper in your skin and fucks up nerves. This will help.”

“I know,” Kevin says. “Wymack stocks a bunch of it for me when I’m training. And Neil is,” he trails off. “Accident prone, to say the least.” 

Aaron huffs out a laugh. “The more I hear about him, the less I want to meet him.” He’s still holding Kevin’s hand, he realizes, gently rubbing burn cream into his fingers, even though it’s long been absorbed into his skin. 

“That’s probably for the best,” Kevin chuckles softly, his cheekbones flushing. Andrew has teased Aaron relentlessly about the fact that the two of them are both too chicken to make a move, despite the overwhelming evidence that they’re mutually interested in each other. They stand there, blushing, and Kevin’s other hand lifts to rest on Aaron’s shoulder, gently stroking back and forth. For a split second, Aaron considers looping an arm around Kevin’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss. 

But then Andrew comes trotting down the stairs and stops in the doorway. “Oh,” he says, deadpan. “Am I interrupting a moment of sexual tension or do I just have lactose intolerance.”

They spring apart, and Kevin barks out a laugh. “Seriously?” He says, picking up his honey cake once again. “Do you have a sixth sense for this shit?” Andrew gestures to the plants around them. “Oh. I guess you do, root brain,” Kevin says, narrowly dodging a pebble Andrew throws at his head. Aaron doesn’t need to know why Andrew’s taken to carrying small rocks, so he finishes his cake and turns to Kevin.

“Anything you need to do today?” Aaron asks. “Besides antagonize me and my brother, of course.”

“As a matter of fact,” Kevin says, a glint in his eye. “There are some deliveries I need to make. Care to join me?”

“Sure,” Aaron grins. And that’s how they end up spending the rest of the day walking through Palmetto, delivering groceries to the elderly residents living along Perimeter Road, their shoulders bumping as they carry the sacks full of flour and butter and eggs and vegetables. It’s nice.

---

All of the leaves have fallen off the ginkgo tree. Andrew collected plenty, had Kevin bring over extra vodka from Wymack’s, and is now steeping several liters of ginkgo tincture under his bed. The plants are slower as the weather gets colder, and their gradual death brings Andrew a bit of a boost, but soon enough it’ll fade out to almost nothingness, and the exhaustion will set in. At least this summer, he propagated dozens of indoor plants and they’ve been thriving. Keeping them inside, hanging from the ceiling and occupying all of the empty space on his bookshelves, they keep his energy slightly up. 

Regardless, as the weather gets colder, Palmetto wakes up later and later. It means Andrew can sleep in later, tend to his plants in the golden afternoon light rather than the crisp morning air, open the shop later with a mug of hot chocolate or tea in his hands. 

He had a lovely, slow morning this morning. Aaron woke up with a stuffy nose, a side effect of seeing so many kids who’ve come down with colds as they spend more time inside the small schoolhouse, Abby teaching them their times tables and how to spell preposterous.  

It’s misty outside, yet another reason for Andrew to wrap one of Renee’s quilts around him and drink copious amounts of hot chocolate. Foggy days always seem to worm themselves into his brain, wrapping damp fingers around the delicate roots interlacing around his brain. 

Really, Kevin’s joke that he’s a “root brain” is right. Aaron placed his hand on Andrew’s head one day, as he was learning to sense the energy of cells, and he jumped when he apparently sensed the same energy that he felt in the plants inside Andrew’s head. He’s not surprised. The plants have spoken to him for as long as he can remember, and he hasn’t had an aneurysm yet.

On the topic of aneurysms. Neil’s sitting on the counter, drinking Andrew’s homegrown hibiscus tea, thumping his socked heels against the wood that runs to the ground. No one is really busy today, considering that no tourists are interested in Palmetto’s occult happenings if it means getting their hair wet and the residents have decided that they can wait until tomorrow for things like groceries. The scent of wood smoke, thick and warm, followed Neil in when he arrived with three muffins and a bag of chocolate for Andrew, courtesy of Wymack. 

