Archive of Our Own

“And what happens if I say yes?”

His voice feels miles away, but it’s his. It’s what he wants to know, deep down. Will this end with an answer?

The creature across from him stops breathing, and it was probably the wrong question to ask. They’re both surrounded by night, a darkness they’ve pushed themselves into, far too alluring to escape.

At this point, it’s impossible.

There’s the small tilt of the creature’s lips, the only thing visible in the shadows. It’s sharp enough to draw blood, but it’s losing the edge the closer he steps towards it. The air around him gets louder and louder, like wings beating in a storm.

“I’ll give you anything you want,” the creature, no, the raven says.

He falters in step at the raven’s reply, right before crossing the imaginary line before he reaches its perch. He feels like he’s already crossed it many times before, always putting a new one up to convince himself that he’s managed even an ounce of self-control. But he hasn’t. He hasn’t been strong enough in the slightest. The birdcage doesn’t have a lock for him, if it had any bars to begin with.

Still, he finds the need to be difficult. The raven is much the same, so he should appreciate it.

This game of theirs, neverending.

“What if I want nothing?”

The raven pauses, thinks, and then its mouth suddenly seems very human to him, soft and adoring in a way that’s unfathomable. “That can be arranged much more easily than you think.”

And yes, he doesn’t doubt it, but it makes his body seize up regardless.

The wind rushes at the invitation, and Andrew steps over the last line, realizing that’s the answer he craved all along.

The darkness tunnels until the black ink around them swirls into brilliant color.

--

Andrew stares out the window as his coffee brews, weighing the meaning of the dream. Already, he knows that’s a mistake. Dreams don’t have meaning, he’d trust a crystal ball sooner than any superstitious omens his sleep deprived mind might’ve conjured up.

But...it was enough to throw him.

For all the things Andrew is cursed to remember in excruciating detail, dreams have always escaped him. Normally, he never remembers his dreams; he’s not sure he dreams at all.

He knows he has nightmares, but only because he wakes up with a sense of terror and dread when they happen. He doesn’t remember the details, he can just kind of guess. This dream wasn’t like those though. His skin isn’t crawling, there are no ghosts of hands or the itch of paranoia which calls for isolation.

He feels...normal. But that’s inaccurate too. He feels light, warm, and it’s equally unsettling if he’s being honest.

The problem with remembering is that his mind is especially good at parsing through the details and connecting the dots.

So...knowing that...

“What about...Josten?”

It’s not hard to guess what, or who, his dream was about.

Andrew stops the brewer a second before the timer goes off, and sets the pot down on the marble countertop he had no interest in, but his family insisted on.

‘You’re making good money now, might as well spend it!’

And Andrew had rolled his eyes at Nicky then, and let him do as he pleased with the design. 

There’s a permanent mark on the slab now, something Andrew had taken pride in for the first month. So much anger, and a complete lack of direction led him to lash out at his own apartment. That’s what blindly signing a contract will do.

Now though, it’s out of habit, not spite.

Andrew sighs as he traces the darkened counter; he’s not sure where the effort to be contrarian went, but he finds he doesn’t miss it. He’s mellowed out considerably as a pro athlete without even meaning to.

He’ll never say he loves the job, but the money has allowed him to pursue things that actually make his life less dull. Trips to Germany, nice cars, his brother’s tuition, and even the little every day indulgences he had to budget for before.

He thought he’d settled into something close to contentment, or as close as he could get.

And then Nathaniel Wesninski showed up on his doorstep, and Andrew had to acknowledge he didn’t know the first thing about feelings after all.

He can feel his freeloading house guest smirk from across the room, and Andrew shakes off the sound of flapping wings from his mind.

He’s not dreaming right now, though Neil sure makes him feel like it.

Andrew turns to where the raven is sitting, tapping his leaking pen against the book of names he’d picked up from the thrift store below. His hands are stained with the black ink, but Neil seems unperturbed. He’s sending Andrew one of those vulnerable, hopeful looks, so unlike him. Neil is both what he would expect of an ex-raven, yet not at all.

When he wants to be, he can be obnoxious, combative, and cold. When they first met, sneers were a constant expression on Neil’s face, with a drop of haughtiness which never truly left.

It’s just...now there’s more. Much more, and it exceeds what Andrew can handle in ways he never thought possible.

Andrew repeats the name over and over in his head.

“Neil Josten.” Andrew tests it out on his tongue, and he swears he sees the moment Neil shivers. He doubts it’s because of the name itself, and that’s not Andrew being arrogant. Where other people have to work through brick and mortar to get even a small reaction out of Neil, Andrew need only tip his head a certain way.

