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The soles of Neil’s shoes hit the sidewalk — thump, thump, thump, fast and steady to meet his heartbeat. His mind was focused on the music in his ears, half drowned out by his own adrenaline; his heart was busy pounding, his lungs busy breathing.
But his nerves, his nervous nerves, were on fire. He could swear they were actually burning.
He took a turn and went around a corner, his run trailing off to a skat, skat, skat before he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, panting. He tore out his headphones, and they dangled wildly for a moment or two before he disconnected them from his phone, folded them and shoved them in his pocket.
His breathing was still labored, his calves burning. He’s lost track of how far or how long he’s been running. If it were up to him, he’d just drown in the rhythm forever — however long it took for his nerves to settle down again.
Because they weren’t. And stopping got him thinking about what had set them off, which was really quite a stupid reason. No matter what he did, however, his body wasn’t getting the memo.
Fuck, he thought, leaning against a nearby wall of a building. Running used to kill this feeling.
He straightened and forced a steady inhale, followed by a long exhale, and went around in a small circle to face back where he’d come from. He just needed a little breather before he started making his way back, and from there it was straight to evening practice. That was, if he wasn’t going to make himself late. Fuck, was he going to be late? How long did it take him to get here?
He glimpsed the time on his phone and saw he had half an hour to spare. He racked his brain, but for the life of him couldn’t remember what the time was when he’d left.
Oh, fuck it. He wasn’t going to get back sooner by standing here and thinking about it. He pulled his headphones out of his pocket, connected them, shoved them in his ears and restarted the playlist. Then, taking a breath, he started running back the way he’d come from.
He was late for practice, but only a little bit. He came into the stadium by the time the rest of the team was getting out on the court, only just having started with warm-ups — which Neil was pretty sure he wouldn’t be needing right now anyway. When he got to the locker-room, however, he saw Andrew was still there.
Andrew was sitting on a bench, tying his shoelaces. “Where have you been?”
“Went on a run,” he said, opening his locker and getting his gear out. “Needed to unwind.”
He was busy strapping on his gear when he noticed Andrew was looking at him, done with his shoelaces. “You didn’t take your phone.”
Neil pulled his phone out of his pocket and gestured with it to indicate that he had, in fact, taken it. Then he realized it might be a good idea to not have it on him while on the court and put it in the locker.
“So you just decided to blow me off,” Andrew said, voice conclusive. Neil lifted a frown to him.
“You didn’t call,” he said. Andrew’s expression turned slightly reproving; at that, Neil checked his phone again, and, right there under the time, saw the notification.
“Fuck, I must’ve missed it,” he muttered, brushing back his hair. He turned to Andrew. “I muted it.”
“Unmute it,” Andrew said and got up, stalking out without additional fanfare.
Neil momentarily closed his eyes, letting out a short sigh. He then unmuted the phone, closed it and put it in his locker, proceeding to finish strapping on his gear. By the time he made it to the court, warm-ups were almost over.
Neil seamlessly joined, successfully putting off his thoughts.
He stayed on the court for a while after the others left, throwing balls at an empty goal. Andrew, although staying there with him, refused to put in anything resembling overtime and took to watching from the stands. The occasional glance showed Neil he was sprawled on them, legs outstretched to rest on a seat below his, Andrew himself barely paying attention.
Neil didn’t mind. He’d told Andrew he could leave if he wanted to, but Andrew hadn’t seemed to mind either way. So Neil focused on the goal and on shooting his shots, and breathed in the cooling air of a night soon to come while the goal lit up red and red and red.
He went to retrieve the ball from where it’s gotten caught on the goal’s net when he felt his legs going all wobbly. He abruptly halted, steadying himself. It was a short gesture, no more than a few seconds; barely a hiccup, unnoticed if you weren’t looking for it.
He disentangled the ball, fingers stiff from holding the racquet for so long. He stood there, in the goal with the ball in his hands, for a few long, conflictive moments; then he shook his head and decided to call it a day.
Andrew noticed him making his way out of the court and got down from the stands, passing by him as he came inside. “I’ll be waiting in the car.”