They’re not really talking. It’s not a great day for Andrew, he’s just tired. The hot chocolate helps, and the plants are lending him some of their energy, and he keeps whispering thank yous to them. Neil seems content to sip at his tea and look at all of the plants, gently swaying in Andrew’s presence. He’s been coming by pretty much every day, in the break between scheduled morning deliveries and the more erratic deliveries in the afternoon, grandmothers who didn’t know they were out of sugar and new parents who ran out of baby formula. 

The bell above the door chimes and the wood smoke smell blows in, thicker than it was two hours ago. Andrew looks up from his book and sees that Neil is perked up, eyebrows raised as he inspects the new arrivals. It’s Renee and Allison, taking off their coats and hanging them up on the pegs next to the door. Renee bends down and comes up with another coat, and then Andrew hears excited footsteps running towards the open portion of the counter. 

“Uncle Andy!” Cecil shouts and then lowers her tone when she sees the quiet exhaustion in Andrew’s eyes. He suspects that in a year or so, once she reaches adolescence, she’s going to display some serious psychic tendencies and start working with Bee. For now, her increased perception is just helpful. He doesn’t have to verbally state his boundaries every time. 

Andrew sets his book down, placing his mug on top of it. He turns his palms right side up, and Cecil climbs into his lap, leaning against his chest. “Hello, See-Saw,” he says. “What did Miss Winfield teach you today?” 

She screws up her nose at the nickname, but this is how it always goes. “Well,” Cecil begins, “I learned how to divide things and that the sky is blue because the sun makes it work like Uncle Aaron’s glasses and a haiku is a poem that goes five-seven-five!” She finishes, looking proud of herself. Neil’s looking at Andrew with an odd expression on his face, half-amused by Andrew’s patient demeanor with the overexcited nine-year-old. 

“Very impressive,” Andrew says, and he means it. Cecil is hungry for knowledge, and on days where both Allison and Renee need to work, he lets her sit in the shop, reading his books about plants or Aaron’s medical textbooks. “Hi,” he finally says to Renee. 

“Hello Andrew,” she says, a serene smile on her face as she watches her daughter tap out an irregular beat on Andrew’s thigh, “How are things?” She asks as she flicks her gaze to Neil. Andrew had told her, over a cup of tea last Saturday while she spun wool, that Neil was new and interesting, and that was it . Of course, they’ve known each other long enough for Renee to not need psychic powers to know what Andrew means. Neil is attractive, he respects Andrew’s boundaries, and he provides genuinely interesting conversation. They spent an entire hour with Aaron and Kevin, discussing how Neil’s magic worked as Aaron took notes. The four came to the conclusion that Neil essentially makes his own tiny electromagnetic fields, enabling him to hover his board and toss tiny spheres of dust and leaves around. They spent three hours talking, and Andrew didn’t even feel the time passing. 

“Things are alright,” he says, pushing Cecil off his lap and gesturing at the shop, letting her run around and look at the plants and books and tinctures. She grabs her own personal notebook and pen to write down all the words she doesn’t know, before getting lost in the plants, her curly, grayish-blonde hair a beacon amidst all the green. Andrew stands, letting the blanket fall onto his chair. “How are the sheep?”

Renee smiles. “They’re well. They appreciated the boost you gave their hay, it had them in good spirits for the rest of the week. They want to know if you like the quilt, and I think that answer is obvious.”

“How did you know,” Andrew says, completely monotone. Neil clears his throat awkwardly, and Andrew raises one eyebrow at him. “Neil, Renee and Allison. Renee and Allison, Neil.”

“We own the sheep farm behind Betsy’s shop,” Allison says. “Nice to finally meet you.” She extends one strong, elegant hand to Neil, and they shake.

“Finally?” Neil asks, cocking his head. He really reminds Andrew of a fox, sharp and calculating, but latching onto the stupidest comments. 

“Oh, yeah,” Allison says, a shit-eating grin on her face, “Andrew spent like, two hours bitching to Renee about you over the weekend. It was funny.”

Neil huffs out a ghost of a laugh, the closest he ever really gets to laughing, and levels Andrew an amused look. “Oh really? Tell me more.” He says conspiratorially. 