Andrew swallows his first gulp of coffee even though it’s too hot, and fights through the burn. “Simple, don’t you think?”

It certainly doesn't carry the infamy of the Wesninski name, nor the history of the notorious Edgar Allen backliner.

Maybe that’s why Neil likes it. It’s fitting, so stupidly fitting. A way for Neil to reclaim the life that was robbed from him, to be...not no one, but someone he forged on his own.

Neil’s wry smile returns, a dangerous thing, because it usually means Neil is about to say something without thinking it through in the slightest. And there’s another thing that is so anti-raven, Andrew can’t take it. Neil has no control over his tongue.

“Well, that’s what happens when you don’t let me take yours,” Neil quips, and this time Andrew winces when the liquid goes down.

These are the moments where he wonders if dreams can predict the future, but he knows realistically, it’s just their mutual feelings coming to a head much sooner than he’d like, to the point where they’ve manifested in his goddamn sleep.

They haven’t talked about it, but maybe this is Neil telling him he no longer wants to avoid it. Andrew wants to think his position is clear.

But he’s no coward, so he raises his head to look Neil right in the eyes. Neil’s stare singes his insides, wide and boring into him. Andrew would scoff, if it were any other situation. Neil always thinks he can do that; like he can wring an answer or a reveal out of anyone if he just stares them down long enough.

He probably can, with other people. Andrew might joke that Riko sure trained Neil well, but he has a feeling this ferocity is all his to take credit for. Riko can make people bend and break with his influence, with his connections. That’s how he enforces his childish threats.

Neil never needed any of those cheap tricks.

That’s why Neil needs to get away, Andrew knows. He needs distance from it all, from Exy, Riko, the past. It’s also why it’s best Neil doesn’t jump from connection to connection.

Or, that’s what Andrew will continue to tell himself. Neil doesn’t need him, won’t need him, when this is over, so there’s no point in prolonging it.

“You don’t want mine,” Andrew says, maybe a bit too forcefully, but Neil doesn’t flinch. His eyes narrow, tracking Andrew as he moves across the room. It’s less a suggestion, and more of a very firm ‘don’t go there.’

Andrew doesn’t even take the time to let the implication weigh on him, to acknowledge Neil’s words for what they are. A confession.

They aren’t children, and they’re not ignorant anymore. They know what this is, but Andrew won’t let it go further than acknowledgement.

That’s why...he stopped touching Neil days ago. He’s not sure for whose sake.

Neil’s smile turns cold and unfriendly, his father’s smile, according to him. He’d been taught to embrace it, to rely on it.

“It scares people,” Neil had said, months before.

And yeah, probably. But to Andrew, it’s just as alluring as his soft smiles, his sex-drunk smiles, his frowns, his—

“You can’t have mine,” Andrew repeats, because he’ll unravel if that happens. Because he would absolutely let that happen, if Neil pushed him enough.

He can only cross so many lines before he runs out.

“Don’t tell me what I want,” Neil all but whispers, the edge of his mouth quirking up until his lips look uneven and pained. “That’s part of the deal, remember?”

And one of these days, Andrew has to stop making these deals. They tend to come back to bite him.

Then, Neil sighs, and a look of understanding crosses his features. This is why Andrew hates him, because as harsh as his words are, Neil is anything but forceful. If Andrew really turned him away, and told him to go, he would.

Neil is unreal like that. That’s why—

“Andrew, you just have to say no,” Neil tries again, gives Andrew an out. Because if Andrew says no, that he doesn’t want Neil like that, then Neil will stop. Neil always stops, never pushes when Andrew warns him. But Andrew hasn’t. Andrew has done nothing but open doors, and he doesn’t have the will to close this one either.

Not after the euphoria of that fucking dream. But that’s all it will ever be at this rate.

So he sidesteps the questions altogether.

“When I made that deal, I didn’t think my words would get so twisted,” Andrew shoots back, and Neil’s eyes narrow to slits, humorless laughter ringing awkwardly from his throat.

“Then maybe you should’ve thought harder about them.”

Andrew’s grip on his mug is close to shattering it, especially when Neil sighs a moment later. Andrew takes in the sigh like it’s cigarette smoke, leaning his head towards the ceiling and closing his eyes.

They’re bad at this now, arguing. They seldom do it anymore.

Perhaps that’s why the backliner gets up from his seat, hands probably still smudged and black, and flies from his cage. And that’s the part of the dream Andrew didn’t want to acknowledge. He’s not the cage, he happens to be the perch of Neil’s choosing.