“I’ll be there in five,” Neil replied, waving a hand as he headed to the lockers. He put back his equipment, took off his gear and went to take a quick shower. The water, cold by now, beat down on cramped muscles, making it all the more unpleasant. Had the water been warmer, and had Neil had longer, maybe he’d have stood under the water’s rush a little more; but as things were, he finished up in less than five minutes and was soon enough making his way outside.
Andrew, as promised, was waiting in the car. “Everything alright?”
Neil settled in the passenger seat, slamming the door shut. “Why do you ask?”
Andrew turned on the engine. “No reason,” he said. Neil was about to mark that as the end of the conversation when Andrew added, belatedly, “haven’t seen much of you today. You’re skittish.”
“I’m just worried about an exam,” Neil lied. “Just trying to get rid of my nerves.”
“By spending yourself,” Andrew said.
“By distracting myself,” Neil corrected. “Besides, extra practice never hurt anyone.”
Andrew briefly glanced at him before turning his eyes back to the road. They pulled up in front of Fox Tower, and it wasn’t long before Neil found himself getting ready for bed, peeking at the time to see that it was much later than he’d originally assumed.
Huh, he thought.
But it didn’t matter, really, because his eyelids were getting heavy. He halfheartedly went through his before-bed routine, finally burying himself in the covers with the belief he’d be falling asleep immediately.
So much for that idea, he thought — two hours later, lying flat on his back, with his eyes wide open and fixed on the ceiling. The frustrating thing was that he was tired, dead tired; his mind was foggy, his eyelids still heavy, his muscles stiff. For all matters and purposes, he should be sleeping like a rock, blinking his eyes open to a brand new, energy-filled tomorrow.
It was tomorrow alright, but still a few hours before it was officially tomorrow. And Neil couldn’t bring himself to fall asleep. The brilliant idea that maybe he needed to distract himself occurred to him — he heard somewhere that thinking about falling asleep was the best way to make sure you won’t. So he got off the bed, feet softly hitting the floor, and set out to look for his phone. A quick scroll through the latest exy news might do the trick, he thought.
It was only ten minutes later, after he could find his phone literally nowhere, that he realized he must’ve forgotten it in his locker. Back at the stadium. Which wasn’t really a walking distance away from here.
Okay, fine, whatever. He’ll get it after tomorrow’s — today’s, his mind told him — morning practice. This wasn’t a problem. Maybe Kevin had an exy magazine lying around somewhere — but he quickly figured that in order to read that, he’d have to turn on a light, which wasn’t much of an option with both his roommates fast asleep.
He eventually found himself leaning against a kitchen counter, head tilted up, furiously blinking his aching eyes at the no-longer-as-dark dark. His mind went through today’s events, until his thoughts trailed back to what he’s been trying to not think about. Not today. Not until after the holidays, preferably. But it was bugging him like crazy.
You’re being ridiculous, he thought to himself. Just two measly weeks.
He detached himself from the kitchen counter, downed a glass of cold water and silently made his way back to bed. He turned on his side, curled into himself as small as he could and, with the blanket pulled up to his chin, closed his eyes.
Four hours later, he blinked them open to a brand new morning.
***
Neil went all-out during morning practice, which nobody found unusual. He made his shots with a little too much force, and ran across the court a little too forceful, and made all kinds of sharp and abrupt turns —which Kevin actually seemed to approve of. He could feel the friction against the soles of his shoes, the instability pulling at his tendons.
By the time he hit the showers, he was feeling like a new man. No longer the half-zombie that had barely scraped itself off the bed; adrenaline was still thrumming through his body, sweat soaking through his uniform. He was feeling a little too lively, even. But he wasn’t complaining.
He calmed down a little after he showered and changed, and by the time he got to his first lecture for today, he was feeling pretty normal. Neil went through his day blissfully free of thinking unnecessary thoughts, until everything suddenly came rushing back.
Because of course, today, instead of doing exciting things with numbers, his number-theory professor decided to start the lecture by asking his students about their plans for the upcoming holidays.
He thought he could detach himself from the discussion by mindlessly doodling in his notebook. He thought he could get away with it, too.
Until, “Neil, what about you?”