Andrew abandons the conversation in favor of finding Cecil and batting her hand away from the plant she’s reaching out to stroke the leaves of, running her fingers along the spikes. “That one’s off-limits.” He says gently.

“Oh,” she says, reaching into the front pocket of her overall dress and pulling out her notebook and pen, “What is it then?”

“Uh,” Andrew eloquently mutters, waving a hand in Renee’s general direction since he can’t flip off her tinkling laughter. How does one tell a nine-year-old child that they are growing weed in the front room of their shop? He would grow it in the greenhouse, but it’s kind of an obnoxious plant that bitched about the sunlight until Andrew found it a window that was just right. Not his fault it was right next to the front door. He gently takes her notebook and writes cannabaceae in it, and shows her the word. “That’s the family the plant is in.”

“Can-uh-bee-see,” Cecil says, and whoops proudly when Andrew nods at her. “Thanks!” She says brightly, and Andrew ruffles her hair before she goes off to inspect the tinctures and salves Aaron keeps lined up in a glass case. 

“I’m gonna tell her,” Kevin says from the doorway to the backroom. He’s blushing as Aaron ducks under his arm, shoving him gently.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he mutters. “Hey Alli. Hey Renee. Tea? We had the pot on just a little while ago.” They nod and he disappears to the kitchen. 

Andrew watches Cecil’s hair swish through the air as her head snaps to face Kevin. “Kevie!” She shouts, and runs towards him, expertly dodging all of Andrew’s plant pots and creeping vines. She laughs as he scoops her up, propping her on his hip. ‘Kevie’ is a nickname from when Cecil was much younger, but it’s stuck, and in turn, Kevin still picks her up and gives her endless piggyback rides. It takes a village, Andrew supposes. “What are you doing here?”

“Hanging out with Aaron,” Kevin says, blushing again.

“ Sure, ” Allison drawls and Renee laughs into her fist. Neil even looks amused. Aaron and Kevin think they’re slick, but they’re not that quiet for that long while they stay in the backroom. According to Neil’s bright eyes, Kevin’s spilled some secrets that Aaron has neglected to share. Whatever. Andrew doesn’t need to know about his brother’s sex life.

Speaking of which, Aaron wanders back in, four mugs of tea dangling from his fingers, remnants of their teenage jobs working in Eden’s, a cafe a few towns over. He hands off two to Renee, holds on to one for himself and gives the last one to Kevin, who accepts it gratefully. Aaron narrows his eyes at Cecil. “Oh,” he says, “it’s you.”

“Oh,” she parrots, “it’s you. Yech.” Aaron snorts and fucks up her hair, and she does the same to him. Allison flicks three fingers and a whirl of wind efficiently whisks the knots in Cecil’s hair out, fucking up Aaron’s hair even more. Cecil giggles and the plants smile in Andrew’s mind.  

Neil hops off the table and wanders to the kitchen to get more tea as Aaron, Allison, and Kevin strike up their conversation about their bet on whether Wymack and Abby are going to actually get married. It’s been a hot topic for months, with more evidence gathered every day. It’s not so much a bet of if, but more a bet of when at this point . Andrew ignores them and goes to tend to an asparagus fern, listening as Renee follows Neil into the kitchen. He hears her settle against the counter as Neil pours himself more hot water and searches for more of the loose-leaf hibiscus that Andrew’s started keeping closer to the front of the cabinet. 

“So,” Renee says, gently, “Andrew.”

“Yeah,” Neil says, his tone stiff and awkward.

“He doesn’t do casual,” she warns. Andrew hears her grab a spoon and add a bit of sugar to her tea. Aaron never gets hers quite right. Health freak. 

“Neither do I,” Neil says, defensiveness leaking into his tone. Something at the back of Andrew’s neck tingles, and he’s learned that it’s Neil’s agitation, fucking with the fields of energy around him. 