Neil doesn’t have to touch Andrew for him to know he’s there. Andrew feels him in his space, because Neil seems to fit against him cozily in all aspects. It makes the situation all the more infuriating, and when Andrew opens his eyes, Neil’s blue ones glisten. Not with tears or anything disappointing, but with hope.

And he realizes Neil will never stop surprising him.

Neil searches Andrew’s face for an agonizingly long time before his shoulders settle, smile cryptic in that way Andrew can’t stand. And that, that is typical raven behavior. “I like the name,” Neil says, looking down at his hands. It’s oddly vulnerable, and shy, for someone who has stood in the spotlight for years.

Andrew’s heartbeat takes a minute to even out. Neil leans in, like he expects Andrew to cup the side of his face per usual, but Andrew refrains. He tries not to spiral down all over again when Neil pouts.

“Then it’s yours,” he manages eventually, and tugs on the sleeve of Neil’s full length armbands. Another gift, an accident, but one Andrew won’t take back. He kneads the fabric in his hand as the mantra starts up again. Neil Josten, Neil Josten, Neil Josten. “Just yours, no one else’s. That was my deal.”

The side of Neil’s lips quirk up again in a tired smirk, and again Andrew stops himself from kissing the expression away. “Technically, your deal was for me to make my own life.”

Little shit.

“I fail to see the difference.”

“I get to make my own life, and I will,” Neil powers on, swiping Andrew’s coffee from his hands. Andrew knows Neil well enough now to know the graze of his fingers over Andrew’s is deliberate, as is Neil’s decision to place his lips right where Andrew’s went. Neil swallows and sighs, like the cat with the cream. “That shouldn’t mean I can’t decide to share it.”

“I think you’ve shared enough,” Andrew quips, trying to be unkind. It’s a low blow, a reference to Neil’s wasted college years cooped up at The Nest and parading around as Riko’s entourage. For a long time, it was impossible for Andrew to picture Riko without his lackeys, but now his memory has Neil’s position blacked out. He doesn’t belong there, and it’s clear he never did. Andrew quirks a brow. “That’s why you came to me in the first place, isn’t it?”

Neil’s expression is bemused, and overall unimpressed. Andrew’s efforts to jab and sting fall flat, but he had to try. “Whatever makes you feel better, Andy.”

Andrew chokes a little at the nickname, at the memories of Neil whispering it a little more flirtatiously a week before, and when he finally gets his wits about him, Neil is nowhere to be found.

--

Four months ago, Andrew found out he had a stalker.

It starts off normal enough; in the world of Exy, it’s easy to encounter other famous players at opening games or recruiting sessions. Not to mention the press conferences and fan events Andrew is constantly dragged to per his contract terms. Andrew runs into Kevin Day at least once a month, and unfortunately gets  bullied into drinks with Matt and Dan Wilds whenever he’s in their city.

College is hard to leave behind.

But in the same vein, it’s impossible to not encounter the occasional raven either. There’s even some alumni on his own team, and Riko’s face is plastered everywhere along with his branded henchmen.

Andrew has never had any interest in them. He doesn’t bother to shake their hands when they do happen to be in the same place, and after a failed attempt at recruiting Andrew back in college, Riko doesn’t pay him the slightest bit of mind out of spite. If only Andrew cared.

Andrew’s lack of manners truly pays off sometimes, he thinks. At most, he’ll ignore Riko’s entire existence or shoot back a hostile comment if need be, but otherwise there’s no reason to deal with the rising star. There’s especially no reason for Andrew to associate with Riko’s hand picked team, or servants. They’re all ghosts, as far as Andrew is concerned, annoying, and placed on the same college track like dolls. They follow Riko in every way, putting in hours of work to graduate by his side so they can move onto the best pro teams of Riko’s choice.

The ones best for reputation, best for their level of expertise, best to challenge Riko but not oppose him. They’re less than dolls, they’re robots with shitty backstories and even shittier attitudes.

They should despise Andrew as much as he despises them, for not accepting Riko’s applauded invitation.

But if that’s the case, Andrew just can’t figure out why he starts to see Nathaniel Wesninski everywhere he goes.

It starts off innocently enough. There’s the occasional run in at coffee shops, where he’ll find the backliner lounging in the corner, or picking up his takeout at Andrew’ favorite restaurant. Andrew thinks it’s strange, given this isn’t Nathaniel’s city, but it’s close enough to The Nest that Andrew could see Nathaniel having relatives there or making the drive to hang out in the popular downtown area.

It’s surreal, seeing the backliner alone. Andrew’s never seen him like that, without Riko barking at him, without Jean Moreau towering beside him. Because of that, he was a blur, blending into them like one entity.