Neil looked up from the notebook to see his professor looking at him. Damn it, this course had way too few people. And this professor was being super unprofessional, if you asked him. He came here to do math, not feelings.
“I don’t know,” he belatedly said, not putting down his pencil.
The spotlight was practically immediately pulled away from him, but Neil could regardless feel the jitters starting to sting at him. The discussion soon went back to where they left off last time, and Neil tried to focus on the math problems presented. But he kept getting small, stupid things wrong, and by the end of the lecture both his notes and the problems he’s tried to solve were a mess. As was his head.
He shoved his notebook into his bag and went back to his room at Fox Tower, seeing as that was his last lecture for the day. He had a few free hours before it was time for evening practice, and it took him all of five minutes to change into some running clothes and put on his trainers before he was back out the door, heading to go execute his nerves.
Stupid fucking nerves. Stupid fucking holidays. Stupid fucking him, for taking what wasn’t even a problem and blowing it way out of proportions.
He ended up running far more than he’d set out to run, but he came back a neat fifteen minutes before evening practice started. Which was much better than yesterday.
Andrew gave him a weird look when he came into the lounge. A few minutes later, the rest of the Foxes trickled in; Neil exchanged some words with Matt and Dan, laughed at a stupid joke Nicky made, and was just starting to feel the jitters again when Wymack walked in.
“This is our last week of practice before Christmas break,” he started by saying — because really, Neil needed to be overkilled. “But it doesn’t mean I’m going easy on you. We have an important match as soon as you all come back, and I assume none of you will be making time for practice.”
Kevin opened his mouth, but three voices shushed him. Neil bit his lips, leaning back against the sofa. Andrew shifted next to him.
“Which means,” Wymack continued, “that until you’ve scattered into the wind, we’re practicing like tomorrow’s the championships.”
There were a few sighs and one or two of course, Coach, before they spread out to gear up and head out on the court. In the locker room, Neil found himself fumbling with the strap of his helmet.
Andrew gave him another weird look, but didn’t say anything before leaving for the court. Neil stopped, let out a short, agitated breath, and finally managed to adjust that strap.
He went through the warm-up exercises along with everyone else, barely feeling any of it. Then he went all out again.
Practice was over before he knew it. Neil was about to follow the rest of the Foxes out of the court when a dizzy spell caught him, and he stopped in his place, his free hand automatically going up to his head. He dropped it halfway, closed his eyes, and wondered how the hell closing his eyes didn’t stop him being dizzy.
He opened his eyes a few seconds later to see Andrew standing in front of him, racquet in one hand and helmet dangling from the other, an eyebrow slightly perked. “What’s going on with you lately?”
“Nothing,” Neil automatically replied, unstrapping his own helmet. He started walking, hearing Andrew follow him. “When did you say you were leaving for Germany?”
“Thursday,” Andrew said. Neil halted, Andrew bypassing him inside.
“You know,” he said, glancing back at the empty court. “I think I’ll stay a little longer.”
Andrew turned to give him that weird look again. “How long’s a little longer?”
“I don’t know,” Neil said, leaving his helmet on a bench. “An hour?”
Andrew narrowed his eyes.
“You don’t have to stay here,” Neil said, a repeat of what he’d said last night. Andrew ignored him, just like he had last night, and Neil knew that once he was done showering and changing out, Andrew was going to hit the stands.
So he went back on the court and threw balls at the goal for an hour and a half. When his shot went wide — way too wide, since when did Neil miss like that? — and forcefully ricocheted against the plexiglass, nearly nailing Neil before he had the sense to jump aside — Andrew came down.
“That’s enough playtime,” he told him, holding out his hand. Neil handed him his racquet with a pout and turned to jog up to where the ball had landed, on the other side of the court.
“I’ll get it,” Andrew said before Neil could move, walking past him. “Go inside. Get changed. We’re leaving in ten.”
Neil looked after Andrew for a moment, chewing at his lip, before complying. He went inside, got rid of his gear, put everything back in its place. When he stepped out of the shower, however, his foot must’ve bumped into something — because for a split second he felt himself slipping on the wet floor, barely managing to get a hold of a wall to avoid slamming his face into it.