“Glad we’re on the same page, then.” Andrew can hear the smile in Renee’s voice. “Andrew is…” she trails off. “He’s been through a lot. That’s his story to tell. Just treat him kindly,” she finishes. “He deserves it.” Andrew’s fingers clench around the fern, and he only releases it when the fern twinges in slight pain. He goes back to removing dead stems. Even after years of recovery, of talking with Bee, it’s still hard for him to accept that yes, he deserves good things, he deserves a chance at a life that fulfills him, instead of a life where surviving is a necessity. But slowly, he’s indulging in things like talking to the cute delivery boy, propagating plants that he likes because he likes them, not because they’re useful in any way, honey cake and tarot cards in Bee’s living room and Renee’s soft wool sweaters and quilts, trading gossip with Allison over hot mugs of tea and throwing pebbles at his brother. 

He sees Cecil yawn out of the corner of his eye, and starts packing up Renee’s order for the sheep and Allison’s collection of tinctures that she swears by (how could she not, Aaron imbues all of them with anti-aging properties). They get sent on their way, walking home in the light drizzle, and Aaron notifies Neil that he can take over afternoon orders. It’s another way for him to be with Kevin, and they’ll likely sneak off to Kevin’s place (that he shares with Neil) to do whatever they’ve been desecrating the backroom with for the past week. 

And so Neil and Andrew are left alone. It’s different, this time. They’ve spent a lot of time one-on-one, they were doing it this morning before everyone showed up and decided to have a social hour in the middle of the shop. Neil’s fidgeting with his sleeves. Just like Andrew’s aware of all of the plants around him, white noise until he tunes in to it, Neil is perceptive to the fields of energy around people. He definitely knew Andrew was right next to the door, within hearing distance. He’s blushing. It’s cute, Andrew thinks, and then mentally slaps himself. He’s made a rule with his mind that he’s not allowed to pine after Neil when they’re in the same room, as it will inevitably lead to itching around his scalp and blush covering his neck and chest. Instead, he just bites the bullet. “When did you figure it out?” He asks.

Neil looks up at him, looks away, and then looks back. “A few days ago,” he says, voice even. “Kevin was talking about Aaron and I just,” he trails off, staring at a plant behind Andrew’s head. “I realized.” The plants get louder in Andrew’s head, willing to lend him energy, asking if he’s alright. He pushes them away. Neil continues. “I don’t think that I started to feel it then, I think I just figured out what words were attached with it when Kevin was waxing fucking poetic about your brother.”

Andrew feels shaky, so he clenches his fists until he feels his knuckles go white, grounding himself in the slight bite of his nails pressing into his palms. “You feel what.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “You know what I’m talking about.” He’s blushing too, and the plants are asking Andrew if Neil is alright now. He mentally waves them off again and wishes, not for the first time, that his brain could be disconnected from the network that the plants are tuned in to. 

“I want to hear you say it.” It’s hard for Andrew to get that word, want, out of his mouth. It’s hard, even after years of learning that he is allowed to want, to admit that he does. Also, teasing Neil has quickly climbed the ranks to become his favorite pastime. 

Neil rolls his eyes, but when his gaze settles on Andrew once more, his eyes are fond. “Asshole,” he mutters. “Fine. I like you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Andrew cocks his head and flops into his chair. Neil spins on the counter to face him. “Hm. Awfully vague. Elaborate,” Andrew says, gesturing one hand with a flourish. Neil told him once that he had a ‘penchant for dramatics’ and Andrew has subsequently never let it go. 

Neil kicks a leg out and pokes Andrew’s knee with a socked foot. The touch is fleeting, but it makes Andrew feel like he’s a tuning fork that’s just been struck. Thank the stars for a strong sense of self-control , he thinks. “You’re going to be the death of me. I hate you,” Neil says around a smile, as Andrew nods. Neil takes a deep breath, and his cheeks darken. “But I also want to hold your hand and kiss you and cuddle in your mountain of blankets and go apple picking and know every part of you. Renee was right. You deserve good stuff in your life and Kevin’s been on my ass about the fact that I should actively pursue things that make me happy. And you make me happy. Is that enough?” Neil crosses his arms, guarding himself. 