Like this though...he has lines. He has features, arguably nice features, angled cheekbones which make the ‘4’ under his eye somewhat less offensive. In fact, it seems smaller on his face when he’s alone. Andrew takes in his tan skin and unruly red hair, and before he has any say in the matter, Nathaniel Wesninski exists on his own, burned into his brain.

But it’s still whatever, at that point. So the backliner is attractive, mysterious. He’s still nothing more than a lackey, a raven, and he and Andrew could never hope to understand one another. Andrew can’t hope to respect someone who lets themselves be dragged by a leash.

It’s as simple as that.

Andrew ignores him when he sees him, and shakes off the paranoia that starts to brew.

But...then it gets worse, and more frequent. Andrew can feel eyes on him when he’s playing a game, judged at his place in goal. He scans the stands for blue eyes; even when he doesn’t find them, he knows they’re there. He hears footsteps behind him when he’s walking down the street, but when he turns around he’s alone.

Andrew has never been one to not trust his instincts, he knows it’s Nathaniel. At first, he wonders if Riko is doing some weird reconnaissance on him, but finds that wouldn’t make sense. Even if Riko was going to attempt to persuade him again, he should know enough about Exy to know Andrew’s contract is solid, and good for five years.

He’s not going anywhere.

Then Andrew jokes that Riko may be trying to off him. For the first time in a long time, he laughs.

Right.

But he can only make light of the situation for so long. He returns a library book one evening, only to see Nathaniel sitting at one of the tables in the back, and decides he’s had enough.

He slams his new book down on the table, and Nathaniel’s eyes shoot up to glare daggers. When he sees that it’s Andrew, his scowl morphs into something playful and haughty. Andrew hates it. “Why are you following me?”

Neil sags further into the chair, arms flopping to his sides as if to say ‘finally.’

Then, like a switch, he shoots up straight like a rod to stare Andrew down across the table, and doesn’t give away any disappointment when Andrew doesn’t so much as flinch.

Intimidation, if it works at all, works best in a group. Nathaniel should’ve thought better about coming here alone.

But the redhead just grins, unbothered by it all. Andrew’s skin prickles from being so thoroughly sized up. He knows it’s about threat level, but...still.

After a few more seconds of calculating, Nathaniel sets his own book down, a mathematics textbook, and leans forward across the table. He doesn’t even bother wasting time denying that he was stalking Andrew, and he’s not sure how annoyed he should be about that. Andrew’s not sure what it is about ravens that makes them want to turn everything into a game, or maybe it’s the appeal of wearing down their opponent enough to where they crawl to them in defeat.

Andrew fell for it, but he won’t fall for anything else.

Neil tilts his head as if he can sense Andrew’s walls, but doesn’t try to prod at them like Riko would. Instead, he leans back, expression calm. He mirrors Andrew’s position exactly, and Andrew glares to tell him to stop with his tricks. Nothing could relax Andrew at this point, his mind torn between storming out of there and counting each of Nathaniel’s lashes.

“I need a favor,” Nathaniel says simply, with an infuriating shrug. He lays his hands out flat, in surrender, and Andrew has to wonder if it’s a force of habit, beaten into him.

And really, there’s so many things wrong with that claim. Nathaniel must be actually stupid, or out of options.

They aren’t familiar with one another, not even close. The only tether they share is their association with Kevin Day, who apparently has kept up their secret friendship throughout the years in the form of letters mailed between indiscriminate P.O. boxes. Andrew never understood it, and didn’t care enough to ask.

If he was mentioned at all in those letters, it couldn’t have been more than Exy talk.

Andrew, despite his mellowness these days, still has his reputation of being largely unapproachable, hostile.

Then, he thinks it might be a joke, but for the first time he sees the haughtiness in the raven’s expression fade out into a spark of hope.

He’s serious. He’s actually serious, and Andrew wants to laugh.

He scoffs in disbelief. “Go bother Kevin,” he says, and doesn’t bother to ask ‘why me?’ when the thought bubbles up. His curiosity is a strong thing, but he doesn’t need to fall down into this rabbit hole.

The corner of Nathaniel’s mouth quirks up again in a tiny smirk, so miniscule Andrew could lean forward with his thumb and swipe it from his lips.

“I want to bother you though,” Nathaniel whispers when some people walk by, but it’s low and promising enough to have Andrew’s breathing stutter. “And Kevin trusts you.”

ravens. Annoying, squawking. What does he have to do to be rid of them?