He remained frozen in his place for a hot second, heart hammering in his chest. “Fucking hell,” he whispered to himself. Then he shook his head, straightened, got dressed and left.
That night, he worked on going through his math problems again until he fixed all of his mistakes. By the time he got to bed, some early birds started chirping, and he couldn’t even fathom the concept of thought before he sank into a blissful nothingness.
***
He was rudely awakened by Kevin’s alarm clock two hours later. He let out a moan, feeling a dull headache thumping in his forehead, and turned over. The hassle of Kevin cheerfully embracing the new day, shortly followed by Andrew getting up, and the two of them going about getting ready in the most noisy way possible, forced Neil to accept the fact that he had practice in half an hour.
He got off his bed with a grumble, shooting Kevin an agitated look when that attempted to talk to him. The rest of the morning passed by in a bit of a blur; he made sure to get a decent dose of caffeine in him before leaving for practice, and the coffee cleared his head enough for him to convince himself he was actually fine. Look at him, he was even walking in a straight line and everything.
Neil went about his day in a tasteless grind; doing his thing at morning practice, drinking cups of coffee between classes. He’s drunk so much coffee, in fact, that by the time evening practice rolled around, he was practically buzzing with energy. Energy that desperately wanted to get out.
He was sitting on a bench, bent down to tie his shoes, when a sudden, thin ringing rose up in his ears. He halted, lifting his head a little bit.
Was this normal? He shook his head in an attempt to make it stop, but that didn’t do anything. Except for earning him a bunch of concerned gazes, that is.
“Neil, are you okay?” Dan carefully asked.
Neil let out a smile that he could feel looked a little off. “I’m fine.”
Andrew, thankfully, had already gone out on the court and wasn’t there to see through the lie and inquire him about it. And even though the others didn’t seem completely at ease with his response, they let him get away with it. All the coffee must’ve made him resemble a proper, well-rested human being, who wasn’t at all running from his anxieties. Anxieties which the copious amounts of coffee seemed to pull out and bring forth. Like, super front-line forth. He shouldn’t have drunk all that coffee.
Neil, eager to get rid of this energy, went even harder at practice than he had yesterday. By the time it was over he was completely spent, half his body numb and the other half aching with dull pain. The energy was gone alright; he could practically feel his body shutting down.
He couldn’t wait to get back to the dorms and just crash — forget all about this day and the past week, too, thank you very much. He was just too tired to deal with it. His mood was on the floor; his whole body hurt. And he was really starting to feel that run he’d gone on yesterday. How much had he run, again?
Did it even matter? It hadn’t helped. This wasn’t helping, either. He wanted to go to sleep. He also wanted to wake up after the holidays and move on with his life, never addressing the problem.
Because it wasn’t a problem — it was just him, making it one. So he had nowhere to go, so what? It didn’t come as a surprise to anyone. So what if Andrew was leaving for Germany for these two weeks, and Matt and Dan and the rest of them all were going back to their families? So what? He could just take this time to practice exy or something.
Neil stopped halfway between the stadium and Andrew’s car, letting out an agitated sigh. He rubbed at his temples, trying to get rid of both the headache and that thin, incessant ringing that wouldn’t let off. It was making his headache worse. And his thoughts, these stupid concerns, were making it even worser.
He momentarily closed his eyes, trying to calm down his nerves — both his nervous nerves and his angry nerves. All he had to do was get back to Fox Tower and take a nap. Everything will be magically better after he woke up.
He crossed the rest of the distance to the Maserati, the rest of the Monsters already piled up inside and making loud conversation. The music Andrew turned up to drown them out wasn’t helping, either; but Neil sucked up his discomfort, took a mental note to take some painkillers before bed, and zoned out for the rest of the way.
He went to bed early. Closed his eyes, ignored the noise, and willed the painkillers he’s taken to work. At some point, Kevin and Andrew also went to sleep; the lights turned off and quiet fell on the room, nothing but crickets and the occasional car outside disrupting it.
Neil opened his eyes to the darkness, frustration prickling at his insides. A glance at his phone showed him one forty-three. It turned forty-four. He let the screen go dark and stared over the edge of the bed at the opposite wall.