Andrew feels like someone slammed a tree branch into his gut. He feels like he’s just poured all of his energy into the greenhouse after an unexpected cold snap. Yes, Andrew’s been wanted before. He’s been desired and told how perfect he is for someone else, but Neil’s words are different. They aren’t about Andrew, they aren’t about Neil, they’re about the nebulous energy that exists between the two of them that they can both control. “Can I kiss you,” Andrew says, pulling at that energy and feeling it follow him. “Yes or no.”

Neil scoffs. “The fuck did I just say?” He laughs softly, meeting Andrew’s eyes with a seriousness that screams I know, a yes is important to you, I understand. “Yes, Andrew, kiss me,” Neil says, reaching out. 

Andrew gets up and steps into Neil’s space, pausing a breath from his lips, a last chance to back out. Neil presses forward, and his lips are warm and soft. Andrew pulls Neil’s hands up to rest in his hair, and they immediately start ruffling it, scratching his scalp in the way Andrew admitted to liking a week ago. 

He places his hands on Neil’s face, stroking over the scars, the skin smooth under his touch. There’s no magic in the kiss. Andrew knows what Neil’s magic feels like, and it’s only tangible in the ever-present fields Neil generates around his hands. This, the feeling between them, it’s something completely new, completely their own. Andrew quite likes it. 

They kiss with closed mouths, soft and warm, until Andrew shivers, the dampness of the day finally intruding far enough into the building to affect him, no longer shielded by his thick blanket. Neil pulls away, eyes warm, and loops his hands around the back of Andrew’s neck. “You good?” he asks. 

“Cold,” Andrew mutters, pulling away and grabbing Neil’s hand. “Come on. You mentioned blankets.”

They spend the rest of the afternoon watching the light change in Andrew’s room, three floors up, pressed together under a pile of soft wool blankets. Andrew points out every plant in his room, introduces them to Neil, tells Neil what it feels like to be wired into a different concept of consciousness. In turn, Neil makes Andrew’s hair stand up on end, bounces tiny sparks of electricity between his palms, levitates pebbles and manipulates their gravity, knocking them together. They kiss, wrapped up in warmth, and Andrew thinks to himself, quietly, that he could get used to this. That maybe, just maybe, he deserves it. 

---

Neil’s the one who suggests it, surprisingly. Apples and pumpkins are both in season, and Neil is enamored with the concept of picking apples, citing stealing from orchards while running from murderous family members as “not counting.” Andrew thrives wherever there are trees, and since the day that Aaron saw Renee giving Neil the Talk, he’s been surprisingly pliant, indulging Neil in many new things. 

Aaron doesn’t mind. If Neil’s at their house, he can be with Kevin and not have to worry about being walked in on. Andrew gave him a look, Aaron gave him one right back, and that was that. Their deal’s been off for years, ever since they opened the shop together and Aaron promised that he wasn’t running, he wasn’t leaving, he was actively going to try to get better and stay that way. 

Sometimes, though, he wishes he did. Like now, as the long grass squishes under his boots and the foggy air wiggles its way through his coat. Kevin seems unaffected as he always does, radiating heat and evaporating all of the dampness away from his skin. Andrew seems to be doing fine, the grass parting minutely for him as to not soak his toes. Even Neil looks happier than he has in days, floating gently along on his board. Aaron’s the only one who’s suffering, truly. 

He huffs, the bag he’s holding swinging from his left wrist, his hands tucked into his pockets. Without taking his eyes off the trees, Kevin taps his right arm and grabs his hand when Aaron reluctantly pulls it from his pocket.

Kevin is a fucking radiator regardless of if he’s using his magic or not, but Aaron feels a blanket of warmth seep from his hand, under his coat, around his waist, down his legs and up his neck. Kevin’s magic feels beautifully soft, and it makes Aaron sleepy, even as he feels mist collecting in his hair and Neil’s occasional comments on just how many trees there are. Andrew indulges him, murmuring back as the grass waves in his wake, imbued with a bit of residual energy. Aaron rolls his eyes. It’s a fucking orchard, what did he expect?