Andrew mulls over the cryptic words and finds no leverage, not so much as straws to grasp at. He could just get up and walk away. It’s a method that’s never failed him, and he’s wondering why he’s still here.

This pretty boy, who has no business looking at Andrew like this, should be familiar enough with disappointment from years at Riko’s side. Or at least, Andrew can imagine.

The thought of leaving him here brings Andrew no shame or guilt.

But it does leave him with an itch. For as apathetic as Andrew tries to be, his brain is more like a stomach, constantly wanting to feast on information and digest knowledge, no matter how much he tries to keep the details out.

And well, Nathaniel here is potentially presenting the belly of the beast with a very big meal.

Andrew has to know, and it pains him, but he gives into the urge. He figures he might as well start with the question from earlier. It can’t just be that Kevin trusts him. Kevin has other friends, much more agreeable ones at that. Andrew opens his mouth, and is immediately cut off.

“I can’t explain why,” Nathaniel states, like a prick to Andrew’s skin. Quick and painless, but disappointing. The raven’s eyes narrow, as if he’s still trying to peck at Andrew’s insides to see what they’re made of. “I just feel like you’d understand. And...you’re the closest.”

It’s dangerous to assume things about Andrew, but he’s not naive. Riko tried many dirty tricks in college to blackmail him, that included pulling his records. Nathaniel has probably seen them, but that does not mean he can inspire sympathy.

“How do you figure I’d ever understand a hard ass like you?”

Nathaniel’s smile grows slowly this time, his eyes crinkling at the sides. He raises a hand to tap at his temple, like that’s all Andrew needs to know. “It’s in your eyes.”

Andrew huffs. Bullshit.

There’s nothing in Andrew at all, and that’s just how he prefers it.

“I can see why Riko doesn’t let you off the leash, you’re unhinged,” Andrew jabs, if only to see that smile falter a little. It unsettles him, because it’s not a normal raven’s smile. It’s not rage fueled and vindictive like Riko’s, or nervous and skittish like Moreau’s.

It’s just...raw, and the feeling bleeds over into him, flaying Andrew open.

Where most ravens are beaten and broken until they’re a perfect mold, Nathaniel has kept some of the unrefined edges. He’s clung to them stubbornly, probably at risk to his own physical and mental health. But he’s still here, a survivor in his own right.

That makes him more than interesting, it makes him a puzzle, and Andrew’s brain hasn’t had that kind of challenge in a long time.

“Funny, coming from you,” Nathaniel jabs back, but without any heat. Right, because anyone who actually believes that about Andrew wouldn’t bother coming anywhere near him. Even Riko stands a certain amount of distance away when they’re talking.

And the retort of ‘you don’t know me’ burns and dies, withering in cinders of hypocrisy. Andrew glares at Nathaniel’s triumphant little smile, and the redhead has to be more infuriating by bobbing his head back and forth as if humming a happy tune in his head.

His reddish curls bounce, and Andrew digs his hand into the table’s edge.

“See?” Nathaniel starts, snorting humorlessly. His expression darkens, but the smile remains, a haunting contrast that Andrew is sure strikes discomfort in anyone who sees it. It’s a razor of a smile, piercing deep, but Andrew doesn’t see it as a threat. It’s like someone lashing out in defense, putting up barbs to protect themselves when they’re already at the end of their rope. It’s familiar, achingly so. Andrew can’t help but feel warmed by it, despite knowing he needs to pull away.

Nathaniel swallows thickly, the smile tearing up his face, and having the opposite effect of protection. “You’re really arrogant if you think your words can hurt me.”

And oh, Andrew doesn’t doubt it. He’s seen what Riko says to his underlings in public, he can’t imagine what it’s like behind closed doors. He’s heard enough stories from Kevin, but the difference there is that…

Well, Kevin was still Riko’s equal.

At the silence, Andrew leans back, digesting that, taking in the tension in Nathaniel’s shoulders. He’s not sure why he couldn’t read it in him before, but maybe he’s gotten sloppy. The look of a desperate animal is ultimately one he can’t overlook though, and this is a textbook example. “No, I probably shouldn’t try,” Andrew breathes, and he won’t. He’s not one to insult just for the sake of it, not when it’s not due. Nathaniel picks at his long sleeves, stretching them farther down, and Andrew’s own armbands itch.

Yes, this is indeed dangerous, and unfortunately, Nathaniel may just be right.

Andrew might understand more than he knows.

“So, how about it?” Nathaniel asks a second later, fake chipperness grating on Andrew’s nerves. “Want to hear about my brilliant heist?”

He shouldn’t, but the honest answer is that Andrew does. And it seems like where this raven is concerned, lying won’t get him very far at all.