He didn’t even feel tired anymore. So instead of lying in bed, pretending that it was helping, he soundlessly climbed down, grabbed a jacket and a cigarette pack, and headed outside.
He made his way to the roof, putting in extra care to not make any noise whatsoever. The roof, as expected, was vacant. So he closed its door behind him and stalked to the edge, sitting down, and let his legs dangle freely in the air.
He took in the cold night’s air for a few moments, before pulling a cigarette out and putting it in his mouth, leaving the pack on the roof by his side. He didn’t usually like to smoke his cigarettes, not like Andrew did — but there were exceptions. Tonight was an exception.
He put a lighter to the tip of the cigarette, but his finger kept missing the button. He tried once, twice, but his hand seemed to have lost all coordination. He huffed, the frustration really getting to him now, and slammed the lighter against the roof beside him.
He took the cigarette out of his mouth and, with as much force as he could muster, threw it off the roof. He momentarily buried his face in his hands, before his hands brushed back all the way to get his hair out of the way. His eyes lifted up.
He looked at the clouds gathering in the sky, blinking as drops of rain started hitting his face.
He couldn’t even call it rain, not really. It barely trickled; hitting his nose, his eyelids, disappearing into his disarrayed hair. Finally, his mind was empty, foggy with the night; and maybe at some point the sun will come up and wash it all away.
Until then it was just him and the not-rain, the problems of yesterday keeping at bay.
***
A few sleepless hours later, Neil was getting ready for morning practice yet again, a weird mix of alertness and lack of comprehension sinking into his bones. He felt fine, but couldn’t really build a solid thought. His eyes kind of ached, and his head hurt a lot, and his muscles stayed sore, but he didn’t feel like falling asleep anymore.
Which was good, because he had a whole day in front of him.
Morning practice went by as usual, if ignoring all the shots Neil missed. They were enough for a few of the Foxes to cast worried looks his way, but every time anyone asked him if something was wrong he waved them off, dismissing it.
At the end of practice, Wymack took him aside. “Neil, is everything alright?”
Neil was just about fed up with the question. With more irritation than he’d intended to let on he said, “I’m fine, Coach.”
He turned to walk away, but the motion went off somehow, and he swayed. Wymack automatically sent out a hand to stabilize him, a frown on his face — but Neil shrugged off the gesture, skittering away.
“Neil, are you sure? You look a little pale,” Wymack said. “Maybe Abby should take a look at you, in case you’re coming down with something."
“I’m fine,” Neil snapped. He later realized how disconcerting that must’ve come off, but it was too late to take it back.
He went through the day with both the irritation and his headache building instead of subsiding. After yesterday, he completely ditched the coffee; and by the time his classes were done, he couldn’t take it anymore. He took painkillers for the headache, put on his trainers, and left to, once again, try and get rid of his nerves.
It was like his body was mocking him on purpose, he angrily thought as he breezed past roads, shoes steadily hitting the sidewalk. He hadn’t taken his headphones, just the thought of music making his head hurt worse, and it was only a few miles away that he realized he’d accidentally forgotten to take his phone.
He resisted the urge to punch something as he turned, deciding to make his way back without making a stop. He didn’t want to stop, because stopping meant he had the headspace for thoughts. And if the thoughts would come — well, then, he’d have to remember that soon enough, he’d be left all alone again.
He increased his pace, feet going down harder than before, and drowned out everything except the rhythm of his heartbeat and the sound of his own strained breathing. He didn’t know how much time passed before he found himself back at the dorms.
Apparently, he had a good hour and a half before it was time for practice again. In order to avoid seeing anyone — because he really wasn’t in the mood for that — he grabbed his math textbook and spent the extra time going over problems.
Problems, problems, so many fucking problems. And the most frustrating thing was that he kept getting them wrong.
On the way to the stadium, Andrew gave him that weird look of his, eyes narrow and even a faint line crossing his forehead. But with the rest of the Monsters in the car, he didn’t say anything; at least, not until they got there, and everyone climbed out.