Picking apples is surprisingly fun. Aaron twists one off a tree, remembering Andrew’s bored instructions for how to respect the trees, and immediately takes a bite. Ordinarily, a fresh apple is something close to a religious experience, in Aaron’s opinion, but he can also draw energy from something so freshly alive. Kevin’s standing next to him, reaching for a big, juicy apple. Absentmindedly, the energy of the apple buzzing around his veins, he swallows the bite and says, “Being a vampire would be really easy for me,” and Kevin wheezes.

“It would what?” He laughs, grabbing the apple and dropping it in his bag. “Back up, what the fuck are you thinking about?” Kevin’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, and that’s all Aaron can think about for a moment. 

“You’re beautiful when you’re happy,” he says, softly, and Kevin smiles just a little wider, cheeks dimpling, and he kisses Aaron on the top of the head. 

“You’re beautiful all the time, you know that?” Now it’s Aaron’s turn to blush, because Kevin called him beautiful, said he was beautiful out loud, not just tucked away in his bed, whispering it into the curve of Aaron’s neck. “So why were you thinking about being a vampire?”

Aaron waves the apple, then takes another bite. “Gives me energy,” he says through a mouthful of apple, “all recently alive stuff does. So, vampires.” 

“Makes sense,” Kevin mutters to himself. “You’re not gonna eat me, are you?” Aaron sticks the apple in his mouth and goes up on his tiptoes to reach another one.

“Oul un eem uh eh,” he says around the apple, and then takes it out of his mouth. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he properly enunciates. 

Kevin scoffs and walks off. “You’re disgusting,” he yells over his shoulder, “I don’t even know why I associate with you.” 

Aaron jogs to catch up with him, tangling his fingers with Kevin’s. “You love me, that’s why.” It doesn’t even register that he’s said it, said the word they’ve so carefully avoided, until Kevin’s steps falter.

His hand tightens around Aaron’s. “Yeah,” he says, quietly, “I do.” Aaron stops, dropping his barely-full bag of apples on the ground, looping his arms around Kevin’s neck, pulling him until their noses meet. He presses a quick kiss to Kevin’s lips, another to his nose, more to his cheeks and jaw, until Kevin’s laughing again, breathy and angelic.

Aaron picks up his neglected bag of apples and takes Kevin’s hand again. “Come on, let’s go find Andrew and Neil before they commit a crime.”

Kevin snorts. “Probably too late for that, but we can dream.”

Surprisingly, the two aren’t doing anything illegal. Aaron and Kevin walk up to them, hand in hand, as Andrew rolls his eyes and presses his palm against the side of the tree. 

Andrew is apathetic, truly, but the power he wields is impressive. For such a passive kind of magic, it hums in the air, washing over Aaron’s skin whenever Andrew is nearby and relaxed, or when he’s expending energy on the plants like he’s doing now. 

Andrew’s magic feels fresh and clean, and Aaron can practically see him pushing energy into the tree until one branch bends down, presenting a picture-perfect apple to Neil, who gently twists it off the tree. Andrew removes his hand from the tree, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. Neil takes a crunch out of the apple and then offers it to Andrew, who also takes a bite. Neil looks at Andrew, studying his face in a way that makes Aaron feel like he’s intruding on something private, then turns to them and says, “We’re going to go get cider and donuts,” shaking his full bag of apples. 

“We’ll meet you there,” Kevin confirms. As Neil and Andrew walk away, he leans in close to Aaron. “Hey,” he whispers, lips brushing Aaron’s ear. “Wanna go climb a tree?”

Aaron looks up, and there’s a playful glint in Kevin’s eye. “Fuck yeah,” he says, quickly scanning the row for a tree. There’s one, branches hanging low, easily accessible footholds, and plenty of dips to sit in. Aaron takes off running towards it, and he hears Kevin follow.

Climbing the tree itself is a bit arduous. Aaron needs Kevin to pick him up by the waist to give him a boost, which he happily does, resting his hands on Aaron’s hips a second longer than he needs to, until Aaron blushes. 

They end up sitting on opposite branches of the tree, holding on to the damp bark and admiring their new vantage point. “Do you think we’ll get in trouble?” Kevin asks.