As if anticipating his checkmate, Nathaniel smirks, and Andrew gets up and turns his back without an order to follow. If Nathaniel really wants this, he’ll know not to let Andrew out of his sight.

“Two minutes,” Andrew throws over his shoulder, and it’s all he’ll give. A small, delusional part of him, hopes it’s not enough time for Nathaniel to make his case.

But if he’s being practical, he knows it’s more than enough.

He knows he was hooked the entire time.

Within seconds, footsteps fall in sync with his own.

--

“I don’t want to belong to Riko anymore. I want to be...me.”

“And who are you?”

“Well, I was thinking Neil might be a good place to start.”

“...”

“Oh, you like Nigel more?”

“Neil it is.”

--

Neil’s request is simple on its face, but infinitely complicated given his history.

“Convince your team to sign me.”

Right. Andrew doesn’t say this arrogantly, but he and Neil know about how much sway he has. He is the top goalie in the pro league, and not only that, getting him to shut down the goal at any given game is a test of will.

If he offers to take his team to the championships, management may just do whatever he says, including signing on the Nathaniel Wesninski.

It’s not without its risks.

Neil is seen as Riko’s property, marked from his freshman year and lined up to play on Baltimore’s team with Riko by his side. It’s expected, to the point where interviewers and reporters don’t bother asking if he’s considering other teams. Why would he? The Baltimore contract must be far from shabby.

Due to the brand on his face, not a lot of teams will touch him. It might as well be a claim, made with influence and money. But technically, nothing can stop Neil from signing elsewhere if he has an offer.

Thing is, Andrew isn’t ready to give him what he wants without any work on Neil’s part, and he told Neil as much. Neil may like the idea of freedom now, but he has absolutely no experience with it. He’s been bred and raised since birth to be an Exy star, to be Riko’s perfect backliner. There was definitely no room for free will or choice between all those drills and expectations.

Who’s to say Neil won’t just go running back to the familiarity and guidance of Riko when pushed to his limits?

No, Andrew won’t have that. He won’t waste his time on someone who doesn’t mean it.

This was Andrew’s deal: If Neil can prove that he’s serious, that he can build a new life for himself so that he doesn’t end up crawling back to Riko, Andrew will convince his coach to recommend him for recruitment in the fall.

“A one year contract,” Neil says, and it even stuns Andrew to hear him say it. Neil smiles at him when he senses the expression, because Andrew knows he’s not showing it. Neil just somehow knows every time. “I still love Exy but...it’s all I live and breathe. If I’m going to carry out your deal, I need to see what else there is.”

And well, Andrew could only agree, despite himself.

If Neil can forge a new life, Andrew will give him the ticket to true freedom, and he’ll be released completely after a year.

It was meant to be black and white, with no risk on Andrew’s part. It’s all in Neil’s hands whether he passes or fails, and either outcome has no influence on Andrew’s own life.

Yes, it was meant to be black and white…

But Andrew should’ve known better. Nothing ever is.

He doesn’t expect to become part of Neil’s new life so quickly, or for Neil to be so damn talkative.

Andrew’s gotten weaker in ways he can’t quite wrap his head around yet. It hits him though as he looks at Neil’s socked feet, kicking behind him as he lounges on Andrew’s bed with college brochures and a beat up laptop.

Without Riko, Neil is broke, but over the first few weeks with Andrew, he’s brighter too. He managed to convince Riko to give him the summer away, backed up with a lie and a favor from his Uncle Stuart in England. Currently, that’s where Neil is supposed to be visiting.

But instead, he’s been holed up in Andrew’s apartment in the guest room, though he’s only in there when he needs to sleep.

“I don’t like to be alone for too long. It's too quiet.”

And yes, Andrew must be weak, because he indulged him. He ignored Neil’s attempts to get a hotel or a sub lease, and let him burrow into his life while deluding himself into thinking it wouldn’t lead to an attachment.

With anyone else, it probably wouldn’t. But...Andrew probably wouldn’t have allowed anyone else to sleep near him at all.

“What about a math major?” Neil asks, breaking Andrew of his thoughts. It’s been over a month at this point, but the sight of Neil’s bright eyes, vying and cherishing Andrew’s opinion, throws him every time. His hair is longer, unruly, and he’s taken to wearing a neon strip of blue tape over his tattoo.

It would look so idiotic, if it weren’t Neil. The sweatpants he wears belong to Andrew, a touch too big on his calves, but tight on his thighs. They slip down and expose slashes of scars, but Neil hasn’t felt secretive of those in a while. He’s wearing a loose black tank top, armbands sitting off to the side. He’s on full display, unbridled, untethered. Andrew can’t help but think it’s how Neil was always meant to be.