Andrew spoke up when Neil was about to step out. “Something’s going on with you.”
Neil stopped, glancing back at him. “It’s nothing.”
Andrew held his gaze for a long moment. “Is it something I did?”
“What? No,” Neil said, voice incredulous. “Why would you think that?”
“You’re avoiding me,” Andrew said, matter-of-factly. “Barely spoke a word to me all week. What am I supposed to think?”
Neil opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again, momentarily stunned. “It’s not about you.”
“What’s it about, then?” Andrew said. “Something’s bothering you. Even a blind person could see it.”
Neil rolled his eyes and opened the door. “It’s nothing,” he said. “It doesn’t matter.”
He climbed out, not waiting for Andrew to follow as he walked away. He wasn’t lying, not really. Because beyond his absurd feelings — if he looked at it objectively — then all of his anxieties were completely baseless. He wasn’t being left behind for all of eternity. It was just two weeks; he’d spent more, so much more, having absolutely nobody. And he’d managed just fine.
He threw himself into practice, the pressure inside of him building and building and building. It got worse with every ball he caught, with every shot he made, with every sprint he crossed the court with. He blocked out everything else; everything that wasn’t the ache in his arms and the ache in his legs and the pain in his head, which was sharpening into something vicious.
And then practice was over. He trailed to a stop, and the world around him came to a stop too. His blood was rushing in his ears, and he couldn’t think over the headache pounding in his forehead, over the ringing that accompanied it.
Andrew caught his gaze from across the court, where the rest of the Foxes were already getting back inside. He saw something in Andrew’s expression shift; something concerned, startled even. Neil stepped forward, fully intending to tell Andrew to stop worrying about him.
The world around him suddenly tilted. And then, just as suddenly, he was no longer feeling anything.
***
He came to with a splitting headache, blinking at bright lights. A couple of those bright lights looked like eyes, though, which Neil thought was kinda weird. The lights narrowed, and somebody started speaking, undoing the latch of his helmet.
Neil groaned, eyes squeezing shut. “The hell just happened,” he muttered.
“You were being an idiot, that’s what happened,” Andrew told him. When Neil opened his eyes again, the haze was gone and the lights have settled back into their rightful places — stadium lights back to their posts, Andrew’s eyes back to being just normal eyes, and Andrew’s face was looking down at him with his mouth harshly set. Distantly, Neil thought he could hear footsteps.
Yeah, those were definitely footsteps, Neil thought when Andrew shifted aside and Abby’s face came into view, looking startled. “What happened?”
“He just collapsed,” Andrew told her. “He’s been burning himself out for the last couple of days.”
Abby’s face settled, though the disapproval didn’t leave it. “Neil, how many times do I have to tell you? Overdoing it doesn’t make you a better player.”
“On the contrary,” Wymack added — when had he gotten here? — with that same disapproving tone. “It puts you out of commission.”
“Do you think you could sit up?” Abby asked, her voice gentler. Neil contemplated that for a moment, decided that his splitting headache probably wasn’t going to make him pass out again, and pulled himself up into a sitting position with a wince.
“I wasn’t doing that on purpose,” he muttered, rubbing at his forehead.
Andrew took a hold of his chin and leaned in, taking a close, meticulous look at his face. Neil unabashedly looked back, though with the pain behind his eyes he didn’t think it came across very prominent. “How much have you slept last night?”
Neil pulled away. “A couple hours.”
Andrew caught his eyes again. “Don’t lie to me.”
Neil’s resolve held for all of five seconds before the exhaustion made it crumble, and he mumbled something unintelligible.
“I didn’t get that.”
“Haven’t,” Neil muttered, pressing his knuckles into his eyelids. “Fuck, my head’s killing me.”
“Neil,” Wymack said, and Neil sharply looked up, the tone raising startlement in his chest. Noticing that, Wymack softened his next words. “You should’ve told me. I wouldn’t have made you participate today.”
“Coach, I don’t want to be benched,” Neil objected. “It’s not that bad.”
“I need to buy you a dictionary,” Andrew flatly said.
“I just tripped.”