“Nah,” Aaron says. “It’s not like we’re doing crimes.” Kevin snorts at that. Even though sitting in a tree isn’t technically illegal, it still feels a bit illicit. Aaron might be a medical “professional” now, but he’s still got years worth of experience in running from various authorities, relics of his teenage years. 

“Okay,” Kevin says, sitting back in the little chair shaped divot he’s found in the tree. He looks content, shoulders relaxed, magic permeating the air around him. Aaron’s struck by the difference between his Kevin and the Kevin that came into town during the literal witching hour, clutching a broken hand, his magic fraying at the seams, sparking around his shaking body, burning anyone who tried to touch him. 

Aaron’s overwhelmed with the urge to kiss Kevin right between his eyebrows, right where he furrows them when he’s frustrated or working hard on something. So he does, picking his way across the branches of the tree until he can bend down and press a kiss there. 

Aaron and Kevin, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g, his brain unhelpfully supplies. It doesn’t matter, because Kevin’s grabbing Aaron’s face and kissing every inch of it, feather-light, his smile pressing against Aaron’s skin until he giggles. “Why?”

“Oh, I thought we were kissing things we thought were gorgeous,” Kevin says simply. Aaron’s heart fucking explodes. He’s been called a lot of things, gross, worthless, talented, hot, disgraceful, a pretty okay brother, but he’s never really been called gorgeous.

“Shut the fuck up,” Aaron says, leaning in for a kiss. And another. And another. 

They kiss until Aaron starts to shiver and Kevin’s shifting a bit from the bark digging into his back, which really isn’t that long, but they resolve to go and get some cider to warm up. 

They pick apples on the way back, pulling branches back to try and smack the other in the face, and find Andrew and Neil curled in some chairs on the porch of the farmstand, sipping hot cider as Andrew works his way through a bag of donuts. Aaron steals one and just barely manages to avoid Andrew’s irritated swat at him, stuffing it in his mouth as he goes to find Kevin and get his own cider. 

There are pumpkins of all shapes and sizes, set out in front of the farmstand. Aaron, warm from the cider and Kevin’s ever-present heat, ventures into the thick of them, set on finding a good pumpkin to carve. Neil joins him, and they discuss the merits of squat versus tall pumpkins, flat-sided versus round, and the ideal thing to carve on them.

Andrew walks through the pumpkins, then selects the ugliest, bumpiest pumpkin he can find, carrying it over to the sugar pumpkins to pick some out for Bee to make a pie with. Neil settles on a generally round one, Aaron picks a long pumpkin, citing a desire to carve The Scream onto it. Kevin takes a “perfect” pumpkin, and they pay, stacking the pumpkins on Neil’s board and floating them back home as they debate the legality of hypothetically climbing trees in an apple orchard. Turns out, it’s not illegal, but if they want to go back to the orchard they probably shouldn’t get caught doing it.

Pumpkin carving turns the kitchen into a disaster. Sure, they have two large bowls for seeds and pumpkin guts, but somehow, the floor still gets slippery and Neil ends up with pumpkin guts in his hair. Andrew carves a jaggedy, wicked smile, all precise cuts, and needle-like teeth that Aaron knows will be terrifying at night with a candle inside it. His Scream looks more like a blob with eyes, and Kevin jokingly assures him that it’s terrifying nonetheless, though he does ask if it’s a ghost caught in the middle of melting when he first sees it. Aaron smears pumpkin seeds on his shirt for that comment. 

Neil is concerningly adept with a knife, and his rendition of his and Kevin’s cat Benvolio is surprisingly accurate. He’s even got the concept of shading down by scraping back some of the pumpkin, enhancing her calico spots and the leash around her neck because Neil and Kevin had to get a cat that likes to go for fucking walks. Kevin makes the most stereotypical pumpkin face, triangle eyes, jagged teeth, and he’s incredibly proud of it. He deserves to be.

They line the pumpkins up in front of the front door, candles flickering in them, a lopsided family of faces and one cat, and Neil and Andrew disappear back inside to “wash the pumpkin guts out of Neil’s hair.” So Aaron and Kevin decide to walk back to Kevin’s house. 