“Gross,” Andrew grumbles, and Neil smirks as he bites on his eraser. Andrew tries not to fixate on Neil’s mouth too much.

“You don’t like math?” Neil asks, scandalized as he flips over onto his back. “Don’t tell me you were, gasp, an english lit major!”

Andrew chucks a pillow at him. Neil erupts into laughter, loud and unrestrained. The first few days, he’d been very wary of his reactions, his expressions. He was never allowed to be louder than Riko, only able to attract attention without ever indulging in it. Now, he’s obnoxious, because Andrew has given him no reason not to be.

“You were!” Neil says through his giggles, and Andrew lets him ride them out. Neil undoubtedly has years and years of laughter to catch up on. Andrew can’t relate, but he feels the need to give Neil the chance. Eventually, Neil’s laughter bubbles and fades into breathless pants, and he lolls his head to the side to look at Andrew sweetly. Sweetly. What a word, for a raven. “Was it just easy?”

Andrew shrugs, and follows the magnetic pull until he’s sitting by Neil’s side. It’s become a familiar weight, Neil next to him, but he still feels in a limbo at times.

They don’t touch, not like that. But Andrew feels like he’s still been intimate with Neil despite never having kissed him, without ever taking him into his mouth. He’s felt Neil’s scars under his palms, he’s held a fearsome grip in his own, and he’s allowed featherlight touches to ghost under his armbands.

It’s better, it’s worse.

It’s a problem.

Neil blinks up at him, waiting for him to answer the question. Andrew sighs, because he knows he can’t tell this man a lie. “I liked reading about other people’s problems,” he says, and waits for Neil to nod at the implication. It was better than dealing with my own.

Being locked in worlds of fiction and fantasy were preferable, or at least distracting.

“That makes sense,” Neil says, almost to himself. Andrew can’t expect him to understand, Neil said he never had much stomach for reading or television, nor time for it. Then, as if realizing the same, he shoots up and beams at Andrew. “Want to read me something?”

Andrew’s bookshelf is built into the wall behind his headboard, and Neil leans up and picks out a random one to wave in his face. It’s a dictionary, so that’s the first issue.

Andrew snorts and puts it back, ignoring Neil’s pout.

“What, can’t do it yourself?” Andrew quips. He should know that doesn’t work by now, in fact it often sets him up for dangerous situations, since Neil always—

“I like your voice.”

—tells him the truth.

Andrew noticeably shivers that time, and Neil’s eyes home in on the reaction, soaking it up hungrily. Knowing Neil and his obscene determination, he’ll be doing whatever he can to make it happen again. Andrew sinks down slowly into the comforter, tracking Neil in the same way, evaluating his body language. He’s open. Too open. This is not the same man who showed up initially, the one who was playing a game, guarding and defending to get what he wanted.

This man is offering himself up, and Andrew is finding it harder and harder to resist. Neil made a deal, after all.

So, Andrew reads to him. He reads to him to stop himself from doing anything less innocent. Every night before bed, after Neil has sent more applications and has reviewed more colleges, Andrew gets through a few chapters.

Soon enough, they’re flying through novels, through series. It’s the off season, so they have more than enough time on their hands. Neil runs in the morning and comes back to coffee on the table, locking his ankle with Andrew’s underneath the small nook. Sometimes they go to the park, or order food to eat on the balcony. All the while, Andrew will read, or Neil will commentate. Neil will ask about Andrew’s opinions too, on everything and anything. Which college would be better, if he should get a menial job on campus, if he should try for a double major. Andrew doesn’t mean to answer, to potentially shape Neil’s future in some way.

He makes it clear that Neil should do whatever he wants, and he does. He doesn’t always agree with Andrew, but he wants to hear from him anyways.

It’s a conundrum.

“Is this one a favorite?” Neil asks, interrupting Andrew’s daily readthrough. They’re on their makeshift futon on the balcony, comforter thick below them. Andrew pauses, and looks at the cover. It’s a horror novel this week, a relatively niche one that’s not very well known. It is indeed one he rereads often.

Still, it doesn’t mean he wants to give Neil the satisfaction.

“Why?” Andrew asks, because it’s less humiliating than ‘how did you know?’

“You seem happier reading it,” Neil says, and Andrew tenses. Part of his brain itches at him again, telling him it’s not all related to the book. If he’s felt more at ease, more afloat, there’s only one root cause.

“I’m not.”