“No, you didn’t just trip,” Andrew said. Neil’s eyebrows lifted of themselves, but Andrew was having none of it. “You’re not sleeping. You’re overexerting yourself. And you keep lying about it.”
“I’m not lying!” Neil snapped, scrambling to pull himself upright. He swayed a little, black spots invading his vision at the sudden transition, but Neil ignored that and started crossing the court toward the entrance. Behind him, Wymack and Abby exchanged worried glances. Andrew remained rooted in his place, looking after him.
As soon as Neil came inside, people started talking to him.
“Neil, what happened? Are you okay?” Matt asked, voice concerned. “Abby told us to stay back, but—“
“Why does everybody keep asking me that!” Neil exclaimed, effectively shutting his friend up. Matt, startled, hung back as Neil stalked into the lockers room, starting to methodically get rid of his gear. In the shower, he lingered — and by the time he got out of it, his anger practically dissipated, his friends were no longer there.
Neil dropped to a nearby bench, exhaustion suddenly rolling over him. His hands went through his hair, palms resting at his temples. What was wrong with him?
Before he could start dissecting that notion, footsteps came into the room. Neil looked up to see Andrew, coming toward him with a water bottle in hand.
Neil took that water bottle as Andrew sat down next to him, but didn’t open it.
“What’s going on?” Andrew asked.
Neil sat there for a few long, silent moments, holding the bottle between his legs. His eyes fixated on the wall in front of him. “It’ll sound stupid.”
“Everything you say sounds stupid,” Andrew said, and Neil snorted. He dropped his head, shook it. Then he looked up and found Andrew’s eyes.
“I’ve got nowhere to go.”
Andrew’s head shifted, not catching on.
“Everybody’s got plans for Christmas break,” Neil clarified, cringing at how stupid it sounded out loud. “Except for me. I’ve got nowhere to go.”
Something in Andrew’s eyes cleared. “Neil, you realize that’s not a problem.”
And there it was. Neil knew he’s been blowing it out of proportions all along — and here he was, getting the truth in his face. Because Andrew would know. Of course it wasn’t a problem. In two weeks everything will be back to normal, so what did it matter? And—
“Junkie, did you hear anything I just said?” Andrew said, and Neil blinked at him. “You could come with me. Or I could stay here. Do you really think meeting Erik’s family’s that important to me?”
Neil blinked again. “Huh?”
“Come on, get up,” Andrew said, standing up. Neil’s baffled eyes moved with him. He must’ve been more tired than he’d thought, because his head didn’t seem to be processing anything. “You need to get some sleep, because I’m not carrying you if you pass out again.”
Neil scowled at him. “I’m not gonna pass out.”
“Yes, I know, you’re fine,” Andrew said, his lips curling at the last word. Neil’s scowl deepened, but he stood up regardless, following Andrew out of the stadium. Halfway to the Maserati, Andrew stopped and abruptly turned around.
Neil halted too, confused.
“Don’t do that again,” Andrew told him. “If something’s bothering you, talk to me.”
“That’s rich, coming from you.”
Andrew gave him a flat look. “Neil.”
Neil wanted to argue, but at this point, he just didn’t have the energy. “Fine. If something ever bothers me, I’ll talk to you.”
Andrew didn’t even acknowledge the promise, only turned around and headed toward the Maserati. With a delay, Neil followed him.
He couldn’t deny that he felt as if a weight has been lifted off his chest. Because for the first time in a while, he could finally breathe again.
***
On the night of Christmas Eve, Neil couldn’t fall asleep.
He climbed out of bed, and a quick look told him he was alone in the room. Andrew’s bed was unmade and vacant, but Neil had a feeling he knew where he’d gone.
Neil grabbed a coat and shoes and left the dormroom, heading up to the roof. Coming out into the chilly winter night, he saw a familiar figure sitting at the edge.
Neil dropped to sit next to him. Andrew was looking ahead, the cigarette in his mouth lazily sending trails of smoke into the air. Without saying anything, nor looking at him, Andrew pulled a cigarette out of his pack and handed it to Neil, who took it and lit it with his own lighter.
They sat there in silence as snowflakes started twirling down from the sky, specks of white mixing with the smoke in the otherwise still night.