Benvolio demands kisses and treats when they arrive, payment for abandoning her for a few hours, forcing them to prove that yes , they still love her, and no , they didn’t forget she existed. Kevin gets the treats out of a high-up cupboard while Aaron distracts the cat with head scratches. They take turns feeding her, and Aaron finds some leftovers in the fridge that he hands to Kevin to heat up. 

They eat, feet knocking into each other, perched on one of the counters. Benvolio plays with a stray sock in the corner of the kitchen and then switches to hunting Aaron’s feet as he kicks them back and forth. It’s blissfully quiet. Their entire day was filled with the faint sounds of children screeching and laughing, and while Aaron doesn’t mind hearing kids enjoying themselves, he’s always been partial to calmer, more personal spaces. Like this. Where he doesn’t need to talk with Kevin, they can just lean against each other, eating their noodles and bumping their ankles together. 

There are two slices of apple pie in the fridge. They split one, eating off the same fork, passing it back and forth, and Aaron remarks on all of the herbs sitting on the windowsill, how they’re growing well. Rosemary, thyme, chives, basil, and mint. There’s a bottle of plant food that has their shop’s logo stamped on the cork, one of Andrew’s concoctions, and Kevin puffs up with pride, which is quickly replaced with a yawn. 

Dishes end up in the sink to be dealt with in the morning. Kevin scoops Benvolio’s litter box, then drags Aaron into the bathroom to shower off the dampness and general gunk of the day. There are residual pumpkin guts dried onto their arms, and Aaron would rather eat mud than get in bed like that. They don’t do anything in the shower except lean against each other. Kevin bends down to let Aaron wash his hair, and Aaron returns the favor. One day, much like this one, a week or two ago, Kevin had curled up with Aaron and admitted that the feeling of gentle hands in his hair was something he could never get enough of. Aaron had shyly admitted he liked the feeling too. So now, in the shower, they wash each other’s hair. It’s natural, like breathing. They shower together, they wash each other’s hair, they towel off together and giggle at how their hair sticks up, making them look like damp porcupines. 

Kevin tosses a pair of Aaron’s sweatpants that have made a home in his drawer at his chest. Aaron pulls them on and crawls into bed, wrapping layers of blankets around himself as Kevin turns off lights and makes sure Benvolio’s situated and finally, finally, worms his way into bed with Aaron, wriggling through the blanket nest until their bare chests meet. Kevin, with fire simmering under his skin, is a perfect match for Aaron, the ultimate heat sink. They can stay wrapped in blankets all night long, and as long as Kevin has his back exposed to the night air, neither of them overheat. 

There’s a pitter-patter of footsteps, a thump at the end of the bed, and then a tentative “mrow?” As Benvolio pokes at Kevin’s leg before getting comfy at the end of the bed. “I swear to fuck,” Kevin mutters into Aaron’s hair, “I’m never having kids if this is what they’re like.”

“Do you have to scoop litter for kids?” Aaron jokes, muffling a yawn into the pillow under him. 

Kevin laughs, bright and soft. “No, but you’ve gotta change their diapers and I think that’s worse.” One of his hands threads itself into Aaron’s hair, and the other fumbles around for Aaron’s hand, squeezing three times when they find each other. “Sleep now, discuss children later.”

“Mm.” Aaron squeezes back four times. “For what it’s worth, Kev,” he pauses, the words rising in his throat, “I love you too.” Kevin’s hand tightens in his hair for a split second, and then he relaxes.

“I know. G’night, Aaron.”

“Night, baby,” Aaron whispers, and Kevin huffs at the pet name but pulls Aaron closer all the same. Benvolio shifts at the foot of the bed then stands up and tucks herself behind Aaron’s legs, purring. 

Aaron falls asleep quickly. How could he not? He’s warm and safe, nothing can hurt him here.

And he wakes up, arms wrapped around Kevin, whose face is buried in Aaron’s chest, snoring softly, Aaron’s first thought of the day is that yes, this is what love feels like.

Bee delivers them pumpkin pie and fresh whipped cream, and Kevin’s nose scrunches in the cutest way when Aaron kisses a smudge of whipped cream off of it.