“Sure,” Neil prods, unaffected by Andrew’ need to deny, to be contrarian. It’s typical Neil; being known on that level is something Andrew never expected to have. Not like this. This isn’t just a deal, and Neil is not his family.

He’s more, and it’s overwhelming.

Andrew can’t stop the frustration from leaking into his voice. “Shut up,” he growls, and Neil’s grin falls, eyes wide and intense. Just like that first day, just standing his ground and daring Andrew to test him.

“Make me,” Neil replies without thinking, but he doesn’t move to take it back once the silence falls between them. In fact, he seems to settle on it, like this is the missing piece he’s been stumbling for all along. Neil was always a bit slow when it came to things like this. Andrew was grateful then, but he understands something else so fundamentally Neil.

When Neil finally does learn, when he does connect the dots, he’s unstoppable.

“Make me, Andrew,” Neil whispers again, and leans forward on the futon until there’s hardly any room to breathe. Despite that, Andrew leans in.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he says, the words ghosting over Neil’s lips, and Neil has the audacity to smirk as he bats those damn eyelashes. Andrew never did get around to counting them, but it hardly matters now.

“What if I do?” Neil asks, in that same haughty tone. Andrew associates it with the ravens less and less now. It’s all Neil, through and through.

Andrew wants to blame his next move on impulsivity, on loss of self-control.

It’s the exact opposite. He’s never felt more certain about something, despite how fast the urge settles in his bones. His hands grip Neil’s waist until the redhead is in his lap, and he moves with Andrew so easily, like the weight of the world that usually holds them both down is absent. There’s none of the usual fear or hesitation, Neil just trusts Andrew to lead him to the right place.

“Yes or no?” Andrew mouths against Neil’s jaw.

Neil’s smirk is especially frustrating right then, because it’s shaky, insecure. It’s like Neil is jelly in his hands. Andrew has never felt so vulnerable and powerful all at once. “Yes, Andrew. A thousand yes’s.”

“Just one will do.”

Andrew dives in.

It’s like finally dipping into an oasis in the desert, or maybe that’s him just using one of the cheesy lines from the book they’re reading. Either way, it’s accurate.

Neil’s cheeks seem to fit into his hands, and he smooths his thumb over the tape there. He lets himself experience Neil for all he is worth, which is some infinite, ridiculous amount.

And if he’s being honest, he kisses Neil way more than once, more than ten or twenty times. They pull apart and meet again over and over again, until the sun behind Andrew’s complex dips below the skyline.

--

But it turns out, they probably do end up kissing a thousand times in the months that follow.

“I’m renewing it by the way.”

“Huh?”

“My thousand yes’s, they’re up.”

“You did not count a thousand kisses.”

“Hm, how would you know? I’m the one who’s good with numbers.”

And Andrew cashes in at least a thousand more.

--

When it’s time for Neil to sign on to the team of Riko’s choosing in the fall, he signs with Andrew’s instead.

It delights Andrew greatly, more than he’s accustomed to, to see Neil scribble his messy new name onto the paper. It still hasn’t really stuck yet, but Neil says he doesn’t care if it takes time. Andrew has all but forgotten Nathaniel, and that’s what matters to Neil most of all.

It’s not better, but pretty damn close, having to watch Riko play off the betrayal in interviews afterwards. It’s a league upset, but not unheard of to fans and watchers of the sport. To them, it’s any old recruitment. Riko can’t risk looking like an asshole, so he has no choice but to wish Neil luck on his journey.

If he comes anywhere near Neil again though, Andrew will punch his lights out. So it’s fine. Andrew has half a mind to hunt him down now for continuously messing up Neil’s name on live television, but Neil’s lips on his neck have a funny way of easing the anger.

For now.

Neil officially moves out of the guest room and starts some pre-college courses online, and through the stress and time constraints, gets visibly happier by the day.

They disagree sometimes along the way, like when Neil picks his last name or tries to settle for a college closer to Andrew. But they get through it, and Andrew has a feeling that will also become the norm.

Neil is one of the first things he doesn’t feel like he’ll lose, not of Neil’s own choice. So Neil picks a college for the next year that’s a few hours away, and Andrew admits he wouldn’t be opposed to sharing his last name.

That’s all for the future though, one that’s not planned, one that Neil can’t see, but one that’s his all the same.

“Isn’t that the best part?” Neil asks one day, while he’s lounging on Andrew’s chest. And Andrew can’t help but agree.

He does make one secret adjustment though, scratching lightly through Neil’s scalp. Neil’s eyes glisten fondly, and the truth rings powerful and loud between them.

Not just Neil’s life.

It’s theirs.